Yeah, yeah, I know, Betty found Don’s Shoebox of Lies, and some shit is inevitably going to hit the fan because of it, but was anyone else surprised that Lois still works at Ster-Coop? Man, some places I’ve worked you could get fired for smiling at the boss, or not smiling at the boss, or not having sex with the boss, but apparently it’s cool to run over someone’s foot with a fucking lawnmower at the S to the C and we'll all go on like nothing happened!
Speaking of Lois, contrary to rumor, no, she is not Flo from the unbelievably annoying Progressive Insurance ads, but, as a matter of fact, the actress who troubles us with her Flo role, Stephanie Courtney, has been on Mad Men! And so the Great Circle closes.
That Miss Farrell. She trouble. So she's got a problem brother just like Cameron Diaz in "There's Something About Mary" and when she said "He has FITS," I thought it was like an acronym for something, like Family Intensive Trouble Syndrome but then my Show Partners told me no, it just meant "fits." So he's an epileptic. Whoops. ANYWAY, he's hanging around and just being a major cockblock for most of this episode and Don is finally like FINE I'll drive to you to fucking Nome Alaska if it gets you out of our hair. More on that in a sec.
Pornography in the 60's was very primitive and you had to whack it to B&W mockups of bra ads. Eww eww eww Paul. Gross. No wonder you lost your idea. You're busy salivating over the nightgown section of the Sears catalog. So hot....let me see your wrists, you dirty girl.
Then we find out the Brits are going to sell Ster-Coop but I don't care so much about that right now. I did like how Lane's wife was all "It's not London...it's not even England." OH SCHNAP NEW YORK.
So, yeah, then Betty finds the keys to the secret drawer and this is pretty much the best thing that's happened all season because now she knows enough to be trouble. Now the tension's just gonna build and build until she springs it on him.
Now let's talk really quick about Don's R/T drive to Framingham. I was informed by one of my Show Partners, who is actually from MA, that we're talking about a 5-hour roundtrip. Subsequent Google mapping reveals that it's closer to 3, but with 1963 technology, who knows? Point being, it's at least a 6-hour, and maybe 10-hour drive, from Ossining to just outside Framingham where Don drops off the mysterious brother (who's going to end up dead, MARK MY WORDS). So how does he get back the same night? (Indeed, in time to bang Suzanne?) Doesn't make sense.
UNLESS. And I don't want to be hasty about this. UNLESS Don knows where there's a wormhole in the spacetime continuum. Now I'm just throwing that out there.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
What I saw at the Treasure Island Music Festival on Saturday
1. A kid in one of those animal suits like the kid in Where the Wild Things Are wears, bouncing around, on E I guess.
2. A lot of drunk teenagers.
3. People in robot costumes being accosted and/or photographed by aforementioned drunk teenagers.
4. Zero beer lines. If every other festival could copy this feature, that would be great. Kthx.
5. About 15 percussionists on stage with Dan Deacon.
6. The Streets.
The Streets is pretty much the main reason I came. I think he did a pretty good job. The mix was a bit off at the beginning, but it got better. Now that I've seen him live, I'm starting to think that maybe it's harder to pull off his stuff live than I thought.As you may know, Treasure Island is divided into two days - a more electronica-leaning day on Saturday, and a more rock day Sunday. We went to the rock day Sunday last year and had a wonderful time. This time, still fun (mostly thanks to the great company we were with) but just not the same.
Maybe it's because the crowd skewed a good 10 years younger, or maybe because I'm just more of a rock guy than an electronica guy, but I wouldn't go on Saturday again. I mean, the name of this blog is 40 going on 28, not 40 going on 17. I kept expecting Chris Hansen to pop up.
Mad Men recap tomorrow, maybe, unless I can get enough done this morning.
Friday, October 16, 2009
My dog might be a peeping tom
(To understand this story, you have to know that my neighbor and I share a backyard, and we're both on the ground floor. Her place is sort of behind ours, in the yard. Also, it helps to know that she's almost never there, because her husband's Canadian and she's in Vancouver most of the time. OK.)
So around 4:30 the dog starts growling and making that FUFF FUFF sound like he does when someone's encroaching on his territory, which could mean anything from "at the front door" to "walking down the block across the street."
Then the backyard lights go on, and they're super-bright, so now we're up for real. I figure our neighbor (who we'll call "Kathy," for no particular reason) has some friends coming in late or maybe she's coming in late. Since I'm totally nosy, I open the curtain a little and see her walk by and then come back with two cops.
The first things that pop into your mind unbidden, I think, are very revealing. So tell me what these reveal.
Thought #1: I didn't think her husband was here! Did they get in a domestic?
Thought #2: Is there anything in the backyard that I wouldn't want cops to see?
Thought #3: They're not going to come in our house, are they?
Then I hear her telling them about hearing someone in the backyard, and they're shining flashlights all over the yard, and now it's starting to dawn on me: MY DOG IS A PROWLER.
What happened was, The Wife let him out in the backyard about 15 minutes earlier because he needed to pee or whatever. So he was out there for a while and then he came back in. Now, like I said, Kathy's not around that much. So what I figure happened is that she heard him rooting around back there and, not realizing that it was our dog, thought it was a Psycho Serial Killer Stalker and proceeded to phone the 5-0 to save her own life.
The dog came in and was all "What? What?" We didn't even tell him.
So around 4:30 the dog starts growling and making that FUFF FUFF sound like he does when someone's encroaching on his territory, which could mean anything from "at the front door" to "walking down the block across the street."
Then the backyard lights go on, and they're super-bright, so now we're up for real. I figure our neighbor (who we'll call "Kathy," for no particular reason) has some friends coming in late or maybe she's coming in late. Since I'm totally nosy, I open the curtain a little and see her walk by and then come back with two cops.
The first things that pop into your mind unbidden, I think, are very revealing. So tell me what these reveal.
Thought #1: I didn't think her husband was here! Did they get in a domestic?
Thought #2: Is there anything in the backyard that I wouldn't want cops to see?
Thought #3: They're not going to come in our house, are they?
Then I hear her telling them about hearing someone in the backyard, and they're shining flashlights all over the yard, and now it's starting to dawn on me: MY DOG IS A PROWLER.
What happened was, The Wife let him out in the backyard about 15 minutes earlier because he needed to pee or whatever. So he was out there for a while and then he came back in. Now, like I said, Kathy's not around that much. So what I figure happened is that she heard him rooting around back there and, not realizing that it was our dog, thought it was a Psycho Serial Killer Stalker and proceeded to phone the 5-0 to save her own life.
The dog came in and was all "What? What?" We didn't even tell him.
Happy Friday, everyone!
(UPDATE - I've been emailing with Kathy and I was totally apologetic and yep, seems like the dog is what she heard.)
In other news, I totally wanted to go to the Litcrawl on Saturday since I went last year and had an awesome time. I especially wanted to go to the SF Appeal/SFist event at the Lab because I thought I'd finally get to meet Eve and Brock and a bunch of other cool people but I realized the other day that I'll be at Treasure Island instead. So I guess I'll remain a mystery wrapped inside an enigma wrapped inside a bourbon and ginger.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
The Corner Store: an appreciation
I was with my friend Ted once and we decided, not wholly out of character, that the proceedings would go more smoothly with a bottle of Jamesons Irish Whiskey. There was a store about a block from his place, but we passed that one and kept going. I asked him what was up. He said, "Oh, I can't go there for this one. I've already bought three bottles there this week."
It's true, right? Your corner store guy knows more about you than your boss or your best friend or your S.O. He (and I'm not trying to be sexist, but it usually is a he, and, if you live in SF, there's an excellent chance he's a Middle Eastern he) knows what kind of booze you like and how often, what your preferred snacking items are, whether or not you smoke and what brand and how much, and maybe what kind of sandwiches you like, if it's a market that makes sandwiches.
I had a female friend tell me once that her corner store guy could probably chart her menstrual cycle based on what she bought. Red wine and ice cream meant yep, it's getting close.
ANYWAY, what made me start thinking about this is that today, October 15, is the anniversary of the day I moved to San Francisco. Today's 19 years, yay. Wow, that sounds like a long time. My first place was in North Beach, on Union Street, and that afternoon I went to Speedy's for the first time. Speedy's was (sadly, was, because it closed a while back) a typically quirky/wonderful SF corner store, with totally friendly guys that worked there, an awesome deli, and a great beer selection. They did deliveries for longtime customers. In a Rolls-Royce. Fucking awesome. Here's a great article about Speedy's and its sad demise.
One of the great things about SF that you kind of take for granted but which is a total gift from heaven is the corner store. Instead of being blanketed with a sea of uniform 7-Elevens that all have the exact same stock, our corner stores are all quirky and unique in their own way. When I moved back to Telegraph Hill in 2001, my new corner store was the Fog Hill Market, run by an affable Palestinian named Hanna who had an amazing cheese selection and let us run a tab after he got to know us. Try putting a wedge of Camembert on your tab at a Circle K.
Not that all corner stores are fun and games - there used to be one on Union and, what - Hyde, maybe? Leavenworth? - that was one of the creepiest places I've ever been. There were stacks of old newspapers everywhere and like one dusty can of soup on the shelf. Lots o' liquor, though. Now that I think about it, it was probably a front for something.
UPDATE: Upon looking at a 1990 calendar, it seems that 10/15/90 was a Monday, and I'm almost positive I arrived on a Sunday, so I guess I've been wrong about the date for lo these many years. Oh well. Just pretend you read this yesterday.
It's true, right? Your corner store guy knows more about you than your boss or your best friend or your S.O. He (and I'm not trying to be sexist, but it usually is a he, and, if you live in SF, there's an excellent chance he's a Middle Eastern he) knows what kind of booze you like and how often, what your preferred snacking items are, whether or not you smoke and what brand and how much, and maybe what kind of sandwiches you like, if it's a market that makes sandwiches.
I had a female friend tell me once that her corner store guy could probably chart her menstrual cycle based on what she bought. Red wine and ice cream meant yep, it's getting close.
ANYWAY, what made me start thinking about this is that today, October 15, is the anniversary of the day I moved to San Francisco. Today's 19 years, yay. Wow, that sounds like a long time. My first place was in North Beach, on Union Street, and that afternoon I went to Speedy's for the first time. Speedy's was (sadly, was, because it closed a while back) a typically quirky/wonderful SF corner store, with totally friendly guys that worked there, an awesome deli, and a great beer selection. They did deliveries for longtime customers. In a Rolls-Royce. Fucking awesome. Here's a great article about Speedy's and its sad demise.
One of the great things about SF that you kind of take for granted but which is a total gift from heaven is the corner store. Instead of being blanketed with a sea of uniform 7-Elevens that all have the exact same stock, our corner stores are all quirky and unique in their own way. When I moved back to Telegraph Hill in 2001, my new corner store was the Fog Hill Market, run by an affable Palestinian named Hanna who had an amazing cheese selection and let us run a tab after he got to know us. Try putting a wedge of Camembert on your tab at a Circle K.
The Parkview Market, Frederick and Stanyan, another fine corner store
Not that all corner stores are fun and games - there used to be one on Union and, what - Hyde, maybe? Leavenworth? - that was one of the creepiest places I've ever been. There were stacks of old newspapers everywhere and like one dusty can of soup on the shelf. Lots o' liquor, though. Now that I think about it, it was probably a front for something.
UPDATE: Upon looking at a 1990 calendar, it seems that 10/15/90 was a Monday, and I'm almost positive I arrived on a Sunday, so I guess I've been wrong about the date for lo these many years. Oh well. Just pretend you read this yesterday.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
I'm not sure why Sal gets to keep directing after that Patio POS. Anyway.
"Now that I can finally understand you, I am less impressed with what you have to say."
OH SNAP. Don’s diss on Whatshisface was awesome, and kind of emblematic of the whole show, which was about rejection. Over at Ster-Coop, you could sense something bad was coming, because Don’s Dad – oops, I mean Connie Hilton – was getting crazier and crazier by the scene. (Incidentally, remember him bitching about people leeching off him? Oh, Connie, you have no idea what's coming.) So they finally get to the pitch meeting and Connie’s all “OMG what about my Moon Hilton, bitch?” and Don’s all “WTF?” And Connie’s all “I said I wanted a Moon Hilton! With room service unicorns! MAKE IT SO.” and stormed out and that made Don so upset he had to go fuck his kid’s teacher. That’s a good argument for having kids, I guess.
And then, of course, we get Sal turning down yet another chance at nookie. Seriously, this guy turns down more chances to get laid than most of us will ever get in our lives. But this time he really fucked up bad because Lee Garner Jr. isn’t just any bellboy, he’s the head of Lucky Strikes or something and he wants Sal gone pronto. It’s either because Sal turned him down and he’s petty and wants revenge or because he doesn’t want Sal tellling anyone about his, uh, little secret. I don’t know, doesn’t make much difference. Anyway, looks like things might be looking up for Sal in the leg department because we next see him on a payphone calling from what looks like the set of “Rent.”
Then we have Henry Government, who thought he had a sure thing going here, and gets Bets all the way into the office with the door locked and at this point is probably already mentally moving on to the next MILF with a reservoir when Bets puts the hammer down. Fuck, lady, make up your goddam mind. I don’t mind getting hit with the cashbox as long as I get a lil sumpin. Anyway, is this affair boring or what? Yeah, whatever, write little mash notes and have fake receptions or whatever. Yawn. The dude in the back of the bar was more exciting than this shit.
And then, just so it’s not all rejection, Don finally got it made got it made got it made, he’s hot for teacher. Again, wouldn’t it have been more interesting if she held out? Pushed him out the door and said no? Fuck are all women really powerless before the Hamm?
Finally, just in case you didn’t notice, the Civil Rights Movement Is Coming. The bleeding from that foreshadowing-shaped hole in your head will subside soon. And do you think the show will address the Kennedy assassination? Hard to say.
OH SNAP. Don’s diss on Whatshisface was awesome, and kind of emblematic of the whole show, which was about rejection. Over at Ster-Coop, you could sense something bad was coming, because Don’s Dad – oops, I mean Connie Hilton – was getting crazier and crazier by the scene. (Incidentally, remember him bitching about people leeching off him? Oh, Connie, you have no idea what's coming.) So they finally get to the pitch meeting and Connie’s all “OMG what about my Moon Hilton, bitch?” and Don’s all “WTF?” And Connie’s all “I said I wanted a Moon Hilton! With room service unicorns! MAKE IT SO.” and stormed out and that made Don so upset he had to go fuck his kid’s teacher. That’s a good argument for having kids, I guess.
And then, of course, we get Sal turning down yet another chance at nookie. Seriously, this guy turns down more chances to get laid than most of us will ever get in our lives. But this time he really fucked up bad because Lee Garner Jr. isn’t just any bellboy, he’s the head of Lucky Strikes or something and he wants Sal gone pronto. It’s either because Sal turned him down and he’s petty and wants revenge or because he doesn’t want Sal tellling anyone about his, uh, little secret. I don’t know, doesn’t make much difference. Anyway, looks like things might be looking up for Sal in the leg department because we next see him on a payphone calling from what looks like the set of “Rent.”
Then we have Henry Government, who thought he had a sure thing going here, and gets Bets all the way into the office with the door locked and at this point is probably already mentally moving on to the next MILF with a reservoir when Bets puts the hammer down. Fuck, lady, make up your goddam mind. I don’t mind getting hit with the cashbox as long as I get a lil sumpin. Anyway, is this affair boring or what? Yeah, whatever, write little mash notes and have fake receptions or whatever. Yawn. The dude in the back of the bar was more exciting than this shit.
And then, just so it’s not all rejection, Don finally got it made got it made got it made, he’s hot for teacher. Again, wouldn’t it have been more interesting if she held out? Pushed him out the door and said no? Fuck are all women really powerless before the Hamm?
Finally, just in case you didn’t notice, the Civil Rights Movement Is Coming. The bleeding from that foreshadowing-shaped hole in your head will subside soon. And do you think the show will address the Kennedy assassination? Hard to say.
Monday, October 12, 2009
I would say "at least it's not Duluth," but then I'd get angry emails from Duluthians about how great Duluth is.
You know one thing San Franciscans like? Talking about San Francisco. And I recently read two blog posts about San Francisco, one by a guy who really seems to dislike SF, and one by a guy who seems to really like it.
Alex Payne works for Twitter and doesn't like it here much. He says SF is
He goes on from there, pretty much bitching about everything in SF. I guess I could respond point by point, but really, what's the point? If one of your specific complaints is that there isn't much to do in SF, yeah, you're going to be happier somewhere else. I'm sure that Payne is a decent guy and whatever, but it's clear that this isn't the place for him. Anyway, more coverage at Valleywag, if you're interested.
Meanwhile, Matt Honan likes SF a lot. He's got some specific suggestions for how to enjoy living in SF that make sense, like getting a bike and making friends outside the tech industry (since his post obvs. aimed at people who move here to work in tech).
I mean, obviously I like it here (after 19 years, I better) and fall way more in the Honan camp than the Payne camp. Sure, there are a lot of problems in SF, but the good so far outweighs the bad that it's not even funny. It is what you make of it, anyway, in the end, and some people make themselves happy and some people make themselves unhappy.
ANYWAY. Mad Men post tomorrow.
Alex Payne works for Twitter and doesn't like it here much. He says SF is
"dirty. No, filthy. No, disgusting. Whenever I travel outside of San Francisco, I’m amazed at what a disastrous anomaly it is. Sidewalks are routinely covered in broken glass, trash, old food, and human excrement. The smell of urine is not uncommon, nor is the sight of homeless persons in varying states of dishevelment."I'm not sure where Alex Payne lives, but my sidewalk has never been covered in broken glass, trash, old food, or human excrement. Maybe trash sometimes. But seriously, dude, if you live in the Tenderloin and base your entire view of the city on the way the sidewalk looks at Hyde and Ellis, you're not getting a fair representation of the whole city.
He goes on from there, pretty much bitching about everything in SF. I guess I could respond point by point, but really, what's the point? If one of your specific complaints is that there isn't much to do in SF, yeah, you're going to be happier somewhere else. I'm sure that Payne is a decent guy and whatever, but it's clear that this isn't the place for him. Anyway, more coverage at Valleywag, if you're interested.
Meanwhile, Matt Honan likes SF a lot. He's got some specific suggestions for how to enjoy living in SF that make sense, like getting a bike and making friends outside the tech industry (since his post obvs. aimed at people who move here to work in tech).
I mean, obviously I like it here (after 19 years, I better) and fall way more in the Honan camp than the Payne camp. Sure, there are a lot of problems in SF, but the good so far outweighs the bad that it's not even funny. It is what you make of it, anyway, in the end, and some people make themselves happy and some people make themselves unhappy.
ANYWAY. Mad Men post tomorrow.
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