two-twenty

ecce tabula rasa | joanna • post/haste

I finished cleaning my desk. It took four and a half hours.

Alex was so proud of my achievement that he was going to "reward" me with a post. I was already rewarding myself with a beer, with which he started rewarding himself soon after. Then we rewarded ourselves with more beer and some TV, and with a few more rounds at the bar. It was all very, uh, rewarding. Anyway...

Veni, vedi vici.

tabula non grata | joanna • post/haste

It's been two hours of paying bills and throwing shit away and stuffing unopened envelopes that supposedly contain "important tax information" into a larger envelope. Two hours, and all I have to show for it is a dwindling bank account, a graver understanding of how paying my taxes will soon further deplete said bank account, and a still-chaotic desk.

Yes, those are dolls in the foreground, but I was not playing with them. I was gluing their shoes to their feet to prevent future messes. See? I'm organizing. And no, Ash's desk does not all of the sudden look like mine did.

If for some strange reason I had to communicate this process to Helen Keller, I would tightly grip a frying pan in her hand and guide her to repeatedly smash herself in the head.

Back to work.

rasa-ing my tabula | joanna • post/haste

Prompted by private ridicule and public humiliation, (thanks, Alex), I have decided to devote the next several years of my life to getting my "workspace" in order. Consequently, I will be unable to distract you -- and myself -- with any retarded insights on things of no importance whatsoever. No, instead I will be sorting through overdue bills, compiling tax crap, and hopefully unearthing our tickets for tomorrow night's Rapture show at Roseland Ballroom.

Goodbye, for now. I will miss you.

(Look I'm procrastinating by continuing to write absolutely nothing! And I can keep doing it! Shit shit shit I hate paperwork and filing and taxes effing taxes. Evil evil evil. Fine. Here I go. Just one cigarette first. Then I'll do it. Smoke and assess. Devise a plan. Follow the plan. Uh huh. That makes sense. Okay. Yeah. Bye.)

pc phone home • post/haste

The Swedes who invented KaZaA have just introduced Skype, a peer-to-peer application that allows users to make calls over their computers to anywhere in the world... free.

This should have come as fantastic, timely news to Joanna, who just last night used gphone's essentially identical services (tech-wise, anyway) to call her globetrotting photojournalist boyfriend Ash in Guadeloupe; free apparently costs almost twenty cents less than $0.197 a minute (vs. $2.86 on Verizon). Unfortunately, Skype only runs on Windows and Ash is the only one at two-twenty with a PC. Did we say he was in sunny Guadeloupe? Harumph. Anyway, Joanna and the rest of us Mac users will sadly have to keep paying for calls until someone even nerdier than two-twenty's geek-in-residence figures out how to get the app working on multiple platforms.

so a ukrainian and a zoroastrian walk into a bar... • post/haste

A few snapshots from Dan and Roxanne's wedding in Philadelphia last weekend. We should mention that the couple's family backgrounds are Ukrainian Catholic and Indian Zoroastrianism, and that the bride and groom themselves might best be described as secular humanists. Somehow, they managed to incorporate themselves, their friends, their families, and their respective cultures and traditions seamlessly into a beautiful ceremony performed at The Franklin Institute (Philly's science museum). Three cheers.

Here, the happy couple toasts their family and friends:

Here, two-twenty cleans up nicely:

Here, two-twenty reverts to our natural state, a level of dissipated drunkenness that requires us to communicate using rudimentary hand signals:

Better pictures will come when the photographer among us gets his film developed. As it stands, we feel that these snapshots maybe convey something of the spirit of the evening. The wedding's theme was "Orange and Red", and we should mention it even had it's own soundtrack! Every guest got to take home a CD of music chosen by Dan and Roxanne to represent their union, titled "My Heart Is Cast" (that's a line from Frank Black's "Speedy Marie", which is on there). Also on there: Destroyer, Cinerama, Evelyn's cover of The Magnetic Fields' "Smoke and Mirrors", GBV, the Casino Royale theme(!) and an original song written for the wedding by Stew, "Orange and Red".

Congrats again, Dan and Rox, two-twenty wishes you all the best. And absolves you of any and all responsibility for Sunday's skull-crushing hangover.

cleanliness is next to australian-ness | alex • post/haste

So, as mentioned, two-twenty went to Philadelphia last weekend for a wedding (a very lovely one at that, pictures of which shall be posted forthwith). I had some work to do on Friday and could not leave as early as Joanna and Ash. As I was getting ready to walk out the door, I wandered by their shared office (affectionately referred to around two-twenty as "NASA" due to Joanna's penchant for technology), and glanced in. What I saw inside was the physical manifestation of two very distinct personalities in action; the inner workings of my flatmates' minds were laid out for me in their personal preparations for a weekend roadtrip. I was witness to their "feng shui of going away", if you will (don't worry, I don't expect you to). What I saw:

Ash's Desk

Joanna's Desk

I guess I'll have to change my pet name for Ash from "dirty fucking Australian" to just plain "fucking Australian".

passing the buck • post/haste

Two-twenty started out with lofty goals, like writing funny things about the Sunday Styles section every Monday.

HAHahahahahahah!!

We should know better than to make proclamations about what we intend to accomplish, because that only leads to public humiliation when our alcoholism and natural bent towards procrastination and inaction causes us to not follow through on our promises! Happily, this week another inveterate drunk steps up to plate, absolving us of our responsibility. Enjoy.

Falling into Desuetude | Eurotrash

gance fever • post/haste

There's really only one lesson to be learned here: Ryan Seacrest is so rabidly desperate for press that, in order to garner some column-inches, he will claim to be part of a fake trend which involves men pantomiming the act of giving birth to one another on the dancefloor. Either that, or he quite literally has performed "The Lumberjack" with a boy friend (that's a friend who's a boy, silly, not like a boyfriend or anything!). Just what is this "Lumberjack", you ask? Allow Stuff Magazine to explain:

Gancer No. 1 stands in the middle of the dance floor with arms raised to indicate that they are branches and he is a tree. Gancer No. 2 pretends to be holding an ax and hacks away at the fleshy tree. Gancer No. 1 bends backward until finally toppling—trust fall–style—into gancer No. 2’s arms. Gancer No. 2 catches the tree, throws him into the air again and, together, they start boogying wildly.

Lovely. And, dare we say it? Manly. Very manly.

Everybody Gance Now! | Stuff Magazine
MALE-DANCE FEVER: JUST KIDDING, GUYS | Page Six

Wait, there is one more lesson to be learned here. Before you go off declaiming about an absurd new trend, take a look at your calendar. Put your finger on the date April 1. Now count out ten days in either direction (this is easy to remember because it is same number as how many digits you have on your hands. That means fingers). Shade that whole block of dates in with your favorite crayon. Now, if you have learned about this absurd new trend that has your panties in a knot on a date that is shaded in, DO NOT WRITE ABOUT IT. You will thank us in the morning.

Metrosexual Morons Gancing the Night Away | MensNewsDaily.com

in philadelphia, we're worth fifty bucks • post/haste

Two-twenty has a wedding to attend this weekend (congratulations to Shep and Rox!) and must off to distant lands, like Philadelphia. Alas, this means no two two oh for you today. Happily, it means that two amazing people are tying the knot, so stop being so selfish.

In the meantime, go look at Lindsay Lindsayism's pretty new site, read something useful, or slag off.

take that, you meanie! • post/haste

Richard Simmons -- our favorite exercise guru and fashion muse -- justifiably slapped a fellow passenger as they waited to board an LA-bound plane in Phoenix after the big bully-head snidely remarked, "Hey everybody. It's Richard Simmons. Let's drop our bags and rock to the '50s."

Poor Richard. He is so misunderstood. We're just happy he was allowed to return home to the comfort of his one-of-a-kind contemporary doll collection. Oh, yeah, and that despite Richard's Herculean strength, the insolent fucker emerged from the scuffle unharmed.

Richard Simmons Cited for Slapping Man | Yahoo! News

god is sooooooo 1954 • post/haste

Yesterday, an unprepossessing emergency room doctor / non-practicing lawyer from California laid the smackdown on the rise of right wing religious political influence in America. He did so by effectively, and with Orwellian clarity of language, arguing against the inclusion of the phrase "under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance. The admittedly non-denominational but gratuitously religious insertion was made by Congress in 1954, in a move now widely regarded as an attempt to distinguish America from the 'Godless communists' that we were then so ferociously engaged in battle against.

The doctor-cum-lawyer in question, Michael A. Newdow, appears to be one smart cookie, but his mission is aided by the simple fact that there does not, in fact, exist any logical or even coherent argument for retaining the phrase. Further bolstering Dr. Newdow's case was the fact that the opposing counsel, Solicitor General Theodore B. Olson, is a blithering, jargon-spewing idiot. Let's take a look at a sampling of the goings-on, and see if we can't parse things a bit (all excerpts taken from the NY Times transcript):

JUSTICE JOHN PAUL STEVENS Do you think that the pledge has the same meaning today as when it was enacted - when the words, under God, were inserted into the prayer, into the pledge? (ed. umm... love it when Freudian slips sew your case up for you in the first five minutes!)

MR. OLSON It's an important question because the reference to under God in the pledge, as numerous decisions of this court have indicated in dicta, what as a part of a thought process of coming about to the conclusion that it is an acknowledgment of the religious basis of the framers of the Constitution, who believed not only that the right to revolt, but that the right to vest power in the people to create a government became, came as a result of religious principles. In that sense, the Pledge of Allegiance is today, that has that same significance to this country as it did in 1954 when it was amended.

Okay whoa whoa whoa let's stop here. First of all, "It's an important question because..."!? That's like how we used to start our essays in fifth grade. We'll let you marvel at the absurdity of the language without our help, but we cannot give Olson a bye on his shameless attempt to connect the founding fathers (who did NOT include "under God" in the pledge) with McCarthy-era Quislings (who most certainly did) through the most amateurish of associative "logic". Anyway...

JUSTICE RUTH BADER GINSBURG Your argument is that there's a stronger case now than there would have been 50 years ago?

MR. OLSON Yes, Justice Ginsburg, and that is for many reasons, for -- because of the reason that I just made, but also because the Congress revisited this issue in 2002 after the decision below in this case. There are findings in the record which are a part of the brief, with respect to what the -- what the pledge means, the context of the pledge in its historical context, in the connection with its civic invocation, its ability to invoke certain principles that are indisputably true, which gave rise to the institutions which have given us freedom over all this period of time.

Translation: blah blah blah FREEDOM blah. Don't you love how people who want to impose their views on the rest of us are the first to throw around buzzwords like "freedom" and "liberty"? If the word "ironic" wasn't so played out right now we would use it here to describe the odd disconnect between what these people say and what they mean. Seriously, if this guy thought he could interject something about the "War on Terror" he certainly would. Blech. It is at least somewhat heartening, in a cruel mean-spirited sense, to see that Mr. Olson cannot construct a complete sentence to save his life or, quite literally, his God.

In contrast, let's take a look at a question asked of Dr. Newdow, and his response:

JUSTICE KENNEDY Well, now, it -- it -- let's suppose, I thought the case turned on whether this was a religious exercise.

MR. NEWDOW I think it definitely is [a religious exercise], and it is because the two words are, under God, and I can't see of anything that's not religious, under God... It fails the endorsement test, it fails the outsider test. Imagine you're this one child with a class full of theists and you have this idea that you want to perhaps at least consider and you have everyone imposing their view on you, it fails every test this Court has ever come up with, and there's a principle here and I'm hoping the Court will uphold this principle so that we can finally go back and have every American want to stand up, face the flag, place their hand over their heart and pledge to one nation, indivisible, not divided by religion, with liberty and justice for all.

Dr. Newdow must have felt like he was shooting fish in a barrel.

Atheist Presents Case for Taking God From Pledge | NY Times
Excerpts From Arguments on the Meaning of "Under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance | NY Times

special delivery from mr. stiff • post/haste

East New York sexagenarian Mr. Stiff tried to kill three policemen by dropping a bowling ball on them from his terrace on the 17th floor. The Times explains that New Yorkers are so fond of chucking things at cops from above that these projectiles are referred to as "airmail". Mr. Stiff had more ammo at the ready, but was arrested for attempted murder, attempted assault, reckless endangerment, and criminal possession of a weapon before he could try again. As usual, his neighbors thought he was a happy guy. Maybe because he had a hobby.

Bowling Ball From 17th Floor Narrowly Misses 3 Officers | NY Times

will the bride wear white? will the bride wear anything? • post/haste

Today's 3am report in the Mirror breaks Christina Aguilera's engagement to boyfriend Jordan Bratman. The couple apparently met last October at a management meeting, and have since been spotted at various sporting events and shopping malls. But don't for a moment think Bratman's taken the X out of Xtina: on one of their recent dates the chanteuse(!) followed up a visit to an Elton John concert with a trip to titty-bar Jaguar's on the Vegas, uh, strip. There Miss Thang not only supposedly kicked down two grand for lapdances, but held a dance-off with one of the ladies.

Two-twenty heartily congratulates the happy couple, and looks forward to paparazzi photos displaying a wedding ceremony reflective of their shared taste for tastelessness.

make your kitty purr • post/haste

For those of you who do not indulge in the "420", to drop a little craigslist science, yet still would like to incorporate a brand aimed at Japanese jailbait into your, um, recreational activities... may we present the Hello Kitty Vibe. If ebay isn't your bag, baby, this company (nsfw) claims to have them in stock, and even offers a discount if you buy three or more. Oh, the possibilities... kind of gives new meaning to the SANRIO company motto: "Small gift, big smile."

anti-anti-depressants • post/haste

It appears that some of our favorite mood-enhancers -- including the ever-popular Prozac, Paxil, Zoloft and Wellbutrin -- may not be so helpful after all (msn.com). The FDA has suddenly decided that these and other commonly prescribed anti-depressants can actually increase the chances of a prescribee becoming suicidal.  

According to the article on msn.com: "Doctors, patients, and family members should be on the lookout for any symptoms of mania, including feeling extremely happy... inflated self-esteem, not needing as much sleep as usual, talking, or being more active than usual."

Um, right, so if you see any signs of your depression lifting, try to stay away from razor blades for awhile. FYI, two-twenty has found that alcohol is a very effective suicide deterrent. Generally, we are either too happily, sloppily drunk to even contemplate suicide, or so hungover that we lack the motor skills necessary to tie an electrical cord into a noose.

"fun times are for sharing with friends" • post/haste

There are those who might pretend to the "Hello Kitty Bong" Google search crown, and then there is two-twenty.

We, however, are not ones to rest on our laurels. In order to ensure that our despotic rule shall last forever and in perpetuity, we decided to do the unthinkable: create an actual Hello Kitty Bong. Wait wait wait, that is, an actual Hello Kitty TM (all rights reserved by and gladly assigned to the all powerful SANRIO CO.) Water Pipe (for use with, like, strawberry-infused tobacco and dried corn silk and, um, stuff). That's more like it. We suppose if there is one lesson to be taken from this, it is "Be careful what you wish for." If there are two, surely the second is "Don't provoke us, people."

Since two-twenty does not really, uh, indulge (save for the rare experiment), we brought in a panel of experts who we felt were more up to the task of providing our readers with only the most comprehensive and scientific information relating to trademark infringement and illegal drug use. They did not hesitate to take the high road, and as choruses of "Helllooooooooooo, kitty! Helllloooooo!" echoed about our halls, the true scope of our accomplishment was made clear: on the sixth day we had built it, they had come, and we all could see that it was good. Very, very good.
 

Now, we may rule with a blindingly white plastic paw, but our dictatorship is a benevolent one. In the spirit of compassionate conservatism, we are going to share with all of you the alchemic process that can turn $30.42 into a surprisingly utile piece of Art. Or something. It may be possible to complete the project on a tighter budget, perhaps if you live in a state with lower sales tax than New York, or if you have a small niece with an affinity for Hello Kitty products but a decidedly undeveloped capacity for self defense. You can save approximately $8.96 by resisting the temptation to purchase a sheet of Hello Kitty sparkle stickers, a Strawberry-U writing set, and a dangly Key Ring Charm while at the Sanrio Store, but we defy you to try. Lucky for you, the necessary Hello Kitty items are available online.

The Raw Materials

• Hello Kitty Pop-Up Straw Bottle
  
• Hello Kitty 4C Glitter Ballpoint Pen Set
  
• Hello Kitty Flower Power Rocket Eraser pack
  

In addition to these raw materials, you will need, as is the case with all things in life, the right tools for the job. Two-twenty does not have said tools, but we do possess an impressive improvisational capacity. This stems mostly from our time back in 'Nam (or perhaps more from our short stint in Rikers, but that is a story for another time). And yes, to answer your question, we were in the shit. So, a list not necessarily of the tools you will need, but of a selection of tools that will definitely get the job done:

• Hammer and an attendant nail.
• Electric drill with a very dull coarse-thread drywall bit.
• Leatherman (TM) Wave Multi-tool.
• Serrated-edge bread knife (adept students of the multi-tool will quickly note that a serrated blade is to be found among the many features of the above-mentioned Wave. You may substitute it for the bread knife, but we cannot guarantee your results).
• Small tub of Cranium Clay(TM) or Playdough*.
• Hot glue gun, preferably one with a low-heat setting, and one glue stick.

*Not exactly necessary, but does help with conceptualizing the size and angle of the hole you will need to burrow out of Hello Kitty's tummy.

Instructions

1. Using a hammer and nail, pierce Kitty's tummy just above her jumper to create a drive hole.

2. Drive electric drill through Kitty. Be patient, she is stronger than she looks.

3. Use straight-edge multi-tool knife blade to widen hole.

4. The hole should be oval in shape to allow for angling of Rocket Eraser container.

5. Apply hot glue to top of hole with Rocket Eraser container perpendicular to work surface. Slide Rocket Eraser container into place before glue dries.

6. Apply hot glue around the rest of the Rocket Eraser container, ensuring that Rocket Eraser container is properly positioned while glue dries.

7. Use bread knife to remove closed end of tube from Glitter Ballpoint pen set. File down edges so they are level.

8a. Apply hot glue to bottom quarter inch of tube...

8b. And quickly apply hot glue to mouth of Pop-Up Straw Bottle. Insert tube onto bottle and center before glue dries.

Ta da!

You can then reattach handy carrying strap for portability...

And fashion!

The finished product, with all tools utilized:

We are not yet taking orders for additional units, but might be cajoled into turning our home into a sweat shop if anyone knows any children in need of an after school activity (preferably Japanese children, for authenticity purposes only) . Also, on the off chance that you are reading this because you simply must possess a Hello Kitty Water Pipe yet lack skills in the Arts and Crafts department, there's a possibility we will auction our utterly unique creation to the highest bidder on eBay. That is, if we can part with it.

zombies kill god dead • post/haste

Day of the Dead deposes The Passion of the Christ as king of the box office.

In a sense, this is like the end of Christianity destroying the beginning of Christianity, as the zombies of Armageddon de-throne the seminal event of Christ's death and resurrection. This points one towards Ouroboros, or the ancient symbol of a snake eating it's own tail, an iconic image used quite literally as well as structurally and thematically in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Coincidence? Two-twenty can practically hear the hoarse, centuries-old whisperings of Nostradamus, driven near-mad by the weight of the prophecy upon his tongue: "The dead shall rise from the earth to spit on the flayed corpse of the Son of God... The overall box office take for the top twelve will be $109.7 million, up 33% from the same weekend a year before... zombies will feast on the flesh of the Saviour... this will bring year to date box office revenues to $1.8 billion, up 3-4% over last year at this time." Must have been kind of confusing at the time, but thankfully it all makes sense now.

If you live in New York, and would like to show your support for the flesh-eating living dead in their final battle against all that is good, godly and wholesome in the world, consider showing up in Union Square on Wednesday evening for this event.

Weekend box office report | Hollywoodreporter.com

omarosa, we hardly knew ye, and we wish we knew you even less • post/haste

Huh, imagine that. Divisive, egomaniacal freakshow (did we forget narcissistic, blindered race-baiter?) in talks for a book and TV deal.

Ex-'Apprentice' star stands by 'n-word' claim | Salon

errata non grata • post/haste

Um, did anyone else notice that Elvis Mitchell, in today's lukewarm review of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, lists "all" the Charlie Kaufman scripts that have been made into films but neglects to mention Confessions of a Dangerous Mind? Not that it was a perfect film, but it was a good script and it was George Clooney's directorial debut and it was based on a popular television game show host who may or may not have been leading a double life as a contract killer. Doesn't that count for something these days, people?

As far as the rest of the review goes, to be honest it was about what two-twenty expected. We have not seen Spotless Mind, but look forward to doing so this weekend. The script was very nearly awe-inspiring in its structure, and the writing was of course taut and funny and poignant in an off-kilter sort of way simply by virtue of being the work of the inarguably talented Mr. Kaufman. How his work translates to the screen is always the question... we like to think that Michel Gondry is up to the task (after struggling to get his sea legs in Human Nature). Mr. Mitchell seems to give Kaufman and Gondry's second effort an unqualified, "eh... not so bad."

'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind': Washing That Girl Out of His Head |NY Times

lookin' for love on all the blog pages • post/haste

There has been a recent spate of somewhat disturbing "featured personals" on sites that two-twenty is fond of stalking. To put it simply, we are concerned that there may be some miscommunication going on. As a public service to you, our readers, we thought we might offer translations (at no charge, mind you) of some examples whose coded delivery may mask particularly nefarious subtexts. Keep in mind that we are, if not pros, at least not total strangers to the possible pitfalls of the New York dating scene. Anyway, onward:  
 
From Gawker

some_body_sam writes:"There is nothing more attractive than a man who knows how to take care of a woman, yet let her be independent at the same time."
Translation: I am extraordinarily high maintenance and probably passive aggressive. You will never know what I want but I will always expect you to give it to me.
 
gryn writes: "Last great book I read: People's History of the United States, Rules for Revolutionaries." (A quick peek one level deeper into gryn's profile reveals a third pick: Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree.)
Translation: You had best read this before you think seriously about dating me. On a related note: I will go down on you for hours.

From Gothamist

makeupgirlmac writes: "Song or album that puts me in the mood: Norah Jones, Santana, Joni Mitchell, Stevie Nicks, John Mayer, Bob Marley, Tori Amos."
Translation: You will never have anal sex with me.
 
From bunsen.tv

passion8 writes: "What I'm looking for: You have to be able to take a brutal beating with a smile, rock the beard, and look good in a torn loincloth. A direct line to God doesn't hurt, either."
Translation: You will only be having anal with me, at least until we are married.
 
Like our friendster profile says, we're just here to help, people.

we're fucking tired • post/haste

Two-twenty's going to take a little nap, now.

Here're some celebrities swearing to amuse you while we rest (via popbitch).

the true dangers of pirated music, or, killing me not so softly • post/haste

Some crazy chick allegedly killed her boyfriend with her iPod. Our God, like Mel Gibson's, is a cruel and vengeful one. So don't fucking fuck with him. (via the nothing i know).

belaboring, obviously • post/haste

Gee, those poor folks over at MTV just can't seem to catch a break. Or they're not offering their workers enough coffee breaks, or someone's threatening to break someone else's legs, or something. Whatever the case, MTV and the proletariat are clearly not getting along. First, there was the rumor of a strike at the MTV Headquarters' cafeteria. Then one of the most spoiled, drunken, and arrest-prone casts ever (two-twenty hearts you!) to appear on The Real World threatened to quit their cushy job. Finally, today the AP reports that the next iteration of the show will not be shot in Philadelphia due to a labor dispute. Reality's a bitch.

Incidentally, while researching this item we dug up an article from the daily newspaper of two-twenty's alma mater. In it, a dear young girl says the following: "Frankie is alternative -- she boasts more than once to having met her current boyfriend in the back of a porn shop -- yet she also has a good head on her shoulders." Hahahahahahahaha! Ah, out of the mouths of babes.

surrounded by assholes: truth in advertising edition • post/haste

So, this morning whilst paging through the front section of the Times over a cup of Oren's Daily Roast, two things struck two-twenty. Three actually, but our opinion on the bombing in Baghdad is about as useful as Ben Affleck's opinion on, well, anything.

Item the first: hottt!! new t-shirt for you kids out there who are too kewl for the now clearly played "Voting is for Old People" t-shirt (banned at Urban Outfitters but available now on ebay for, let's see, $31.50 as of 9am EST): a Bloomingdales colorectal cancer T! You can see it here if you click on the "Fight Cancer" tab on the left. It's not distressed, but it is overpriced, and more importantly is modeled by Colin Farrell and Mandy Moore and features a big bright shining star on the chest... hmm, hold on a sec. Is it just us or has the star symbol been used to allude to a certain... nope, it's not just us according to The Asshole King (er, no dangerous graphics but not really work safe in spirit. Unless maybe you are an ass doctor, or a professor of ass-ology). This line of reasoning is further supported by Kurt Vonnegut in his book "Breakfast of Champions", assuming you can make the logical step from an asterisk to a star (we have faith in our readers). So, there you have it. Show your support for the assholes of the rich and famous by displaying one on your shirt, and lament the fact that they come in Virginal Pink and Funky Green, but not, alas, in Skidmark Brown.

Item the second: a Cingular wireless ad. Headline: "With Cingular Nation, you never get charged for roaming or long distance." Cute, 'clever' reinforcement: little Cingular asterisk-like (!) spokesthing says "Never means never." Small print at bottom of page: "Calls placed outside calling plan area $.79 per minute."

elephants! in manhattan! • post/haste

We meant to post this earlier, but, unlike, uh, elephants, we're sometimes forgetful.

love to love the love • post/haste

The lovely Ms. Love had another court appearance yesterday. She was very late. She looked funny. She acted like a spoiled brat, and apparently was so fucked up that she could not keep herself from saying inappropriate things and/or quoting The Donald. According to FOXNews:

"I have the pill bottles on me," she blurted. [ed. - no mention of whether or not there were any pills left in them, although all signs seem to point to the possibility that some might have been found in Ms. Love's digestive tract.]

At another point she said to her attorney, "You're fired."

"Miss Love, you're not doing yourself any favors," Superior Court Judge Elden Fox said.

"Rehired," Love said.

Courtney Love Scolded By Judge At Hearing | foxnews.com

coming to terms with independence • post/haste

Two-twenty are registered Independents, and today we received our third -- of what will surely number in the hundreds by November -- call from political parties intent on swaying our pendulums to their sides. The convo went like this:

evil: Hello, may I please speak to Mr. or Mrs. Two-Twenty?

good: Who's calling please?

evil: (long pause) This is a political courtesy call.

good: Okay, who, may I ask, is calling?

evil: Hello, my name is Brittany and I'm calling on behalf of the Republican blah blah blah to blah blah blah your blah blah blah.

good: Brittany, no one in this house is Republican. Can you please remove our telephone number from your calling list?

evil: Yes.

good: Thank you Brittany.

So far, the Republicans are the only ones who've telephoned, and their insidious campaigning hasn't been relegated to annoying calls. About a month ago, two-twenty received a large envelope containing a photo of the blithering idiot President and his wife thanking us for our support -- which they've never had in any way -- along with a request for money. The minimum donation, $25, the max, $25,000.

We consequently (over?)-reacted in a manner similar to those dealing with loss: first there was shock (how could they possibly think we would kick down our money?), then bargaining (maybe if we'd just registered as Democrats they'd leave us alone), depression followed (we didn't vote for him before but look what happened? is there any hope for this country?), and then, anger, which prompted us to tape the aforementioned photo on our kitchen wall with a Sharpie so we could work through our feelings whenever we needed to.

(clicking on the image will pop the finished piece)

Having expressed ourselves, we have finally arrived at acceptance.

Should you require this sort of therapy, here's a photo for you to deface:

it's not easy being so drunk you turn green • post/haste

Three in honor of St. Patrick's Day:

• Guiness bubbles really do sink! Actually, the ones on the side have trouble floating up because they experience so much friction from their contact with the side of the glass. The ones in the middle go right up and create a circular flow that results in the side bubbles being forced back down. Whatever. We're just impressed that these scientists managed to get this "research" past anyone (via msnbc).

• You may have missed the Dropkick Murphys' slate of five St. Patty's Day shows up in Boston, but now you can own your very own digitally-preserved copy of the live experience. Available at Amazon.

• Maybe save this for tomorrow morning, but msnbc publishes an Alcoholics Anonymous "do you have a drinking problem?" (pop)quiz. First thing we thought of was the old canard about what separates us from alcoholics: they go to meetings. Second thing we thought of was to take the quiz. Our answers, with comments, follow:

1. Have you ever decided to stop drinking for a week or so, but only lasted for a couple of days?

No. Why would we ever want to not drink for a whole week?

2. Do you wish people would mind their own business about your drinking -- stop telling you what to do?

Yes. Why are people (this may refer specifically to certain Australians) always trying to get us to do shots even when it is clear that our motor functions are dangerously impaired?

3. Have you ever switched from one kind of drink to another in the hope that this would keep you from getting drunk?

No. We may have switched from one, er, type of, er, neural stimulant to another in hopes of extending the amount of time we could remain vertical and thus able to drink, but we don't think that is what you are asking.

4. Do you ever need a drink to get started in the morning, or to stop shaking?

Yes. But only on Sundays. As far as you know.

5. Do you envy people who can drink without getting into trouble?

No. Isn't that half the fun of drinking?

6. Have you had problems connected with drinking during the past year?

No. Yes. Um, define "problems". Oh yeah, a few times we couldn't find liquor stores that were open on Sunday, but then MUG changed all that. Thanks!

7. Has your drinking caused trouble at home?

No. Yes. Um, define "trouble".

8. Do you ever try to get “extra” drinks at a party because you do not get enough?

Yes. But only if it's nearing the end of an open bar. In that case we may start aquiring imaginary friends. If you are a bartender at one of these events, you will be able to tell because we will suddenly need an extra Maker's on the rocks and a spare Ketel One and Something for our buddies Eugene and Mathilde. Wait a sec... "you do not get enough?" Are you implying that our drinking affects our sex life? Oh, well then, yes again.

9. Do you tell yourself you can stop drinking any time you want to, even though you keep getting drunk when you don't mean to?

No. Yes. Wait, is getting drunk when you don't mean to a bad thing?

10. Have you missed days of work or school because of drinking?

Yes. Fuck you, you sanctimonious little quiz. Like you haven't?

11. Do you have “blackouts”?

Yes. No. We do not remember. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. That's funny.

12. Have you ever felt that your life would be better if you did not drink?

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. No.

Incidentally, AA thinks that anyone who answered yes to four or more of the preceeding questions most likely has a serious drinking problem. You do the math.

Happy St. Drunk Irish Green Beer Snake-Whacking Day!

shamrock shake • post/haste

This seems at once very au courant and incredibly imbecilic: a Franz Ferdinand "Take Me Out" / Kelis "Milkshake" mash up mix (via stereogum) It's true what they say about the fine line betwen clever and stupid, and that mix is tromping all over it. For the opportunity to check out Franz Ferdinand's recent album online, try here (also via stereogum, obvs). For the opportunity to check out Kelis' double-thick chocolate frappe... wait, you've spent the last two months trying to get it out of your head. Sorry.

While on the subject of Franz Ferdinand, two-twenty must point out one thing: is it just us or do they remind one a bit of Dopo Yume? We (well, at least some of us) were at the February FF show at the Bowery (we left the critiquing to more practiced reviewers) and really enjoyed it and felt maybe even a little caught up in the heady atmosphere of unabashed boy worship... but in the end we decided that perhaps they are not the second coming of christ. That title clearly belongs to The Faint.

the like total complete new testament, with fun quizzes! • post/haste

According to Reuters, Transit Books, the teen division of Nelson Bibles, is planning to publish "Refuel", a bible-zine for boys. Nelson already has a hit with "hip Christian" girls in the form of "Revolve", a mazagine-style repackaging of the New Testament that breaks up the dogma with blurbs a born-again former Cosmo Girl columnist might pen.

Here're some gems:

RELATIONSHIPS
"She should be without blemish" (Ephesians 5:27). Sorry, you don't get to blame your newest pimple on your boyfriend. However, if he is pressuring you to do anything you know is wrong, he's not treating you right. This can be trying to get you to sleep with him, getting you to sneak out on your parents, or even getting you to give him the latest gossip. Now, while your latest crush isn't supposed to fill the role of husband to you, if he's asking you to do things that aren't in line with God's commands he's gotta go. If you're dating, make sure he's someone who takes the Scriptures seriously. (page 42)

GUYS SPEAK OUT
Q. What do you think about girls and guys praying together?
A. It's really important for your relationships to be based on God, and not anything else. (page 164)

cat scratch fever • post/haste

Protect your furniture from kitty's claws with Soft Claw caps.

Or just use them to decorate the nails of the guitar you made from Snowball I (via the face).

the hunter becomes the hunted • post/haste

Are we so hard up for celebrity sightings in NYC that we have resorted to stalking certain web-based authoresses of dubious provenance? In yet another massively meta moment provided free-of-charge by the interworldwidenetosphere, gawker stalks a former iteration of itself:

I saw Elizabeth Spiers in the bathroom at New York magazine. She's a lot smaller than I thought she'd be.

Maybe we are that hard up, seeing as said edition of gawker stalker included not one but two Vincent Gallo sightings, not one but two Sean Lennon sightings, a Kathy Lee sighting, and so many Strokes that we nearly climaxed.

we hate raymond, do you hate raymond? • post/haste

Ray Romano is promising threatening to keep his show "Everybody Loves Raymond" on the air for one more season. Two-twenty did not actually know that the show was still in production before reading this information. Two-twenty hates Raymond. The only time two-twenty watched endured the program horror was on a flight operated by American Airlines, and that was only because the evil carrier provides so little in the way of amenities to its passengers that tuning in to its "entertainment" helped make us feel as though we were getting more than just a tiny package of pretzels and one cup of cola for our overpriced bus-in-the-air fare. Sadly -- oh so sadly -- it appeared that we were the only viewers on board who did not laugh at the show, thereby providing evidence to what we had heard but still can not believe: "Everybody Loves Raymond" is the number two sitcom on all of television.

If you love Raymond, we would like to help you. Please e-mail us and we will happily suggest alternate forms of televised entertainment.

Romano 'Almost Sure' His CBS Show Will Return | Reuters.com

the hair club for penn • post/haste

Could Sean Penn be taking another swipe at his former friend Nicolas Cage? IMDb reports that Penn now credits his success to his hair -- something Cage, who Penn criticized back in 1991 by stating he was "no longer an actor", has been losing steadily for years. Penn was quoted as saying, "All the training I've received is based on finding things internally and pulling them to the surface. Then I began trusting that those things would be there. But now I consider myself to really be a hair actor...". We're hoping Cage comes back with something along the lines of, "Sean Penn is Sam."

A "hair actor". Please. That is so retarded.

ever dedicated to providing the ogle you googled • post/haste

The big Style Section cover story of this week's Times was about Google. Seeing as the search engine's already built in to almost every web browser, and that everyone, including self-proclaimed neo-luddites, is savvy enough to not only use the engine but the word "google" as a verb, the article's prominence seems a bit ridiculous, at least for old news. Still, without Google and it's occasional haphazard results, two-twenty would receive a hell of a lot less visitors than it does. We know because we are watching you. We are watching you because we care.

In general, the search strings that lead readers to two-twenty make perfect sense: we've waxed on about Rich girl Jamie Gleicher and her richer dad Leo, suggested Adam Mesh's net worth was above the Average Joe's, posted pictures of Elvis' fashion-model granddaughter Riley Keough, and yacked about Alexandra Kerry (and her father and the other Alexandra in their lives).

Other times the queries kinda make sense: we've declared our love for Mishal Hussain, but have no pictures of her nude, we've written about Jessica Simpson, though not her cosmetics line, Dessert, that a lot of people seem to think might be edible, and though like everyone else, we had something to say about Janet Jackson's display at the Superbowl, that was the only "nipple slip" we covered... until now,

Apparently all the world loves a good old flash of titties. We tried to expose (heh) the oft-queried Ally Hillfiger booby-shot, but like the hundreds of people who've visited two-twenty looking for evidence, we came up empty-handed (heh heh). Lucky for you, our dear nipple-slip seekers, we were finally able to locate another popular search: Nicole Richie's breast-baring antics on the runway of Joey & T's October 31st 2003 fashion show.

You can download the real video clip here.The Simple Life star flashes her assets just about four minutes in.

See, we told you we care!

mea culpa in vino veritas (sic) • post/haste

Okay, we give up, and like the gentleman(?) who sent us so much traffic yesterday does so often, we plead hungover exhaustedness. Thursday nights are dangerous, people. Remember, alcohol and blogging are inseperable but alcohol and rohypnol and ketamine and oxycontin and blogging, when combined, have a very short shelf life. We promise to think of clever things over the weekend and then be too bleary-eyed and empty-minded on Monday to write about them. Until then, we remain your humble servants in the service of the lord ketel one,

two-twenty

over our dead bodies • post/haste

The Times reports that seven excess family-donated cadavers Tulane University's med school got rid of through the National Anatomical Service were sold by the company to the US Army -- for $25,000 to $30,000 a pop -- who used the bodies to test how shoes would hold up to land mines. Sure, the whole thing gives new, gory meaning to the term "crash test dummy," but what's with a company selling the dearly departed, for whatever reason, for that much cash? Two-twenty wonders, why not eliminate the middle man? Thirty grand could definitely offset the cost of the funeral, not to mention assuage a lot of grief.

Donated Bodies Used in Land Mine Tests | NY Times

Here's more on organ donation, including a tid-bit on how if you donate your body directly to the National Anatomical Service, they may charge you between $150 to $600 to ship grandma to their facility.

the letters and the law • post/haste

Last night two-twenty averted boredom by playing Scrabble at Hi-Fi. Actually, let's call it Beer-Scrabble, in honor of the current trend in hybridized pastimes. Or really, Beer-Ketel-One-Scrabble.

Though we generally look upon each other with absolutely nothing but kindness, two-twenty plays Scrabble like banking moguls from rival investment firms play charity tennis matches -- mercilessly... for fun! And like those tycoons, sometimes we attempt to find loopholes in the law for our gains. Things never turned ugly -- they really never do at two-twenty, at least not intramurally -- but last night there was what we will herewith dramatize for the purpose of your entertainment as "an incident".

Early in the game, Team Joanna took a pummeling when Team Alex laid down all seven tiles on a triple word score. Soon after, Team Joanna attempted to scrabble as well with the word "ATLANTIC".

Now, everyone knows that proper nouns are not permitted in Scrabble. But what about proper adjectives? The answer is...

no.

Although the The Pixie Pit's online Scrabble rules make no mention of the fact that officially, words that are always capitalized, like, say, Atlantic are not allowed, the official Scrabble rules state otherwise.

So there you have it.

Team Joanna did in fact remove the word (after a measured number of polite attempts to dissuade their opponents), opting for the shorter but extremely appropriate word "ANTIC".

Final scores:
Team Alex -- 349
Team Joanna -- 234

If anyone wants to play online Scrabble with us, go ahead and start a game. We will beat your asses enjoy the challenge.

shaking it for a polaroid digital picture • post/haste

Andre 3000 of Outkast may have turned his attention to dressing women with the clothing line he shares with Big Boi, but he still finds time to head to the studio... to undress them.

In this session (so not work safe unless you're in porn), Andre checks out his subject's speakerboxx with a lot of love from below, above, the left, the right...

(And now, once again, two-twenty can not get "Hey Ya" out of our heads.)

via popbitch

igod you devil • post/haste

If ever two-twenty has bowed down before a false iDol, it most certainly was an iPod.

Amen.

empty-handed.com: and the same goes to you

killing time (and brain cells) with a vengeance • post/haste

We're not sure if it's because the global village idiots have officially taken over town hall, or if Americans have grown as bored with their citys' offerings as a kid at her mother's third wedding ceremony, but people are resorting to some bizarre activities to get out of the house. Two-twenty generally applauds innovation, but this latest spate of calculated distractions is so contrived that we've brainstormed some alternatives that we'd find just as fun, and often a lot more cost effective.

movieoke
East Village cineasts/exhibitionists are gathering weekly at Two Boots Den of Cin to recite dialogue from subtitles while scenes plays behind them.

two-twenty's movieoke
Buy a shitoad of Budweiser tall-boys and Michelob Ultra. Make Joanna drink the Michelob Ultra. Slip "Empire Strikes Back" into the old video tape player and ignore her clucks about it "not [being] the effing widescreen version!" -- she'll shut up once the crawl starts. Sit back, and listen as she recites every other line of the film. Drink another tall-boy when her babbling starts to annoy you: once Yoda hits the screen again you'll be laughing like a kid during her mother's third divorce.

staring contests
According to trendcentral, after a December screening of the film STAREMASTER: THE MOVIE at Pianos on the LES, "patrons rushed to the stage to create their own StareMaster contest". the rules are stringent, playground rules.

two-twenty's staring contests
Buy a shitoad of Budweiser tall-boys and Michelob Ultra. Commence staring contest. Joanna will be eliminated almost immediately due to hysterical fit of laughter. Let Alex and Ash duke it out until they require another beer. Turn on television and stare at that instead. Drink beer until convinced that television is staring back.

pornaoke
Thanks again for everything, Germany. On the last Wednesday of every month at Lucy's Hat Shop in Philly, participants provide the soundtracks to screened porn.

two-twenty's pornaoke
Buy a shitoad of Budweiser tall-boys and Michelob Ultra. Drink beer while watching Cinemax on demand "Max After Dark" movie. Barrage stone-faced Alex with dumb questions about Project Date-Our-Flatmate until he tells Ash and Joanna to "shut the fuck up".

chess boxing
This one hasn't hit New York yet to our knowledge, but it's a matter of time. In this Dutch invention, players alternate chess with boxing for a maximum of eleven rounds. The winner is determined by either a knockout or checkmate.

two-twenty's chess boxing
Buy a shitoad of Budweiser tall-boys and Michelob Ultra. Have Ash launch a computer chess game application and tell him there are beers in the refrigerator. Bring one to him when he asks. Let him play against the machine until he starts screaming "you fucking cheating monkey" so loudly that you can hear him from the other room. Go to any bar populated by suits just as happy-hour has turned ugly. Sit down at a table with a clear view of the bar and send Joanna to get drinks. Let Alex feign opposition to Ash's pugilistic instincts before averring that he's "got [Ash's] back". Watch the blood fly, then promptly exit.

rock paper scissors
Blame Canada. The 2003 Molson Canadian Rock Paper Scissors International Championships took place last October in Toronto featuring competitors from all over The States, including All Too Flat from New York, vying for world domination. You know the rules.

two-twenty's rock paper scissors
Run out of Budweiser tall-boys and Michelob Ultra. Commence competition to determine who will make beer run. Drink shitoad of Budweiser tall-boys and Michelob Ultra. Play again to determine how to kill rest of evening.

puppy love • post/haste

Some people love their animals. Some people love to play ball with their animals, and some people love to play with their animal's balls (not work safe). Others, it turns out, love their animals so much that they just want the little rascals to have balls they can be proud of, regardless of their, er, reproductive capabilities. The real beauty of prosthetic pet testicle suppliers Neuticles, however, is that they can provide you, the proud pet-owner, with a necklace, a bracelet, even a keychain that proudly displays exact replicas of your pet's gonads. Don't let the jesus freaks have all the fun with their crucifixion nail necklaces. Remember-- if they can worship GOD with their jewelery, surely you can worship DOG with yours.  

jailbait rocks catwalk • post/haste

Get ready to see this little lady everywhere:

Elvis Presley's grandaughter, Riley Keough, made her catwalk debut in Milan last month as Dolce & Gabbana's new "face" for their D&G Fall 2004 collection.

According to her manager Desiree Gruber, the model has been deluged with offers, some for gigs which might present her in a tartier fashion than D&G (as though that were possible). "Riley is 14," Gruber explains, "She's not going to do lingerie. She's not going to do swimwear. Anything too hot and sexy is not going to happen."

Famous last words.

No word yet on whether or not Riley ascribes to her parents' chosen cult of Scientology, or whether she dropped her first name "Danielle" because Riley is clearly a hotter, sexier name.

Front Row: Not Without My Sweater | NY Times

minor report • post/haste

The Mirror reports that Colin Farrell almost hooked up with Lindsay Lohan, the chick from Freaky Friday, but bailed on the date after she told him she was just seventeen years old. "Thanks," he supposedly said, "maybe in a year or so."

In the meantime, Colin can console himself with one of Lindsay's, like, totally cute t-shirts:

COLIN DOES HAVE MORALS AFTER ALL | Mirror.co.uk

compassionate conservatives endorse hand-holding • post/haste

We here at two-twenty are so happy to hear that America's "leaders of tomorrow" are so respectful of the core values upon which our ever-evolving democracy is based. Values like Liberty, the Pursuit of Happiness, Equal Rights, and the Separation of Church and State.

The Home School Legal Defense Association, based at and closely affiliated with Patrick Henry College (an evangelical Christian college for home-schooled students), states its goal in a front page story today in the Times: to train Christian men and women "who will lead our nation and shape our culture with timeless biblical values." Some methods of accomplishing this goal include prohibiting male/female contact beyond hand-holding while walking (non-perambulatory students must step away from one another), monitoring all students' web activity, and enrolling few if any non-white students. Did we mention that 7 of the 100 current White House interns come from Patrick Henry College? We don't make this stuff up, people. Read it, and laugh through your tears.

College for the Home-Schooled Is Shaping Leaders for the Right | NY Times
School Rules, From VH1 to Hand-Holding | NY Times

as if their roles in voodoo rituals weren't enough • post/haste

Why did the chicken cross the road?

To get the fuck out of Haiti.

Aristide Calls for Calm After Six Killed in Haiti | Reuters via Yahoo! News

this is what two martinis and a train ride will get you, on a friday, minus tip | alex • post/haste

So I just bought my first iPod. Not that that has anything to do with anything, excepting for the fact that it has completely and totally changed my life for the better. Seriously, it is like the best $400 I have ever spent. And, as I quite literally said to the clerk at the computer store when I expressed this same sentiment while purchasing said iPod, I have spent money on some pretty fucking good drugs in my life (Hi Mom!). I would say, in honor of Uncle Grambo, that it was the apogee of all disposable income spending adventures, except for the fact that in order to qualify as a disposable income purchase I think you need to actually have the money on hand necessary for the purchase. This one was all about BankOne Visa, baby. Heh. I’ll bet they regret the day they gave yours truly a five-figure credit line… wait a sec… they’ve jacked my interest rate like eight times since then… hmmm.

Anyway. This is not about iPods. IPods are here incidental. This is about states of mind. Today went something like this for me: I woke up around 9am with a medium-sized hangover and an attendant headache. This was due to the fact that after a very pleasant p:dof-related event last night I decided to meet up with a friend to play pool and listen to the uber-extensive jukebox at Hi Fi (ex-Brownies) . We played eight ball against a couple of total losers who, inexplicably, kept beating us despite our clearly superior pool-playing skills and taste in music. I should here mention that these two rather unattractive Europeans (think: the worst of Benelux) were hanging out with two really-trying-too-hard hipster wannabe girls. We’re talkin’ ultra-low-slung-jeans-with-the-studded-belt, artfully-aged-tee-shirt, totally-un-post-meta-ironic-trucker-hat-wearing beeyotches. This made me quite honestly wonder if someone had stolen my idea of opening a hipster hooker franchise. The idea is that you would be able to hire a girl who would not only, uh, service you, but, much more importantly, would spend all evening with you in the hipster hangout of your choice making you the envy of every beautiful emo boy in the place. Side benefit… every one of the boys there would go home at the end of the evening and spend literally hours wondering how you got the girl of their dreams, and then they would write about it on their LiveJournal and you could read about it the next day. It’s sort of like the closest a man can come to being multi-orgasmic.

Anyway, when I woke up this morning with the aforementioned hangover, it suddenly occurred to me what I should have said to the one of those hipster chicks who I ended up in a short-lived conversation with. I should have, very seriously and all deadpan, asked her why her girlfriend was wearing such an ugly baseball hat. I would have said, “It’s like those hats that farmers wear. What’s up with that?” She would have looked at me kind of funny, wondering if I was serious, but I would have held my incredulous expression. “It’s a trucker hat,” she would have said. “Well, sure, I guess truckers maybe wear them as well as farmers, but how does that help explain why your friend is wearing one? It’s really unattractive,” I would have said. “It’s a TRUCKER HAT,” she would have rejoined. I would continue to play dumb until she was finally forced to either walk away or explain the whole trucker hat phenomenon to me, as she understood it (hopefully the latter). Next time I am presented with this situation, I am most definitely going to take the plunge.

Right. So perhaps you can understand that when the above is one of your first waking thoughts, the day is going to be a good one. I got up, made coffee, had a sesame bagel with chive cream cheese, and read an article in the Times about seniors having robo-sex in Japan. Then I went to the gym, where I witnessed two freakishly fit people engaging in some sort of bizarre mating ritual involving tossing medicine balls back and forth, patting each other’s tummies as they did sit ups, and rolling their hips suggestively whenever such an action might in any way be semi-reasonably associated with the exercise they were engaged in. This creeped me out, but I was safely cocooned by my iPod and was thus impervious to their aggressively creep-inducing vibe.

Next came a much-needed shower (more because of the drinking than the exercising), and then it was off to lunch with an ex-girlfriend who I had not seen in some time. We went to Rare and ate rather delicious hamburgers (mine had caramelized onions on it, because I strongly believe that whenever one is given the opportunity to add caramelized onions to anything one absolutely must). I learned, quite out of the blue, that she had recently become engaged to her very nice Dutch boyfriend (sorry about the earlier Benelux comment. I didn’t mean you. But you of all people should know what I mean). We drank several martinis in honor of our “business lunch”. About halfway through my second one it occurred to me that she was the first of my ex-girlfriends (as far as I know) to get married, or at least engaged. This actually made me feel sort of happy in a grown-up kind of way. Or grown-up in a happy sort of way, or something.

Then I found myself on a train on my way up to Newport, RI for the weekend to do something sailing-related (this means nothing to 98% of you. For the remaining 1.5 people, perhaps you can understand how this, combined with the recent hints of Spring weather, would only add to my already burgeoning mood). My belly had a warm vodka buzz, I had a beer in front of me and my iPod’s earbuds were nestled comfortably just where they should be. For some reason I cued up stellastarr*'s Somewhere Across Forever. As Connecticut rolled by, smoothed out and softened by a thick fog, and the goofily upbeat guitar kicked in, I realized that nothing all that great had happened today. Rather, my day had been suffused with an unfamiliar feeling: unbridled optimism. I was at once happy and seized by the oddest thought: this is probably close to how people like Lindsay Lindsayism and Sarah Ultragrrrl feel all of the time. God bless them, I thought. God bless them every one.

robotiXXX • post/haste

Like Dr. Octagon, we at two-twenty are seeing robots every day. First there was an item in our monthly issue of The Face that introduced us to "clunkies" -- people who want to screw robots and/or get off by dressing like robots and screwing, and to roboho, a game that lets you program your own sex-bot in multiple techniques of pleasure (to borrow a phrase from Star Trek's Commander Data). Then today, the Times featured a story about robotic healthcare for old Japanese people on the front page.

Toshiki Shibahara, above, said, "The temperature is just right -- the bubbles are really comfortable". We think something may have gotten lost in translation; doesn't her smile say something more than "comfortable"?

Maybe it was The Face, or just our dirty minds, but there appear to be a lot of people getting turned on by robots. Enough, even, to constitute the beginnings of what Malcolm Gladwell calls a "social epidemic" in his book "The Tipping Point". We looked around for evidence and came up with a load of freaky shit. Usenet -- ever the digital clubhouse for people who can't even tell the old Groucho Marx joke because no one in their right mind would offer them membership elsewhere -- hosts alt.fetish.robot, a newsgroup "dedicated to the discussion of the concept of sex with or sexual attraction to robots and robot-like beings". Self-proclaimed "mad artist" Brent Harris sculpts Robot Chicks that retail for $400. Angel Heartz, a shop in (where else?) Japan, hawks the Vibe-inu, a modified Sony Aibo robot dog that will "come" and make its master, um, you know. Robot porn abounds. "Tomo", a film about a sex-crazed robot, won the jury prize for international short at Sundance. And this woman, The Robot Girl of London walks around like this all the time:

If we're to follow Gladwell's theory, the tipping point may come when "I, Robot", currently in post-production, is released later this year (no doubt on July-4th-Big-Willie-Weekend -- yeah, it stars Will Smith). The only problem is that the only person who seems to be able to tolerate Will any longer, let alone find him attractive, is Jada, and even she didn't look too pleased with him at the Oscars.

Not that it matters, he's not playing the robot.

For the record, the only robot two-twenty thinks is hot is Vicki from Small Wonder.

the bots will eat themselves • post/haste

In case you needed more evidence that sac is on to something, Wired points to a program designed to search out original thought on the web before it is contaminated by evil Decepticon blog bots.

Warning: Blogs Can Be Infectious | Wired.com
Blog Epidemic Analyzer

baghdad bigtop • post/haste

Just when we thought Iraq couldn't get any scarier, a bunch of clowns have decided to take a circus there.

Circus2Iraq began scaring the crap out of entertaining children of the war-torn country after realizing "People are traumatised, tired and worn down by years of war and sanctions and are still without many basic necessities, despite the obligations of the occupying powers to provide humanitarian items."

"We're not aid workers," their website says, "and, in any case, Iraq is a wealthy country which doesn't need charity. We think the best thing we can do is bring a bit of colour, a bit of normality, a bit of playfulness and make people smile.

Two-twenty would like to point out that there is nothing normal about clowns. That said, even our hard hearts were tempered by Fish Eye, Jo, and Devilstick Peat's humanitarian effort. We would like to suggest that in addition to the juggling scarves, red noses and kazoos they request on their wishlist, the following items might be of use:

• ringmaster trained by special forces
• armored clown car (it's a lot easier to get to the kids in one piece if you're protected by three inches of steel plating!)
• mine mattresses (clown shoes are kind of big!)
• multi-colored kevlar jumpsuits (the kevlar's for the bad guys, the pretty colors are for the kids!)

shooting blankly in israel • post/haste

Sometimes it is very difficult to watch well-intentioned but clueless people interject themselves into complex situations. There is the Occam's Razor argument, positing essentially that the simplest answer is often the correct one, but this does not mean that we should appoint Jessica Simpson as Secretary of State.

Case in point: a fashion shoot recently at the Israeli security barrier. Whether or not fashion house Comme-Il-Faut is concerned primarily with peace or with selling clothes (the photos are not appearing in a political journal, they are for a catalogue) may certainly be debated, but the question seems somewhat moot. The bottom line is that, due to the lopsided value system of international consumer culture, the very act of putting a model next to the barrier interpolates the wall into the world of fashion, as opposed to the other way around.

Maybe we should let one of the models explain it: "We are doing something to show that we are just people who want to have no barriers, peace and, you know, beautiful things like me and the clothes. Not gray walls." Indeed. Or perhaps the Times reporter who filed the story sums up the complicated issues best in his closing paragraph: "Ms. Weinberg wore brown plaid pants and a bright orange jacket."

Fashionable Protest, Lost in Translation | NY Times

a cure for your listlessness • post/haste

Most of our readership is aware of The Black List (if you are not aware of said list, now is a good time to go check it out as this week's contributors are hurling invective like effing Pedro Martinez). Less of you may be aware of the black list, wherein an intrepid Kiwi blogger catalogues all of the things/people/concepts/colors/large sea-dwelling mammals that have been called "the new black" recently. A handy reference, to say the least.

charity starts at home, right? • post/haste

Tonight two-twenty will be attending a cocktail party benefit for City Harvest, a charity organization that rescues excess food from restaurants and brings it to people in need. In a disgusting display of irony that will probably make you hate us as much as we currently hate ourselves, here's a photograph of our latest Fresh Direct order, received just one hour ago (it took that long to unpack). Please note that, as usual, it contains enough beer to get every freshman girl at every university in the United States drunk for an entire school year, including Spring Break.

Perhaps this is a life-vest situation, you know, in the event of emergency, secure yours before helping the person next to you with theirs. In any event, we did contribute to the good folks at City Harvest, and we will be drinking cocktails with them to alleviate a level of guilt we thought only our mothers could incite.

almost thirty-one | joanna • post/haste

We at two-twenty don’t usually wipe off the clown make-up, but after multiple attempts to craft digital ballon animals for our dozen or so readers -- during which times each and every one popped in my face -- I freaking give up. Tomorrow is my birthday. My thirty-first birthday. Thirty ONE. I don’t like it. I will tomorrow. Shit, I’ll love it tomorrow. But today, or at least for now, I do not like it at all.

So instead of continuing my effort to look outward, I’m going to turn myself to face me (all apologies to Bowie). Birthdays are personal New Years; here are some annotated resolutions:

Learn to empty ashtrays before they are scary.

Sigh. A year ago I was two months in to being smoke-free, on my second to last week of the patch. Quit for seven months. Then I met Ash. Now I ash in an ashtray he bought me.

Cool, right? When you can see it.

Maintain commitment to trying on items at H&M despite devil voice that insists 1) "it’s only $15" and/or 2) "you can always return it". Thought about capturing evidence of past indiscretions but there’s self-examination and there’s self-flagelation. Important to draw the line.

Keep desk organized, or at least more organized.

I have no "after" picture.

Learn to wear heels. Without falling. When sober. At weddings and everywhere else.

This was actually my New Year’s resolution. Not doing too well with it. It’s been cold and New York is a walking city and... okay, enough excuses. If freaking Sarah Jessica can run around in Manolos than I can too, dammit. Or knock-offs. Or whatever. It’s the stairs that are a problem. No no WERE a problem.

Stop ignoring reports that Tasti D-Lite’s published nutritional analysis is absolute bullshit.

Accept that even my beloved Caudalie skincare products will not change the fact that I am getting older… but never ever stop using them because they are magically transformative.

And finally, concede that even though their country is home to the ten deadliest snakes in the world, that they are proud of having the largest man-made structure on the planet that is, in fact, a chain link fence, and that they talk kinda funny... Australians aren't all that bad after all.

average d'oh! • post/haste

Average Joe 2: Electric Boogaloo proves yet again that hot chicks are stupid. Not once now, but twice, lame-ass idiot girls with funny names have had a choice between men who would devote their lives to ensuring their every hapiness and men who plan to use them in an attempt to reach an unprecedented sixteenth minute of fame. Not once now, but twice, these women have cavalierly tossed a baker's dozen of lawn darts at the hearts of the Average Joe while simultaneously tonguing the hairless balls of their chosen studly mate. Dextrous? Yes. Adroit decision making? Not so much.

This time, "Hottie Sensitive Artist" Larissa dumped "I Love You But I'd Fuck Nomar" Brian for "I'd Dump You For Winona Ryder... Or A Decent Agent" Gil. Incidentally, Joanna was so upset by Larissa's callous treatment of Boston Brian that she broke into tears. And she's a Yankees fan. Witness her sorrow:

We are pleased to report that there was a happy endning to this little passion play. Larissa had a BIG SECRET to reveal to her chosen breeding stud. A secret that, judging by the music and the well-edited tropical storm leading up to its revelation must be along the lines of "I'm a pre-op" or "I once flashed a breast at a Super Bowl halftime show." But no, it is EVEN BIGGER: she once dated FABIO!!! NO EFFING WAY!!!! That is like, such a BIG DEAL!!!! OmiGAWD!!!! Gil walks, obvs, sensing that any chick that has gone from dating Fabs to starring in a third-rate FOX reality TV show is not going to be able to help his career. Smart guy.

Larissa was, of course, crushed. Here's hoping that this life lesson inspires her artistically, or that she get's the gig hosting "My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance 2". Either one would be good.

turning the other buck • post/haste

According to the IMDb (Internet Movie Database), Mel Gibson's Jesus movie has incited a "new craze across America for Christian-themed jewelry." Uh huh. But it gets better. People -- Christians, we assume -- aren't just loading up on your garden variety crosses and whatnot, but are purchasing jewelry officially licensed by Mel's production company. IMDb reports that the pewter nail inscribed with Isaiah 53:5 is selling particularly well.

We at two-twenty would like to point out that you can not spell "jewelry" without "jew", that "Mel" rhymes with "hell", and that regardless of our Judeo-Christian backgrounds, we are Athiests with solid morals who think this is all very, very bad.

the oscars, the grouches • post/haste

To make the six hour Oscars presentation slightly more tolerable, two-twenty opted to play the New York Post's Academy Award Drinking Game. According to the official rules, we were supposed to imbibe, and dutifully did, whenever the orchestra cut off an acceptance speech and whenever LOTR won an award. We added our own list of criteria, including any references to royal title, uses of malapropisims/miswords, thanks to god, and references to Miramax or the Weinsteins. No one thanked Jesus (thankfully), but if they had, that would have meant a shot. We still found our way into the vodka. Due to a secretarial snafu in which Alex transcribed "crying --> shot" without preceding the dictum with the word "winner", Ash's adherence to the letter of the rules, rather than the spirit, had us, uh, in the spirits progressively more often as the show went on and on and on. We will be sure to rewrite the rules with more attention to detail for next year's circle-jerk telecast.

So, yeah. We know who won. And we still don't care. But here's what we really want to know...

Who sent all the women the same bias-cut silk gowns and why did Sandra Bullock's look like a cake?

What was on Peter Jackson's wife's head, a hobbit?

Did Michael Douglas wear his sunglasses through the first third of the show because it was broadcast in hi-definition?

What was with the shampoo commercial graphics?

Is Sofia Coppola borderline-illiterate?

And, most importantly, is the only reason the Apocalypse did not enter its final phases when Sting took the stage with Phil Collins because at that exact moment -- accounting for the five second delay -- Billy Joel and Elton John countered their combined energy by grasping each other's piano-man-hands somewhere on the other side of the planet?