Word of the day - SHUNBELIEVABLE

Shunbelievable - This word is to be used when someone does something so unbelievable that they should be shunned. It can also be used to describe something that is hideously ugly or stupid.

Example:
Lady E. brought a $7 bottle of wine to the party then proceeded to drink the host's $20 bottle. When she left, she took the cheap bottle with her for the next party she would attened.

She is shunbelievable!

In searching Google:
One Google result.

Chirstmas Thong

Chesty sluts toasting at an open bar
Jack Frost licking at your balls
You'll bite Harold's though he's hung like a spider
And choke chunks up the more you blow.

Everybody knows
That shrimping means you're sucking toes
And latex fits your body right
Tiny cock with its eye all a-glow
Will make it hard to sleep tonight.

You will be panting all the way
With a pearl necklace while you whinnie and you neigh
And Debra Messing's child is going to spy
To see if reindeer really know how to....

And so, I'm offering this chocolate star
To kids from eighteen to fourty-two
Although it's been said
Many Times, many ways,

Merry Christmas to you!

Disclaimer: I was bored...apologies for spelling errors. Too lazy to check. Too indifferent to care.

I found out recently that another student from school who I never knew very well, became quite good friends (separately) with one of my best friends. Since high school I have seen this person about three times (one of them just the other night) and he deemed it necessary to inform my friend that in high school I was a "snobby drama kid." I really don't care what someone thought of me in high school. I struggled through high school to stay afloat, to fend off bullies, to hide my erection behind stacks of calculus books and English readers as I walked from class to class, and most importantly to find a group where I belonged. I tried to explain this to my friend (who I'm sure couldn't believe his ears when I told him that I didn't belong in high school). He said something to the effect that, "well, sometimes the outcasts are nastiest to each other."

Although fairly obvious from such movies as "Welcome to the Dollhouse" and "Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame" I needed to hear this again. In looking back at all the groups I dubbed snobby, I can say that they intimidated me and I wanted to be part of their group. I wanted to skate on their ice. It's easy to think that I'm looking down my nose at you if you never come and talk to me about my bad habit of staring down my nose at people. So, in a brief instant, I turned this seemingly insulting statement into the following synopsis: [to keep the person's identity secret, he shall be referred to as XX which is also the chromosomal composition of a little girl. My friend will be referred to as V which is also the coolest letter in the alphabet.]

XX developed an obsession with me early into his freshman year (my junior year). In order to gain my favor, he joined such popular groups as AFS (international club), mock trial, and participated in the musicals where he was offered such roles as chorus boy and chorus boy. As for myself, I had risen to the presidency of AFS, mock trial, and my star was shining brighter than ever in the high school auditorium as I was introduced to Catonsville high society as the lead male in both the fall and spring productions. I tried to say hello to him in the hall, but it proved too difficult to wave while trying to carry four stacked textbooks in front of my crotch as I fantasized about my math teacher. Additionally, the constant barage of paparazzi from the Catonsville Comet Press prevented him from getting anywhere close to me. XX attempted to plot an All About Eve take over, but that would have required him to be in my good graces initially, and that just wasn't the case. Then I graduated leaving a wake of snobbiness for XX to bob around in for years to come.
Resentment built for several years, and then an idea occured to XX. XX began working on befriending a person (V) who would become one of my best friends years before I ever met V. This way, when I became friends with V, XX would be able to confront me on my snobbish behavior in highschool in a passive agressive manner. A devious plan, and it worked to perfection except for one catch: I didn't really care.

Band Babies

During the late '80's and early '90's there was a movement by animation studios to turn every successful cartoon on its side, resulting in "(blank) Kids" or "(blank) Babies." Examples are numberous, but to name a few: Flintstone Kids, A Pup Named Scoobie Doo, Baby Loony Tunes, and Muppet Babies. (The last one probably being the most successful and one I look forward to eventually seeing again. Oh Nanny how I miss your guidance.)

So, it was only inevitable that the music industry would eventually catch on, attempting not to create new sounds, but to take already existing bands and find a suitable "baby." Now I want to clarify that these babies shouldn't be considered rip-offs. An example of a rip-off chain would be Green Day, Blink 182, and Good Charlotte. All contemporaries with each band getting progressively worse with less identity. Band Babies aren't the same; they suckle at their mama's teat and grow strong. The kiddies have real talent, probably aren't intentionally trying to cash in on mama's identity, and happen at a completely different time than the "mother group." They have similar sounds, but when it comes down to it, they can stand on their own. Think of Jesse Sykes as Cowboy Junkies Kids. Gwen Stefani could very well be a Missing Child (Missing Persons). I won't touch the Scissor Sisters because I love them too much, but it's pretty obvious who the parents are...

My most recent music baby discovery is XTC babies, also known as Dogs Die in Hot Cars. I bought the album "Please Describe Yourself" out of nostalgia and the promise of good listenings from the 30 second previews. The truth is that I miss XTC from their days of "Skylarking," "Nonesuch," and "Oranges and Lemons" and never expected that another band would come along to fill their shoes. Well one hasn't, but the potential is there. Research shows that Dogs Die in Hot Cars considers XTC an influence and the production team consisting of Clive Langer and Alan Winstanley from V2 records explains the subtle homage to Madness and 80's britpop. See the RollingStone bio for Dogs Die in Hot Cars.

So, for me, what ends up being the paradox of Dogs Die in Hot Cars as an XTC baby is the subject matter. With the lead vocalist Craig Macintosh sounding so much like Andy Partridge and singing about cute boys ("Modern Woman"), and an obsession with Lucy Liu ("Celebrity Sanctum" What is it with her and pop music anyway? She's got to be the most mentioned actress in music....) something doesn't sit right. Maybe that's part of my attraction to them. All of this kind of makes XTC's anthem to atheism seem a bit trivial.

You can sample some of their songs performed live here. I don't think based on this I'll be running out to see them live anytime soon.

Gingerbread

Taking Kyle's lead (i.e. stealing his idea), I've decided to publish my favorite holiday drink:

Gingerbread
1 oz Baily's Irish Cream
1 oz Goldschlagger or any cinnamon Schnapps (I'm curious to try it with the Skyy clove cinnamon vodka)
1 oz buttershots
optional: 1 oz vodka

Shake with ice and serve in a single old fashioned straight up. Great as a shooter.
It'll warm your cockles.

Remember, I'm a follower, not a leader.

Winter Hunter

Opening Credits:
Jesse Sykes and the Sweet Hereafter
"Winter Hunter"

I'm not going to complain about the cold.

It occurred to me this morning that I should complain; however, upon crossing into the warmth of my building's threshold, I realized in that instant, that there could be nothing better than the rush of hot air over my icy flesh.

My body is a winter democracy. No matter how frigid the gusts, my heart pumps fiercely and tirelessly, protesting its unnatural and unwelcoming surroundings. The senses hear both stories: Frigid lies of war, and destruction all around. Firey love and peace and a better future still burning quietly beneath - pulsating in a tell tale fashion.

Winter fashion outshines summer fashion by far and is more flattering to a wider range of body types - rabbit fur lined gloves, cashmere turtleneck sweaters, beautiful retro winter coats, colorful striped scarves.

Coffee seems more justified in the winter, making my morning ritual a necessity and a comfort.

Maybe it's because Thanksgiving, my birthday and Christmas all fall within a month of each other. Maybe my seasonal affective disorder causes me to be more emotional. Maybe it's the concept of transition or starting over in the new year. Maybe it's my superstition that the first snow brings me good luck. I regress. I reflect. I remember.

I can see your breath.

End Theme:
The Shins
"The Past and Pending"

A Chocolate Star tops My Tree this Holiday Season

I went to a party where I was surprised to see that chocolate stars were being served for dessert. I immediately inquired as to the intention behind such perversions. J.E. who was standing next to me replied in confusion, "Why whatever do you mean?"
I then looked at him with eyebrows raised and asked, "You've never heard of chocolate stars?"

After clenching my left fist like I was going to do a hand puppet and smearing part of the chocolate star where the mouth would normally have been drawn, it wasn't long before we were chuckling to ourselves about dirty assholes over paella, mojitos, and of course chocolate stars (which will forever more be a Christmas tradition in my household).

Anthony Williams tells Major League Baseball and DC baseball fans about the one that got away.

Not your Grandmother's quiz...

After answering the most random questions, I learned that:
You are Mohair. You are a warm and fuzzy type who works well with others, doing your share without being too weighty. You can be stubborn and absolutely refuse to change your position once it is set, but that's okay since you are good at covering up your mistakes.

Two Brief Thoughts: Of Montreal and Chalk

1) I cannot get enough of Of Montreal right now. Favorite track: Eros' Entropic Tundra.

2) Gymnasts frequently use chalk in perfoming feats. This prevents slippage, but paradoxically allows the hands to slide smoothly across the wood bars without tearing the skin or sticking. Is there a market for this in gay love?

Ms. Yoki's Neighborhood

Theme Song: to the tune of "Mr. Rodger's Neighborhood"

She's the loneliest dog in the neighborhood
The loneliest dog for a neighbor
Yoki think twice
You're life is so nice

She's the loneliest dog in the neighborhood
The loneliest dog as a neighbor
Please don't use that
No, Don't use that
You should use a razor

Scene i
Camera pans a series of train set fire hydrants, trees and dog houses. Gradually people houses appear. Camera flys through window of apartment building and focuses on crate with beach blanket covering it.

Yoki: (from inside crate) Now I understand the Muslim oppression of women.

(Hours pass with occasional shifts and sighs heard from inside the crate. A door is heard shutting and footsteps. The blanket is pulled up to reveal Yoki sitting up hunched towards the back of the crate. The metal door swings open and Yoki emerges. Yoki stretches twice. A hand appears and immediately snaps on a leash. In mid-stretch she is yanked and disappears out the door. The camera follows.

Yoki: (while being whisked out the front door) Now I understand the American oppression of blacks during the time of slavery

Scene ii
The camera follows Yoki and owner from behind showing owner's feet occasionally entering the shot.

Owner: (repeating over and over) Yoki, do your business, baby.
Yoki: I'm so lonely. If I do my business so to speak, then it's back to the cell, but the words stimulate my anal glands for some reason...Maybe if I distract myself with this stick...
Look, there are friendlies o'er yonder hill! Hark Lasher! Hark Cindy! Sniffy Sniffy.

Camera zooms in on Yoki's nose which sniffs the rim of a yellow labs pink pucker. Yoki is immediately pulled from the dog and marched away by owner. Resolved to maintain her freedom, Yoki sniffs around in a distracted and disorganized manner. One minute she's chewing a stick, the next she's struggling to return to her compadres. Finally Yoki can no longer resist and lets loose.

Yoki (while dumping): There is nothing to live for.

Scene iii
Yoki is seen lounging on a red ottoman. An opened bottle of Ambien is seen up on the table. She notices the bottle on the edge of the table and walks to the end of the ottoman (which is in sniffing distance from the table) to investigate.

Yoki: Perhaps if I take a few I can escape this meaningless life and enter the World of Makebelieve. (Yoki manages to tip the bottle over and a few drop to the floor. She dismounts the ottoman and quickly licks up the three pills). The camera blurs and fades. The camera gradually clears from blurry darkness to reveal a magical land where Yoki's chew toys have come to life. A yellow swan with its beak chewed off and an eyeball hanging out of its socket is dancing around with a hedghog that has a big bloody hole in the back of its head.

Yoki paws her eyes to try and comprehend the world before her.

Wounded Hedgehog: Come and join our party, Yoki. We were just talking about you.
Swan: Yes, join us. (They eyeball falls to the ground. Yoki eats the eyeball) We were just discussing what a hypocrite you are to be complaining about your life all the time. When was the last time you had someone play tug of war with your legs.
Wounded Hedgehog: You are the most terrible overlord of them all, and now you shall get your commupins.
Yoki: Damn it! A bad trip!
The toys latch onto Yoki's throat and there is a struggle. The scene blurs and fades to black.

Owner: (fading in with echo) Yoki, Yoki, wake up Yoki. What have you done little plumpkins?
Yoki's eyes reluctantly open. The owner strokes her head to comfort the sleepy dog. Well, since you're awake, you can walk to your crate.
Yoki: Zoinks, foiled again.

Camera fades to black. Music box version of theme song plays as credits roll.

Stay tuned next month when Yoki tries using knives.

www.bollger.com aka blogging while drunk

I just returned from an evening at Saint-Ex where mp3j's galoreyholed the establishment in indie-electroneering bj's. I was one of them.

I was fortunately able to spend time with Crisafer (who wasn't sure about how he felt about being called by his blog name) and Michael and David. We formed what Chris dubbed the Gay Blog Forest (which I, as a newbie, embrace dearly). I pictured infidels and ex-patriots hiding out amongst our thick branches and trunks. *hubba hubba* They would remain trapped for years stuck in our gooey sap. Archeologists of the future would have to use their fancy tools and sifters to dislodge them like a wooly mammoth from the tar pits. One of these scavengers took the form of a straght girl snow hooker in a mohair sweater. The pink band on the sweater with bleached out snowflakes stretched across her breasts (sponsored by David Hasselhoff) to accentuate her personality. Boys at school used to talk about her behind her back: "Her titties are so hot, she has no personality" She was the Anti-Paula Poundstone. The girl continually told me that my jacket was great and that I was cute. She then proceeded to tell me that she'd been drinking since 2PM at the WHFS staff christmas party. Is that some type of underhanded compliment? Despite all this, I liked having her around. She didn't last long and before we knew it she was like a tree in the Lorax.

The mp3j idea appeals to me in that "free jukebox" kind of way where you know that nobody is going to pop in a fiver and force you to wait 5 hours to hear your songs. The music generally appeals to the pioneer in search of new lands. Q and not U ranks as my favorite new territory of the evening. My list included Ladytron "NuHorizon", Bucci Bag "More Lemonade" and The Breeders "Full on Idle." I thought that the evening lacked Talking Heads "Burning Down the House" in honor of the recent blazes in PG county and VA as well as the DC serial arsonist. Maybe next time.

Sorry for no links. It's just too much work right now.

Righteous is an underused word. Begin using it now in place of such terms as Cool, Awesome, Hela, or Fantabulous.

Happy 31, Schitzy

So, as per tradition, I've decided to stretch my birthday from the time my mother went into labor, through my birth, up to when she left the hospital. This allows me to milk praise, salutations, and well wishes from the sunken udders of my friends and loved ones.

December 5th, 1973, my mother begins labor. December 5th 2004 - Brian makes the executive decision that if he's going to be stuck with a Monday birthday (probably the second shittiest of all possible weekdays next to Tuesday) that he's going to "celebrate" early by visiting the Baltimore crew: Jerome, Vijay and Jae Eun for a pre-birthday brunch at Windows at the Baltimore Renaissance. We all sat akwardly eating our brunch, trying to see a bright side to the dried out chicken, the synthetic tasting omlettes and the bizarre chocolate-tangerine-raspberry-vanilla custard desert. We turned to making fun of other patrons.

The evening was spent trimming the tree with extensive lights. Given that Target had been pillaged by swarms of suburbanites, itching to have the brightest house on the block, we were left with few choices. I had picked up some large ceramic bulbs earlier in the week, but none of those were left. We decided that if the tree were to not be uniform that we should go all out and make the tree kitchy with all the different colors and sizes and shapes that we could possibly find. The results are surprisingly great, in that John Waters kind of way. (For John Waters Christmas ideas check out his movie Female Trouble).

After arriving home, I attended Taint with John, Chrisafer, and Kyle. For a description of the evening, I've linked to Kyle's summary. Apparently they closed the house.

December 6 proved a difficult day for the sandman to leave. He's finally caught on and instead of leaving sand in my eyes, he leaves a sand/water suspension which cements my eyes shut upon drying. It was sometime between stumbling from the kettle to the shower that I realized that lemon drops aren't the best Sunday night thirst quencher. The exhausting day elapsed over a period of weeks and at the moment I thought I was turning 32, I peered at the clock and saw that 5 o'clock had finally arrived.

During my commute home I thought about all of the fantastic adventures a 31 year old should have on his birthday. I fantasized about walking into a fancy restaurant and saying "Table for 1." I thought about sitting in the corner with a can of condensed soup, spooning thick chunks of cold salty broth and soggy vegetables into my half opened mouth while Yoki licks the drippings from my chin. I even considered buying a Hostess snack cake, placing a couple candles in it and watching them burn to their bases. When the candles would finally extinguish I'd blow my noise maker, throw some confetti and sit in darkness, still looking at the wax covered cake with my cone hat slightly askew. Instead of indulging myself, I arrived at home to find quite a surprise!!! Wunderbar! I love, love, love it.

Anyway, I spent the remainder of the evening decorating the Christmas tree and snuggling up with my sugar. I can't imagine a better way to end the day.

Anyway, the festivities shall continue, albeit in my head...

Overbravofication Part II

"Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!" I just want to say Bravi to the Washington Ballet on their "Americanized" production of the Nutcracker which premiered at the Baltimore Hippodrome last night to decent (but not sold out) attendance. Those who attended (with the exception of one woman who seemed quite bitter still about the election) gave an overwhelming response after final curtain, leading to a standing ovation for the company. Septime Weber, the company's artistic director, wondered several years ago, "What would the Nutcracker have been like had Clara grown up in colonial America?" The path Weber followed resulted in a ballet representing America's diversity and incorporating American folklore, traditions and culture. Keep an eye out for the Valley Forge Bunnies, Anacostia Indians, George Washington, Ben Franklin, Betsy Ross, a Kachina doll, cardinals, cherry blossoms, and an adorable performance by Mother Ginger's itty bitty clown children. Details, detail, details...you've gotta keep looking.

I can honestly say that I enjoyed it. Weber did a brilliant job of incorporating children into the show in ways that I hadn't imagined - be it Clara and the nephew in their prepubescent love or the wee l'il mushrooms bopping around stage in their diapers. It created this endearing hybrid of classical ballet and elementary school dance recital -- and I don't mean that in a bad way. I mean it in the most adorable way.

That being said, I should also mention that my partner is the new Executive Director for the Washington Ballet.