Go and Eat a Turnip, Eurovision 2010

Yes, this is another Eurovision post. I can't help it, I love Eurovision. If "Gangnam Style" can catch on so big in the States, I have hope that they can transfer that same love to the ridiculousness of Eurovision, too. Plus, I'd feel a lot better if you were laughing at silly white people instead of the Korean guy because I suspect that a lot of "Gangnam Style"'s American appeal lies in racial stereotypes of how we view Asians.

So yeah, laugh at these wacky Europeans instead! I went back and watched the entries from the year 2010 and picked the ten most amusing. Oh they make me laugh, especially the last few. Most of these songs made the finals, too!

The biggest kick I get out of posting these videos on YouTube are the inevitable angry comments left by Europeans. Many of them - or, you know, those who are searching for the songs on YouTube - take Eurovision very seriously and don't have a sense of humor about these cruddy pop songs. 

For my 2012 video, the "dislike" votes outnumber the likes 4:1. The majority of the comments said "[X Country]'s song is not ridiculous!" But some ventured from the standard gripe, here are my 5 favorite:

5. "They are great and everybody should respect them." - MoonFighter456

4. "I think Eurovision is AWSOME ! Beautiful people expressing themselves in a beautiful way ! … it's not easy to perform on stage, in front of the whole of Europe ." - blackforestmozart

3. "So someone hasn't cottoned onto the fact the eurovision is kinda taken with a pinch of salt in Europe… and half those songs are actually pretty good." - tylerwhyde (He had me until the second part)

2. "I knew before watching that I gonna click dislike." - wantwatchvideo

1. "Oh please… the ESC has its lesser moments, but it's a good musical contest, and if you don't like it mr. kevinbabbles from the US (?), go and eat a turnip!" - Bogdy BBA

GO AND EAT A TURNIP! That is my new favorite insult hurled at me ever. You can be sure I'm going to start saying it to people I know in a moment of frustration. It's almost as ridiculous as the songs themselves. Almost.

Deep Fried

I will never try the fried junk food at the county fair.

Deep fried Twinkies, deep fried Oreos, deep fried Kool-Aid… they all sound gross. But that's not why I won't try them. 

It's because I'm afraid of the off-chance that I actually like them.

And then what? I eat more? I start wanting all of my sweets drowned in oil so that my snacking habits are not just unhealthy but obscenely unhealthy? 

No thank you. It's like meth - best to never even give it a try.

Welcome to the O.C., Bitch

So Luke from The O.C. lives in my neighborhood. I know this because I see him all the time, more than some of my own friends, in fact. He's always at this one bar I go to. And I've seen him at the other local bar, too. And tonight while standing in line for tacos. 

I'm not trying to brag, but it's a pretty big deal since he's still a working actor. Recently, he's appeared in the TV movie Beauty & the Briefcase. And another TV movie Deadly Honeymoon. And the upcoming TV movie A Christmas Wedding. Plus he was in the movie Into the Blue 2, which maybe you've seen in theaters. (You haven't, it went straight to DVD.) Joking aside, you can actually see him in theaters. Or, well, I can anyway, as I literally see him at the local theater two blocks away.

Every time I see him, I am overcome with the urge to kick him and scream "Welcome to the O.C., bitch!" I know it's a cliche and something strangers probably quote to him on a regular basis, but I still think it would be satisfying. But maybe instead of saying "the O.C.", I could welcome him to my neighborhood, as we are neighbors after all. I'd still kick him, though.

Boogers

Hey, y'all. Really enjoying that neti pot.

The Second Annual Never Ending Past Bowl Challenge

A month ago, I said I would recap the Olive Garden Never Ending Pasta Bowl contest, and now that I'm actually blogging again, it's time to give the blow-by-blow.

No one lost their pants in the restaurant this time (that memory still haunts me), but a lot of competitors upped their game, with a new record being set.

Altogether, we had 8 eaters: Jessica (the defending champ), Preston, Allison, Matt, Melinda, Ted, Joyce, and me. A lot of shit talking went down as we waited an hour for a table at the Olive Garden. The entire time, we had our eye on an empty table large enough to accommodate our party. "Why can't we just sit there?" we'd say periodically. And then, after an hour, they sat us there. Not sure why Olive Garden dicked us over, but the wait just helped our rumbling stomachs (we had been starving ourselves leading up to the contest) get hungrier.

Our waiter was a strange guy with a British accent. Ted tried to mock what he thought was a fake accent, but it turned out it was real, leading to some weird tension. That sucked because an eager server is critical to the process of getting lots of pasta to us quickly. But we finally got our first dishes and they were all scarfed down in probably less than two minutes.

We discussed - at length - the rules regarding the bathroom. You could poop because the poop is going to be in there from earlier (not the pasta), but vomiting was a no-no. To ensure that no one cheated at this, we initially mandated a buddy system on trips to the bathroom, but then just decided to use the honor system instead. That's when Jessica excused herself to the restroom and the fishiness began.

We had been sitting around waiting for our waiter to come back to put in our next order for what seemed like forever. I think they had us pegged as overeaters, so they were intentionally stalling with us. Finally, the waiter came back with a single bowl of pasta for Jessica. We were all outraged and confused. It turned out, Jessica used her trip to the restroom to pull the waiter a side and put in an advanced order on her next bowl. As a result, she was able to finish her second bowl before the rest of us even ordered our second one, putting her at a massive advantage.

Some accused Jessica of cheating. It might be a little unethical - it's certainly not a move I would have pulled - but it wasn't against any rules. Ultimately, I felt played, but I respected her unconventional move as it showed how much she wanted the victory. I had been determined to not let her lap me a pasta bowl so she could play defensively as she had the year before, but she figured out a way to do it anyway, and good on her.

Ted, the guy who talked the most smack coming into the competition, didn't even order a third bowl, instead asking for a Limoncello dessert. (Perhaps he didn't want to overdo it after being cut off as a lush the previous year.) It was an early, unexpected forfeit that changed the game. Allison followed suit, not getting more than a few bites into her third bowl before throwing in the towel. She had boasted how confident she was while we waited for our table, but now the two biggest talkers were out. 

Joyce quit at three, as did Melinda, who can be proud since she hadn't even planned to compete. I felt super done after three bowls, but I wanted to beat my performance last year, so I ordered a fourth, along with Preston and Matt, while Jessica ordered a fifth. It was about this point that the waiter made a comment about how our contest was like "The Island of Doctor Moreau." None of us could figure out how that reference corresponded with the situation at hand, but whatever, go ahead and insult us, weird waiter dude, just be sure to bring us more breadsticks.

When she got her fifth bowl, however, Jessica didn't touch it, insisting she was letting the rest of us catch up. As it turned out, she was just concealing how sick she was, hoping to recover in time. Preston and I both finished bowl four and tapped out. We kept waiting for Jessica to eat her fifth bowl to clinch the title, but she couldn't bring herself to put anymore pasta in her mouth. And that's when Matt saw an opening and decided to order a fifth bowl.

I thought Matt going for it would be enough to push Jessica to dig into her bowl, but she didn't touch it as Matt - seemingly effortlessly - finished his bowl to claim a decisive win. A nice waitress came and sat down to watch the conclusion. 

So we have a new pasta victor! It was nice to see Hungry, Boastful Jessica knocked down a peg. And sure, I only tied for second, but by eating a whole extra bowl this year, I fulfilled a goal! It usually feels really good to fulfill a goal, but in this particular case, it just made me feel nauseated. 

All Dykes Go to Heaven

Guys, I've been an awful blogger lately. I haven't been keeping up. It's not that there haven't been things to write about, I've just lacked the motivation.

But the lady pictured above has revived my inspiration. Tonight, we realized that it was the three year anniversary of Crazy, Toothless Dykes "death."

I have to put "death" in quotation marks because she might actually be alive. I just assume she's dead because - well - it's what logic would dictate. 

One day she was just a gummy, unstable woman with a liquor hat obliviously trying to find a boyfriend at a lesbian bar. And the next day she was killed! By me! Figuratively! 

Anyway, Crazy, Toothless Dyke is proof that life is short. And I need to be documenting my short life by blogging more. I'm sure Crazy, Toothless Dyke would want to read this blog were she still with us… or literate, for that matter.

Way to Bury the Lede, Dan

• K: How was your trip?
• D: The wedding I went to was held at the same place as my prom.
• K: Was that just a coincidence?
• D: I don't know, it's just a nice place near my hometown where people have events.
• K: Did it bring back funny memories?
• D: Sort of, I was there with all my old high school friends.
• K: Right.
• D: And, actually, the bride was my prom date.

Hey, Obama: What the fuck?

Hey, Obama: What the fuck? No really, WHAT THE FUCK?

At the beginning of the year, you signed the National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA), which included language that would permit the executive branch to indefinitely detain American citizens without a trial. It may have been a small part of the NDAA, but signing that part into law has big consequences, and puts Americans – particularly those who voice their dissent – in grave danger. What freedoms do Americans really have if the President can come and effectively make them disappear as long as they want without needing just cause?

At the time you signed it, President Obama, you made sure the press knew that you were hesitant to do so, saying, “I have signed this bill despite having serious reservations with certain provisions, interrogation, and prosecution of suspected terrorists.” I don’t know why you signed it anyway, but fair enough, you didn’t think it was the right thing to do.

But this provision not only has terrifying repercussions, it also is unconstitutional. Accordingly, earlier this year, a group of people sued to contest this part of the NDAA, and the courts appropriately ruled it unconstitutional.

Obama, despite the assurance that you “will not authorize the indefinite military detention without trial of American citizens,” your administration appealed the court’s decision to try to get the NDAA provision legally on the books. You must understand my skepticism when someone who says he has reservations about a bill and would never THINK to use it himself would fight hard to overturn it anyway.

Earlier this week, a federal judge ruled on your appeal and again – correctly – it was found unconstitutional. Since your administration has the discretion on whether to pursue this sort of thing, and since you say you oppose it anyway, end of story, right?

Of course not, Obama, you want to appeal it a second time! Take it all the way to the Supreme Court court where the game is that much more rigged and you’ll get your indefinite detention. For someone who never wants to use this dastardly provision, you’re sure doing all that you can to make it a law.  Even if I’m inclined to believe that (how is the closure of Guantanamo Bay going, by the way?), you’re just enabling the next President without scruples to overstep the criminal justice system… and you’ve seen what kind of dopes can become president.

And so, Obama, I demand to know why. WHY? It’s shady shit like this that leads me to not trust you. How does this battle – which you could drop at any moment – improve our country and its freedoms? I want an explanation of what the heck is going on behind the scenes there on this oen.

And to my friends and readers who will vote Obama this year, I get it. A Romney presidency sounds downright awful. But if you’re going to make Obama your guy, hold him accountable. Don’t just rest on the fact that he’s the better choice of two and don’t just rest on the fact that he respects women (that should be a general requirement, not the selling point). If he’s not going to protect your freedoms, then he shouldn’t be your candidate.

Eavesdropping

A strange sequence of events happened at Umami Burger in San Francisco a couple of weeks ago. The hostess sat Michael Michael, Kat, and me at a long table with four people already dining on the other end. I thought it was unusual that the hostess didn’t at least check that we minded the proximity to the other party, but I didn’t actually care, because I had no intention of paying any attention to them.

My companions, however, were very intrigued with the adjacent foursome and talked about them almost incessantly. I kept trying to get them to stop because I thought it was wildly rude. Plus, I couldn’t hear the other side of the table, leaving me unable to participate in their little game, anyway. But more than anything, I hadn’t seen either of my friends in more than a year, and I was way more interested in catching up with them rather than spending the whole meal discussing strangers.

I lost, though. I never managed to diverge the conversation too far from the quartet at the other end of the table. Michael Michael and Kat would change their minds about which one was dating which and how long they had been dating (Double blind date? Long-term?). They’d quote directly from the strangers’ conversation - as it was happening - to support their arguments. I thought that this was particularly audacious, pointing out that there was almost no buffer between our parties and that if we could hear them, then surely they could hear us talking about them.

As the other four people readied themselves to leave, Kat got brave enough to address them directly: “Excuse me, we just have to know what all of your relationships are with each other.” Meanwhile, I buried my face in my napkin. “We’re two couples, why?” one guy responded. Then my two friends admit that they had been eavesdropping the whole evening and shared some of the theories they had been devising. I was mortified at how nonchalantly they were confessing to being busybodies, and worried what the fallout would be as they awkwardly shuffled away.

“Oh my God, I love that game!” one of the woman said. “I do that sort of thing all the time.” From there, everyone excitedly chatted about how they try to guess the lives of strangers they encounter in restaurants, on the subway, etc. I was completely wrong, they seemed to think it was great that we had listened to everything and encouraged us to guess even more specifically about their lives.

Then the tables turned (figuratively, not literally, as the long table was stationary) and Michael Michael asked them to figure our stories out. They admitted that they hadn’t been paying any attention to us (apparently, some people just enjoy the company of their own friends rather than fixating on their neighbors), but they were pretty quick to suss out that we were friends from college and even guessed our school remarkably quickly.

“So you know ______? And ____? And ____?” they asked. And we did know these people. The strangers from the other side of the country whose lives we were inventing were just one degree of separation from us. We all just happened to be at a restaurant in a city none of us have lived in, yet these people I kept begging my dining partners to shut up about were now almost like old friends. In fact, I think that night I learned more about what was going on in those four people’s lives than my actual friends.

I’m definitely the loser of Michael Michael and Kat’s game because I had pegged the people at the other end of the table the furthest off, figuring they’d find the game itself rude rather than reward it by acting chummy with us afterwards. But I still contend the night’s conclusion was an anomaly, and that most people you’d say, “I’ve been eavesdropping on your whole conversation, can I tell you some theories I’ve developed about you and then ask some follow-up questions about your relationship?” would respond by looking at you funny. 

Sweat Stain

While playing dodgeball tonight, a weird sweat stain developed on the front of my shirt. I was hardly the only one with this problem, but then I caught the girl next to me looking at it, and I got self-conscious, so I turned so she couldn't continue to stare.

Realizing that her staring had been noticed, she quickly apologized. "Sorry, I was just trying to read your shirt."

"Oh, sure," I said. I didn't believe it, but as someone who has used the same excuse after being caught looking at cleavage, I felt it only polite to just agree.

Then I glanced down to confirm what was on my shirt, and that's when I remembered that it was just a plain shirt. No text, no image, just a single solid color. And unless she's a special kind of fortune teller who can predict the future by the shape of perspiration stains, she wasn't "reading" my shirt.

Right after discovering the inconsistency, I tried to make eye contact with her, but she averted her eyes, most likely realizing the excuse she gave was not plausible. Busted! Doesn't she look stupid, I thought. Then I remembered that I was the one with a gross sweat stain, so I still looked stupider.

And then I got hit in the penis with a dodgeball.

(Soda) Pop Art

Haha, this photo that my roommate posed for yesterday might be my new favorite picture ever. 

It should win some kind of U.S. photography contest. I mean, how aptly American is it? Sex, football, and over-consumption. It's disgusting and fascinating all at once.

Are You Deaf in Your Ear, Motherfucker?

One of the best things about losing my hearing in one ear (it's a lengthy list, I assure you) was that it reminded me of a song I used to love with a chorus that goes, "Are you deaf in your ear, motherfucker?" I'm not sure where else - other than the ear - people go deaf, but the song still manages to make its point.

The song is "No Means No" by the female rap duo BWP, an acronym for Bytches with Problems. BWP is certainly not the most remembered hip hop act from the early 90s, but they will always hold a place in my heart for being so damn raunchy. Seriously, all of their songs are super sexually explicit and about how much they love getting laid, but then they throw in a single track called "No Means No". Admittedly, the point might be better made if the singers didn't admit they would have had sex with the guy were it not for the poop stains on his underwear, and then concluded the song with a command for the guy to drop to his knees to perform oral sex. But still, no DOES mean no. That's their prerogative to say when and how and with who. No means no! Didn't you hear them? Are you deaf in your ear, motherfucker? 

BWP also has an official music video for the song, but the language has been so sanitized for play on MTV that it's not nearly as fun. I'm going to post the lyrics in full because they should be read as poetry, and I've bolded my favorite parts.

No Means No - BWP

Get out of here, get off of me!

Damn, hard up bitch.

Get the fuck, I said no, motherfucker!


No means no, my brother.

Are you deaf, motherfucker?

No means no, my brother.

Are you deaf in your ear, motherfucker?


You steadily try to go pound for pound,

shove it on in without me being down.

Swear to God, it's like you got ten hands,

and each and every motherfucker down my pants.

What must be said? What more must I do?

If I wanted dick, I'd be fucking you

But here we go again, a constant fight:

No, you ain't getting no pussy tonight!

No means no, my brother.

Are you deaf, motherfucker?

No means no, my brother.

Are you deaf in your ear, motherfucker?


Yeah, you took me out last night,

we had dinner with candlelight.

You spent a lot of money, flashed on the scene.

Yeah, I wanted everything I seen.

I wasn't gonna say, "Don't buy that ring,"
'cause to me, motherfucker, all cash is green.

The evening now has come to an end.

(Man) How 'bout a nightcap in my den?

Yeah, well I'll chill for a while

and put on an ignorant smile.

He inched over, licked my neck.

Next thing you know he was sucking my breast.

Damn, time for me to be going

before I end up in a bed fucking, you knowing.

(Man) What's up with that, baby, why you gonna fess?

(Man) I know your no means yes.



Pulling on my panties, tugging on my bra.

In my mouth, he stuck his tongue far

down my throat, I almost choked.

But no means no, my brother

Are you deaf in your ear, motherfucker?


Me, a bitch about to get slammed

by a brother on a tip of a forceful man.

Damn, I don't understand,

are you that desperate, man?

Damn, I told you more than once tonight

Keep your hands out my pussy, alright!?


Now me, the bitch, I could have got fucked,

but I ain't that hard up.

And he, the skeeze, he could have got pleased,
but the brother had the funk disease.

He want to fuck and do the wild thing.

Man, wash your dick, make sure it's clean.

Get up, fool, go shower down;

nigga, your drawers are brown.

Stand up for a kiss and wait for me to pucker?

You dirty motherfucker!


With one swift kick, kick him straight in his dick.

At least a month, he's gonna have to just lick,

'cause when I go, bitch, I fuck up shit.

He lucky he wasn't castrated.

We went out, and you spent some cash,

that don't mean that you bought this ass.

Come 'round here hawking for the pussy.

Drop to your knees, bitch -
yo, get busy!

Always boasting how you fuck so strong,

we can't even talk if your tongue ain't long.

No means no, my brother.

Are you deaf, motherfucker?

No means no, my brother.

Are you deaf in your ear, motherfucker?

Hopefully, now "are you deaf in your ear, motherfucker?" will become a common phrase in your life, too. And if you like BWP, let me know. There are definitely some more great songs that I can share.

Curing Deafness with Alternative Medicine

I lost the hearing in my left ear last week. I think it was the consequence of things backing up because of this sinus infection I've been fighting. It was really poor timing because I was about to leave for a trip to catch up with some old friends in San Francisco. I thought it might be a sign to just stay home, but I decided to leave anyway. 

On the drive up, just fifteen minutes from my house, I blew a tire. AAA got me to an auto repair shop, and the mechanic was like, "You must have hit something," showing me some damage to not just the tire, but the underside of my vehicle. "I didn't see anything on the freeway," I explained. "Well you definitely would have heard something," he responded.  I didn't feel like getting into the fact that since I could currently barely hear, I had turned the music up so loud that it was possible I might not have heard whatever I hit either.

Somehow, I decided not to take my broken car as a sign to abandon the trip either. Hours later, I finally arrived and, let me say, it's weird to try to catch up with people you haven't seen in over a year when you can only sort of hear them. I pretended to understand a lot more than I did, and did my best to stand or sit to their left side to have my 

At night, my yoga loving friend suggested I purchase an ear candle to try to regain my hearing. We were waiting for a bus and I asked where we would even find such a thing at this time of night. She pointed to the nearest corner store, and I followed her with a whole, "Yeah right," attitude.

Amazingly, she was right - they DO sell novelty alternative health items like ear candles at a random corner store in San Fran. The employee knew right where they were, even. I should have been so doubtful, as San Francisco is a totally different culture. Earlier in the day, we stopped into a bodega, a 7-11 type store for the bohemian set, and it had organic produce. Convenience stores in Los Angeles don't sell any fruits and vegetables, let alone organic. Then I spied flaxseed waffles in the freezer section, and I wondered aloud - probably unduly loud so I could hear myself - "What IS this place?"

I'm not sure how I feel about ear candles. First of all, the box said the candle was "for entertainment purposes only" and that the company was not liable for anyone who decided to use the candle in ways not typical of a normal candle, which made me feel really confident about the process. But putting a giant candle in your ear is pretty entertaining, so I guess I was still abiding by that rule.

It made my ear tingle and my face heat up. At the end, I think it kind of worked? It definitely drew some waxy residue out. I was still hearing impaired for a few more days, though.

Now, my hearing is back, but I'm even more mucus-y. I bought a neti pot this evening, and I'm not sure I like that any better than an ear candle. "Shove a kettle up your nose" sounds like an act of aggression, not doctorly advice. But I'm ready to not be so sick anymore, so if setting my head on fire and nearly drowning myself with salt water are what it takes to get healthy, bring it on.