Update on my doppelganger, my (lack of) dating life, my status as a victim, and my concerns about local media

So you may recall my recent(ish... I know I haven't written in a bit) posts regarding my asserted resemblance to Katy Kiser of channel 3 news, as discovered when her (ex?)husband hit on me.

Well now for the rest of the story. So her purportedly ex-husband, a federal agent, hit on me one night at a bar, which seemed fine, aside from the slightly creepy "You look like my ex-wife" vibe, but you know, in Corpus you can't be too choosy.

So the next night, I'm out in d-town, and whom do I bump into, but the same guy, which is again fine, because he smelled very nice and lavished me with compliments. So anyway, my friends and I join him for a drink and then when we decide it's time to go he gives us a ride to my car, because we're parked several blocks away. On the short walk from his car to mine, I cross paths on the sidewalk with a small group of youths, one of whom grabs my purse and they all take off running.

Things were seeming dire, except that my agent friend immediately begins pursuit and manages to arrest them within minutes. Awesome. SO awesome. So we're making statements to the police, at which point the news shows up. (No, not channel 3.) I attempt to avoid being filmed, and thought I had succeeded, but on Monday I was informed by a coworker that she had seen me and though I wasn't facing the camera, she could tell it was me from my hair and "the way I stand like a charlie's angel." (To this day, I have no idea what that means.)

Yes. I was on the news. Though I have never seen the footage, I'm told the voiceover said "Robbed at gunpoint! Luckily, they were with a federal agent." If only my coworker were the only one to discuss said story with me.

But no. That Thursday, I go out for happy hour, and whom do I see there, but Katy Kiser, with aforementioned agent. I attempt to be inconspicuous and avoid, but eventually she comes up to me. And goes on a LONG, drunken, passive-aggressive rambling speech about how when she heard that her husband had saved a couple of law clerks, she just assumed they'd be "dumpy and badly dressed." Then, she informed me, she saw me on the news "with high heels and a halter top" and was totally shocked. This ramble went on for at least five shockingly awkward minutes until I cut her off by thanking her for calling me less ugly than expected. This, I think, was actually the most awkward moment of my life.

More awkward than that Saturday, even, when I bumped into a friend of hers at a party (small world, much?) and was informed (threatened?) about how very married the couple in question continues to be. I think I actually uttered the sentence "I'm the victim here!" but I'm not sure.

So there now seems to be some segment of the CC population that knows and hates me as That Slut Seen Canoodling with Katy Kiser's husband. And I feel that local newscasters are bad enemies to have. (One can imagine, for instance the story lead-in "Theft victim? Hardly. This local law clerk wants to steal your man!" etc.)

YES.

My almost greatness

Rock, Paper, Scissors Finals at the House of Rock. I have not yet been able to find footage of my other recent exploits, captured on the local news, but I'm working on it. (Update forthcoming.) Until then:

One down....

There have always been many unanswered questions. There, I suspect, always will be many unanswered questions about Corpus Christi. Recently, I have faced a rash of people telling me I look like a local newscaster. I scanned the channels, comparing my resemblance to the various blonds. Well, the mystery was solved through a strange series of coincidences last night. Long story short, I met this dude last night and every time he'd step away, his friends would go on and on and on about how I'm so "his type" etc. etc. Well, apparently he's the ex-ish (don't ask) husband of Katy Kiser of Channel 3 News. So I think it's safe to assume that she's my alleged newscaster doppelganger.

Also safe to assume there's no love to be found in corpus.

Dog-napping mayor gets slap on the wrist,

or, The Shih Tzu Hits the Fan, Part 3.

Well, the Puppygate saga seems to be at an end, now that the former mayor of Alice has pled no contest to a Class B misdemeanor of filing a false police report. She's not getting any jailtime, just deferred adjudication.

This comment on the Caller Times site is almost Joycean in its confusing wordplay: "Let the axe mayor keep panchitos fleas to remember him by. She has done enough to in bare 's' Alice."

Overheard in Corpus

1. 

Girl #1 in mall: I really want to go to Express. 

Girl #2: If you don't mind, I'll wait here. My arch-nemesis works there. 

2. At buffalo wild wings (why was I there? Watching the Eurocup final), a long, long tirade about how the third season premiere of Quantum Leap was one of the best season premieres of any show ever. I didn't know it before, but I know now that this is apparently the episode on which the quantum leaper jumps back to his own past and has the chance to save his brother (or something?) in Vietnam. Who knew that anyone, anyone knew so much about Quantum Leap. 

3. Tonight at the grocery store, the greeter came up to me to say, "Wow, you look just like--"

Now, at this point I was fully expecting him to say that I look like one of the local newscasters. Three people in the last two weeks have told me this. Seriously. Unclear if they mean her, her, or her. They're all blond, which seems to be all it takes. ¹  As long as it's not her, I guess it's ok with me.²  Anyway, he did not conclude with any reference to local news. No, the end of his sentence was--wait for it--Aphrodite. Yes, a man in the grocery store told me I look like a goddess. I'm starting to like this place.

¹I know this because the security officers at the courthouse still confuse me and Anne ("the other blond one"). For the record, I'm fairly sure that to her, I'm "the other blond one." I'm not trying to suggest any secondary status for her.

²Now that I look at her, she's not unattractive. She just looks older than me, and I'm getting touchy about that, especially after Sunday when the pedi-cabbers who were all flirty became very un-flirty upon finding out that I'm 29.

Woo. Hoo.

Brief update to state that I won my bracket in the final Rock, Paper, Scissors qualifying round last night, so I'll be competing in the finals. 

In prior rounds, at least a few people attempted decent names: The Handyman, The Handgun, etc. Last night however, perhaps due to the later hour and increased drunkenness, it was just sad. In order to achieve victory, I beat people playing as Ballz and Chimpy. 

Oh Corpus, you disappoint me so regularly. The winner of the first bracket, incidentally, against whom Anne and I will both compete Tuesday, was Titties. She had many male admirers. 

Really, I had only the posse with whom I came rooting for me. And the amazing hostess, Heidi, who is a big fan of mine now that I've volunteered to help her plan a pub night in downtown. Yes, that's right people, I am actually on a Dtown committee. But that's a tale for another day.

Something else gross (in a different way)

I've been competing in the local Rock, Paper, Scissors tournament. There are 3 qualifying rounds for the Finals at the end of June. In the first qualifying round, I was eliminated in the semi-finals by Anne. (Especially given that her RPS game was Lady MacDeath. Hot.) Fine. There's nothing undignified about that particularly. Last week, however, I was defeated in the first bout by a dude playing as Edward Sassorpanties.

Edward Sassorpanties. 

Panties. I know I'm not alone in my dislike of that word. 

Sassor. Sassor? Um... sassor. "Sassor" is not a word. It does not even sound like a word. At all really. 

Again, panties. Can I reiterate that this was a man?

Now, I had considered playing as Emily Scissorhands. Because "scissors" and "hands" both relate to Rock, Paper, Scissors. However, Sassorpanties has nothing to do with RPS, because, again, "sassor" isn't even a word and panties weren't involved, because it wasn't Strip Rock, Paper, Scissors. (If you'd seen Edward Sassorpanties, you'd understand how happy I was that no stripping or panties were involved.) So yeah, Sassorpanties removed everything that was great about referencing Edward Scissorhands and kept only Edward. Poor choice, Sassor.

Sigh. Sassor.

You may be wondering about my Roshambo name. The first time I played as The Striking Viking and this time I played as Courtney Glove. So I'm still pondering my best name. I mean, I could reuse one of those, but they haven't panned out that well I guess... Other considerations: Em.C.Hammer, Lindsay No-hands, The Paper Doll. I'm accepting suggestions.

Things that are gross

I bet you were thinking that I'd totally love anything that involved bacon. Or alcohol. Well, two items to prove you wrong:

1. Canned bacon. 50 slices, pre-cooked in a can. This probably doesn't make sense, but it turns my stomach just looking at it. In a way that seeing globs of fat floating in vodka apparently does not.

2. Sourtoe cocktail. Which is, apparently, champagne with a preserved human toe in it. A Canadian tradition? Oh, Canada.

Further adventures in bacon

Wednesday I made bacon fudge. And it's pretty good.

That's all I have to say about that.

Say what?

Old people say weird things. Fine. But my boss has a way of coming up with stuff that totally overwhelms the giggling 6th-grade boy within me. 

"Figured I better get high behind and do it." 

Huh?

And then he always registers my confusion and wants to talk about it, forcing me to (1) try not to speak to him like I think he's a crazy old person; and (2) not giggle while repeatedly saying and hearing phrases like "high behind." 

I correctly used context clues to understand the phrase as "hurry up." And then got his invented etymology on it about how when a jockey rides faster his ass is in the air. (And again making me want to joke about him looking at jockeys' asses...)

Fine. We have exchanges like this all the time.

But this week, he really went too far. Referencing a defendant, he said, "They're gonna jerk his pen/pin." They're gonna what?!? 

No context clues this time, so I have no idea what he's talking about. He registers this fact and offers the following explanation: 

"It's what fraternity brothers do to one another. "

Seriously.

In what way would that conceivably clarify? And can I take a moment to congratulate myself on not DYING laughing at that point?

(The entire meaning of this one remains unclear. Apparently at some point in time when you wanted to kick a frat brother out you took (jerked?) his pin. What connection this has to a medicare fraud defendant... that's anyone's guess.)

The ShiTzu hits the fan, part 3

Well Alice's trial of the decade is over. Puddles' original owners get to keep him.

If you're new to Corpus Juris, you can get the back story and my self-aggrandizing follow-up, here and here. Basically, the mayor of Alice tried to dognap a ShiTzu named Puddles by renaming him Panchito and hiding him at the farm of her identical twin sister.

You can read the Corpus Christi Caller Times' coverage of the story, if you like, but the punchline is just that the original owners get to keep him, which is good, and that his name will revert to Puddles from Panchito, which to my mind is bad. But what can you do. The highlights of the story are the following puns:

• "In her dogged custody fight over a fluffy black and white pooch, former Alice Mayor Grace Saenz-Lopez sacrificed her political career and thousands of dollars in legal bills."
• "The custody dogfight has no visitation clause." That doesn't even make sense.

The Caller Times, typically, included no relevant information on the most fascinating line of the story: "Saenz-Lopez [former mayor of Alice] and Garcia [her identical twin] will be in court Tuesday to answer to felony charges that they tampered with and concealed evidence while attempting to keep the dog."

New (to me) foods, #6 in a list

Hot beef sundae.

Hot. Beef. Sundae.

Yes, that's right.

"What is a hot beef sundae?" you may wonder. Well, wonder no longer: it is "a generously filled bowl of hand-mashed buttery potatoes surrounded by slow-roasted fork-tender roast beef" topped with "savory beef gravy," sprinkled with Cheddar cheese with a cherry tomato on top.

Because a chopped beef sandwich doesn't include potato. And a plate just isn't mobile enough.

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[Left: Life-size photo of Hot Beef Sundae. Visitors provide scale.]

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Surprise your family by making Hot Beef Sundaes for dinner! Recipe here.

I am not claiming, by the way, that this taste sensation is originally a Texan thing. It appears to have originated in the midwest.

Hammer Time = Time Well Spent

About a week ago, I was flipping through my DVR's TV Guide and saw Hammerhead: Shark Frenzy. Thinking it was a documentary on hammerhead sharks, I hit record.



I came home from work a few days later, ready to unwind with some good documentary shark footage. (I know, I know...That's embarrassing. But that's what a blog is for.)

Within the first 30 seconds, it was clear this was no documentary. Megan points out that the name should've tipped me off. True. But it didn't. What did tip me off was the anonymous couple in love yachting and getting eaten alive. I would've stopped there, but what followed was just too good.


First, another foreboding establishing scene in which a white-coated scientist exclaims to his assistant that his experiment is almost complete at which point the lab shark bites off the assistant's fingers. Next, cut to some high-tech government DNA lab where an impossibly hot DNA scientist (played by Hunter Tylo. Hunter. Tylo. What kind of name is that?) says some incomprehensible stuff about DNA and then puts on a bikini and starts swimming laps at the high-tech government DNA lab lap-pool. Awesome.


Anyway, I will try to avoid spoilers in case anyone wants to find and watch this gem, because really, you should. But basically the idea is that when a mad scientist tries to cure cancer by combining human DNA with hammerhead shark DNA the results are not pretty. You get the chance to admire said un-pretty results in many jars in the lab Kunstkammer-style, but chief among them (I'll call him Hammerhead) is unfortunately not relegated to such a jar or formaldehyde.


The special effects were completely terrible. The severed limbs that get flung about are SO clearly rubber it's not even funny. (Few characters escape the carnivorous maw of Hammerhead, but several limbs remain. Not clear to me why such a blood-thirsty creature would leave random limbs uneaten, but I guess plausibility was not the aim.) But that's not the worst/best of it. The worst/best is Hammerhead himself. Things go best when you see only his dorsal fins--that's scary in a traditional shark movie way. And it's even kindof creepy when you get a zoom-in of a single eye, which is large and sortof humanish, but of course on the side of a head, so again creepy. But when you see him in his entirety--well, see for yourself:






For another view, check the movie poster:




And really, how awesome a tag line is "Half human. Half shark. Total terror"?


I must also say that it is one badass IT guy who can throw knives with deadly accuracy at a distance of like 40 ft. He also seems to be the only one on the island with any ability to aim a firearm. Cuz the professional guards hired by the mad scientist guy to keep victims on the island... well they just keep firing and missing. I guess that's why said IT guy gets to sleep with Hunter Tylo.




Choice Dialogue:
Dr. Preston King: Can someone tell me why these people aren't dead yet?



***

Amelia Lockhart: You're going to impregnate me?

Dr. Preston King: No. [looks at the hammerhead shark in the tank] He is.





Some online review I read noted the failure to utilize lots of shark puns. While I cannot concur in this reviewer's general negative feelings about the film, I suppose it would have been a better movie if the lines "Shark the herald angels sing" or "I guess his shark was bigger than his bite" had been included. Or my favorite, though it's non-sensical, "Time for a little dancin' in the SHARK." Said online reviewer does not offer any of the many available M.C.Hammer puns that would have been absolutely revelatory. ("Hammertime" being the most obvious.)



Now, you're all probably wondering about the scientific accuracy of this movie. Well, I did some research on this point.

• First, it is true that hammerhead sharks do have internal gestation complete with placenta like mammals do. I confirmed via Wikipedia, which offered the choice observation that "Hammerhead shark mating courtship is a violent affair." It also offered the fascinating fact that hammerheads can also reproduce via parthenogenesis, a word I have always loved since it was in the lyrics of that 80s song "Dead Man's Party." (But only the females. If males could do this... well, the movie would've really fallen apart.)


• It is, however, not true that sharks do not get cancer. Although widely believed until somewhat recently, a quick Google shows that shark immunity to cancer has been debunked by such esteemed organizations as the American Cancer Society, National Geographic, the American Association for Cancer Research.


• This was not discussed in the movie, but apparently hammerheads get suntans and burns, just like pigs and people. Just thought I'd share.

I will also note that I was fascinated to find that if you simply enter "hammerhead" into Wikipedia, the disambiguation page has 23 entries, including the Corpus Christi arena football team and a character from the cartoon Darkwing Duck.

More info on Hunter Tylo:
You know you're interested. Wikipedia offers a few interesting tidbits on this soap opera actress:

• She's Texan. Woot.


• She won $5 million from Aaron Spelling in a discrimination lawsuit after he fired her because she was pregnant. (She was cast to play the Taylor McBride, whose name rivals Hunter Tylo's for awesomeness, on Melrose Place but Lisa Rinna ultimately played the part.)


• Her daughter apparently had like a semi-miraculous spontaneous cure from retinal cancer. I wonder if shark DNA was involved... because Tylo's son was found mysteriously dead in the swimming pool...

Editorial addition: Yesterday some sharks at the Moody Gardens Aquarium (in Galveston) died when ozone levels in their tanks got too high. Full article from chron.com here. I mention this because apparently efforts to revive the sharks involved giving them lots of steroids... which, I guess because I've been thinking too much about this movie, seemed like a dangerous idea to me. (~Tex, 4.16.08, 1:34p.m.)

If you want the spoiler:

~You've been warned.~

There's this bit at the beginning about how Hunter Tylo knows the mad scientist, because she used to be engaged to his son. But his son died of cancer. So that's why the scientist is obsessed with curing cancer. Fine, nice motivation.


Well it turns out that the experimental subject is his son. So every time I talk about Hammerhead, imagine I'm saying "Paul" and it gets even more ridic.


After the whole impregnation bit fails because they spray some chemical on Paul (which is conveniently located in a cabinet labeled "Shark control") Hunter Tylo should've made some sort of "U Can't Touch This" remark. That would've made my life. Or at least the 92 minutes of my life spent watching Hammerhead: Shark Frenzy.

Bacon-infused vodka, parts 4-5

Part 4: Labelling

Stephen won the naming contest and my creation now goes by "Crisp."

Part 5: Enjoying

So we each tried a sip of Crisp straight-up. I must say, everyone was pleased. Or maybe "pleasantly surprised" is more accurate. But pleasant, nonetheless.

It smells very strongly of bacon. But I think we were all afraid the similarities would end there and the taste would be all vodka. But no, it definitely tastes like bacon, start to finish. I used a peppercorn bacon, not a maple, so the effect is smoky.

We then went for the bloody marys (I have decided that's the correct spelling of the plural, not "ies" but I haven't researched this point.), which were also quite good, though you have to make them pretty strong to get the baconness all the way through.

Anyway, it was actually good, so now that I have the mason jar and funnel, I might make another batch. We did a little brain-storming on how else to use bacon-infused vodka and came up pretty short on cocktails. I mean, it doesn't seem like you want anything fizzy... or fruity... Could make an alright shot, maybe with a little Tabasco thrown in. Could also make for a badass vodka sauce for pasta. But that's about all I've got on that. The bloody mary seems to be the proper venue for this gem.

In related news, Neena informed me that a New York establishment is using bacon-infused bourbon to make maple old fashioneds. So that may be a project for another day.

For anyone's interest, a round-up of a few other bacon-related products I've noticed:

• Bacon maple lollipops. ("A perfect gift for the sweet-toothed pork aficianado in your life.")
• Vosges Chocolate Flying Pig with bacon.
• Bacon Salt. "A zero calorie, vegetarian, kosher certified seasoning salt that makes everything taste like real bacon." The mind reels. The pictures of proposed vessels for this seasoning include french fries, corn on the cob, chicken and hamburger. Awesome. I'm also thinking it would be excellent for rimming the glass on my bloody marys. I also note Operation Bacon Salt on the website--an effort to provide bacon salt to the brave men and women serving our country in the armed services. Hmm.

Bacon-infused vodka, Part... 3?

Stage 3 involved the straining and filtering of the blissful substance. I have to say, running bacon vodka through a coffee filter is a surprisingly slow

process. It seems that the fat clogs the filter, requiring frequent changes. Who knew?

That said, the filtering was more effective than I'd even hoped. As you can see from the pre-filter jar (See photo, left), pre-filter vodka was... shall we say, gross. Cloudy, globs of fat and bits of pepper floating about. After (below, right)--lovely, clear, etc.

No, I still haven't tasted it yet. I feel that it needs an event.

I will note that the problem with keeping a wine bottle of bacon vodka in my fridge is that sometimes when I want a glass of wine I end up pouring a glass of vodka. That aroma does come as a shock, I must say.

Salty Characters I've met in the Great State, #10 in a list

I didn't think I'd encounter anything better than kazanovasex. Truly, I never hoped. But humanity continues to awe and inspire me.

And so I offer you the guy with the screen name [I won't say on what] superpiercedwang.

To address the obvious, no, his last name is not Wang.

So riddle me this: "super-pierced wang"? Or "super, pierced wang"?

That is, does he have like 35 piercings, or is the wang itself just super (and, incidentally, pierced). I know punctuation may not be prized in certain online circles, but it does highlight the importance of the hyphenated or phrasal adjective. [As Stephen offered the other day, it's the difference between "Mother fucking dog" and "Mother-fucking dog."]

And another thing--"Wang?" Heehee. Wang. Is that a euphemism much in use these days? It rather makes me wonder if "superpiercedcock" and "superpiercedschlong" were already taken. And even having to wonder that makes me a little bit sad.

PS--apparently "wang" (superpierced or otherwise) is not in the blogger dictionary.

Another note on parasites (No mom jokes in this one, I swear).

You know those little ads and notices and links you get at the top of your gmail, tailored to you by gmail's creepy content searches? Well, I'm getting an ad for parasitecleanse.com with great regularity these days and I can only assume it's from that one gchat the other day.

Too bad gmail isn't just a touch more sophisticated, realizing that I love parasites. I am not looking for an herbal way to rid them from my body.

At last.

Hot Chicks with Douchebags is an amusing blog for timekill purposes.

It is also, incidentally, my long-time assessment of the New York dating scene.

Thanks, but no thanks

Saturday, I got a haircut. (Not that much, don't panic.) So my interaction with my new hairdresser, Irma, was going along pretty normally. She inquired whether I was married and offered (unsolicited) consolation that there's still plenty of time, though she had not at that point inquired about my age. Fine.

Well, I guess she was assuming I was much younger than I am...perhaps because I was wearing a very silly horse-print shirt that I originally purchased for my high-school-aged goddaughter, but decided to keep formyself. Because when it came out that I'm 29, she got all shocked and said how I look so much younger. Again, this wasn't a problem and I was still taking it as a compliment.

But what I didn't put together was what the real cause of her shock was. Apparently, while whatever age I appeared to be (24? That seems to be a popular guess) is plenty young enough to be single, 29 is not.

I'm reminded of a friend who lived in Japan at age 26 and was told she was "Christmas cake--nobody wants it after the 25th."

Anyway, I discovered this thought process of hers because when she finished with my hair and I told her I liked it, she exclaimed, "See! We'll get you a husband."

This sort of consolation is strangely often on offer around here. I did not express concern about getting a husband. Very strange. And while I'm sure she meant well, I felt obliged to respond, "Please don't get me one here. I'll be stuck."

After that exchange, of course, I was unable to inquire about what I'd now really like to know: "Just for future reference, what haircut would get me a husband?" Cuz if it's the one I've got now, I'll be sporting a ponytail or hat at least until I move.

On questions of proper pronunciation and word-choice....

Dictionary.com's Word of the Day:
gewgaw \G(Y)OO-gaw\, noun:A showy trifle; a trinket; a bauble.

Is it really pronounced gyoo-gaw? I've never heard this, though I've often heard gee-gaw.

Anyone?

This is just one of my problems with Dictionary.com's Word of the Day program, though I note that the word selections have generally been better in 2008. Regardless, I continue to check them out daily, ever in the pursuit of new words and eternally grateful for learning "turophile."

Re: Viva!

...And so went Emily's career in political punditry based on campaign theme songs...

sigh.

Overheard on gchat...

I wouldn't know, obviously, but I would imagine that this is what two bored, immature, nerdy people might sound like on gchat:

M: In other biology news, I was considering adding to my Facebook interest list "behavior-modifying parasites." But then I realized that was just too nerdy.

N: Like rabies? I find it fascinating that rabies makes you hate water. How can a disease make you fear WATER? How can a disease make you fear anything specific? It's so weird.

M: Like, there's this fungus that infects insects and makes them climb to a really high place and then sortof latch on. Then the fungus makes their head explode and the altitude makes the spores are spread more effectively. (http://neurophilosophy.wordpress.com/2006/11/20/brainwashed-by-a-parasite/ )
Also, there's this parasite that spreads via cat shit. And apparently what it does is when a rat gets it, it makes the rat less risk averse and more likely to run into open spaces. So it's more likely to get eaten by a cat. (notexactlyrocketscience.wordpress.com/2007/01/14/brain-parasite-drives-human-culture/). Once you get started, they're riveting: there are others with grasshoppers and ants.

N: Huh. I guess those all make sense, evolutionarily.

M: My friend Jason apparently carries the cat/rat parasite. He claims it hasn't made him more risky. But I didn't know him before.

N: Wait, people can get these? Shit, now I have to worry about climbing to high places and exploding.

M: Apparently Tori Spelling once said that she didn't like jicima because it tastes like water. Maybe she has rabies.

N: That would make her the 7th rabies survivor.

M: Huh. That would still be low on her list of accomplishments, in my book.

N: "There are only six known cases of a person surviving symptomatic rabies, and only one known case of survival in which the patient received no rabies-specific treatment either before or after illness onset." (Wikipedia)

M: You know, compared to that episode of 90210 where Tori met Color Me Badd,
and her hit series So No-tori-us. Um, Wow, with the rabies info interjected, that last exchange is almost Dadaist in its randomness.

N: Your mom met Color Me Badd.

M: Your @sshole is So Notorious.

N: Your c**t is almost Dadaist in its randomness.

M: DAMMIT, I was gonna go there, except with "your face." (I went there with your mom's face.)

N: I think you know how I went there. But just in case, and for the sake of clarity: I went there with your mom's @sshole.

Viva!

How can you not vote for the guy when he has a campaign video this awesome? I know when I'm making political decisions, I ask myself, "Whom have the Mariachi Aguilas de Mexico endorsed?" This always steers me right.

Bacon infused vodka, Part 2

So, Phase 2 involved removing the hunks of bacon and skimming off the fat. Again I note that "skimming off the fat" isn't exactly a phrase that makes me think "tasty cocktail," but I'm still hopeful.

Appearance:

The vodka: You're looking at it, I guess, but I'll be honest. Disgusting. Truly. Not so much the chunks of bacon, but the globs of fat. The skimming helped ALOT. The vodka is now tan, which isn't that problematic really... sortof whiskey-colored.

The bacon: I expected it to look more pale and sad than it did. It pretty much looked the same. So that's nice. Weeks of soaking in

vodka does not seem to have phased bacon. I suppose this makes bacon a mightier product than my college-freshman-year-liver, which did not respond quite so well to the weeks-long vodka bender.

Smell: Pretty much what you'd expect. The a little bit bacon, a lot vodka. I was pleasantly surprised at how stomach-turning it wasn't.

Now, you may be asking yourself a question: Did she taste the bacon? If you are... you don't know me too well. Of course I did. Really, it was better than I expected. I've consumed worse. It opened strongly bacon and only thereafter went VODKA. I have to say, if I hadn't chewed it, it might've seemed all bacon. I didn't have a second piece to find out, though. On balance, probably not as great as the vodka watermelon we made for Shawna's birthday at Brighton Beach, but honestly I think it was tastier than this edible martini looks.

Now it heads into the freezer. I'll keep you informed.

The Oscar goes to...a cat.

I would have to say that the highlight for me of this year's Oscars ceremony was part where the end--you know, the suspenseful part where they give out Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor, and is really the whole reason you sat through awards for sound editing and montages about whatever--was preempted by the Corpus Christi local news.

With a story about a cat.

Salty Characters I've met in the Great State, #8-9 in a list

8. The guy who stood alone at the bar with a book (novel, Palace Dogs), turned face-down so as to show the picture of the author, who was the guy himself.

9. Strange 50-year-old man at a nightclub Saturday, who grabbed my leg and said (Seriously), "Them's some calf muscles. You a wrestler?"

Bringing sexyback to Corpus

You know, I'm not much of an optimist, though I do try. One point, though, at which I succeed: Every time I see a preview for an obviously terrible movie, I think, "Wow, some guy in L.A. had the most awesomely successful day ever when he managed to pitch this concept in a way that convinced someone to actually fund it.

So anyway, I enjoyed one such moment today, thanks to the front page of The Caller Times. Short story shorter, Justin Timberlake is starring in a movie about the Corpus Christi Hooks (minor league baseball team). How someone determined that this is a good idea... I can't say. 

The article suggests that Corpus Christi is a good setting because we have two minor league baseball teams, the Hooks and the Beach Dawgs (seriously). Not clear on what this adds, but I like to think it means that there will be a bunch of rivalry between the Hooks and the Dawgs until they get mocked in a bar (preferably Dr. Rockit's or Woody's, but I'm flexible on that point) by either a major league baseball player or a hockey player for the CC Rayz and then the Hooks players and the Dawgs players are on the same side in the barfight. 

Anyway, there are nonetheless several questions raised by this article (above and beyond that Beach Dawg thing, cuz wow): 

• They're filming in Hammond, Louisiana. Guess that means there won't be any scenes walking along the Bayfront, which is an obvious weakness in my opinion.
• JT claims to have wanted to meet some people and get a feel about what was going on while he was in Austin but he couldn't get around to it. What on earth he thinks he could learn about Corpus Christi from Austin is utterly unclear... actually, no it's not, the answer is nothing. 
• "Billed as a comedy/drama, the movie is the latest in a string of cinematic efforts from the moonwalking, denim-designing Timberlake." 
• Quality journalism here: "It's hard to tell if this will be his career grand slam, but one thing's certain -- Justin Timberlake doesn't need to sing and dance anymore for his fans." Actually, I think it's ever more certain that he should sing and dance for his fans. I mean, Sexyback? Pop genius. Alpha Dog? Not so much.
• The comments are, of course, awesome, centering primarily on what musicians are (not) good actors. Occasionally there's something sprinkled in about how they're filming in Hammond because Corpus sucks so much. Good times.

You read it here first. (Or should have.)

On Wednesday, Puppygate hit the front page of the New York Times. Yes, almost a month after you read it right here.

And that really means something, because I'm not exactly known for my timely grasp of current events. (This morning, for instance, in the story about the Illinois shootings, I learned that it was the fifth campus shooting in a week. This was quite shocking, not only for the obvious reasons, but because I knew nothing of the previous four. I blame my local NPR affiliate's twelve day fundraising drive during which no news was delivered, because they were too busy trying to convince me to give my hard-earned money to support Walter Furley's editorials.)

We can measure its importance by noting that Puppygate got frontpage billing on the day that Hillary Clinton spoke in Corpus, probably the first relevant political figure who's done so since the time Taft came to visit and the only hotel in town had to install an extra large bathtub.

The Times, being the Times, offered dismayingly straightforward coverage, lacking any "Shi Tzu" jokes or comparisons of the mayor's mansion to the Waco Compound. Sigh. Instead they offered erudite historical perspective on how the last notable thing that happened in Alice was ballot stuffing for LBJ. Fine.

Now with the mayor of Alice appearing on the Today show, this story has officially blown the f up. That's all I'm saying.

Oh Caller Times!

Caller Times, your shitty reporting is awesome, but I think I'll miss your batshit comments the most!

It's true, I keep a count and thus far the Corpus Christi Caller Times has never run more than 7 original stories the same day. But the reader comments are phenomenal. (Thanks for the tips, Adam and Andy!)

We'll note, CCCT never provided original coverage of Puppygate. But now they published a brief follow up and even that offers some great reader tidbits: 

• I can't beleive how much media coverage this stupid mayor and this dust mop for dog gets. CC is really starved for news.
• Let me get this straight... My time and taxpayer money are being wasted by a DOG custody hearing?!?!?!? A FREAKIN DOG!???!!?!? And some mayor who's being accused of DOGNAPPING?!?!?! What in the world is the point of all this?

• The mayor of Alice is a thief.  The mayor of Alice is a thief.  The mayor of Alice is a thief.  The mayor of Alice is a thief. Where is the law. In her pocket. Shame, Shame. Shame.

  The dog needs therapy now. Call Dr. Phil No! Call Dr. Ruth No! Call the "DOG WHISPER"

  Yes!
• He dog is not a mut / mutt. The dog is a living being with feelings and endures pain and has a will to live.
  
• Hotdog! This is so doggone funny!
• LOL She'll get her's for sure!!!!!!!
  
• FREE PUDDLES!!!

Recently, the Caller Times offered the longest original story of my 5-month time here. What was it about? Man-salons. The bold, bold idea that men could go somewhere other than Supercuts to get a trim, or God-forbid have other procedures done. The comments were gems: 

• What a Joke... A hair cut is a hair cut. Who wants to be a foo-fee and get little lotions and a manicure? Real men let their girlfriends cut their hair with the clippers from Wal-Mart. Now THAT"S love. One time when I was cutting my hair at home, my clippers went out so I had to use my dogs clippers and I have to tell you, those worked a heck of a lot better than the ones that are made for humans!! I dont need to go get my hair did to be a "Papi Chulo." I guess I'm one of the lucky ones that doesnt have that unibrow or the neckhair that is almost braidable. You guys go spend your 50 bucks on that hair-do, I'll be waisting mine on some beer and a really good cigar.
• I'll just stick to my Fade City Hiarcut place... I know ya'lll know what I'm talking about... The one that has the commercial with the vato trying to be like lil' john. Has the kids at the sunrise mall saying you need to go to fade city, and then the vato lil john says "wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwhaaaaaaahhhht." We'll note that this comment actually continues at some length, but this bit gives you the drift.
  
• My personal favorite ever: This is why our @sses will be kicked and the United States will be lost to....Well take your pick...China, Former USSR, Iran, etc.. With women & Dr. Phil complaining about how stupid and terrible men are, they're getting their wish....A world without men. It's all great for them, until some guy in a turbine starts slapping them around and basic feminine hygeine products are banned. No more maxi's when your aunt comes to visit. Um, WHAT? SO AWESOME. 

These are cut and pasted. I just couldn't put the [sic]s where they belong. I would be too visually cluttered.

Things I thought I wanted, but didn't

So this weekend was the hottest event in Corpus Christi since Bayfest--that's right, Mardi Gras in D-town! (I cannot explain Corpus Christi's strange habit of imposing abbreviations on things that don't need them. We'll note that "D-town" saves no syllables over "downtown." How do you get to D-town? Take the B! You may know it as "the bus.")

Anyway, we were celebrating Mardi Gras in D-town. The event was a pub crawl and we were told that the first 100 people to get stamps from 8 locations would get a prize. Obviously, we wanted a Mardi Gras in D-town t-shirt, because, well, who wouldn't. So we dutifully go from bar to bar (we'll note that only one of them could qualify as a pub in even the loosest construction of the term) and get our 8 stamps. Do we get the prize? No. No one can convince me that there were even 100 people participating in this nonsense, but whatever.

If it was a legitimate delay that prevented our t-shirt consummation, I can pinpoint the cause.

Yes, it was the D-town tram. "The B?" you're thinking. No, a special tram, just for Mardi Gras in D-town purposes. You doubt me, but I have a photo. 

"Ok, that's a ridiculous tram," you're thinking, "with open sides and designed to drive you from bar to bar, even though no bar in D-town is further than a block from any other bar in D-town and considering the one-way streets in D-town, it will take at least 3 times longer to ride than to walk, and it still won't prevent drunk driving because you have to drive to and from D-town." Fine. "But," you're thinking, "how do I know that you rode it, Em, and that it was the cause of your delay?"

Well, for that proof, you would have to see a photograph of me on the tram. And me being myself, I was unable to take such a picture. Fortunately, someone else did. For said evidence, you'll have to visit the Mardi Gras in D-town Myspace Page (seriously, it exists, and seriously, my picture is on it).

So that is the story of my failure to obtain a Mardi Gras in D-town t-shirt. But all is not lost. Anne, genius that she is, still got us some t-shirts. She saw a woman handing out shirts, she beckoned, she made it happen. Little did we know. 

This woman was a Malibu representative, so we got Malibu t-shirts.¹ As soon as we saw them, we wanted to return them, but that seemed gauche. 

What do they say? "Check out our coconuts!" splashed across the chest. (1) There is no appropriate context for this. (2) Any wearing of this slogan would be self-deprecatingly ironic, me looking like me. (3) Other issues aside, it's slightly weird to talk about your tits using the Royal We. Sigh. But now I own said t-shirt and for reason I think are clear, I can't really be rid of it, though I can also not wear it.

¹You're noting an ambiguity, so I'll clarify immediately. I'm talking about Malibu the coconut rum, not Malibu the American Gladiator. Because obviously, any t-shirt endorsing Malibu the Gladiator, that's a shirt I would be proud to wear. (And honestly, if you ever follow anything I link, it should be this. Thanks V.)

Bacon-infused vodka, Part 1

What sorts of weird crap does Emily read about online, you may wonder?How much time does she have on her hands, you may sometimes wonder?

Well, among other things, I read about bacon-infused vodka. This definitely has a strange-but-fascinating appeal, I must say. Because, really, I was thinking that vodka is just too healthy. As is bacon. And the idea of a Bloody Mary with bacon vodka... psychotically good.

And I'm always interested in being on the cutting edge of anything generating buzz online. And the comments I've found during my research--true gems:

• I am allergic to most deodorants and therefore, soak whole nutmegs in everclear to produce a clear brown alcohol which I put into a mister and mist my armpits with it. Works great! Questions abound: How would you ever think of this? Wouldn't it be WAY cheaper to use rubbing alcohol?
  
• From the same commentor: For warts, I put arbor vitae leaves and seeds (it is a tree) in vodka, and put the tincture on the warts. So basically, every time this chick has a problem, she opens up her bar and splashes something on it. Obviously, I take this approach to emotional and social problems, but the "alcohol as panacea" approach has never taken on external physical manifestations...
• From http://www.wikihow.com/Infuse-Vodka-With-Flavor, V and I have found our new favorite sentence: "If you find your infusion too strong, dilute it with more vodka." Yes, I will bear that in mind.

We'll note that the above site of info on infusing vodka has instructions on using fruit, spices and berries. No discussion of meat products. Sigh.

So obviously, I'll keep everyone updated on this matter. I couldn't determine the best amount of frying to give the bacon, so as to avoid the slight ick factor of too raw, but avoid any possible burnt taste. Right now, I have to say it looks kinda gross. (See photo above.) And it doesn't smell that awesome either. But vodka generally doesn't (to my nose), so whatever.

I'm also announcing a contest to see who makes the most interesting infused alcohol--no restrictions on whether it should be for consumption or external application. I will post your photos and then you'll get rich and famous like me!

.

.

Editorial note: Sorry the picture sucks. Also, the formatting on this post is weird, but I swear I wasn't bacondrunk when I wrote it.

New (to me) foods, #5 in a list

OR, 

Things to Like about Corpus, #9 in a list

Santa Fe eggs! Oh, Sante Fe eggs, where have you been all my life?

Anyone with whom I've discussed the topic of brunch, especially the New Yorkers because brunch is a huge topic of conversation there, can affirm that for years I've been questioning why you can't get BBQ brunch. 

Now, I don't mean the mere consumption of BBQ as the first meal of the day. Child's play. What I have wanted, and can't figure out why it's not possible, is a plate with scrabbled eggs and a pile of BBQ. I'm not picky--brisket or pulled pork would be fine. Obviously, in heaven with plate will also include a biscuit.

So I haven't gotten all the way there, but Santa Fe eggs are a good start. It's an egg sandwich with chopped brisket. MMmmmm. 

That is NOT what she said. Part 2

Oh, T9, why do you continue to mock me?

Pantechnicon? Are you freaking kidding me? 

Would anyone ever text that over just van?[I had to look it up. It's British for a furniture moving van.]

No, they would be more likely--though admittedly maybe not that likely--to be typing "Santa" as in Santa Claus or (in my case, for reasons that will become clear soon) Sante Fe. 

Pantechnicon! 

I'm not THAT tall, OK? Part 2

OR, 

Overheard at a recent wedding rehearsal (where I actually made bridesmaiding look fun)

Macaulay Culkin look-alike that walked down the aisle with me: Wow, I may need a pair of circus stilts. 

Now, I'm not known for my tact, but even I know that a good way to break the ice with a stranger is NOT to call them a circus freak. That's Emily's Manners Tip #1.

To conclude, I'm still not that tall, ok?

Thank you, gmail.

Normally I pay little attention to those tidbits that gmail posts above my messages. I ignore them, eager to get updates from my high school friends about the shoes they've just purchased, or the crazy missives from my exboyfriends that make my days special, or the rants from V about her internet dating exploits. But today, I must admit, I enjoy the funny quote:

"I distrust camels and anyone else who can go a week without a drink."

Now I don't really know about Joe E. Lewis. Wikipedia tells me he's an American comedian, but the quote leads me to suspect he's my kinda guy.

Good things about Corpus, numbers 1-8 in a list

Currently, I'm reading Nine Ways to Cross a River and loving it. But that's not really what I want to think about now.

Check this bit about when the author met Pete Seger.

He asked me where I lived. "Near LaGrange," I told him... At this his eyes shones and a beatific look came across his face, and he said, "Yes, I was there once, twenty or thirty years ago..." He spoke of it with nostalgia and longing, as though the town I lived in was some distant province of pleasure that he had once been blessed to visit....And I realized that this is the way it is with Pete. He has an innate respect for place, and his true wonderment of the Hudson Valley in particular, and of all sea-to-shining-sea America in general, maybe really any place at all, is intact and undiminished. His allegiance to the Hudson Valley is legendary, but he's got a broader attentiveness to place, and he believes my little overdeveloped town whose farms have long given way to development, strip malls, video shacks, and pizza huts is worth loving.

I won't lie: I've been hating Corpus lately. The new year rolled around and the thought of eight more months here depressed me.

So when I read this passage, I wondered: Is it possible for me to choose to love Corpus? Frequently, when I call my mother bitching about this or that (generally my love life), she orders me not to be negative. She claims, swears, that positivity is a habit, a choice you can make. If that's true (and I'm not sure it is), I'd like to like Corpus, for whatever it has to offer.

(In the first Pete Seger high I felt after this paragraph, I envisioned interviewing people and somehow generating a photo essay, ala Houston: It's Worth It, but I've moderated my expectations to suit my laziness and lack of photo skills.)

So I'm asking people what they like and compiling a list. The first answers I got were uninspiring, as they're basically corollaries to Corpus' failure to be a real city: no traffic, easy parking, low rent. And I won't accept things that amuse in that ironic love of badness way, like my daily laugh at the local newspaper or my constant ability to mock the NPR affiliate. But I have to admit that I love a sea breeze, the #1 fan of the local hockey team, and the ready availability of good bbq, seafood and Mexican. So it's a start.

I'll keep you updated.

Seen on America's Next Top Model

The model wearing a t-shirt reading "All you can eat."

Why everyone should read trashy novels (but only about once a year)

Please enjoy these gems from Earthly Joys, the trashy historical novel I just finished about King James' gardener. Everyone knows I'm normally a huge book snob. I admit it. But there is something nice--on occasion--about reading something you can just tear through. But I don't go for any old John Grisham whatever. No, it's gotta be something awesomely bad.

Note:

• On the hot summer mornings he awoke with such a desire to live that he could taste it on his tongue, like lust. See, the thing about a simile is that it makes more concrete an abstract concept. Unfortunately, "desire to live" and "lust" are both abstract nouns. There is no more a literal taste of one than the other, so nothing has been elucidated.
  
• John thought he understood the passionate grief and lust of a woman when she can take a man inside her, and by submitting to him become his mistress.
  
• They kissed, lips lingering, pressing, exploring, drinking from each other's mouths. They struggled against each other like wrestlers fighting, like animals mating... until Buckingham said breathlessly "I can't wait! I want it too much!" and lunged toward John and they tumbled together into the darker world of pain and desire until pain and desire were one and the darkness was complete. (1) Seriously, we're talking about the Duke of Buckingham. (2) I don't want any affairs that I describe as "complete darkness." (3) Let's just relive that moment with the "I can't wait! I want it too much!" Awesome.
  
• Buckingham had been in John's heart, had penetrated deep inside him. Is that meant to be subtle?
  
• (Re: the plague) I have lost my apprentice boy George, whom I have loved like a son. You lost your Boy George? Couldn't the author think of any other way to phrase this sentence? Or any other male name for your boy?
  
• Only the two of them knew that the duke was asking if John was still his and his alone; and John was answering: yes, yes, yes.
  

That is NOT what she said.

It took me a while to accept text messaging as part of my life. Basically, it happened when I got rid of my blackberry and added unlimited text messaging to my phone. Previous, I got charged like a nickel per message, so I wasn't so sanguine about it.¹

Perhaps because I'm a tyro, it's still not so easy for me. But I seriously believe it's not just me, but that that the T9 system is making it harder. Contrary to its stated purpose, it constantly suggests the least plausible word possible.

• Today I attempted "Obviously." (Full context: "Obviously, I was a mess at 3am Saturday morning." But that's another story.) What did T9 fill in? First, it proposed "navigator." Then "mathematics." Do people text these terms frequently? Unlikely.
  
• I attempted "rude." T9 suggested "puerile." As far as I can tell, I'm at the curmudgeonly end of the text messaging spectrum based entirely on my insistence on spelling out "you" and "are" and their variants. Though now that I think about it, I'm dying to respond to the next annoying text I get with "Ur abbreviations r puerile."
  
• T9 took my "recall" and gave me "pebbling." I mean, really--"pebbling"? Is that even a word? I had no idea "pebble" could be used as a verb.
  
• "Sexy" and it suggested "sextant." Now this one is inexcusable. Who on earth ever texts "sextant"? In what context would that come up? "I'll be right there as soon as I navigate by looking at the stars using my sextant?"
  
• "Hoon." As far as I can tell, "hoon" is Dutch for jeer. I can't even begin on that.
  

Why, T9? Why do you torture me so? Are you just hoping to embarrass me someday? Like the way that the spell-checker used to automatically change my last name to "Grenadine"?

¹I'll confess this here, because I have nowhere else. I have an ex-boyfriend with no texting on his cell phone plan. He's been annoying the hell out of me lately and it has been extremely hard to fight my admittedly childish urge to send him mean texts at random intervals. So that he would be paying 5 cents each to read, "You mispronounce 'debaucle'!" or "I'm better-looking than you and everyone knows it." or "I won over all our mutual friends... because I'm just cooler." I will also confess that these are the least vindictive of the messages that have crossed my mind.

I can't see the building next door.

This morning, the public radio announcer described the weather in Corpus Christi as "fairly nice."

Nota Bene: The weather here in CC is neither fair, nor nice, nor even a little of either. It is, to be brief, grey. Neither warm, nor cool, just damp. Foggy, I suppose, but with none of the billowy-ness that gives certain London days an air of intrigue, and even made the fog in Fresno a bit exciting. No, just a lingering greyness.

Well, that's not all that lingers. There also hangs that special Corpus miasma, the sewage smell. I'm informed that the smell comes not from sewage, but from the rotting of a particular kind of seagrass that forms a rare and important aquatic ecosystem. Fine, I like rare acquatic ecosystems as much as the next gal, but that doesn't make it smell any better. It does not, I posit, contribute to making the day "fairly nice."

I read an article in Scientific American in which a scientist confessed that when he thought he'd been emailing a Russian girlfriend/penpal, in fact, his epistilary romance was with an internet chatterbot program. (Interesting article, which you can read here.) He was tipped off when his so-called girlfriend described taking a walk with a friend. The author realized that it was February and -12 Fahrenheit in her part of Russia.

You can see where I'm going with this. I admit, I was fooled for a while. But today's misstep--the description as "fairly nice" can only have been generated by a non-human--has clarified that there are no real people behind KEDT. And I must say, that makes me feel a little better about hating Walter Furley.

This takes all the challenge out of the lemon-eating contests I've been training for.

A berry that makes everything you eat afterwards taste extremely sweet. I don't know what I think of this. I suppose it would make dieting easier?

The Shitzu hits the fan.

Lest you fear that we lack political shenanigans around here... Oh, no.

The mayor of nearby town, Alice, stole a dog. But it's so much better than that. This is not your mom's dog theft, oh no. This one has intrigue, obstruction of justice and identical twins involved:

Friends asked her to dogsit Puddles while they went on vacation. She called them and told them that the dog had died. Weeks later, they saw Puddles being groomed at the local pet store. Upon inquiry, they were told that the mayor had dropped off her dog, renamed Panchito, at the store. The mayor refused to return their calls demanding Puddle/Panchito's return.

Shortly thereafter, the called the police to report that the dog had been stolen. The police searched both houses and found no dog.

When reporters approached the mayor for comment, she claimed that she was not the mayor, but the mayor's identical twin sister, though occassionally she would slip and answer to "Mayor." This pathetically thin subterfuge proved her undoing. Reporters located the ranch of the twin and found Puddles/Panchito.

Sadly, the lawsuits will be in state rather than federal court.

The Corpus Christi Caller Times, as the worst newspaper in the entire history of our nation, failed to provide any original coverage of Puppygate. Because they suck.

Lines I will not be using in a wedding toast this weekend:

The one time I was ever alone with David was a rainy night on Lake Como when Deirdre was in a bitchy mood and wanted to be alone. To be honest, we didn't have much to say to one another, so I was quite relieved when two drunk Irish people stumbled into the bar and interrupted us.

While I don't know David very well, I do know that he's an extremely picky eater. This is probably due to his Irritable Bowel Syndrome. It makes me so pleased that he was able to find Deirdre, one of my very closest friends. May she always slide past his picky palate and never irritate his bowels!

I remember when Deirdre began dating David and confided in me, "I'm way smarter than him, but I really like him anyway."

The only other thing I know about David is that he likes football. This distinguishes him from other Texas men not at all.