1. poo day dooz
2. puh da tut
3. buh da duh
4. puh tay toe sa led
5. po ta too
6. puh day too tah
7. po da tuht
8. po da too
9. po day tah ta led
10. puh tah ta let
11. boo day poo tile
12. buh da too
13. puh tay toe ta led
14. puh ted ta led
15. puh tay to tah
16. puh toe toe
This sounds pretty fun:
NYC Fifth Annual Big Wheel Race
Welcome back to Fluff’s Fifth Annual NYC Big Wheel race. The past five years have shown us the marvels of madness with Ice Wheels, speed trials and countless four-wheeling events on three wheels. We’re back to the brouhaha that started it all.
Bring your own Big Wheel. This includes: Big Wheels, trikes, velocipedes, skateboards you can sit on and control, ice boxes, toilets with wheels, soapbox vessels, or other hand made or rehashed contraptions.
The rules are as follows: Your seat or bottom must be no higher than 12 inches above the ground. Avoid rubber wheels; plastic or other is favored. Wear safety gear. Riders have been known to break 30mph. This is open to everyone. You ride at your own risk. We’ll use both the Rocket Path and the Danger Loop.
Costumes: superheroes are encouraged to dress the part and ride as the heroes they are. Wonder Woman, we miss you, please come back. Performers: If you’d like to play your guitar, bring your hoop, spin poi, or teach us all how to paint small children’s faces please do so.
Central Park
106th Street and 5th Avenue entrance, walk up to the top of the path, Manhattan
3p photos, 3:30p racing, 5:30p enchiladas; $free
Then again, I’ve always been a sucker for those pillow fight people.
LB: i got on the scale today and it read “low”
i was hoping it was referring to my weight but it was referring to the battery.
me: BAHAHAHAHAHA
LB: also my aunt ran over her dog for the second time.
me: omg
LB: she’s such a flake.
It’s really frustrating that the word “dope” can refer to both marijuana and heroin. I mean, it’s too ingrained now to stop, but I thought I’d whine about it for a second. I don’t know about you guys, but it causes me a lot of problems in my own life.
On the next episode of “Word Problems”: the new favorite GLBT, “them.”
I finally found a place to watch the full-length Poto and Cabengo online. And in it, I found new fashion inspiration.
Poto, Cabengo and Granny
Remember the post-movie-book? Do those exist anymore? Man, those were funny.
Werner Herzog’s Grizzly Man
Triumph of the Will
Deliverance
Snakes on a Plane
This Is Spinal Tap
Lars Von Trier’s Antichrist
Alejandro Jodorowsky’s The Holy Mountain
Salvador Dali’s Un Chien Andalou
The Who’s Tommy (or The Wall, for that matter)
David Lynch’s Lost Highway
Peggy and Fred in Hell
Todd Haynes’ I’m Not There
Gummo
Fantasia
The Baby
Kids
Boxing Helena
Poto and Cabengo
I could go on.
For a long time, I lost this reference, and so now I am holding it here so that I can always find it when I need it.
“Indeed, the disciples of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov used to set aside an hour a day known as the Dead Hour, in which all business would cease and nothing structured was permitted, allowing the repressed soul to come to the fore and be free.”
I… cannot… get over… the insane awkwardness and utter witlessness of the show’s host/perhaps the age as a whole? Jesus, if people put me on TV and then listed my many indiscretions and then brought out my caseworker from one or another psych ward, I would probably lash out with something along the lines of, “If this cruel parade is emblematic of the type of world we live in, I’d rather be nuts!” The look of horror on her face when the host announces that they’ve wired 125 producers to ask them to consider her for an upcoming romantic role is just soul-shattering.
So I had to tell Joyce Wadler, who wrote the genius NY Times article that started the whole thing, and here is her response:
ID,
What a great idea!! So often people who are dead to us are long gone before we have the pleasure of telling them. These cards would take care of that. Hope you sell a million. And congratulations on getting the go ahead from The New Yorker, a magazine I could not do without.
Joyce
My brother IS sent me the most hilarious article in the Times the other day entitled “Unfriending Someone, Before Facebook.” Below is an excerpt:
Nor were your choices in those days only friend or unfriend. There were levels of unfriending culminating in that magnificent big gun, “dead to me,” a phrase my family wrapped their mouths around with a relish other people saved for steak.
Dead to me was not achieved with a cowardly little click on the keyboard under cover of night. Dead to me took nerve, it took strength. It also wasn’t for children. You had to be an adult with a house and a job. You cleared a space in the conversation when a certain name came up – let’s use Marvin; waited three beats to make sure you had the attention of the house, and then, and only then, did you say, “He is dead to me.”
I have no choice here but to return to the master of the form, my mother. There came a time when she and her younger brother came to a fork in the road regarding religion, hers being our ancestral one, which eschews pork and enables us to write television comedy, my uncle’s newly adopted religion involving ringing doorbells and giving people pamphlets on Sundays. As he had moved to Los Angeles, this switch might have gone unnoticed but regrettably, one of his converts, returning home after visiting, was 13-year-old me.
My mother’s screams on the phone after she made this discovery are still remembered in Greene County. It remains one of the most powerful denunciations I have heard in my life.
“Aaron,” my mother said, “I never want to hear another word from you. You are dead to me.”
He remained dead to my mother for the rest of life, about 40 years, and from what I could see, she took great satisfaction from it. This was another reason unfriending someone before Facebook was so much better. You didn’t dispatch someone once and move on; you had a lifetime of satisfying moments in which you could unfriend them over and over again.
“So, Milli, what do you hear from your brother Aaron?”
“Dead to me.”
“Your brother still married to that nice woman?”
“Dead to me.”
“I was going out to L.A. and I thought maybe I would look up Aaron, you know we were in the Army together –”
“Dead to me.”
—
I enjoyed it so heartily that I began to imagine what weird, profile-less hermits like IS and I could do in lieu of “unfriending” and my mind turned to a company called Set Editions, which makes the beloved “Stop Talking” business cards, among other funny things.
I hand out at least once a day.
So I’ve written to Set Editions to ask them to consider making a DEAD TO ME card. Here is my email pitch:
To Whomever Receives This Email:
I’m an enormous fan of your merchandise –– at the moment, I’m coveting just about everything on the site –– and a proud owner of the “Stop Talking” cards, which it seems are quite popular. I have a small idea for you based on the below article, which is hilarious and short and should go down easy:
(I put the link here but I’m not going to do it again because that just seems excessive.)
I think it would be great to create a little card that says “YOU ARE DEAD TO ME” or, more succinctly, “DEAD TO ME.” There also could be something in the idea of unfriending –– i.e. THIS IS ME UNFRIENDING YOU –– but I myself am partial to the “dead to me.”
Anyway, if this idea appeals to you at all, what I’d ask for in return is just one set of cards!
Again, big props. You guys are hilarious.
Best,
Itinerant Daughter
—
Oh my, oh my, I DO hope they like the idea!
UPDATE: They did! The woman behind Set Editions wrote me the below:
ID,
Thank you so much for taking the time to write with your idea. I get to hear many ideas in the course of doing business, most of which are categorically not hilarious, but “Dead to me” is right up my alley. I will work on it and I promise to let you know if it comes to pass. I suspect it might. You’ll be the first to effectively kill off your friends if it does.
Thanks again. Set Editions is really just me at the end if the day and it still gives me huge pleasure that other people even notice.
Best,
AR
Yay! I’m off now to inform Joyce Wadler of the Times. While you’re waiting for these cards to come out, everybody support Set Editions and buy me these good grief glasses!
Get it?
Itinerantdaughter's Blog 