Lauren, Ryan, and yours truly, sporting pontificatin’ hats. Ryan’s eyes are not moist with joy at being surrounded by Lauren and mine own collective pontificational ratiocinative powers, but because he was peering over a smoking grill on a triple-digit day for my gustatorial comfort.
Photo credit: Jason
So hats off (heh-heh) to The LEAGUE who is the Hephasteus of hamburger.
I forgot to mention that Lauren made some wonderful guacamole for the Leaguestravaganza. En route we realized that there may not be enough tortilla chips (if you have a choice I recommend El Milagro) so we called to confirm that we should grab a bag.
Given that it was 100+ degrees out and guacamole is better chilled, I left lauren in the car as I went in grabbed diet coke, chips, and a few other sundries.
I returned and as I got in the car Lauren remarked: “Wow, you’re fast, you were only gone one song.”
“One song? That must have been one long song.”
“Freebird,” her last word hung in the air as the van Zandt solo wound into its final movement.
Thus it dawned on us a new temporal measure: “The Freebird.” Just like the fictional kropog measure of distance from Gilmore Girls*, we realized we had come up with a valuable measurement.
1 Freebird == 9 minutes, 10 seconds
Now, I was wondering if you could convert a Freebird to the time it takes to consume a Freebird Burrito.
By Canucklibrarian on Flickr
Hm, it might be tough to handle a Freebird in a Freebird.
*A Kropog is a (fictional) unit of distance, named after a man who graduated from Yale in 1944. Logan’s dorm is 90 Kropogs from Rory’s.
Last night, after yet another wonderful holiday party chez League of Melbotis we went to IHOP for a very late-night dose of very-average fare.
Lauren and I have taken to splitting most meals (cuts down on calories most importantly, and costs as a fringe benefit) so we split the breakfast sampler:
Now, I liked all of this meal except the sausage links. So I said to my table of grown-ups:
Seriously, no sexual innuendo and all, but would anyone like my sausage?
Lesson: “Seriously, no sexual innuendo and all” does not mitigate the human urge to snicker. Additionally, it did not alleviate the hideous sausage from my plate either.
These last two weeks have been a pretty trying time chez Roth-Harms, what with internal organs going on the fritz, and then AWOL.
Fortunately during this time I had the help of my mom, who happened to be in town. It was with her help the house stayed a bit cleaner, a load or two of laundry got washed, spontaneous macro-organization occurred in the pantry and the fridge, and Lauren was greatly comforted. So, Mom, when you read this, thank you – despite the fact that I know you’ll say it was no trouble.
A a first testing of her “out-of-bed” legs, Lauren made the trip down to Serrano’s downtown for the birthday of our belovéd LEAGUE OF MELBOTIS himself. It was surely the event of the season so we didn’t want to miss it.
Now Ryan is a modest fellow full of good cheer, and betimes, bar-b-que. To celebrate his birthday with him and the rest of the South Manchaca party crew was a real joy. But in the midst of conversation, and later mentioned by his lovely wife in her own blog post, Ryan mentioned that he and his brother had given serious contemplation to starring in a Ghosthunters like show on the Discovery Channel.
The thought of these two characters busting through the semi-rotted front door of a haunted Victorian, perhaps with a stray size 14EEE foot going through the screen door, with fearful eyes a-glisten as The Bus Boys’ boogie-woogie piano hit from the Ghostbusters score “Cleanin’ Up the Town” played, and as a Charles Schuz “Aggggg” was bellowed out their voluminous lungs damn near urged me to inhale my queso.
And I thought, when you have a friend whom you can imagine in madcap supernatural comedy, you have a good friend indeed. He and his wife showed us endless generosity, consideration, and selflessness while we were in the hospital. They are the kind of people who really know when to step in and put some color back in the day.
So in this season of Ryan’s birthday, I give thanks for this friendly buddha of our town.
Greeting any new Leaguers while The League is away
I am a huge “This American Life” fan. Last year, for my birthday, The Leagues’ bought me an iTunes gift card which I promptly spent on TAL episodes. I got into it when I first moved to CA. Not knowing many people, having those stories there late on Saturday night became part of a ritual that helped me transition to living there.
My absolute favorite episode is #74 “Conventions”. The first segment ( or, “act”, according to show host Ira Glass ) introduces John Connors, a man from the midwest who goes to New York City for a weekend to celebrate “Dark Shadows”.
“Dark Shadows” is the Gothic–themed soap opera that showed on ABC in the late– 60’s: it’s pacing is nothing short than glacial, the production value is iffy, and the egregious use of the Theremin might be against the Geneva Conventions.
At the end of the convention, Conners feels “Dark Shadows”–fatigue and seems to be experiencing slight embarrassment while relating a story about a woman who, in the convention hall, before a panel of DS cast, bellowed:
“‘Dark Shadows’ Rules!”
Conners seems to have felt the shame that only a true fan of something cultish can experience. You’re shamed by the action of the other fan, but you’re also a bit shamed because the zeal of that fandom exists in you, although maybe not in dictum–bellowing grandiosity.
In the end, Glass gives Conners a chance to say on the radio “‘Dark Shadows’ rules”. Laughing, with a hint of shame, and very quietly, he says it.
I think this explains the way we all feel about our guilty pleasures that we obsess about.
“Danielle Steel rules!” or “WWE rules” or back in 18th England: “roman’s rule!”
I have felt this way about my love of Rush for many years. There’s a huge fan-base for the Canadian power-trio but most of our lives we live in the closet, but upon finding one another, there’s the immediate understanding.
How can you explain the voice of Geddy Lee from 1974-1981? How can you explain that dressing in robes was a good idea?
How can you explain the talent that barely makes it possible for Neal Peart to even be classified as a human? How can you explain lyrics about
science,
a black hole,
Ayn Rand’s Anthem re-cast as a rock opera,
the unbelievable bass breakdown to the slapback-effects laden “Free Will”, the poetic allegory of “The Trees”, or the master’s essay in Moog known as the record Signals? Much less to a pretty girl?
In the utterance of “Rush Rules” to end them all, enters the pean by one Stephen Colbert:
Recently I discovered that fellow Leaguer and former resident of the Hall of Justice itself, Nicole, has an aptitude for sythesizer. How totally awesome would it be if sweet, petite, gently sweet-Texlahoma-lilt-voiced Nicole were to get up behind an ersatz wood–paneled Moog and rock the socks out of the synthesizer-solo of “Tom Sawyer”? Equally acceptable would be the synth denouement out of “YYZ ( that’s Why-Why-Zed for the uninitiated )”
Although, playing that synth solo may be the synth crowd’s version of walking into Guitar Center and playing “Stairway”.
Rush fandom is a weird thing, but it’s oddly virulent. Even my Sublime-n-Sunshine SoCal girlfriend, of late, under the sway of the Teutonic Thunder drumming of Neal Peart has confessed that she has the sneaky suspicion that what I’ve known for many years may be true:
<h1>Rush Rules</h1>
The League doubted my objectification powers, he did not think that I could come up with a list of ultimate hottitude to rival his. Shortly before I fell way seriously sick (again) in late February I started this. Now, I finish it. Keep in mind, that during the 90’s I was between the ages of 13 and 23, so I’m covering from Freshman year of high school to college graduation, roughly.
You may not remember, but in the 90’s Miss Crawford was every-where.
She was doing Revlon ads, hosting house of style with her Midwestern non-regional diction and in general, ruling every magazine cover in the grocery store rack, and, curiously, marrying Richard Gere.
I don’t think love for Cindy C. was confined just to the XY among us.
Cindy was so hot at one time she was able to use her sheer presence to make the eardrum acid “Charlie” commercial with Little Richard a “go”.
I remember reading an article back in the day that an interviewed mother remarked that she was glad her teenage son was fixating on CC because she was poised, beautiful, and classy–not like that whore Madonna. She’s proven herself to be a shrewd magnate, managing the thousand product lines launched by a beauty mark and appears to be living a happy life with her children and husband.
I can’t skip this one. In 1991, on the back of my binder ( it was one of those ‘clear view’ types ) I had an insert of Claudia Schiffer in a red-washed ad, she wearing a French twist hairstyle and being cupped by a see-thru corset in a Marciano Guess ad.
With a bit more perspective on media history I now know that Claudia is pulling a serious Brigitte Bardot channeling session in this picture but it’s still a great photograph. I also like Claudia because she, like Cindy C, has something going on between her ears. I read that she knows German, English, French, Greek and Latin. I’d assume this is because she went to a gymnasium for her high-school education.
But by this time my tastes and interests were realizing that the supermodel as icon certainly offered pleasures to the eye, but I was maturing ( arguably ) and my tastes were changing.
Liz Phair, like it or no, was pretty much my paragon for dating desire. Hot, fierce, brave, mean, unabashedly potty-mouthed, vulnerable, and sexual. That last one pretty much works for most 16 year-old guys on its own. I had seen women be sexy you know Vanity, Madonna, et al. but Liz was frankly sexual. Her first record was a lo-fi masterpiece and i still love to listen to it.
I remember watching her videos on 120 Minutes laaaate Sunday night.: “Never Said” and “Stratford-On-Guy”
In my pre-college daydreams I always imagine Liz to be like the really cute girl in your art history class who knows way too much about Kristeva and negative dialectic but whom the young dark-haired philosophy student accidentally pisses off and they wind up verbally mixing it up with in front of the whole class and making all of sleepy students and professor bolt upright thinking: “They really have that Liz Taylor / Richard Burton hate part going on other, but their sexual chemistry might melt steel if they could stop arguing long enough to actually sleep together.” In the screenplay version of that idea they do and the chief assisting element is “alcohol” which removes his bluster and soften her shoulder’s chip. Incidentally in the screenplay the girl cares very much about fashion (shopping like a surgeon at H&M, carefully carving out the few pieces that, when wedded with her grandma’s Swarovski bracelet and the alligator cowboy boots that just went on sale, will totally kill). I don’t know if the objective Ms. Phair is anything like that, but there you have it.
My love for Liz’s music was still on board all the way through whitechocolatespaceegg - but when she started getting that Avril Lavigne sound (“Why Can’t I?”) with the computerized re-harmonizers, that “singing through the megaphone gag” trick she lost me.
Liz: You, a 4 track, and a telecaster. Please.
You were under a rock if you missed the Tarantinogasm of the mid-90’s. This poster defined dorm walls the US-over ( including mine ).
What was it about Uma in this movie? The page-girl haircut? The cigarettes? The dotted-line square in space? The overdose of sugary-pop in the labored dialog (Diablo Cody, your master is well pleased)? The vomitus after the overdose (opiate-induced, not pop-reference induced, nor Diably Cody induced)?
Once, in this strage world known as the 90’s, Gwyneth Paltrow was cool. No, really. Here’s proof.
I remember hearing around 1997 that in “Marie Claire” GP was sent to a desert island for 48 hours by herself and she kept a diary about it. I read this article and it was interesting what she thought, how she accepted her situation and made the best of it. She was resourceful, insightful, and reflective. Pretty neat, right?
I had liked her in the mid-90’s when I knew her as “Brad Pitt’s Girlfriend” and “The lady in Se7en”. And what to say of “Se7en”, it was Fincher’s breakout movie, providing a whole new æsthetic for video-like movies and gore (There would be no “Saw 4” without “Saw 1” and there would be no “Saw 1” without “Seven”). And then I saw her in “Emma”. Something about those diaphanous empire gowns and archery that will get me everytime.
I shall have to call you my Mr. Knightley
I also really liked the movie “Sliding Doors” and it’s actually why I try to be so optimistic these days: things that appear “lucky” turn out ill, other things make you cry and hurt, and then turn out to be what makes you happy. Like I tell my special girl, I’ve gone through a lot of changes, moves, and place on the way to be in the weird space-time-mood that allowed us to be together, so removing a flat tire, job offer, going to the starbucks instead of Dana Street…for such tiny questions the moment might not’ve happened. It’s magic.
And Gwyneth always seemed to capture a bit of that Bostonian / Conn. / NYC prim and crisp and proper casual that you see in Vanity Fair. You know, pastel tops, capris, and deck shoes on a bicycle in from Granddad’s house on Martha’s Vineyard into town for a baguette, some flowers ( that she will arrange, thankyouverymuch), and the weekend Times.
Now there were hints of sanctimony brewing such as when she opined on the state of rap on MTV with a wrinkled nose that (loosely paraphrased) “Come on boys, can’t we move on from this, etc.”
But, for the SNL monologue with recent ex Ben Affleck I forgave her this and laughed out loud.
But over the years we’ve not seen funny Gwyneth as and she’s left our American shores to churn out children with birth-control pill pitchman Chris Martin of some band. Nevertheless, I ain’t mad atcha GP and I hope you provide some good foil in “Iron Man”.
Scully != Gillian Anderson (although they have remarkably similar bone structure).
I liked Scully: The red hair, the wide collars, her battle with her skepticism and objectivity (all the while being Catholic, how’s that wash?). Scully also didn’t suffer from the “where’s my hero” problem. She saved Mulder’s bacon more than once and not by “going and getting the sheriff”, but by being a badass. Mad propz to you.
She also had a bit of a 40’s vintage glam thing in the promo stills. Liking such a style is surely not surprising from a guy enrolled in a Lindy-Hop class.
I don’t remember the day, but one day when walking through Foley’s to the mall I noticed something in the make-up section that I had never noticed before. A face, beautiful smile, and nice straight brown hair smiling from over the Estée Lauder booth. It was, I now know, Liz Hurley.
Even then, there was something of the humorous about her:
But at the same time she was absolutely keeping up with Austin Powers ( before it was an over-indulgent ego-trip vehicle ) in terms of making you laugh out loud (the cloaked nudity scenes, the way her electric smile grins as she steals the star’s catchphrase and gives it a tigress purr “Bee-haaayvve” and the way that she’s just so freaking English) she opened multiple new media icon fronts:
Maternal:
SexyFriendly:
Say, mate, last night was great and all, but I don’t want to miss the end of the Fulham match
Dangerous:
A juggernaut of Media, Liz was undeniablly everywhere and never too rough on the eyes.
At some time in the early 90’s a girl from Russia came to the US and starred in Austin Scene Creator Richard Linklater’s “Dazed and Confused” and had few speaking parts on account of her inability to actually speak English. About this time a high school sophomore noticed her and thought “Man that girl’s cute”. A few hundred phonemes later she produced a record that produced a video that, when aired on 120 minutes, made said selfsame junior go “Man that girl’s cute”. A few years later ( phonemes turned out not to be necessary for this part ), Luc Besson gave us “The Fifth Element” where said lady spends the first half of the movie running around in, effectively, gauze.
What’s weird is that nrrrrdgrrlllzzz I know universally seem to think that fawning over Leelo in the 5th is an understandable thing to do.
The Matrix was the most present movie of 1999. You could not avoid it and, as part of it, the opening scene where C-AM beats the crap out of dudes in a leather catsuit, which was very well lit to show off how well it fit.
In the 2000’s she did a great job in “Memento” and I’ve heard good things about her turn in “Disturbia”.
and lastly…
Virtuous, brave, determined, and expressive.
A lover of books.
A person who sees the deeper beauty of a person.
A girl who shuns the easy path and always can be counted on to be good and kind.
As creepy as it is to love a cartoon, Belle is the spiritual blueprint for the “right kind of girl”: the one you treat nice, take to meet your parents and with whom you think a life of exploration company doesn’t sound at all like torture guys at the bar make it to be, it sounds, well, kinda nice.”
Come to think of it, Belle is sorta a bird of a feather with my special gal.
And that’s it!
Our man in Amsterdam, er, South Austin, The League of Melbotis has purchased a new car.
He has chosen a shiny blue Honda element.
I was talking to Lauren about this last night and she said, “Isn’t the blue element sort of a superman blue?”
I assented, it may be a bit more electric than Kal-El’s longjohns, but it’s definitely super-ish.
“Do you think he chose it on purpose”? “The Blue?” “You know, to make putting a red ‘S’ on it easier?”
Knowing that our friend The League is into Superman in a big way, I thought it was likely.
But, lo, what sound breaks like a speeding bullet, a blog post by The Purchaser (“I’m the purchaser, Mission Accomplished!”) himself.
…on the topic of marriage and relationships, The League of Melbotis has chimed in.
The Leauge, and his smarter than the average pooch Melbotis, have offered their innsight into what makes a relationship work. Here’s a few distillations…
To my post, The League replied the obvious:
Well, gee, it?s any and all of these factors, isn?t it?
Gee indeed, League!
The physical aspect is important to meet someone, but nobody is pretty forever. Hopefully, one day, you?ll just be able to feel lucky that this person you care about happens to be pretty. Use it as a tool for meeting somebody, but be certain, people get sick, people get hungover, people get bad haircuts. And what makes you think you?re going to stay all that beautiful, anyway?
The Leauge’s clearly misinformed, when you have an ego as large as mine the prospect of not being beautiful is not in the realm of possibility. As a fan of comic books surely he is familiar with OverGrown Ego-man?
The League casts his roving eye of ire towards sitcoms with:
You can tell a single guy because he?s concerned about her getting her nails done or him watching football. Sitcom marriage pratfalls.
Snicker, guilty as charged.
The League provides a great number of other insights but … pending his approval I shan’t post it.