beautymist pantyhose

Just Erin

A college buddy of mine contacted me last night and made a comment about the photo in yesterday's post, saying she was impressed that I still had anything like that laying around.

It is an evocative photo to me but in an ironic way. It's not at all graphic. You cannot see any part of our mouths, yet one commenter assumed we were french kissing and called it grotesque. Another said he didn't feel very good about the picture. Yet another liked the way my hands were around my Romeo's face.

There is not one controversial element to the photo. It's just two half-drunk college kids making out on the grass--23 years ago at that. There are a zillion photos on the internet that depict a kiss in every imaginable way that any of my readers might view and have no reaction to. But that picture was different.

So real. So evocative.

I took a series of photos the other night as I was thinking my thunks. I wasn't sure about posting them, but now I think they're a good contrast to yesterday's image.

Here's an honest depiction of your humble hostess.

* * *

Wardrobe

When I was in college at Ohio University, there were a few guys in my dorm (Weld Hall) that formed a band. I do not recall the name of the band. They had guitars and some drums, but none of them knew how to play any of the instruments.

They only had one song, "Wardrobe," which they played at a bar called the Hangar 5 (at least I'm pretty sure it was the Hangar 5). The Hangar 5 was a huge old machine shop that had been cleared of machines (save a massive press in the "courtyard" of which my Dad said, "Holy christ, look at that old press! They oughtta get it working and have Crush Day--crush anything you want for a buck: pictures of old girlfriends, textbooks. Hell that press would crush a whole desk!). After the heavy equipment was dispatched, the expansive building was filled with picnic tables, pool tables, video game machines and a huge bar.

I spent untold hours at the Hangar 5, wherein a can of Stroh's cost 50 cents.

When the guys in my dorm played at the Hangar 5, they made a great deal of noise with their guitars and drums while repeating the following lyrics:

WARDROBE!
My clothes don't fit.

WARDROBE!
I look like shit.

As brilliant today as it was in 1986.

* * *

Today's graphic features your humble hostess and an unidentified South Green Romeo circa 1986. No additional information is available.

It's nine thirty

At 28 second mark in yesterday's silly youtube, you can hear my computer announce the time. My computer announces the time every thirty minutes.

It's nine thirty, said my computer 15 minutes ago.

What I heard, however, was this:

It's nine thirty.

That's thirty minutes later than the last time I had to come over here and tell you what time it is. And, just like at nine o'clock, you have now allowed another thirty minutes to transpire during which you have made no positive contribution to world at large. You are a piece of shit and if you check your email or stat counter one more time, the authorities are going to come over here and put you in asshole prison.

Oh joy. Now it's nine fifty. Wonder what she'll be telling me in ten minutes.

Erin learned a new trick!

One of the most important films I've ever seen

When I first saw "Donald Duck in Mathmagic Land" in grade school, I thought wow! there is someone out there who sees math the way I do. This film, what I consider to be one of Disney's most brilliant efforts, is the only thing that comes close to representing how math works in my head, the five pointed star and magic rectangle sequences in particular. Come back when you have a half-hour to watch the whole thing, but don't wait too long. It's only a matter of time until YouTube takes it down.

Part one:



Part two:



Part three:

A post of questionable parameters

My kid came into the kitchen today and said that she thought that the Egyptians were the best looking ancient people.

I embarked on a long irritating speech about how there are no actual photos of the ancient Egyptian people and the only images we have of them are drawings and that people creating drawings and images sometimes make the subjects look different than they actually look for a variety of reasons.

"Cool," said my kid.

Cool.

Pool, tool, rule, mule, duel, fuel, jewel.

Newel.

The world can be separated into two classes: the class that (A) knows what a newel is and the class that (B) does not know what a newel is. It's not very difficult to move from class B to class A. Is that an upward move? Perhaps, although you may or may not contact a newel on your way up as well as on your way down.

Down.

Down, frown, crown. Noun.

Noun is round and affable. But verb? Just look at it for chrissakes! To me the word verb would be the word olives would say if they could talk.

"Verb verb verb verb."

This post is done. Happy Friday.

Practicing home economics

I went grocery shopping Tuesday. Beer was on the list.

I went into the beer section and spied this (you realize, people, that you are dealing with someone who goes to the supermarket and takes photographs of a beer price tag). A 30-can case of Pabst would put me back $16.05 (I love the $0.05). I thought that was as beautiful a thing as I'd ever seen. Shitty beer for about fifty cents a can! I muscled a case into my cart.

At home, I put the Pabst in the garage, which is also goddamn righteous: a case of shitty canned beer in a garage in Cleveland, Ohio. I know who I am. The whole experience just kept getting better and better.

I pulled out a few cans to load into the fridge as we're on the cusp of cold enough/not cold enough-to-drink-the-beer-straight-from-the-garage weather.

Oh dear reader--just wait until you behold the perfect end to this Beerella story!

The Goat came home after a 12-hour shift. And as I fixed him a plate of shitty leftover chicken, while still in his work shirt with the name patch, he went to the fridge and pulled out a Pabst, sat down, cracked the beer and commenced eating and drinking.

Never was there a more holy domestic scene. I watched on, tears of pure bliss squeezing from my eyes. Oh beautiful life!

Research, vol. 6

help help help help help.

THIS is where research takes me. Got oink?

It's drafty in here

I emphatically support reinstating the draft in some form as I believe it puts the responsibility of war on the shoulders of John Q. Public and that everyone, particularly our elected officials, would take war a bit more seriously if it involved all of us.

I do not believe the United States would have declared war on Iraq had the draft still been active. Al TRAG and I started to tangle with this in the comment section over here. Al said he would not want to serve with non-volunteer forces and therefore does not support a draft.

What do you think?

Chicks

Your hostess, being otherwise engaged, is reposting the following entry that originally ran in November 2007. It seems relevant to your hostess as the fairer sex has been vastly outnumbered in the comment section of late. Hence, your hostess is bringing on a few chicks for herself.

Original comments and photo (of your hostess and an associate) have been left intact.

* * *

chicks dig shoes

chicks dig firemen

chicks dig makeup

chicks dig guys

chicks dig purses

chicks dig bartenders

chicks dig chicks

chicks dig hair

chicks dig cell phones

chicks dig Barbara Eden

chicks chicks chicks

chicks

chicks dig magicians

chicks dig vibrators

chicks dig animal trainers


***

Bleeding red

For a stunningly brilliant summary of the Right wing's political troubles, listen to Ron Brownstein, Political Director at Atlantic Media, on Warren Olney's April 17 edition of "To The Point."

The whole show is great as always, but I thought Brownstein was dead on. He comes on a little after the 33:30 mark.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: "To The Point" is consistently some of the best news radio out there. Olney is so even in his coverage and well read that he dazzles me every time.

Warren? Baby? Welcome to the short list.

Five reasons why JAWS is a great movie

1. The opening "Chrissy" scene is made terrifying by sound and motion only.

2. The first time we see the shark tip to tail, it's scaled by swimming behind Brody's youngest son as he plays in the sand.

3. The unseen Ben Gardner is as brilliant a literary device as I've ever scene.

4. "That's some bad hat, Harry."

5. The boat (the Orca) is as fully developed a character as Hooper, Brody or Quint.

5.xx The mayor and his clothing and car, the broken picket fences at the onset of the movie, the slipping topsiders on the edge of the Orca's deck, the beercan and paper cup ...

Erin love Jaws!

Old fat rich white guys on parade

I think someone forgot to tell all those "TeaBagging" nits yesterday that, unlike their 1773 compatriots, they DID get to vote on the representatives that are taxing them and that most Americans aren't complaining about their tax bill.

Here is some footage of a TeaBagging event held here in Cleveland on Feb. 27, 2009. People, I apologize in advance for this, but I guess I've got to own up to them. After all, I'm in Cleveland, they're in Cleveland. And just like George Bush was my President for eight years, these are my people whether I like it or not.

A couple of notes:

Whatever you do, check the first woman interviewed (about 30 seconds in). She doesn't have to say one word. Her face belies everything about her. And is it just me, or--speaking of birth locations--was the guy at the 2:20 mark even born on Planet Earth?

TEABAGGERS! They are WHITE! They are MAD! They are NAMED AFTER A LEWD SEXUAL ACTIVITY!

Clueless, clueless, clueless. From beginning to end and all points in between.

Wild about Harry

I'm a-rasslin' with my column. Go visit Harry.

Goodbye Miss Jones

The Devil in Miss Jones was the first skin flick I ever saw and the only one I remember with any tenacity. The star of the film was Marilyn Chambers**, who was a breakthrough 70's porn star. I don't remember much of the sex, but I do remember the people I was watching it with, college buddies I was visiting up at Ohio State. I wondered what the guys were thinking. I remember waiting for something to happen. I remember the ending shot of Miss Jones anguished face as she's condemned to the verge of climax for all eternity.

Marilyn Chambers died on Sunday.

In this 1977 interview, Marilyn's best moments bloom at around the 5 minute mark. She's cute and sexy and impish as well as articulate about sexuality and I daresay ahead of her time (although the interviewer Al Goldstein is beautiful to watch throughout). She strikes me as the sort of woman men want to go to bed with. There is also a timelessness about her.

I've written droves about Porn 2.0, but it doesn't interest me much. After watching this interview, however, I've got to get my hands on some of the vintage stuff. I want to revisit Miss Jones, maybe take a peek Behind the Green Door. I want to listen raptly to the Story of O.

Ciao Marilyn. Viva la blindfolds and ropes.



**Your humble hostess has been duly corrected. One Ms. Georgina Spelvin played Miss Jones, not Marilyn Chambers. Please excuse Miss O'Brien. She's stuck on low tide.

Helmet head

Eggshelland

Eggshelland is the front yard of a house in Lyndhurst, Ohio (the same CLE suburb where the Goat grew up) that's full up with colored eggshells for Easter every year. The Goat mandated that we visit Eggshelland yesterday. It's just across town.



Animals were the theme this year.



Enameled eggshells are available for sale.



The Goat enjoyed Eggshelland.



Some of the eggshells break.



This is part of an eggshell butterfly wing.



The Manolios (creators of Eggshelland) also display their vintage DeSoto.



Eggshelland is the feature of a full-length film of the same name that debuted last night at a local theater.



Have fun in your own Eggshellands everyone. Enjoy plenty of Jelly Belly jellybeans (but not too many) and be good to the other bunnies.

John O'Brien
May 21, 1960 - April 10, 1994

Why Billy Bob Thornton should stick to the script

If you have the seven minutes, you have to watch this:

Calling all Rainy Day Women

In my column this week, I detail my fall before a hard cell.

If you have something to say about it, please email my editor Frank Lewis at flewisATclevesceneDOTcom.

Emergency post

Dedicated to the intrepid Alex Pruteanu.

Let them eat cake

A rogue angel in the west threw me a handful of stars. They sparkled in the sun on their way over, then turned into a sweet sweet rainbow that shines its colors whether the sky is blue or gray, orange or yellow.

Random list

1. It's 3:15 a.m.

2. Regular Palmolive dish soap applied with a wash rag is the best way to keep your new acrylic tub fresh and gleaming.

2.5 Gleaning is only one letter away from gleaming.

2.75 Which is the better word? Which word would you pick to be on your kickball team? To stand next to you during the Apocalypse? Which of those words makes a better lemon bar?

3. This might be the saddest 10 minutes of YouTube footage I've ever seen:



3.25 I downloaded "Human Nature" and "The Way You Make Me Feel" after viewing it just the same.

3.5 That doesn't mean you should stop reading this blog, but if you feel thusly inclined, so be it.

3.6 I used to wear a black knit mini dress (with shoulder pads), black fishnet stockings, black anklet socks with white lace trim and black leather pumps.

3.75 The outfit was inspired by the video for "The Way You Make Me Feel."

3.9 I guess I can't blame you if that puts you over the "I'm never reading O'Brien's blog again" edge.

3.96 No, I do not have a picture of the outfit.

3.97 I've just about expended the 3's for this list.

4. Yesterday I started a 2,000 piece puzzle.

4.2 The image is "Femme a Tete de Roses" by Salvador Dali.



5. Farrah Fawcett is dying.

5.4

6. The number six deserves a riff of it's own, but the space in front of me is filled up with the idea of anal cancer killing Farrah Fawcett.

7 The numbering system for this list is a sham.

7.1 I can always go back and insert another number.

7.1258 The numbers between any two numbers are infinite as long as you don't limit the number of decimal places.

7.2 Farrah Fawcett is entitled to such an infinity and Michael Jackson wishes he were.

7.4 I wonder if there is actually 2,000 pieces in my puzzle.

7.5 If there are really only 1,999, I'd be okay with that.

7.54 Unless it means one is missing.

7.9 One missing puzzle piece changes the entire puzzle, although you'll try to convince yourself otherwise when it happens to one of your puzzles.

7.91 That's one of those details you don't want to spend too much time thinking about, the sadness associated with a missing puzzle piece.

7.98 See what I mean about the numbers?

8. It's 3: 53 a.m.

The real life

Rodger Jacobs is a writer's writer.

He's working through a series of "Who Shaped You?" essays that shows just how goddamn difficult it is to earn that title.

As I read Rodger's third installment in the series, "L. A. Noir" (which I loved), my brain set his story next to that of Stephenie Meyer of Twilight fame. Meyer says the idea for the story that spurred her voluminous series and earned her millions upon millions came to her in a dream. The Mormon mother of three says she wrote the draft for the first of four novels in a few months and placed it on it's path to the happily ever after shortly thereafter.

SIGH

If it makes you feel any better, Rodger, despite all the money and fame, you're still a writer's writer and she's still a silly little broad.*

*Note to readers: yes, you could go and listen to Meyer tell her CinderWriteRella story for four minutes (and damn if I'm not getting suspiciouser and suspiciouser about Missy Meyer with every turn o' the page), but if that's all the time you have, I suggest you spend it over at Rodger's place.

It fits perfectly, thank you

Turtleneck

Turtles always strike me as devastatingly serious. If turtles could talk, I'd believe everything they said.

If, for instance, a turtle came up to me and said, "You see that guy over there? That guy is an asshole," I would mentally assign the title of asshole to the guy over there. Turtles would make good cops. No one would eff with a turtle cop.

Yesterday the Goat and I took a five and a half mile walk along one of the longest remaining sections of the Ohio Canal (Click here for more, or just to see some cool pix of the terrain). It was a glorious walk, one of my favorites. But yesterday, there was an extra surprise: the turtles.

We saw dozens of turtles. They were lined up on branches that stuck out of the water. There were little ones and big ones. They were flop/diving into the water. They were sunning. They didn't call us assholes. It was like they were really happy despite their serious expressions.

Hi turtles.

Fortunately for the turtles, the Turtleman (featured in the following YouTube) was no where in sight. If you haven't met "Kentucky's best kept secret," I heartily encourage you to view this footage. There are some things you have to see to believe.