OK, I'm doing the 'derby widow' thing. Tickets are $10 presale, and I can Procure them for you. It will be fun, and there will also be beer. It is expected that the event will sell out, so you should not rely on buying tickets at the door. Perhaps we should make this an (e:strip) thing? Perhaps! Slap me a post-it.

(e:dragonlady7) is a Slugger not a Kisser [ain't it the truth] and tickets are also available at Art-N-Body, Carl's Tattoo, Dwyers Pub, Karma Salon & Spa, Mohawk Place, New World Record, and Rainbow Rink.

(MAP TO: 101 OLIVER ST)


- Z

but it's not like I do them on purpose. Since I can't seem to stop doing dumb things, at least it makes life interesting for me and those around me. Mostly me.

When I was in college, Darius and Cracker and I would jam into the pickup in the middle of the night and head out to the God-forsook wilderness outside of Rochester* with out $5 sleds and butt-saucers to careen around Mendon Ponds Park. One time we left so late and stayed out so long that we stopped off at Weggie's on the way back for fresh-fried doughnuts. Good times. It's been a while.

The weather was gorgeous Sunday afternoon - high 20s and sunny - so we picked up some $8 sleds at the hardware store and headed for Chestnut Ridge Park. Aside from some minor annoyances, we had a blast. Sledding is awesome, and I recommend that you do it at least once a year.

however

I totally broke my ass again, and I still can't sit comfortably. Why do I keep breaking my ass on things?

- Z

_______________

• NASA and Cornell University have confirmed that Rochester is coldier than Mars.

ps. New journal music is 'The Thin Ice,' from Luther Wright and the Wrongs Rebuild the Wall - the best concept album of the century. gather:0837886001170127912

OK, so (e:dragonlady7) sent me this link to The Rebelution.com Modesty Survey. The first question, before they even let you register for the survey, is 'How important is modesty to you?'

So I thought, you know, if I see some chick with like a quarter-inch of makeup on and her underwear sticking up over the back of her pants, I think to myself: 'Wow, that chick is totally a hoebag.' And there was this one time when I was in Washington Square Park and there was this Mennonite women's choir singing, and I am not ashamed to say that some of them were super-hot. So I answered '6.'

So they started asking me questions about whether I considered certain parts of women's dress to be 'stumbling blocks.' I am absolutely fashion unconscious, but let's say I meet some chick and she's wearing these big hoopy earrings that look like Claire's overstock from 1992. Even I know that's ridiculous. I would consider that - perhaps not definitive evidence of her complete lack of worth - but it makes me wonder, like, what her deal is. It's something I think about when I should be thinking about what she's saying. A 'stumbling block,' if you will.

Well, here's the thing. I'm a Catholic, with thirteen years of Catholic education behind me. I consider myself to be pretty well-versed in many areas of Christian theology. The term 'stumbling block' is, apparently, standard terminology among some other denominations for 'something women do to make men want to sin, specifically by punching the clown.' This is completely new to me, as I'm pretty sure I was taught that my wang was my own damn responsibility.

Annyway ... I thought 'stumbling block' was bad because I found it unattractive to the point that I couldn't take the woman seriously. They thought 'stumbling block' was bad because I thought it was so attractive I had to run off for a quick game of whack-a-mole. Needless to say, I answered about 20 questions completely wrong - including one where I said I found the picture of frumpy knee-high boots to be a big stumbling block because they reminded me of my sixth-grade math teacher, who was a nun - before (e:dragonlady7) stepped in and told me all about how sometimes when I feel a tingly in my pants that's a stumbling block.

It was really embarassing, because you can't change your answers and I had to write to the admin to reset my survey:

Yeah, I think maybe I need to have my answers reset. 'Cause when you said 'stumbling block,' I thought, 'something that makes me think a particular woman is a hoebag.' I did not realize it meant 'something that makes me want to whack off.'

I would just like to make it clear that large boots in the manner that my sixth-grade math teacher [who was a nun] wore - do not, under any circumstances, make me touch myself.

Thank you.

- Z

A local CD duplication services is sponsoring our Battle of the Bands [as they did last round, fair play to 'em]. They're the only sponsor to come back from last time, and it's great that they're supporting the local music scene.

However, for the last three workdays, I have been trying to figure out why this guy can't see his sponsor logo on our website. He is using Netscape 7. My usual response in such cases ['perhaps you should stick to web browsers produced by organizations that still exist'] will not work, because of course, Dude is giving us like $500 worth of merch to give away.

So we've been going back and forth - me tweaking things, he saying it still doesn't show up. And I know he's getting nervous. And it's not making my job any easier knowing that he's getting nervous.

Turns out that the problem is:

He's got ad blocking software running.

- Z

As long as everyone's sharing their weird dreams...

So (e:dragonlady7) and I moved to California so that she could go to school there. Things worked out well, because my sister had just moved out of her old apartment and worked a deal with the landlord letting me move in. The house was a gorgeous big Victorian thing [the kind that doesn't actually exist in California anywhere] and my sister was renting the first floor; the landlord lived upstairs. The house was divided after it was built, so some rooms belonged to us, some rooms belonged to the landlord, and some doors were not intended to be opened. Furthermore, my sister had not moved out completely, so you couldn't tell who owned what just by looking at which rooms were still furnished. Specifically, she had left all her books with instructions to sell or recycle them all, along with some nice furniture.

My mom was kind enough to come down with us to help us move in. She left a little after (e:dragonlady7) went to her first day of school, and she left us her geriatric dog and cat to take care of. [This had not been discussed, but it's difficult to turn your back on sad beagly eyes. (e:dragonlady7) was likely to flip her lid, but she, too, would have to face down the beagly eyes.] Since I didn't have a job lined up yet, I was on move-in duty, and I spent most of the day inside, getting used to my new surroundings. That's always a weird feeling, getting comfortable in a place that is, technically speaking, your Home, even though you've never seen it before in your life and it's 3000 miles from anything you consider to be familiar. But things were going well.

...until the afternoon, when I heard a knock on my front door. I opened the door, and the guy on the other side stared at me in bewilderment: "Who are you?" I stared back in bewilderment: "Who are you?" Turns out he owns the place, and I answered his front door by accident. He was a pretty nice guy, relatively friendly, but he was the kind of guy who secretly judges you. He won't say anything bad to you or call you out on anything, but that doesn't stop him from judging you. Mom's beagle was happy to see him. He did not seem to be as happy to see the beagle, not that he would say anything. He also seemed to take exception that (e:dragonlady7) and I were living in sin in his house, far be it for him to say anything.

But that was the first time that I realized that we didn't really have full run of the first floor. In fact, there was a large anteroom in front of the house that I began to doubt was ours. It was separated from the rest of the first floor by a number of large, wooden doors that made a lot of noise - so when (e:dragonlady7) came home from school later and started thumping around in the anteroom, I was sure that the owner could hear that's where she was and just knew that she was going through his stuff - not that it's any of his business.

(e:dragonlady7) was less bugged out about the cat and dog than I had expected, but we eventually realized that they needed to be fed, and we didn't have any pet food. I had a mild case of agoraphobia in that I hadn't left the house at all yet, and I didn't really know where the pet store was, and also Californians drive like crazy people.

That's when I woke up, twenty minutes after I should have.

- Z

[This entry was edited for various obvious reasons.]

This chick is so foxy I wish I'd sold her Windows 386.
(SORRY GOOGLE VIDEO IS NO LONGER AVAILABLE. LINK WAS 4915875929930836239)

But he doesn't stand a chance once she meets this guy.
(SORRY GOOGLE VIDEO IS NO LONGER AVAILABLE. LINK WAS 4528224696516614147)

- Z

OK, some of you chemical-heads were probably wondering about the absinthe (e:zobar,130) so - inspired by (e:joshua) 's beer reviews - here goes. We cracked open the bottle on my birthday, and though I tried to pay attention, things started getting hazy after about half a glass.

Let's get the FAQs out of the way first: if you think thujone is going to take you Higher, you're better off picking up a loaf of sage bread at Weggies. If all you want is to get tanked, you'll get just as twisted with a mason jar of Shine On Georgia Moon.

For the rest of you who are still reading: absinthe is weird, man. It isn't like anything else I have ever drunk, and I drink some pretty weird shit (WIKIPEDIA - Balzam).

Nouvelle-Orleans
Jade Distillery, France
68% ABV (136 Proof)

Uncork The people at Jade pride themselves on historical accuracy; accordingly, their absinthe is corked and waxed. It's a nice touch, but I destroyed the cork and had to go through great pains to avoid getting wax chips in the booze.

Whiff Smells great right out of the bottle. Gentle anise aroma backed with a full complement of herbs. Life would be so much better if we could replace all the crappy scented candles and air fresheners in the world with open bottles of absinthe.

Prepare This is the fun part. [Please note: dilution is not optional, although with better absinthes, sugar is.] If you haven't got any absinthiana (WIKIPEDIA - Absinthiana), a small [4oz] wine glass and a slotted bar strainer will work ok. Pour one ounce of absinthe in the glass, put the strainer on top and put a sugar cube on the strainer. Slowly drip ice water over the sugar cube. Watch the absinthe. This is cool: as you add water, the anethole [anise oil, also present in fennel] comes out of solution and turns the drink from a transparent chlorophyll green to opaque yellowish white. After the sugar has dissolved and you've added 3-4oz water, you're ready to drink.

Sip Sip gently and enjoy the aroma all up in your head. The flavor is much milder than you might expect, and only faintly reminiscent of the bottle aroma. It's anisy and herbal, but not at all like Grandma's pizzelles. Despite the water and sugar, it's neither watery nor syrupy; rather it's a bit oily like heavy cream, and not particularly sweet.

Freak out Since you've cut the absinthe 3:1 with water it's down to about 34 proof [comparable with Irish cream] - but those four ounces are going to take you to different places. You're not high; you're not lucid - you're drunk as a skunk, and you're not even fooling yourself. Furthermore, by the time you're halfway through your glass, your tongue is numb from the alcohol and anethole. I spaced right the Hell out and only rejoined society at great length.

- Z

Within my extended family, we do a Secret Santa gift exchange. Some time ago, someone decided it would be fun to add in a gift wrapping competition as well, with the winner receiving a small bottle of booze and bragging rights. The entries became more and more elaborate and insane and eventually we decided to make it harder by restricting entries to a theme. That also became too easy, so this year we also had to assemble the gifts in under two hours, using only items from a community chest of crafty detritus. And so:

Missing Image ;(

"Wheel of Fortune" to my mom, "the queen." Vanna White is a yellow Lego spaceman with packing krinkles glued to her head. Second place.


"The Latvian Gambit," a fully functional chess set with pieces made from wine corks, pom-poms, buttons, paper egg carton cups, packing peanuts, and pistachios. Third place (tie).


"Top O' the World," a ferris wheel with riders made from clothes pegs, champagne corks, and hair rollers with pom-poms.


"Whack-A-Mime," a functional whack-a-mole type game. Third place (tie).


"Maris In Motion," a charade game. Before the gift was open, we each had to perform Unmarislike tasks in a Marislike fashion.


"Very Beary," using teddy bears from around the house.

"Les's Fun Park," an entire amusement park with free-fall ride, house of mirrors, and functional ferris wheel. First place (no picture yet).

"Christmas Tree," with packing bean snow. (No picture yet.)

- Z