Fashion Police

Dear Kitty Winn,

Is thong underwear ever suitable for a man?

-anonymous, via internet

Dear Anonathong,

No. No. No.

And No.

Hyper-spanning fabric tucked between a man's buttocks is something no man or woman wants to see, even if he is in prime physical condition. Which most of you are not. In the worst cases we must picture the sagging, sallow, or thin pancake variety of bottom with this unholy cloth divider. It stares us down like a highway's no passing lane. Out of the question! Nor do we want our lover's lovely giblets lazing in a hammock. We want them housed carefully, as though they might be worth something someday.

Crucial as these considerations are, I must return to your question, which does not specifically inquire about the appeal of this offensive undergarment. You ask if they are ever suitable. And there are exceptions, ninety-nine percent of which have to do with gay male pornography. Kitty is at a loss to explain this, the whys and wherefores of gay porn not really being my area of expertise. The remaining cases are as follows:

1. You are a Sumo Wrestler (technically, not a thong, but the aesthetic result is much the same)
2. You never ever ever want intimacy to progress beyond the moment this ghastly sheath is unveiled from your trousers.

There can be no two opinions on this point!

-Kitty Winn

Posted 1:07 PM by Lambchop

Die Reise durch das Vaterland






I was in a medieval town called Quedlinburg, near the Harz Mountains. It was beautiful there, not being so much of a giant dollhouse as other towns I visited. There were many tastefully restored buildings, standing next to those that were crumbling.
xo

Posted 9:29 AM by Lambchop

Trading dungeons

Lambchop: french is dope
Licketysplit: giga cool
Lambchop: oh my, we truly are damned
Lambchop: we are headed straight for a fiery pit
Licketysplit: yipes: http://www.boston.com/dailynews/118/region/City_finds_dozens_of_dead_cats:.shtml
Licketysplit: a posh fiery pit at least
Lambchop: to be assaulted by satan's little wizards who offer us champagne that is a little "flat"
Lambchop: ACK!
Licketysplit: if you were going to rent an apartment for nefarious purposes, why not pick a more reasonably priced neighborhood??
Lambchop: is there a market for dead cats?
Licketysplit: perhaps!
Lambchop: some great boon in dead cat futures we were not aware of?
Licketysplit: the tv news last night said they suspected this was experimentation to breed a better show persian
Lambchop: YIKES!
Lambchop: I thought healthy, live animals generally entered those things
Lambchop: but its nice that they give an equal shot to those stinking and decaying
Licketysplit: at least *I* still have a chance!
Lambchop: after all, when I am a gaseous soup in my coffin, I would hate to think I can no longer be on TV!
Lambchop: you and I simply MUST have a talk show from the grave!
Licketysplit: ho ho, i will make sure your urn is polished to a fare-thee-well
Lambchop: awww, after you lovingly pile my dusty remnants in there- no pyre necessary!
Licketysplit: "my career was going so well, until my stinking hellhole of a cat tomb was discovered!"
Lambchop: her Makeshift Chamber of Horrors!
Licketysplit: "It'll do in a pinch!"
Lambchop: i am sure she is rueing the corners she cut in the design of her chamber of horrors!
Lambchop: do you suppose they assist you in such matters at the Home Depot?
Licketysplit: "I am looking to construct a chamber of horrors, but not a shoddy one."
Lambchop: "I need real know-how about the proper installation of duct tape, heavy plastic sheeting, burlap and sturdy rope."
Licketysplit: "where are your higher quality trap door mechanisms?"
Lambchop: "how do i insure these meathooks will not rust or flake?"
Licketysplit: "i am looking for drainage!"
Lambchop: "i require adequate storage and composting!"
Licketysplit: "ventilation is a must, but i am concerned about sound"
Lambchop: "how can I construct a crawlspace that will really stand up to the test of time?"
Lambchop: hee, i was imagining us having a real DIY guy on our show, telling us in his dry workaday way how to build this stuff
Lambchop: that guy from this old house would do anything for a few shekels!
Lambchop: we would be handling weatherproofing and sealants and nodding sagely!
Lambchop: interrupting at just the right moments with penetrating questions like "how will this affect the health of my family? For example, a mother living in the attic"

Posted 4:31 PM by Licketysplit

Moo to Youuuu!



I have finally returned from the wilds of western Germany. I journeyed through the Harz mountains and medieval villages, castle ruins and decaying factories on the Elbe. I toured the countryside of the Westerwald, and ate too much cake. I visited Dessau, the playground of Walter Gropius and Mies van der Rohe. Bauhaus-o-rama! Like any traveller, I must sit here with my sunburn and gin and tonic, boring you all with some pictures of my vacation.

xo

Posted 10:52 AM by Lambchop

I'd like to thank the academy

Dear Kitty Winn,
In a few weeks I'll be graduating from college. Normally, I skip tiresome ceremonies, but my own dear
school has sweetened the pot by offering a nice cash prize to the graduating senior with "the best literary
instincts." Naturally, the winner is announced at the very end of graduation, so there's no sneaking out the back if one doesn't get it.
It's a small class, and while I'm no Eudora Welty, I've written a thing or two in my day, and there's maybe a
20% chance I'll win. Every year, camera crews descend on the winner. Mostly, they're from no-account local papers, but depending on what else is going on in the world that day, wire services and sometimes even TV networks pick up the story. I'm nervous, Kitty. I've never dealt with the papparazzi before. Please give me some pointers on how to display a heartfelt and photogenic reaction to good news, should
I receive it.

-Inkstained and eager on the Eastern Shore.

Dear Eager Beaver,

Kitty has cracked this nut wide open: you must repeat to yourself "What would Anna Wintour do?" Make sure you get your hair blown out, and wear large dark glasses. That way, even if you have to fake a smile, no one will see that the muscles around your eyes are not crinkling appropriately. And really, even if one is overjoyed, why court premature aging?

Kitty assumes that wardrobe is not an issue because you will be wearing some sort of cap and gown ensemble? In that case, focus on selecting a good pair of shoes. If they are open-toed, be sure to get a pedicure. Of course you will want a manicure, the better to grasp your oversized novelty check. You'll want to wear a spot of makeup, to look fresh and vibrant, baptized with the dew of youth. But too much makeup could indicate you whorishly slept your way to the prize! Remove the foolish hat before being photographed.

Take a lesson from the recent Nicole Kidman Oscar speech fumbling: prepare a few gracious remarks in advance. Something along the lines of "I lead a charmed life, this is to be expected." Or "I always knew I was better than everyone else; vindication, at last!"

All kidding aside, it is sometimes a good ruse to pretend to be choked up. You can dab daintily at imaginary tears, press your palm to your chest, and whisper "I am so touched! Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart. This award truly belongs to all of my fellow contenders, who inspired me greatly." Note that you should not actually give them a damn cent. Also, don't forget to thank the faculty, unless you've already paid them off. Should the press continue to hound you, you must smile wanly and say "Thank you again for your kind interest, but I must celebrate with my family now." Your family will want to dump a cooler of literary Gatorade on you at that time. This could affect your blow out, but could make for a good human interest shot.

In case you don't win, the pressure is still not off! Try not to let your face freeze into a rictus of horror at whatever illiterate cretin is selected. This is also where the dark glasses come in handy. You'll want to give an awkward little hug. Again, don't waste an eye crinkle on this person.

Finally, you will want to review Kitty's Victim Tribute Photo Tips:

Kitty suggest a 3/4 view for a head shot, as it is most flattering. You should also tip your chin down, while tightening the muscles beneath it, and look upward just a bit — never directly at the camera. Kitty learned this from Princess Di, and it never fails.

Onwards and upwards,
-Kitty

Posted 1:49 PM by Licketysplit

lost and found

Royal Journal is a super thing to read on a Friday. There are new items, and a new design since last I looked. This is probably the creepiest item.

-xxoo

Posted 2:09 PM by Licketysplit

Swiss hit-or-miss

Dear Kitty Winn,

The first question is, why does the hot cocoa making vending machine in my new office keep kicking me in the nuts? Every time I get a hot cocoa there's a good chance it's waterier than American beer. Today it almost fucked me by flipping the cup on it's side and pouring the contents all over the machine. I caught the cup in time.

My second question is, why do I keep using the hot cocoa vending machine when it continually kicks me in the nuts?

Perhaps this is a question that only Charlie Brown can answer.

-Hot for hot chocolate

Dear Hot Chocolate,

Kitty Winn believes in miracles! Charlie Brown is unavailable, but you have come to the right place for 5 cent advice. This problem, while seemingly insurmountable, has a very simple solution.

As to your first inquiry, are you always so very paranoid? Kitty is sure the contraption bears you no personal malice. As to the second, you keep coming back because you want the hot chocolate. Hot chocolate, in theory, is delicious! There is no shame in having desires.

So the temptation to fiddle with that wretched mechanical beast is understandable, but just remember that you are better than that. There are people to do that sort of thing, and they ain?t you, babe. Do everyone a favor, and have your bête noire hauled off to the scrap heap. Thus and only thus will you break the cycle of destructive behavior.

Then have someone else prepare and deliver the hot chocolate to you. What sounds better, a kick in the nuts, or a nice frothy cup of cocoa, made with buttery hormone-free milk and rich Ghiradelli shavings? Perhaps you fancy a cinnamon stick or a dollop of sweetened whipped cream to go with that? Does your office not have an office boy? If there is no intern or other such lackey, perhaps you can intimidate one of the weaker-willed employees to do your bidding. You will recline, feet up on your desk, tugging your suspenders like a fiend, while some would-be hausfrau scalds some milk in the kitchen, feverishly melting the chocolate to your liking.

As for the poor quality of American beer, Kitty can?t help you there. Kitty only drinks champagne. The rumors of her nail polish remover consumption are highly exaggerated. Well, once Kitty drank a Belgian ale called Delirium, and she ended up without her knickers. These things happen, and no photographs survive.

Properly dressed,
-Kitty

Posted 2:03 PM by Licketysplit

La nature porte toujours les couleurs de l'esprit.



Je joue un air épouvantable de la cruauté de la nature.

(I play a frightful tune of the cruelty of nature.)

Posted 7:07 PM by Licketysplit

The stars at night are big and bright

Today's theme: piddly celebrity encounters! It is partially inspired by the new Gawker Stalker column, and partially because I was just talking about Cher. And someone rightly pointed out that I've met Cher! I used to work at Tower Records during school, which afforded me access to such luminaries as Cher, Ozzy, and...Joe Jackson. Oh wait, and Jay-Z. He was rather confident. His visit meant hearing "Hard Knock Life" approximately 13,000 times, in a loop. His fan base was a bit shifty, as more units disappeared mysteriously than were sold and autographed.

Cher was promoting her memoirs. I had to stack a gigantic pyramid of them, beneath a Chairman Mao-sized soft-focus portrait of her. She was demure, wore a purple streaked wig, and was mobbed by men in hot pants who stood in line for a very long time. She also graciously received the gift of a fruit platter.

Ozzy was just shopping with a small entourage. This was back in 1999, and no one cared about Ozzy then. In fact we all thought he was some deinstitutionalized psychotic, until I noticed his knuckle tattoos. He was peeved because we didn't have the Monty Python DVD he was after.

Also, I saw Ellen Degeneres leaving Nobu in New York, and I saw Nick Cave purchase a Yoo-hoo after a show in Boston.

Another time I put on dark glasses and stormed through LAX while my friend ran ahead of me, jumped out of the crowd, and snapped my photo, yelling "Over here, over here!" It was a long delay.

But other people's celebrity encounters are always better than mine. For instance, a friend has seen Douglas Coupland eat a cheeseburger! I would have swatted it out of his hands. After that last stinkeroo of a novel, some fasting for atonement is in order. Clearly she has more restraint than I do. She also met David Sedaris, who told her that her nicotine patch was "disgusting" and that he'd rather smoke. And she had a chance to club Dave Eggers to death with a skullcracking work of 485 pages, but she didn't do that either. I say opportunity only knocks once. I still rue the day I didn't kill Carrot Top. Among others....

In beautiful people, another friend had a class at NYU with Christy Turlington. Still another person used to always wait on Gwyneth at a coffee shop. Gosh, I have a lot of friends!

Last and probably least, I sat next to Creed and some hangers-on in a euro-trash bar at Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas. I would rather meet Richard Simmons I think. Or Siegfried and Roy.

-xxoo

Posted 6:47 PM by Licketysplit

Dah-ling I love you but give me Park Avenue

I am reading my sister's telenovela, and it's coming right along. There is a mustachioed villain, who ties a poor orphan to some railroad tracks, and then there is a guest appearance by Cher, who teams up with yet another orphan to save the day. I wish all those things I just said were true. Actually, it's a lot of thinly-veiled autobiographical material. I think I am the the fussy older sister, except I don't fucking shop at Target. And I don't power-walk with little ankle weights, I do Pilates! And I get a double shot-tay. Please add more yuppie striving! Yes, I'm very satisfied.

Anyway, we are on an unbearable memory lane promenade. So much of what she's brought up is simply horrifying. For instance, she reminded me of all the gaping voids in my cultural knowledge. We didn't have a TV until I was at least 8, maybe 9. Compound that with being home schooled until the age of 12 (breastfed until 3!), and you have a real freak on your hands. Lately I've been thinking of taking up sharpshooting for fun.

But when the TV did finally arrive, on a faux wood finish rolly cart, I rightly set out to cram as much pop culture as possible. I knew they were holding me back with their crunchy weirdness. Our mother and father had this delusion that we were only going to watch educational programs. There was much squalling and complaining, so they amended that to include anything they'd already seen that they knew wasn't "insolent." They last had a TV in about 1975, before their crazy "drop out of society" experiment of 1976-1986. So that meant I could watch all the Bewitched, Green Acres, and I Dream of Jeanie that I wanted. All fine, parentally approved stereotypes. "Oh Master!"

Insolence, if you were wondering, included Charles in Charge, Growing Pains, The Facts of Life, and so much more. Also objectionable: Alvin and the Chipmunks, because of their whiny little voices. What were these people thinking? I ask myself that to this day. If you ask them that very question, there is confused blinking, as if you are shining a painful light directly on them. At least they finally allowed that the Golden Girls was a pretty great show. For some reason, Small Wonder, with the robot daughter, was also OK. Then my mother eventually became hooked on Fresh Prince of Bel-Air reruns. She would tape it so she could fast foward through the commercials. She became so wrapped up in the character that when we told her that she might like to see Six Degrees of Separation, she jumped at the chance. But then after she saw it, she was nonplussed: "MY Will would never do those things!"

What was I saying about shooting?

Posted 5:02 PM by Licketysplit

The creaky yoke of living

Licketysplit here, still plodding along without Lambchop. It is so lonely in the solarium without you, boddyyy! I am reduced to trying to teach this pleasing red rubber ball to play Baccarat with me. Steele did send a digital momento of their vacation so far, but it was a bit indecent. Well, if you consider the statue of David indecent. But for God and country and Ashcroft, I shall not display it. We do not traffic in the base emotions of the flesh.

Melvin has been champing at the bit for more column space, so we finally gave him our blessing (not that Melvin needs it), and he can now be found at a more suitable home. Do drop in on his new LiveJournal. Pace around, make yourself at home. He will summon his manservant, and you will share a fiery digestive.

In other strange developments, people have started asking Melvin for advice! Kitty Winn is livid. She threw a princess telephone at my head when I told her the news, and tried to stab me with the matching engraved dialer. Melvin does not deign to solve anyone's problems. He has advised that in general he feels humankind is a wretched burden. Did you really think a well-heeled nihilist beagle would be of much service in matters of the heart? Cease and desist, Kitty Winn is the only one around here who is cut out for meddling. Seriously, she is threatening to quaff an entire bottle of nail polish remover if she doesn't get some suitable letters soon.

I actually have a Kitty Winn-worthy problem, but I am not quite ready to share. The tightness in my chest is too great, the problem too monumental. Today I took to the couch and watched obscenely fit people trot by in the marathon. That just made me feel out of shape. So I took a nap. This problem is not existential in nature, I don't really get those anymore since I sprayed the Angst-B-Gone around the mailbox and front walk. It is related to family, not even officially mine yet. I will just take great comfort in knowing that my own family is superb in every way. The only thing that gave me cheer all day was reading my sister's account of the Cadbury Mini Horse Attack. Really, you should read it. There is dismemberment.

-xxoo

Posted 8:04 PM by Licketysplit

Viewer outrage



Oh readers, what a discombobulating day. Our Lambchop is off touring through Bavaria with Steele for the Easter holidays. She doesn't know this, but Steele took me into strict confidence and mentioned they will be visiting a few realtors to shop for a castle! He is eager to find one with a suitable balcony for Lambchop to let down her tresses, the rosy gloaming delicately highlighting her cheekbones.

In other news, I am stuck in Boston for the duration of Jesus' rising, making a valiant go at starting my morning the way normal people do: watching the Today show and drinking a medium regular from Dunkin' Donuts. But I was ASSAULTED, yes ASSAULTED, by a Lamisil ad that features a maniacal newt-like critter wreaking havoc with an unsuspecting toe. You think that flip-top head in the toothbrush commercial of recent years was bad? Try the trap-door toenail! Dear God. Foot care is near and dear to my own heart, but this, this is crossing the line of propriety!

See my letter to Lamisil, sent via their website. If you have seen this ad and are similarly concerned, do not be shy: let them know!
>
Dear Lamisil:

Just saw the Lamisil TV ad with the gremlin character flipping up the cartoon toenail and running under it to munch on the nail bed and otherwise root around like a pig under a blanket. I almost spat out my coffee. That is absolutely disgusting! I found myself clutching my own toes, howling in distress, til the end of the ad. I never want to see that ad again. While I'm sure nail fungus is painful and your product no doubt effective, why do I, a fungus-free individual, need to see this graphic imagery during my breakfast?

Please stop running this ad!

-yours, Lickety

>
Now I'm off to shiver in a darkened room.

-xxoo

Posted 9:29 AM by Licketysplit

O Putréfaction



Les bains de soufre de l'Islande ont épuré mon corps, mais mon âme se décompose toujours puer, faible et shriveled.

The sulfur baths of Iceland purified my body, but my soul still rots- stinking weak, and shriveled.

Posted 5:48 PM by Lambchop

Anchors Aweigh!

To those of you who just tuned in, Dan Savage left our Lambchop in the lurch on a very important intimate matter. But David has come to the rescue. I am reprinting the entirety of the correspondence, which contains a letter within a letter with a letter. As you are all so gosh darned clever, I am sure you can sort through it to get to the Naughty Bits:

"Honestly, I cannot leave you people for a moment. I take one little trip to Arizona to watch my boyfriend get inducted into his high school's Distinguished Alumni Hall of Fame, and everything goes to pieces.

Here is the sort of thing you were up to while my back was turned:

Dear David,

I must tax you again for your opinion. You see, I wrote Dan Savage ages ago and even asked very nicely a second time, to no avail. I don't want to plague Dan with some kind of Marathon Man reenactment "Is it safe?...Is it safe?", so I turn to you for help:

"My friend wants to put me in an empty bathtub and pour bottle after bottle of champagne over me. To which I would happily consent, but I fear injury to my tender bits when sitting in all that alcohol. And though I hate to repeat unsubstantiated lore, I even heard *somewhere* that Natalie Wood ended up in a hospital after springing into just such a cocktail.

So help a young floozy out?is this risky business or can we pop our corks and have at it?"

-lambchop

David responds:

Good lord, I hope my mother is not reading this one.

All right, all right. As you might have suspected, the female anatomy is not something with which I am intimately familiar, so even though I was in the throes of agony recovering from severe dehydration and dashing off my taxes at the last possible moment, I took the time to consult with not one but two physicians on your behalf.

One, a gynecologist, said that nothing should go dramatically wrong, although the alcohol in the champagne might kill some of the beneficial bacteria in your vagina, resulting in a yeast infection. The other doctor said that the bath probably would not cause any harm, but she warns against getting up to any funny business with the bottle, as there have been cases of such things "becoming trapped due to the suction effect."

So pop your cork, floozy. Christen the ship of love. But if anything unforeseen should occur (Natalie Wood did drown under mysterious circumstances), I trust you will tell the authorities you got this advice from the much put-upon Dan Savage and leave me out of it. "

Well now, gentle reader, Vomitola has done its part! I bid you all smooth sailing!

xo

Posted 5:08 PM by Lambchop

Par-delà bien et mal



Je suis tout à fait peu familier avec le sentiment d'être sinful.

(I am quite unfamiliar with the feeling of "sinfulness.")

Posted 1:24 PM by Licketysplit

I'd rather be a hammer than get nailed



This might just be the last of the beaten and bandaged figures. Hell, it's spring- perhaps I will move on to amputees.

xo

Posted 6:48 AM by Lambchop

International man of malaise

Ah Melvin, that callous libertine. A lovable scamp with a heart of arsenic. He's wormed his way into the filthy, undeserving hearts of quite a few readers, that's for sure. Just know that he will always loathe you, no matter how much affection you heap at his well-manicured feet. Please feast your eyes on the new Galerie de Melvin, permanently located in the side bar.

Speaking of manicures, sandal season is upon us. Ladies and Gentlemen, start your pedicures! For the love of all that is right and good, pumice. Seek professional help as needed. But do not take your grooming to the extreme, I don't want to see any more nail clipping on the subway.

xxoo

Posted 11:30 PM by Licketysplit

L'air de enfer est trop épais pour des hymnes



Mon athéisme n'est plus toléré par les villageois ignorants.

(My atheism is no longer tolerated by the ignorant villagers.)

Posted 7:04 AM by Lambchop

Je pleure



Mon père était un maître brutal. Mais même sa rossée plus douloureuse était un sursis bienvenu des pensées de ma propre mortalité.

(My father was a brutal schoolmaster. But even his most painful thrashing was a welcome respite from thoughts of my own mortality.)

Posted 3:46 PM by Licketysplit

O heavenly day

After a few false starts, including attending a baby shower, some hard labor, and a bout of parasitic attack, I am finally quite satisfied. I shared a Mexican chocolate crème brulée from The Indepedent. I wish I could say I insouciantly cracked the sugar layer with a tea spoon. But the excavation was more in the manner of Mike Mulligan and his amazing steam shovel. You will pardon me. It was delicious!

xxoo

p.s. Do try The Indepedent if you haven't already. The chef may send out tasty free tidbits. You can't go wrong with the specials. But here's hoping it doesn't get so popular that I can't get a damn table. Self-interest!

Posted 10:05 PM by Licketysplit

Chaque jour est silencieux et gris



Je suis le Ténébreux- le Veuf- l'Inconsolé

(I am the dark one- the widower- unconsoled)

Posted 11:48 AM by Lambchop

L'État de siège



Dans exile de mon royaume.

(In exile from my kingdom.)

Posted 1:27 PM by Licketysplit

A good egg

Alton Brown has helped me make this quiz, fraught with existential panic:

Which egg grade are you?

AA - Really perky
A - Just a bit older
B - When twirled in front of the light, it is obvious that the white has broken down

Aiyeee! This morning I'm feeling like a solid B. I have an altogether odious task to complete today, so odious that I will put off doing my hair until it is finished, lest my coiff be ruined in the process. I can't detail it further, for they are watching.

xxoo

Posted 1:18 PM by Licketysplit

No, dear Lickety, Boston is indeed unlucky when you leave the house wearing pants!

xo

Posted 7:39 PM by Lambchop

Looks Good Feels Good Too

So last night I went to the big rock show. You should go if you have the chance. My two companions did not know that there would be performance art! And not so sexy, sexy dancing. It was a treat, really. The most hilarious thing I've seen in a long time. The star spangled finish was top notch. As Aaron pointed out, getting an audience in Boston to give a shit is really a feat. There was fake blood, and spitting "champagne" onto the front row. We sensibly made for the tree line and stayed neat as a pin in the balcony.

And perhaps best of all, I got a chance to spy all my favorite members of Club Ugly Boston. Yes, I saw g-l-a-m-b-o-y. And p-u-r-p. Although at first I thought it was Mitzi. And Pizza Hat. What luck! Nothing against any of these folks, should you be one of those named who just happens to be googling for your self-appointed moniker. Their sheer tenacity in maintaining their look over the years is laudable. Eccentricity makes the world go round, right? And there's nothing as amusing as telling unbelieving companions, "No, I swear, that's not a chick." I kept thinking "If only Heather were here!"

There was also a whole slew of hipsters. Ironic hair and denim tuxedos abounded. Chicks in big belts and kitten heels. Good for them. I didn't even put on makeup. Gone are the days where "getting ready for a show" involved six wardrobe changes, a pound of eyeliner, and a crying jag. Now Boston is lucky if I'm wearing pants when I leave the house.

xxoo

Posted 2:30 PM by Licketysplit

faire l'amour, c'est faire le mal



Je nais!

(I am born!)

Posted 9:00 AM by Lambchop

So jung kommen wir nicht mehr zusammen

I just learned today that a girl with whom I went to undergrad at Boston University has died. At 27, she was briefly ill and that was it. In digging out my memories of her (they are few, we were simply classmates in the core art program of a large university), I am amused by the great sense of self-importance that fills the mind and fuels the debates of young art students. It seems so comical now the way I roundly abused this girl for painting a still life of a toilet without providing a reason, some meaning or purpose, that we should have to look at it. "Why?!", I shouted, "why should we care?!" I was a quivering ball of contempt and sincerity. The others were mainly coolly talented, and relentlessly pretentious. But not Jackie, painter of toilets. She was scatterbrained and cool enough not to pay attention to anyone, and take art school on the chin.

The last time I saw her was about a year after graduation. She was leaving Boston, going to study graphic design, like me making the rounds of shitty jobs, dizzy and chatty like always on a sunny day in Kenmore Square. We said goodbye.

Posted 8:22 AM by Lambchop

Contes de la jeunesse de Melvin



N'importe quel un de ces putains a pu être ma mère.

(Any one of these whores could be my mother.)

Posted 5:48 PM by Licketysplit

WTF?

''Freedom's taste is unquenchable," said White House spokesman Ari Fleischer. Via CNN.

That really makes very little sense. And it sounds like a job for Gatorade. "Freedom's taste is impossible to slake or satisfy." Huh? "Freedom's taste is impossible to suppress or destroy." We're getting closer, but still...whatta maroon. Yes, I know what he means. I think.

Aaron put me on to this, which is some truly hilarious Fleischer-baiting.

He goes on to say: "You're seeing what you see in mankind everywhere, given a chance to be free.'' Yes, looting! Huzzah! I could use some gaudy gilded urns, or perhaps a washing machine. Or a hydrofoil, if I really push my luck.

Posted 4:40 PM by Licketysplit

A loosely connected series of topics only interesting to me
-or-
I wish I had a miniature secret camera


There, you can't say you were not warned. First, I am posting a photo of my hair, as quite a few readers were very concerned to see the results of my highlights. I can assure you the results are most subtle indeed. I believe that this technique ceases to be known as highlights when jarring stripes of contrasting color are observed. Then it becomes something else indeed; I have a few names for it myself.

Yesterday saw the completion of an errand under some duress. In the interest of returning to work in a timely fashion, I stopped at McDonald's and got a Happy Meal. As I was walking to my destination, I approached a very large young lady coming my way on the sidewalk. Not to offend any pleasingly voluptuous readers, but she was of the build where her head looks startlingly small in the context of sitting on top of her body. Arms could not be placed comfortably at the sides. In other words, freaking humongous. She started veering towards me, and she was definitely eyeing my paper sack.

I thought "Oh crap, she's going to ask me for money," but instead she gestured towards the bag and asked "Where is the McDonald's where you got that at?" Phew, off the hook!

"It is back about two blocks that way."

"JEEZ," she sighed, "that far?"

I thought about just giving her my bag and running away, really fast. Fast enough to get to my target heart rate!

In other news, I've decided my true career calling lies with the CIA. Here's their list of open positions. Of course I'm most attracted to Clandestine Service, but I fear I would not pass the background check necessary to get a security clearance. Also, I do not speak Korean, and they seem to be pretty hot on that. Wonder what manipulation of international policy we'll be embarking on next as a nation?

Really, though, you'd think lying, cheating, and stealing would be what would qualify me for the job. That, and I've never been caught doing anything bad. I was always the sneaky one. My sister would tattle on herself when we were kids. But no amount of cajoling would ever induce me to release incriminating details. The secret to lying is to lie big. And you must believe your own lie and be able to produce genuine indignation if your story is ever challenged. But I suppose there is a down side to CIA life. For one, I'd have to live close to NoVa when I'm not off poisoning people with asps in backwards nations. And the traffic in Northern Virginia just blows. Still, they do get plenty of sick time, and there is access to two gyms. Sweet.

Anyway, by linking to those pages, I'm sure I've put myself under tight scrutiny and will definitely not get a clearance now. Dammit. I swear I would be really, really good at the job. Call me, you should know how to find me!

Posted 1:36 PM by Licketysplit

L'Invitation au Voyage



Je m'inquiète pas si vous vivez ou mourez. Je m'inquiète seulement de la vitesse de mon roadster.

(I care not whether you live or die. I care only for the speed of my roadster.)

Posted 10:36 AM by Lambchop

The Forceps Is Introduced

Do you like songs about dental practice and the "Impossible Dream" of a well-made shirt? Do you love Telly Savalas? Thats only the beginning, kats and kittens. It's all in Here.

My pal j.o.writes "I think my favorites might be Tableau of a Bladder Operation or 1966 American Lung Association Flu Jingle, but really they all have a special place in my heart." Thanks j.o.!

Linoleum!

smooch

Posted 7:04 AM by Lambchop

¿Donde está la biblioteca?

Dear Kitty Winn,

I am in a terrible fix. As the full time Resident Assistant of my college's International Dorm I run into many odd but entertaining problems day and night. From Latin Boy Makeout Parties to language barriers, the work never ends and the laughs never cease.

I am having a bit of a problem with the Spanish speaking boys whom I refer to (in my head of course) as Team Don Juan. They seem to wish to dance the 'merengue' at the oddest times in the night, blasting their latin beats to a truly earshattering level. I have spoken to them in English, and am considering Spanish, as they nod and make hand motions symbolizing that they understand my displeasure but do not turn down the music.

The 'Freedom Assistant' lives below the fellow with the most merengue in his blood and suffers enormously from not only merengue but also the incessant repetition of the Rolling Stones' 'Start Me Up'. She claims to have not slept in 26 days and refuses to make croissants for us until this is solved.

As I detest being a nasty spoilsport, I don't want to start handing out noise violations like tacos on Mexican Appreciation Day. Please advise me on how to turn down their mojo and music in a UN friendly manner.

signed
-Madre de Dormatorio

Dear Mami,

Merenguistadors are a sensitive lot, eh? You are quite right to tread carefully with hot-blooded Latin types. You never know when you'll find yourself in the middle of a circle, tied at the wrist, defending your life with naught but a switchblade. How are your knife-fighting skills? Start practicing with a letter opener, and work your way up. Kitty personally always keeps a diamond-tipped nail file for just such an occasion as a brush with a recalcitrant foreigner.

If only your young charges were Italian! Then you could solve your issues with the international language: love. Even the cruelest beast understands a batted eye, a flash of ankle. Try wearing more revealing clothing. A push-up bra is a girl's best friend.

Other than that, the real secret to communication with other cultures is to speak as loudly as possible, in English. Try speaking as slowly as possible too. You don't want them to miss a thing!

Failing that, hand out the bleeding notices! After all, you were hired for a position which includes being a disciplinarian, or is it one of those permissive hippie colleges that you go to? There's nothing quite like good old fashioned American intimidation. Ask yourself "What would John Ashcroft do?" For instance, do they know they can't be deported just for playing music too loud? Of course there are other stop gaps, such as introducing them to better music than Las Ketchup, or sabotaging their stereo equipment, but ultimately you must rule with an iron fist. Tell them they have 15 minutes to comply, or you're going to form a coalition and go in and do it for them. Of course the French chickadee won't be into that, but she'll benefit in the end! Culture should not be a factor in your decision. This is a problem of authority. If you are uncomfortable enforcing yours, surely you have a supervisor who could assist? Doing one's job never involves being a nasty spoilsport, unless one is a vivisectionist or a secret death squad member.

Now tell me, do the Latin boys make out with each other? Because that would be muy caliente.

Feel free to send photos,
-Kitty

Posted 6:20 PM by Licketysplit

Le petit Manoir



Mon nom est Melvin. C'est ma maison. Enviez-moi!

Posted 8:03 AM by Lambchop

Fireside Chat
In which our Lambchop displays great Sincerity



We love David's blog. Such a wag! That's why I could not help but write when I noted that he condemns the word "smooch". Since I often leave this word like so many rose petals in my wake, I had to know what there could be, in his opinion, to offend:

"...I wonder at the truth of "smooch" being your least favorite word! Do you prefer "osculations"? I like to throw "smooch" around when I don't really want to offer or imply something so sublime as "Kiss". Please explain your anti-smooch stance."

and David responded so:

"My dear, it is not the concept I oppose, it is the word itself. To me, smooch is oily, falling in the same category as ooze and schmooze. It is dishonest and terribly, terribly wrong. For the act itself, I prefer kiss with a lesser inflection; even buss and peck have their charms. I stand my by aversion."

Well, your lambchop has been guilty of many things, but this is a first for oily. Mother would be proud- her assertion that I am every bit as intolerable as Father (and by that I mean excessively charming) has once more been vindicated by a complete stranger. But I want to assure you, my attractive and well-paid readers, when I "smooch", I truly, truly mean it.

I only want to add that it was extremely clever of David to reply with such an oily phrase as my dear. I nearly choked on my Batard-Montrachet.

smooch

Posted 1:11 PM by Lambchop

Dog Mahal

My mother never met a project she didn't like. These frantic digressions frequently involve some sort of amateur carpentry. She went into labor with my sister the night she and my father finished building a room extension onto our trailer. That woman once dug a storm cellar. Her solution to most things involves a circular saw, some chicken wire, and a gleam in her eye as she crows "We could jury-rig it!"

Once we moved to a real house made out of bricks, there was a lot less damage she could do. At least to the untrained eye. She cut a hole in several doors to make catty and doggy doors. That's how we inherited Ricky, a spare cat, but that's another story for another time. The back yard provided a new challenge. She had been accustomed to acres and acres of land, but now — how to despoil just a few thousand square feet!

First, she erected a fence around the back yard. Not a chain link fence, that would be too typical and durable. No, some sort of wire monstrosity. Did she hire someone to do this? That would violate the fundamental principle of "never pay anyone to do something unless you are in a full body cast." This directly violates my principle that "there are people to do those things," but again, another story. She painstakingly sunk every post herself. How many people do YOU know who own a post-hole digger? A tamping mallet?

The fence was ostensibly to contain the dog. We had a black border collie-lab mix, named Sparkie. "-ie," my mom insisted, "because she's a girl." Sparkie was a peach, with fur like a Pat Benatar hairdo, and my mom saw fit to honor her with a dog house. The best dog house in the world. This dog house could safely house two children. It was insulated!

Inside it was finished with faux-marble waferboard paneling.

It also had a removable roof. I don't know why anyone would need (or build) a convertible dog house with a marble foyer, but some things are not meant for me to understand. The dog pretty much refused to go in it. My sister and I would sit in there now and then. It smelled of caulk and fuzzy pink insulation. It was always sweat lodge hot, due to in the insulation and the fact that we lived in the South. My mother would be so pleased when we'd come home in the pouring rain to find the dog lying in the house, mournfully hanging her head out the door to avoid asphyxiation. "Look, she's using it!"

Big was a later dog addition, a stray who just showed up and stuck around. He looked like a St. Bernard, with the saddle markings of a German Shepherd. He would sometimes stuff himself in the dog house, Clifford style. But mainly he preferred to stay in with us, watching Fresh Prince of Bel-Air reruns, my mother's television show of choice. She'd leave the TV on for the dogs when we weren't around, but Big liked it best when he could climb in someone's lap. He'd happily pin you to the chair with his 120 pound bulk, and he would growl deeply if you attempted to move. Much in the manner of his arrival, if he chose you, you were stuck with him.

The Dog Mahal sat unused, slowly decaying. We pleaded with Mom to tear it down, and she finally gave in. Eventually Sparkie and Big passed on to Cher's dog house in the sky. In another act of stealth euthanasia, she had the vet come to the house and put them both down at the same time. Sparkie had lung cancer, and Big was in the advanced stages of a thyroid disorder. She didn't tell us about it until it was all over, just like she saved the news of our cats being put to sleep for when we were within a block of our house on the car ride home from school. "Oh, I had Misty/Silver put down this morning." She buried the dogs in the footprint of the dog house, in a deep hole she dug herself. We might have liked to be there too, but she was protecting us and herself in the only way she knew how.

But my mom has a new dog now. She stole it from the neighbor. It looks, as my sister puts it, like a jackyl-headed bat dog, with pointy Egyptian dog ears and murder in its eyes. Murder in its soul, to be exact. It runs around inside the rusty fence, always on the same maddening path. I see frothing, snapping jaws, my mom sees pure doggy love. It comes and goes as it pleases, through a giant hole in the door to the basement. No need for a place of its own.

It is always tough to admit defeat. Sometimes a dog will spurn the Barbie Dreamhouse of mutt accommodations. Sometimes your children won't understand that you're just trying to do something nice, damn it, no matter how borderline insane the gesture may be, no matter how unsightly the outcome.

My dad always used to say "Dreamers build castles in the air, psychotics live in them." And some people just stick to the back yard.

Posted 11:47 AM by Licketysplit

Spring is so slow to arrive in Berlin. I refuse to leave the house until i can exhale sharply without producing a puff of steam. So what is there to do but stay home get drunk and write lists like this one:

Things I Should be Doing- making a chicken and pepper wrap with melted cheese, watching some liposuction on the surgery channel, calling up random strangers and singing them a couple bars of "I've Got You Under My Skin", working out pent up hostility by smashing coffee cups on my balcony (it keeps my collection fresh at any rate), and returning to that scrummy dream i had this morning (SEXSEXSEX).

Well, before I could rot in my own filth, Steele decided I needed a good spring airing. As if a look at his tanned smooth calves isn't refreshing enough! So he got us two tickets to a Yankee game. We spent the afternoon in Manhattan, eating pizza in the Village and handing out Bruschettas to homeless people. You should have seen them press their scabby fingers to their eyes when he flashed his blinding grin! Then we made our way over to the stadium. Steele was engrossed in the game- I was eyeballing the hot dog boy while the infielders plucked at their gonads and the afternoon went lazily by. The Yankees won of course, to some other team that did not have those charming pinstriped uniforms.



smooch

Posted 12:35 PM by Lambchop

Victoria's Real Secret

Dear Kitty Winn,

I'm all for taking a surreptitious crap on the clock, but where does one draw the line? Today I saw a middle-aged woman from the investment banking company across the floor take a newspaper into a stall and prepare to have at it, sighing mightily! I have seen her before, sometimes she talks on her cell phone while she's peeing. Ew Ew Ew. Sometimes she goes in with a stack of photochopied handouts, which I know some lucky fucker is going to get in a meeting! Should I say something to her? It's not any of my co-workers who will have to handle poopy pie charts, but it's the principle of the thing!

-Disgusted at my desk

Dear Disgusto,

Kitty Winn is all for maintaining the Victorian era style illusion that females have no function of the bowel or bladder. Secretion?! You must be referring to that fine mist of rosewater at the nape of our necks. This person is throwing a massive brick of dung through our carefully constructed hall of mirrors. She should be forced to live abroad in exile and squalor. Then again, what are we even talking about? You beleaguer Kitty with such terms as "crap" and "poopy pie charts". I have no idea what you mean, as I am Female and Perfect.

-Kitty Winn

Posted 8:39 AM by Lambchop

Shag me rotten

Back in 1986, we moved into a new house in Richmond, Virginia. Coming from a trailer, something without wheels was in itself a big deal. I explored eagerly, amazed at the stairs to a god-honest basement, the closet space, the linoleum in the kitchen instead of carpet. In a closet in a bedroom, I found a plastic garden rake. I asked my mom "Why did they leave a rake?"

"It's for the shag!"

Yes, the cherry red shag carpet. So we'd rake the shag, as if it were a lawn.

Even though I was the oldest, I took the smallest bedroom to avoid the shag. My carpet was olive green. But it was low-pile. Even at eight, I instinctively knew shag was tacky. Meghan Daum has a great essay about the class implications of hardwood floors. To this day I refuse to rent an apartment with carpet. I am a floor snob.

Eventually my sister and I would use the shag rake in vicious one-sided jousting matches. Then I got a field hockey stick, and the shag rake was no match.

My parents ripped out the shag a few years ago. I was long gone, and I think my sister was too. They left the mirrored walls in the fireplace, though. And the purple "gro light." Sometimes they put plants in there, as intended, but usually it's just lit up, reflecting the room in a purplish glow. Confusing the occasional cat. The far out fireplace came with the house, and my parents aren't really big on altering their surroundings if they don't absolutely have to. Property value be damned. The house is unwittingly maintained as a1960's pleasure dome. I hope to come back one day and find my mom wearing a lamé turban and serving rumaki in the grotto.

xxoo

Posted 10:42 PM by Licketysplit

Thel' About Town



Last week was March Madness here in Epsom Square. This year's theme was "Diversity" so they had booths for ethnic foods like burritos, falafels and even Jumbalaya. I usually bake a marble cake or chocolate chip cookies but Flora and I decided even with chocolate swirls it wasn't very ethnic. I did find a nice lamp at the antiques table though. It has a shepherdess sitting at the base with a lamb, listening while a shepherd plays to her with his miniature guitar. I go for the old fashioned stuff. I also bought my son a tie from Hypno-ties with an American flag on it. Come to find it has little skulls on it instead of stars. I didn't want to make a fuss on such a fine day, so I just dropped it in the clothes drive box on the way home. People who can't even afford ties probably won't mind.

Yesterday brought some bad news. My daughter Jessica- she is studying to be a nutritionist over at the Epsom County Community College, called and she said something about McDonalds "losing it's market share". Apparently the young people are going to the coffee joints instead, which I don't understand. They charge three dollars for a cup of coffee and if you want a roll they want another two dollars and it doesn't even have raisins in it! That's a darn shame about McDonalds. I think they should bring back the Lobster Sandwich. I must have had ten of those a day when they came out, must have been the summer of '92. I know because I had the corns real bad that summer and I used to sit with my feet in a bucket of salts.

It's a good time for that great taste!

God Bless,
Thelma Haney

Posted 11:25 AM by Lambchop