Thursday, November 27, 2008

Things to Do Other Than Kill Yourself: Thanksgiving Edition

Yes, the time has come for us huddled masses yearning to let that gut breathe free. The wonder that is Thanksgiving has come upon us, and with that a well deserved break to enjoy and give thanks for the fruits of our arduous labor, uniting with family and friends to rejoice in the glorious experience of being alive, healthy, and surrounded by all the food and love your heart could possibly contain.

Or you could just drink. ALOT.

In lieu of the always enjoyable lonely alcohol poisoning that has defined many an anti-social heart, here are some things to do on this gluttonous American pastime that in recent years has merely served as a front for the poultry industry and the ever expanding evil that is Christmas shopping:

Help your fellow man. Seriously. I know the idea of charity on Thanksgiving sounds disingenuous to some. And no, I'm not disparaging that five year-old case of canned corn from Costco that you found in the basement and dumped on your local parish for a tax write-off. But actual volunteering-and-the-helping-the-needy-charity.

Try it. It doesn't actually hurt as much as you think. And god knows helping serve soup at a soup kitchen or passing out coats at a shelter beats watching those god awful Detroit Lions get trounced for the umpteenth time, or listening to your Aunt Marie ramble on about how your cousin Joseph could get you a job in real estate once you're done wasting time with that 'artsy writing thing.'

Ask your local parish or place of worship, look some up, and if you're in the New York area, check out City Harvest or NYCares for more info.

Get Creative. If you're lucky enough to not be cooking or busy soberly entertaining guests who you secretly loathe, take some time out and get your craft on. Knit, paint, silkscreen, sketch, compose, write, or origami the shit out of something. It's Thanksgiving, the first big holiday of the winter season so filled with sharing, caring, and the highest rate of suicide. See what crumble of creativity spawns forth from your mind, and hope like hell it doesn't look like a turducken (above).

Catch a flick. Yes, I recommend films for damn near every holiday, but that's cause it's what I do, and what better way to avoid the painfully awkward interaction of family members who only see each other bi-annually than by drowning yourself in the sorrows of cinema?

A Christmas Tale (Un conte de Noël): Family dysfunction! Heartbreak! A prodigal black sheep son returning as a mother lies on her death bed! Catherine Deneuve being all classy and hot! Mathieu Amalric (the bad guy from Quantum of Solace) being all funny, sad, and drunk! Chiara Mastroianni being all kinda slutty and hot! And did I mention it's French?!

Let the Right One In (Låt den rätte komma in)
: While the rest of the known universe goes gaga over a teenybopper friendly vampire lovefest, try your hand at this scary sweet and sad Swedish horror romance. A 12 year-old boy seeks revenge against the bullies that torment him, and makes a connection with a shy young girl who happens to be a vampire. It's dark, violent, and stark in its reality, with no shiny glossy coating to cover the loneliness of youth and isolation. Beautifully shot and restrained, it defies conventional horror cliché and finds nuance in a form that badly needs one. I'm far from a horror fan, but this is well worth the effort.

I've Loved You So Long (Il y a longtemps que je t'aime)
: A woman returns from prison and struggles to reconnect with the world, a sister she barely knows, and the inescapable memory of a sin committed long ago. Yes, it's a downer, but a pretty good one (save for the ridiculousness of the final act) and Kristen Scott Thomas is phenomenal, nor even remotely as boring as the English Patient we were all once forced to sit through. A good one to drink and think through.

Rachel Getting Married: A conservative's worst nightmare of a wedding comes to life, as a woman returns from a treatment facility to see her sister get married, instigating a weekend of marital joy, heartbreak, and enough family dysfunction to make all feel right with the world. It's been a bit over hyped, but once you get over the hurdle of accepting the character Kym, Hathaway's performance strikes a very real, painful chord and is beautifully balanced by Rosemarie DeWitt and Debra Winger. The hipsters, hippies, and long drawn out sequences really get you lost in the world of this wedding, which is a wonderful credit to the filmmakers, but can make it a difficult journey for people that really hate weddings. All in all, one of the year's best in escapism.

Fake It. If you're fortunate enough to be part of one of those big families where no one knows what the hell you do and barely know who the hell you are (besides what remnants their dementia ravaged minds can recall of your childhood) then look at this joyous occasion to have some fun and see whether or not your ashamed parents will publicly call you on it. I like to break up my holiday caricatures into different personas:

The Golden Child. Inside you may be dying, yearning for the sweet satisfaction that is death. Outside, smile that great ol' smile, hop, skip, and jump and be extra, extra, extra exuberant. Religious family? Lead the prayer service like the Rapture's a-coming and you want to lead the welcome wagon to greet big JC as he descends upon our destruction from the skies. Family into dancing/karaoke/board games/sports? Reach into the deepest darkest part of your almost completely dead psyche and fake that shit like there's no tomorrow (Which there won't be. But they don't know that). Oh, how the surprised adulation shall rain down for your newly beloved enthusiasm, which will only make your unexpected demise that much sweeter.

The Culture Maven. Regale the familia with faux-stories of your transcontinental exploits, whether it be photoshopping trips to the Far East, Cloverfielding the shit out of beach side footage to resemble the Outback, or using that one wild night with the those U.N. students to fill up your past year's sexual itinerary. Make that asshole family member who bragged about going to that one place that one time cower in deficient shame, as you bask in the wonderful (albeit horribly fake) glory.

The Go-Getter. You're busy. You're always busy. You are always busy with being busy. So being so busy with being busy, you don't have time to waste trying to make idle conversation with relatives since you're always so busy. Bring the Blackberry, the MacBook Pro, the iPhone (cause damn it you're so busy you need another phone) and spend at least 95% of your time there bitching about how there's no WiFi, or if there is WiFi, bitch about how the WiFi signal isn't as strong as it should be for someone as busy and important as you. Should be a nice way of keeping people from bothering you, allowing you to catch up on that game of Turkey Shoot you've been dying to get back to.

The Death Bed. Illness has a great way of keeping people at a distance. Cough, spit, vomit, scratch, moan, groan, gurgle, or mimic any sort of action or sound resembling that of a dying animal. When even the faintest inkling of an attempt to initiate conversation occurs, turn away and get those fingers down that windpipe like you're life (or at least your sanity) depends on it. Should be a nice cover for a well earned nap or, if necessary, a short hospital stay.

If you're not fortunate enough to be in a family that rarely ever knows of your doings and whereabouts, just plop down in a corner somewhere, drink to mind numbing belligerence, and guard those wine bottles with your life.

And enjoy.


Tuesday, November 25, 2008

IKEA, the friendly manufacturing misogynist

Look at us silly women, how could we be so stupid to let an errant fork accidentally kill us, or salaciously slurp a shoelace, or carelessly leave our boyfriends lying around?

Oh IKEA, I've been fucking Crate & Barrel and Pottery Barn behind your back. And your Swedish meatballs weren't that big. So there.


Bees are so scary they make me not want to have STDs


Not wearing a condom and getting an STD totally makes you pee bees. Or makes your manhood feel like bees are coming out of it. Or into it. I'm not sure.

Wrap it, Test it, Treat it, Don't Bee it.


Bush endears himself to white folks who kinda liked that one Wyclef song with the Bee Gees sample

"John Forté, grab the mic, sway this way..."

Don't front like you didn't know that lyric, or felt the insatiable need to bust a (albeit awkward) move while shamefully proclaiming how you'd like to be "...eatin' mangos in Trinidad wit attorneys..."

John Forté has been gone, but not forgotten, and has surprisingly been pardoned by George W. Bush. Maybe the efforts of Carly Simon and her son Ben Taylor (offspring of James) helped sway El Presidente, or maybe he secretly loved the shit out of Poly Sci (yeah, no).

Either way, in honor of the man's return to civilization, here's his most famous contribution to the mainstream, vis-à-vis the great '90s hallmark of shamelessly recognizable samples:

Oh and without him, my precocious then-fifteen year-old mind would have never had heard of liquid cocaine. Which kinda sounded cool. Minus the whole getting arrested and imprisoned part.

Welcome back, Mr. Forte. As for you Ms. Hill...

Come back (to earth) please?


808s break hearts

"Hmm...Uh...Okay...Not Bad...Yes...I don't know...What?...Err...Oh...No...I understand...I'm sorry."


Monday, November 24, 2008

Sesame Street's 30 Rocks teaches kids to count; doesn't make them want to watch 30 Rock

Nothing says you've solidified your place in the pop culture lexicon like a Sesame Street parody. Yet somehow I can't help but think kids (and their respective parental units) aren't exactly going to be drawn to 30 Rock anymore than they were before.

But Tina Fey in a Pirates of the Caribbean parody...



Silly rabbit, Trix are for insecure girls


After all the times I felt sorry for you, watching Saturday morning cartoons and enjoying your beloved cereal with the inescapable guilt of your Trix-ian injustice...

Silly rabbit, you're an asshole.


Nintendo DS teaches world how to cook, begins cute plans for world domination

The world around us is stalled and slowly crumbling with a seemingly insurmountable economic downturn. People are losing their jobs. Children are quickly losing their childhoods. Everything's becoming consumed by itself with little hope for growth and renewal.

Looks like a perfect time to...COOK!

Yes, the holidays are upon us and we're all broke and we're all sad and we're all nowhere near close to being able to afford the shame based materialistic culture we've all grown up in and love, so why not indulge ourselves in a little cutesy of a video game that isn't just fun, or educational, but really tasty all at the same time?

Enter the Personal Trainer: Cooking for the Nintendo DS, a colorful gobble of good that comes in the form of an interactive video game/tutorial that helps us pathetic excuses for foodies concoct some culinary creations of our own. The game's got over 245+ recipes to learn, and uses video and voice tutorials to help our fellow klutzy kitchen brethren.

It's got personal in-game shopping lists that can make shopping fun (well, at least as fun as grocery shopping can be), a hands free cooking feature (so you don't get your little cousin's DS covered in olive oil) and a calorie count for every recipe (see fatties? even you too!).


Best yet, it's only retailing for $19.99. $19.99! Just twenty bucks (not counting the evil taxes) for hours and hours of tasty fun!

(Note: I am not a corporate schill or plant for Nintendo, but just really like cooking even though I suck at it. Oh, and cooking makes the crying go way. So, yeah.)


So go run out there and get your cook on. Yay!


Somewhere Over the Obama

Yes, it's kinda kitschy and simple, I know. But it made me smile, and anything that can make a bitter old hag like me smile is a-okay in my book. Oh, and aside from a cute cover of "Over the Rainbow" Clare and the Reasons are a pretty sweet band, and I'm seeing them this week opening for My Brightest Diamond (pretty grand in her own right) at the Hotel Café on Cahuenga. Come with! You know you want to!

Or, if you're like the other sad sully sallies that make up the rest of SMFIH's staff, catch them live when they swing by the East Coast. You'll hug me later.


Sunday, November 23, 2008

Pot Psychology makes the pain go away

What's a good way to spend your otherwise joyless night? Watching Pot Psychology, of course!

Jezebel's weekly Q&A session features two of my all time favorite bloggers, Rich from FourFour and Tracie from OneDataTime, answering viewers' questions while pleasantly captivated by everyone's favorite herbal pastime.

If SMFIH had a weekly show like this it would feature Mister MacGuffin barely tolerating everything, all your pink are belong to us being generally awesome (inner blog love, people), I would contribute fun and awkward rambling monologues that include long pauses and endlessly repeated phrases, The Brown Cary Grant would be hardly controlling his hatred, and most importantly it wouldn't be nearly as entertaining as Pot Psychology (Editor's Note: But it would be more psychologically violent. So we have that going for us).


Greg Oden is the greatest basketball player in the history of the universe, according to deaf *NSYNC fans

How can you not root for this guy? Sure he sounds awful, but god knows we could use more self deprecating, genuinely funny and warm personalities in sports.

Here's Greg Oden showing some more *NSYNC love with Justin Timberlake himself:

Please ghost of Sam Bowie, please go away. Please?


Friday, November 21, 2008

"Sex appeal is fifty percent what you've got and fifty percent what people think you've got" ~ Sophia Loren

(Via by way of)

I think I've got a chocolate creme filling. Oh, and sadness. A sweet, chocolate creme filled sadness.


Partini: the board game that's tons of Fun-tini as you commit Suicide-tini

I kickass at board games. I'm quick witted, don't mind embarrassing pubic performance and have an above average aptitude for useless trivia. Which is why I hate board games.

Not because I'm too cool for school, or think I'm above mastering the fine art of deconstructing a puzzle through some third world country packaged clay while a plastic hourglass drops sand and reminds me of how preciously meaningless my time on earth has really been. No, I hate board games because it reminds me of the possibility that the greatest talent I may have in this lifetime is in an area that provides no semblance of a contribution to society (unless of course being able to hum Cole Porter's "Night and Day" while blindfolded and mimicking the poster of In & Out to convey the clue of Kevin Kline could somehow stop poverty).

Which is why I just can't wait to play this:

Oh,'ve I've wasted you so. Then again, what would I possibly do during the holidays were it not for board games?

Drink myself into alcohol poisoned stupor while ravishing distant relatives with untold tales of my professional ineptitude as I meander towards the dining room and use the table's centerpiece to gouge my eyes out and forcefully sodomize myself until every orifice is convulsively sputtering blood in a Jackson Pollack-y dénouement?

Yes, Partini it shall be.


Karolina Kurkova's missing belly button: I'm not saying I told you so...

But I told you so.

No seriously, I really did.


Thursday, November 20, 2008

Life should be organized, in a cute cool computerized way

Almost just as much fun as my beloved Japanese "Future of Food" vid:

Conformity can be cute in a pop art sort of way...minus the whole individuality and freedom of choice thing.


The Leader of the Free World is the Fat Kid in Gym Class

Seriously. Haha, and awwww:

And haha again.


Tuesday, November 18, 2008

Intimacy is being able to be totally disgusting with the ones you love


Man's greatest unwanted mystery about women's bowel movements solved: We do in fact talk about shit. ALOT. Like all the time. Especially for online shows about women talking about their intimate experiences and love and sex and feelings. But especially the shit part.

Sorry, and ewww, ewww, ewww a hundred thousand times. Unlike the ladies above, I like to think all of us know how to be dainty down there. At least most of us. Ewww again. And sorry.


Amy Poehler is going to be the bestest greatest mother in the history of mankind

Okay so I'm biased.

Maybe cause I love me some Gob Bluth action.

Maybe cause as a student of the UCB School of All Things Funny and Awesome (as another member of the SMFIH staff is) I've been forced to swear allegiance to her.

Or maybe just cause her new online series for kids The Smart Girls At The Party is pretty much the best reason I've recently found to actually go through with the whole getting preggers and having a little girl of your own thing, just for the sake of being able to get my own little lady to watch this:

I could probably just get my little nieces to watch this with me. Yeah, second thoughts on the whole getting preggers thing. Oooo, presented by Barbie! Yay! Stretch marks? No yay.


I F*cked That: Emotionally Available Foreign Plastic Object

I'm pretty sure I went out with it/him back in high school. Sadly, I think it/him may have been the love of my life. Or at least better than the sad sack of shit I call a boyfriend now.


Bacon Ice Cream is surprisingly good; still probably really bad for you


A foodie friend of mine recently unleashed upon me a new guilty pleasure of hers, an interesting recipe for candied bacon ice cream. Watching her make it was good fun, and while I'm not particularly a big fan of the evil that is bacon, I couldn't help but love the old mix of salty and sweet flavors it created.

Now as for her proposed plan to try egg and bacon ice cream:

Um...I'll get back to you on that.


One last (hopefully) look from the Sexy


Yes and no.


Monday, November 17, 2008

Hate the hate

Yup. Oh and, seriously Prince? Seriously?


The Roots make it impossible to ignore Jimmy Fallon...even though we want to

The Roots are retiring from touring to become the house band for Jimmy Fallon's new show. The Roots are retiring from touring to become the house band for Jimmy Fallon's new show.

I need a moment for that to sink it. The Roots. Retiring from touring. To be the house band. For Jimmy Fallon's show.

  • On one hand, the Roots may finally get the mainstream attention for their musicianship they're worked for so long to attain. On the other hand, it's Jimmy fucking Fallon.

  • On one hand, maybe countless years of grinding it out on the road has worn out the Roots, and tested their creative mettle in a way that makes this transition to Max Weinberg/Paul Schaffer/Kevin Eubanks-land appear almost like a natural progression. On the other hand, it's muthafucking Jimmy fucking Fallon.
  • On one hand, it's arguably the greatest live hip hop act of the past 10+ years bringing that energy to late night network television. On the other hand, it's an underlying hope that after the 25th rendition of "Idiot Boyfriend" (in which of course Fallon joins the Roots in an impromptu awkward white boy freestyle rapping it up old school with some real "hip hoppers" for some hip hop hilarity) that Kamal or Hub or Knuckles or Thought (cause ?uestlove's too nice for that) goes all Branford Marsalis on Fallon's ass.

Yes, this makes sense for both sides on many levels: it gives Fallon some semblance of cool cred interest that will spark some viewership from the hardcore Roots faithful as well as possibly endear him to the Conan college demographic that may feel slighted by their redhead leaving their contact high hour, and it gives the Roots a platform to reach audiences that may have seen them sparingly on Letterman, as the backing band for Jay-Z, Vh1 Honors benefits, on Comedy Central or failed to make the connection outside of "ooo that guy with the Afro from that band that was on that Chappelle Show with John Mayer."

It's not even the Jimmy Fallon part that hurts as much as the idea that the Roots won't be touring. Obviously it's not the be all end of all of their touring career, but the idea that the Roots aren't touring, is like hearing the sun won't shine anymore or that I will no longer be able to purchase Duracell batteries 4 for a dollar on the F train at 3am anymore- it just doesn't seem right.


Just as any fan likes to claim ownership of their "entry band" (the band which opens one up to the wide spectrum that is all music), I love my Roots. Just not enough for me sit through a Fallon giggle fit of a monologue.

Or maybe not. Can't hate on a stable paycheck. Especially in these times.

Here's ?uestlove sharing his joy:

At first I was worried that the Fallon gig got his tear ducts a going, but it's actually his post-election synopsis. (A video of ?uest confirming the Roots on Fallon has since been pulled.)


2012 trailer incites political discourse

"What the fuck was that?"

"It's a trailer to that new Roland Emmerich movie. You know, the guy that did Independence Day, Day After Tomorrow, all the disaster-type stuff."

"Whatever. That's bullshit."


"Don't you see what they tryin' to say? They tryin' to say that the world gon fuck up after the first term of a black president. Like they tryin' to say that my main man Obama's gon bring the destruction of the world or something."

"It's been filming since before the election."

"Whatever man. Shit's bullshit."

"Maybe it's about global warming."

"Bullshit. This some racist type shit man."

"It's a disaster movie."

"Whatever man, you know it's like some underhanded bullshit way of them tryin' a spread some propaganda shit and get all them extremist cats all riled up and shit. It's bullshit son."

"It's a movie."

"Whatever shit's like real. Like they tryin' to make people think they gotta rethink their vote just cause some loco cracker thinks the election marks the end of the world or something."

"It's just a movie."

"Whatever man. Shhh. James Bond's starting. Hot shit."


Sunday, November 16, 2008

Obama's First Fireside YouTube Chat


Granted, comments are conspicuously disabled (thankfully) but the idea of having weekly videos answering questions doing YouTube Q&As is an auspicious start to maintaining the support of the generation that banded behind him. It should be interesting once shit hits the fan (or when faces the test Biden's anticipated), but so far, so okay.

Oh, and the viral remixes should be sweet.


Friday, November 14, 2008

Dyeing your vajayjay hay brings all the boys to the yard, and they'll expect you to charge


Personally, I like to keep my vajayjay hay or "betty" in the shape of a clenched fist or the young girl-old woman optical illusion, depending on my mood or the season.

Cause I'm classy like that.


New Watchmen Trailer: Who watch, you watch, we watch Billy Crudup in a computerized thong

Watchmen will not cure cancer, obliterate AIDS, or solve world hunger as some other film was purported to have been able to do, but the billowing hype has been hard to maintain even the most temperate of expectations.

Yes to fanboys and us pretentious literati who read it on a whim, it's pretty damn sweet; in spite of the conspicuous censorship of Billy Crudup's genitalia, or Rorshach's soon to be unfortunate comparison to Bale's throaty intonations. And the posters, oh the glorious new posters:







Uh, yeah. Yum.


Kumbaya please


I understand the American Humanist Association's attempts to expand the dialogue about religion in America. Free speech is free speech.

But through a bus ad campaign? And in Washington D.C. of all places? Like right now while our newly elected African American president is coming to the neighborhood? Right while millions of fanatics are buying up guns in anticipation of a rapture, a socialist state, a new Hitler, a new plague, a new Noah's Ark, a new anything they can formulate and create to use to scapegoat his impending presidency and possibly use to rile themselves up and rationalize an outburst of idiotically deranged you decide to launch this campaign?


And here we were concerned about a priest refusing communion to parishioners who voted for Obama because of their vote for eternal damnation, now you got us worried about fanatics possibly making an attempt to link Obama to an atheist movement...

"Shiny happy people holding hands, shiny happy people...uh...please?"


Mutual fund CEO lives the dream of millions of school yard kids, and middle aged balding millionaires


A beleaguered post-Wizards Michael Jordan getting schooled by mutual fund CEO John Rogers Jr. at legend's camp in '03. I think the eight year-old in me just cheered with envy.


Q-Tip's The Renaissance

Yes you can.


30 Rock reminds us of our love for Night Court and why Jennifer Aniston needs to stay away from movies

I'm obviously biased here (seeing as I'm almost physically incapable of not liking 30 Rock), but while I enjoyed seeing a semi-reunion of the cast of Night Court (no Bull Shannon?) more than seeing Jennifer Aniston's goofy sexy Glenn Close from Fatal Attraction, it's hard to not be concerned with this season's over-reliance on guest stars.

I understand and love that NBC's pushing for them, but stunt celebrity casting isn't going to attract casual viewers for the long haul. Unless of course we're shooting for How I Met Your Mother-hood.

All I'm saying is, please don't have Britney Spears guest star (No actually, please have Britney Spears guest star. The possibility of Britney coming on as Jack's long lost illegitimate daughter sounds promising).


Thursday, November 13, 2008

All I want for Christmas is a Spinning Deep Fryer


George Foreman's continuing saga to save the world's fatties with technological genius (it's a grill that's tilted and drains the fat; astonishing!) comes to us this year in the George Foreman® Lean Mean™ Fryer, a magical object that fries your food then spins and whirls out 55% of the absorbed frying fat through centrifugal force.

Centrifugal force. Mmmmm spinning frying food. That can't possibly be dangerous.

Like Cornballer dangerous.


Shepard Smith makes me want to touch Fox News in the bad place


I love Shepard Smith and so should you. Even though his bosses may fire him. And people make mean "suggestive allegations." He's not Anderson Cooper sexy, but sexy all the same. Oh, and he rocks a mean guitar:

How can anyone hate on that?


Jon & Kate Plus 8 makes me love children and fear my vagina


Jon & Kate Plus 8 is my favorite reality show of the past year that gets to the heart of what any little girl growing up dreams of when she thinks of having a big family: Holy shit it's hard.

In a post-Obama world, the Gosselin family are like the perfect model of what a utopian society strives for- interracial love, raising a family blind to the notion of social ignorance, working out family issues democratically and cute, cute, cuteness all around.

Never has a show made me so touched by the sweet innocence of ridiculously adorable little ones running around and frolicking about....and so terrified by the possibility of my vagina taking revenge on me for all the times I've wasted it on nameless johns by infiltrating my holy land with a battalion of my own crazy (albeit probably cute) hell spawn.


But seriously, eight kids?! They're precious and amazing and wonderful we all know, but thank god for people like Jon and Kate, cause I'm pretty sure if it happened to me I'd be one of those mothers who wouldn't notice if one of her kids were missing or dead till at least a few weeks in. And even then I'd be hard pressed to not feel sort of, well, nonchalant about it. I mean if I've got like eight or ten, what's losing one of two really gonna hurt, right?

This is why I should never be responsible for any human life. On the other hand, they are really, really, really, really- awwww....

That's it. I want one. Just the one though. Definitely just the one.


I get older, and they stay the same age...just older


The Nirvana baby is all growns up, and former SNL cast member Chris Elliott's daughter is now on SNL. Holy shit, I'm old.


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