I often stare at the people passing by.
But they can’t see me through my window shades.
Just like I’m not even there...
– Oingo Boingo, Private Life

One of the things about living at the end of a relatively secluded cul-de-sac is that your front window doubles as a viewfinder into a counter-cultural microcosm. You get a front row viewing of some of the most taboo things people do outside of homes and hotels. You are afforded this entertainment because when it comes to committing clandestine acts, there’s no shortage of people who think a dead-end street is as private as their own basement or bedroom. You’d think the reduction of potential escape routes to only one might be a glaring deterrent – even rats are keen to that point – but no. Evidently, some people actually have less common sense than laboratory rodents. Well, okay, I guess that’s not entirely fair; maybe rats would be more steadfast in blind-alley situations if they had cars with tinted windows, but whatever.

Hot Boxin’

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve watched high school kids pull up in a Jetta/Accord/Ranger and commence to blazing up a fat bowl of the skunky ganj right there in plain sight. I’m most often treated to this at around 11am on those weekdays when I’m working from home. I sometimes wonder if the Scheduling Imps at the high school office deliberately give all the stoners first lunch, though that seems rather problematic considering the school has only so many vending machines.

I’m often tempted to dig out a laser pointer and really mess with their minds but more often then not, the potheads will only stay long enough to hit the pipe a few times and then they’re gone. Lunch break is short and I imagine they still have to hit the 7-Eleven for Funyuns and Red Bull. You know, due to the school’s vending machine availability problem.

Liquid Lunch

Much less frequent is the rusted out one-ton with the two dopey painters who somehow find their mid-day sustenance in 24 ounces of Budweiser and half a dozen filterless Camels. You can tell they’ve been doing this gig a while; they have all the telltale signs. Their middle and index fingers look like jaundiced, overcooked hot dogs. The deep cracks in their leathern faces speak to lives every bit as damaging but nowhere near as entertaining as those of Keith Richards and Lou Reed. Their coughs are quite obviously chronic, as are their facial petechiae and overall sweaty appearance.

Liquid Lunchers hang out a tad longer than the stoners if for no other reason than they are required to hit the 7-Eleven before coming here due to the simple fact Budweiser is undrinkable unless ice cold.

Junk Dumpers

Occasionally, some overalled grease monkey will try and dump the carcass of the latest piece-of-shit jalopy he’s gutted and stripped of all usable parts. One guy actually took the time to set the dead minivan he was ditching up on blocks so he could take the wheels. The neat thing about that particular incident is that I easily recognized the meticulous individual as the guy from two blocks over who runs a side business fixing lawnmowers in his garage. He was a bit surprised, I think, to see me at his door. He told me putting it there was only temporary and that he'd had every intention to come back and get it in a few says. Goober had obviously forgotten he’d removed all the damn wheels, but he wasn’t really giving me any resistance, so I decided it would be dickish of me to point out the holes in his story.

I don’t really get why people just dump cars. Last time I checked, most wrecking yards will come out and pick up the things if you’re just getting rid of them. Seems to me dumping them on a secluded street is just making extra work for everyone and putting yourself out there to be censured on your own front doorstep. Hell, people less civilized than me would more likely ignite some dog shit on your doorstep and call the junkyard themselves.

Exhibitionist Fornicators

You see them on sitcoms all the time. You know, those randy sex addicts who get the most aroused when they do it in public and are known to spontaneously pull into a quiet cul-de-sac and start getting it on right there in the parked car?

Yeah, those people don’t actually exist have never shown up here.

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So for that board game project I am redesigning Hungry Hungry Hippos. I'm replacing the hippos with fat people and it's coming along pretty awesomely. For the mock-up I have a full-size hippo fat woman sculpted out of polymer clay (I just baked it and it didn't explode woo!), a few clay "marbles" that I'll paint to look like burgers, and a digital version of the base thing that I still need to add new graphics to or something. I'll post pictures when it's done.

What I'm stuck on is the title. I've been calling it Hungry Hungry Fatasses, but the other options are Hungry Hungry Fat Americans (the original suggestion from Christina!) or Hungry Hungry Fatsos (which I thought of just because it's closer to "hippos"). If I go with Fat Americans I'm going to have to make their American-ness really explicit--like everything would need to be colored red, white, and blue w/stars and stripes and they would need to be eating baseballs in addition to hamburgers or something. I'm not suuuure I want to do that, though it might be cool. I'm not sure if the "Americans" part would be too much or just enough. Part of me wants to keep it simpler and closer to the original game by keeping the same color scheme and all, and making them just fatties would allow for that. Problem with that is that I would be making fun of FAT PEOPLE (which is mean) rather than AMERICANS (which is acceptable)... I'm concerned with PC-ness only because a couple people in my class are rather large and I don't really want to offend them. I also wonder if just replacing hippos with people is interesting enough on its own to justify a whole new game. So I don't know. I could personally go either way right now. So I am asking for all of your opinions again, since you were so helpful in making suggestions earlier.

So friends, vox neighbors, and anyone else randomly reading this, vote on what I should call the game:

Hungry Hungry...

a. Fat Americans (or Fat America)
b. Fatasses
c. Fatsos
d. Fatties
e. Something else (make a suggestion)

I hope people vote because if no one responds I will feel silly :\

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Drew and I finished our shopping tonight and decided to stop at the McDonalds in Walmart to have a coffee before heading home.

The only table available was a long bench connected by individual tables. We got our coffee and sat down. Drew across from me - me on the bench.

Sitting on the bench next to me (at the next table) was an older woman...probably in her 70's.

A well-groomed- looking good for her age -70's...but 70's non-the-less.

She is sitting there all alone..when suddenly..this older (70ish) man approached her. He asked if he could sit with her.

She politely replied that she was waiting for someone and was obviously not interested in making conversation with him.

He smiled and took a seat (on the same bench) at the table next to her.

It was quite obvious he was trying to score, and even more obvious as he tried to make conversation with her.

But she continued to play hard to get.

The conversation went on for a few minutes as he asked if she was from town and blah blah blah.

Still this woman seemed disinterested in his advances and spoke very little back to him.

Until finally he made a comment about her scarf...

Him :"that's a pretty scarf you have on there. It brings out the color in your eyes"

Her: a smile. "Thank-you that's nice of you to say"

Him: pardon?

Her: "I said, thank-you that's nice of you to say"

Him:"Your Welcome"..(as he slides over on the bench and is now sitting next to her at the same table)

Him: "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you, I forgot my hearing aid, so I'll have to sit next to you"

Her: "OH...ok" (extends hand)" Hi..my name is Mary"

Drew: (whispers)..."Damn...70 years old and still got it."

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Your eyes do not deceive. You are not experiencing a hallucinatory event. Those are indeed bacon cheeseburgers with Krispy Kremes for buns.

Krispy Kreme Cheeseburgers

Via Flickr

This concept thoroughly disgusts me, but at the same time I get the feeling this is the sort of thing I would crave if I were to ever get pregnant.

And speaking of great tastes that taste great wrong together, how about these mac-n-cheese-n-hotdog tacos?

In the spirit of the silliness  this post, I have a question for you. If you had to eat a plateful of those tacos or a plateful of cheeseburgers with donut buns, which would you choose?

Me? Tacos. All the way.

Can't wait to see what IG thinks of her two favorite foods (bacon and donuts) coming together in this manner.

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Well, the last meager speck of my appreciation for Metallica has finally been carried aloft and out of sight, never to be reclaimed. That’s quite an event, really, because there was a time when Metallica were nothing short of godlike to me. I held on as a card-carrying fanboy until the release of the aptly named Load. But even after that, I never completely lost hope. I always thought there was a chance they’d come back around and stop acting like self-absorbed douche-bags.

Turns out they weren’t acting. It seems their douche-baggery is all too real.

The Torture Playlist

Justine Sharrock

Let me shift focus for a moment and direct you toward a report by Justine Sharrock entitled The Torture Playlist. In the report, we learn that loud music is an effective psychological tool used during interrogations at places like Guantanamo Bay and that the musical selection ranges from Deicide’s Fuck Your God to Eminem’s White America to, believe it or not, the jingle for Meow Mix cat food.

Now, I don’t want to get into a debate over whether listening to Neil Diamond at a bajillion decibels for three days straight constitutes torture. I’m certain anyone who says it doesn’t would quickly prove to be full of shit were they subjected to such treatment – sleep deprivation’s a bitch – but I don’t want to get too far away from my original point which is that Metallica are total douche-bags.

So anyway, when Rage Against the Machine learned of the manner in which their music was being used at Guantanamo Bay, they wrote the State Department requesting such use be stopped. They may have rage, but they’re not down with torture.

Metallica, by way of contrast, was honored. They were thrilled their cookie-cutter schlock tune Enter Sandman was used to terrorize people who may or may not be enemy combatants. They went fucking batshit with the lawyers when that turd of a song got downloaded through Napster a few thousand times, but they’re totally cool with it being used against people who are deliberately denied legal counsel and due process.

So fuck you, Metallica. You haven’t created anything worth listening to in twenty years. You suck. You’ve completely sold out, forgotten your roots, and become full-on elitist hypocrites. Don't get me started on how you so casually took that great Bob Seger song into the back room and kicked it to death. You’ve gone from being “too fucking metal for radio” to being the premier metal act for the dulled bovine masses. The average age of your fans has dropped from 23 to 13. You are whores.

Cliff wouldn’t even know you.

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Dorkiest picture ever

I have a few "before I die" goals. See the Aurora Borealis. Walk the Great Wall of China. Learn how to play a musical instrument.

The latter goal has been pursued in earnest since February. And, of course, the instrument of choice is the accordion.

The accordion makes me happy. I love the way it sounds. My favorite bands use the accordion: They Might Be Giants, Oingo Boingo, the Decemberists (and yes, "Weird Al" Yankovic). I guess some would say my obsession with TMBG prompted the accordion lessons, but I would argue that my love of the accordion prompted my obsession with TMBG.

I have never played an instrument. I took piano lessons when I was seven, sitting dutifully on that hard bench with my ancient piano teacher, Mrs. Little. Mrs. Little must have been 115 years old (though in reality she was probably about 60; everyone over 15 is "old" to a seven-year-old) and warbled when she kept time: "Onnneeeeee twoooooo threeeeee..."

Mrs. Little had no patience, which is an awesome trait for a music teacher. When she would get particularly frustrated with me, she would take my small hand and pound it on the keys, screeching, "NO! NO! NO!" And I, more humilated than hurt, would cry. If the sobbing would take place near the end of my lesson, Mrs. Little would bribe me with candy to shut up before my parents picked me up. The candy was circa 1953 "root beer barrels" kept in a sticky candy dish on her coffee table. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one that ever ate those things. I never told my parents about this until I was much older; I think I felt sorry for her.

I don't remember how long I took piano lessons, but do remember I just wouldn't practice. I would get by in my lessons, playing by ear, but Mom got peeved about spending good, sparse money just to fight with me over practicing. After my defection, Mrs. Little called occasionally, warbling her request to have me come back. And for years after that, whenever we'd see someone playing piano on TV or if one of my friends would play our usually silent upright, Mom would shake her head regrettably and say, "See, Keri? If only you would have practiced..."

And now, thirty years later, I realize she was right. Because if I had practiced piano, the accordion would be a helluva lot easier to learn. When I first called the accordion teacher he asked me, "What instruments do you play?" "None!" I said. "Never...?" he asked, incredulous, "How did you escape piano lessons?" I told him about Mrs. Little. "Huh. So... Do you read music?" "Nope!" I could hear him rolling his eyes through the phone. He knew he had his work cut out for him.

I was so excited for my first lesson. We started from square one. How to take it out of the case. How to put it on. Right hand goes here. Left there. That little button releases the air. These are called bellows. These are bass keys. That little rhinestone? Middle "C." Staff, G clef, treble clef, four count. Here's your music and assignment; you can borrow the accordion.

It's difficult. I mean, really difficult. Trying to get my left hand to do one thing while my right hand does another and reading music at the same time? Insane. But I keep at it. I practice at least 30 minutes a day, five days a week. Sometimes more. I think my teacher knows I'm serious about learning; I'm honest and earnest. I tell him when I haven't practiced. We spar. He tells me my playing sounds like I'm "leaving a trail of dead bodies," I tell him he's a freaking showoff.

I love it. This time I'm learning for me, and when it clicks and I play a piece straight through without mistakes, it's the most amazing feeling ever. I got my very own accordion from eBay; it's beautiful. There are many accordions like it, but this one is mine.

Bring on your accordion jokes (yes, I've seen the Far Side and the bumper sticker that instructs me to go to jail). I don't care. It's my instrument. It makes me happy. And I'm doing something I've always wanted to do.

Doesn't get much better than that.

Amateur accordionist

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Summer Road Trip '08

Although we typically post on Team Vox to let you know about things that are going on with Vox (to, uh, state the obvious), once in a while, we like to let you know about other cool things that are happening around the blogosphere. And we think the idea of four hilarious mommy bloggers traveling across the U.S. on their way to the BlogHer '08 conference - all the while blogging and video blogging the journey - is one trip you will not want to miss.

Four adventurous bloggers from the Silicon Valley Moms Group were selected to participate in the Summer Road Trip '08 and blog about their travels, hotel stays, media appearances, time away from their families, and life on the road. Six Apart helped them partner up with General Motors, who provided the blogging mommies with a Chevy Tahoe Hybrid SUV to help make their journey comfy, safe, and a little more green.

In case you're not familiar with them, SV Moms is a group of over 200 bloggers who showcase the ups, downs, outrages, struggles, victories, and everyday humor of motherhood. There are currently nine regional and demographically tailored sites that give mothers from D.C., New Jersey, the Deep South, Rocky Mountains, L.A., and Silicon Valley a powerful voice and sense of camaraderie across the country. Whether you're a mother, a child, or just a person who enjoys a good blog, you'll really love reading the words of these amazing women.

Packed and Ready!

The moms buckled into their Chevy Tahoe Hybrid SUV on July 11th and even got an encouraging message from Katie Couric to kick things off! They are currently somewhere in the middle of America making their way to San Francisco where they'll attend an SV Moms Group Party, as well as BlogHer '08.

You do not want to miss these entertaining and irreverent bloggers -- or their spontaneous contest giveaways! -- as they blog from the road. Experience the journey at MomRoadTrip.com.

And let us know about your summer road trip - or plane/boat/bus trip - in the comments! (I like to live vicariously.)

~daisy

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Yes:

• I finished House Of Leaves and it was the greatest. It's so long, it seemed like it would never end, and it still feels that way. Like I can't believe it's over. I don't know if I can start another book just yet. I don't feel like House Of Leaves is done with me.
  
• I am going to get a bike this week.

• FUCKING GNATS!! I've been swatting them all morning. They are eeeveerrrrryyyywheeeerreee. It's gross. The little fuckers just cling the the edges of things--the edge of the microwave, the edge of the cupboard, the edge of the range hood, the edge of a chair back, the edge of the chandelier, etc--in clusters. Then I smack the clusters with a rolled-up newspaper and they scatter, fluttering around aimlessly like idiots in stupid little clouds, then eventually they land somewhere else and just sit there until I whack at them again. ughhhh. Where are they COMING from??
• Making silicone molds is EXPENSIVE. I made 3 yesterday and I don't even want to think about how much it cost. Making molds is also messy and annoying, and it's fairly likely that it won't set right and you'll end up with a mold full of air bubbles. I pretty much expect at least one of mine to have lots of bubbles. Bah I say. I'm done with molds.
  

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Painting makes my fucking back hurt. My poor trapezius.
Unghhh I am so tired of Sketching for Illustration homework. It is so time consuming. This week the homework was just two 6" x 12 1/2" painting comps of our crime scene ideas and I spent over 3-4 hours on each one -- not including set-up time, which was at least an hour for each. I probably would have spent more time if we weren't required to use natural light. You can only paint for so many hours before the change in light is dramatic that it changes the scene. Actually, I'll need to finish one of them tomorrow because it got dark when I was working on it yesterday.
I appreciate the ass-kicking I'm getting in this class, but I'm sure not enjoying it at the moment. I still hate acrylic. Our teacher hates acrylic, too. I think acrylic is generally hated. We're being forced to work with it right now because it is the most frustrating and most difficult kind of paint, and once we master it, going back to oil is going to be a breeeeeeze.

My house is full of little gnat-type bugs. At least they die easily.

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bullet points!

• My digital illustration teacher thought we were all too sluggish during critique tonight so he took us all to the cafeteria and bought us ice cream!! I got a frozen lemonade. It was the greatest thing a teacher has done in a while.
  
• got an A- on the vis comm 2 midterm paper woo
• This time I got my sketching for illustration homework done in a timely manner and what does that mean? It means I will be sleeping tonight! All goddamn night yessir. I am so happy about this I can't tell you.
  
• I am wearing a pretty dress and my feet are bare / I love warm summer nights.
• I finished designing my paper toy and I have it here for any of you who feel like it to print out and assemble yourself! You like sea monsters right? Print it out! It's mildly entertaining!

• 

  SEA SERPENT!
  
  Note: If you do want to make one, be sure to view the pages full-size before printing or else the shapes will be way too tiny and hard to put together. And if you do it, you should tell me about how it went for you: how difficult it was to assemble / if anything was confusing / whatever. And also send pictures!
  

• I got some mail:
  

Ween shirt

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