cowperthwait | lies, evasion, spin, circumspection and cleverly veiled hype

I'm no closer to figuring out why I deserve the wonderful people who enrich my life, but we've made it through another year together, so I'll keep my mouth shut — mostly — and enjoy the holiday.

Oh, look: a James Bond marathon.

Messrs Hovell and Cowperthwait enjoy a constitutional through Mission Dolores Park


An important clarification: this morning, in a Craigslist "free shit" posting, I told a fib.

WHAT:

It's an EQ3 CRUSH lounge couch with beautiful carrot-colored microfiber (faux-suede). Consistently a favorite for our wine parties, or curling up with a laptop.

... but: it's missing its legs, ergo, its structural integrity.

We got around this problem by leaning it against a wall, and affectionately christened it "Slouchy the Couchy." (You may have our nickname free, too.)


WHY:

Alas, the new roommate is a decoronormative fascist with hegemonic fixation on constructs like "free-standing" and "has legs". Out on the kerb Slouchy went, where he waits for ... you?

—Lounge couch: EQ3 CRUSH w/ microfiber upholstery -- needs legs (mission district), Craigslist


One must never let pass the opportunity to use the term "decoronormative", even at the expense of the truth. However, the truth is that I did not have it in for Slouchy on aesthetic grounds. More simply, Slouchy The Couchy had to go to make way for Treeberg The Newly-Named Christmas Tree.

Photography from Treeberg's acquisition remains embargoed while we consider it for our Christmas card, but you can infer the essential plot. Christmas tree + convertible = comic gold.

( Read more... )

this will happen after all


It's easier to write here under the impression that nobody reads it, but that appears to be untrue today. Or my father is kind of creepily psychic. Either way:

I lumbered downstairs to my parents' kitchen, stepping around the waist-high piles of folding chairs in the entryway. As I entered, without turning from the counter Dad announced, "No, they're on On Demand, all 21 of them." They of course being the 007 canon, and the salvation of my Turkey Day.

Cable box remote in one hand, a jar of dry roasted peanuts and a bottle of Pellegrino in the other, I venture forth to soak up some Octopussy. Television holidays are, quite simply, The Shit.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

this will not happen


For the last week, I have been excited about Thanksgiving at my parents' house — my first since 1999 — for one reason alone: the James Bond Marathon on basic cable.

Every year, ignoring the nervous prattle about heat circulation, pretending not to hear the pleas for help to polish the bronzeware, turning the volume up to drown the electric mixer out. Every year, me and Sean, me and Roger, me and Pierce, and — even — me and Timothy, going into the night with a tupperware of crispy skin carvings and the remaining sparkling cider. Every year.*

It's as American as watching A Christmas Story on TNT four times in a row every Christmas. I need this.


Imagine, therefore, my suspense, before even getting out of bed this morning, logging into my parents' TiVo to line up a whole day of 007. And imagine my disappointment upon discovering ...

Noo. No Bond marathon this year?

What am I supposed to do now, talk to people? Oh, screw this.


____________________
* Which means it actually happened only two or three years. But I remember it. I need it.

HEAR YE, HEAR YE:

WHEREAS Komar & Melamid and David Soldier's The Most Unwanted Music is indescribably awesome, and

WHEREAS it should be imposed upon shared with the whole world, and

WHEREAS today is Labor Day,

THEREFORE you should set The Most Unwanted Music, The Ringtone, Labor Day Edition to trumpet across the land, or at least across your apartment / office / MUNI Metro car, each time you receive a telephone call today, until your roommates / colleagues / fellow passengers stab you to death with shivs made from belt buckles, because they are that jealous of you for having the very coolest ringtone ever. Yes, this is how it works.

		hey-everybody-its-labor-day.m4a AAC
		Labor-Day.m4r iPhone ringtone

[xoxo Princess Sparkle Pony]

genetically aenginerr narorwwer figertios to maek it easier aota utype on htese stsuilosSTUPID tinhy keuys; iwet is realloy hard lotherwiksde.

rlsy i can onlay type weiktgh my phinkeys. LOLL


<font size="-2" color='gray">not durnmk; juist have figers the size of sauasasteges</font><br><br><br>

At the 24-hour Wal-Mart in Lilburn, police said a 70-year-old woman spent three days inside the store sleeping, shopping and eating at the on-site Blimpie.

"Three days in any store is a little crazy, but in a Wal-Mart...yeah," said a shopper.

—Woman Stays At Gwinnett Wal-Mart For Three Days, WSB-TV

EXT. SUBURBAN COMMERCIAL DISTRICT - DAY Jamba Juice, Pottery Barn, Curves, Starbucks. Borders, P.F. Chang's, Jimmy John's, Apple Store, Starbucks. A shoe store, Jamba Juice, Starbucks. Gap, Starbucks, Starbucks. It's a traffic jam: CAUCASIAN SHOPPERS, in pairs, two shopping bags and white paper coffee cup apiece, occasionally stream off the sidewalk and around the unmoving cars. Over the idling cars, a distant din of Salvation Army belling competing with the ambient violin surge of Nat King Cole's "Christmas Song." Dwarfed behind the wheel of a comically large silver European model, his head barely visible through the window above the belt-line, COWPERTHWAIT appears to be talking to himself. ( Read more... )