Month: March 2006 (Page 2 of 3)

Neilochka Stalker

March 20, 2006 / Neil Kramer / 37 Comments

Last week, the Gawker website launched a new Gawker Stalker feature that can immediately post celebrity sightings on the internet, complete with a map. According to the Daily News:

"We’ll be using the Google Maps program," the snarky Web site’s editor, Jessica Coen, told [Lloyd Grove of the Daily News], "and people can look at them as soon as they come in — as close to a live sighting as possible."

This stalker feature was big news in the New York internet world. Gothamist weighed in:

It’s a pretty simple concept: each day they’ll have an intern manning an email address, and as "Gawker Stalker" missives come in, the intern will plot them on a map. This way, you can stalk your favorite celebrities in real time. Why you would want to stalk Lindsay Lohan is beyond us– but that’s an entirely different story.

Some, like New York journalist Felix Salmon, thought that Nick Denton, the publisher of popular websites such as Gawker and Wonkette, had produced something quite scary.

Part of what makes cities work is the anonymity conferred by large crowds. One of the reasons why people move to New York from Smalltown is that in Smalltown, everybody knew where they were and what they were doing at all times. Here, you can walk down the streets wearing nothing but an inflatable crocodile, and no one will care. Gawker Stalker Maps is an exercise in taking those comfortingly anonymous crowds and turning them into a million-eyed intelligent beast, collating and organising information on hundreds of individuals unlucky enough to be recognisable in public.

Frankly, I’ve never understood why so many people have Gawker on their blogroll. They’re never going to link to you. All you’re doing is helping this money-making entity increase their ad sales. It’s like you’re wearing a Nike cap or Coke t-shirt, giving a company free publicity without getting anything in return.

Maybe I’m being hard on Gawker, but I am angry at their lack of concern for privacy. I’m especially bitter over their latest internet entity, Neilochka Stalker. I really don’t appreciate my friends and acquaintances (that includes you, Sophia!) sending in tips to their special email address telling the world where I am 24/7. Just look at this morning’s postings on the Neilochka Stalker site:

March 19, 2006 @ 9am Neil spotted in bed, annoyed at being woken up by the stupid birds outside, just when the dream about the two hot female bloggers washing his back in the shower was getting good. Neil scratches his balls and heads for bathroom.

March 19, 2006 @ 9:20am Neil spotted peeing in bathroom, than taking shower. He mumbles something to himself about the "dream" shower being "a hundred fucking times better" than the real shower. The next door neighbor turns on her shower. Neil is scalded with hot water.

March 19, 2006 @ 9:40am Neil is spotted wearing his new light blue boxer briefs. He spends a few minutes posing in the mirror in various muscle man positions. Neil sees female neighbor in adjacent apartment window. Neil smiles at her. Her boyfriend suddenly appears at window. Boyfriend puts up middle finger at Neil and they both laugh at Neil. Neil closes shades.

March 19, 2006 @ 10am Neil spotted in kitchen, grabbing orange juice and bagel from the refrigerator. He is seen opening his front door and picking up his Los Angeles Times from the hallway. He looks down the hall, pissed, when he discovers that someone already stole the "magazine section" and the classifieds.

March 19, 2006 @ 10:40am Neil is spotted sitting on couch, reading article in "Calendar section" about successful screenwriter/director complaining about the hardships of his tremendous success. Neil dozes off again. He dreams that he is back in the shower with two hot female bloggers.

March 19, 2006 @ 10:50am Neil is spotted on the couch getting woken up by ringing of the telephone. It is Sophia. She reminds him of some chore he is supposed to do for her parents. Neil says he will do it "right away."

March 19, 2006 @ 11:15am Neil is spotted sitting at the computer rather than doing "chore for Sophia’s parents." He is writing an amusing comment on the site of one of the hot female bloggers, hoping he will impress her with his wit.

March 19, 2006 @ 12:01pm Neil is spotted sleeping at his desk. The phone rings. Neil doesn’t answer it.

March 19, 2006 @ 1:00pm Neil is spotted watching "Escape from Planet of the Apes" on DVD while eating Cheerios from the box. This is the 124th time he’s seen this movie. Neil finds himself becoming strangely aroused by Zira, the kind-hearted chimpanzee female scientist.

March 19, 2006 @ 1:50pm Neil is spotted lying on the floor, still watching the movie. His cell phone rings over and over again. Neil answers it. It is Sophia, angry. Neil says he is on his way to her parents. His excuse: he was delayed because they were running "The LA Marathon" right in front of his apartment and he couldn’t leave just yet. Sophia apologizes for getting upset. After he hangs up, Neil laughs. He mumbles something about loving the LA Marathon! He returns to watching the movie.

Really Extreme Makeover: Home Edition

March 15, 2006 / Neil Kramer / 71 Comments

BEFORE the arrival of ABC Television’s Extreme Makeover: Home Edition

Life has never been easy for the Wilson family. After she lost her job at the auto plant and her husband was killed in a freak explosion at an Office Depot, Deborah Wilson and her seven children, three of them disabled, became homeless.

Deborah remarried, but her new husband — an alcoholic, abuser, and wife beater — ran away with Deborah’s sister, leaving Deborah with three of his children. Two of his children suffer from a rare untreatable skin disease, and the third child, alas, was recently mauled to death when a Burmese tiger escaped from his cage during a class trip to the Phoenix Zoo.

The Wilsons now live in a tiny shack in the poorest section of Phoenix.

The arrival of ABC Television’s Extreme Makeover: Home Edition

Ty Pennington and his design team roll into town from Los Angeles. They have decided to build a new home for the the family because, frankly, the Wilsons are one unlucky, miserable bunch of losers. The Wilson’s shack is bulldozed and three hundred construction workers, whose boss wants to be on TV, quickly build the Wilson’s new 5000 square foot home.

Every room is equipped with the latest appliances from Sears (the show’s official sponsor). There is to be a plasma TV in every room (from Sears). An elevator to the second floor is installed for the disabled children. Special space suits are developed by NASA to be worn by the children with the rare skin disease. The new house has a swimming pool, a tennis court, and a huge kitchen where Deborah can further her dream of becoming a gourmet chef. And to help her further her goal, ABC has convinced famed Scottsdale Chef Anthony Dematto of Anthony’s Bistro to give Deborah a job as an assistant chef.

After the house is built, the design team cries. The Wilsons cry. Three hundred workers cry… because their boss, who got his 15 minutes of fame, "volunteered" them all for this grueling ordeal for no pay. A beautiful new home has been built for the Wilsons — a family desperately in need of help. The show returns to Los Angeles — a job well done.

Three months after the airing of ABC Television’s Extreme Makeover: Home Edition

Life has never been easy for the Wilson family. Deborah has been fired from Anthony’s Bistro after she accidentally poisoned a customer and famed Scottsdale Chef Anthony Dematto called her "an absolute moron."

The Wilson home has been robbed three times in the last three months by neighbors who resent a fancy house in the middle of their ugly impoverished neighborhood. All of their plasma TVs have been carried off by angry mobs.

Deborah’s youngest son is beaten up in school every day by bullies. Another child is mocked as "Ty Pennington’s Love Slave." The elevator in the house broke, and no one from the show returns the phone calls, so the disabled children haven’t been able to leave the second floor for two months. One of the children with the rare skin disease suffocates to death in his NASA space suit.

The wife beater who ran away with Deborah’s sister returns for the funeral service of the child he left behind. He reveals some more sad news — Deborah’s sister has bled to death after she cut off her finger to try the "sue Wendy’s because there is a finger-in-the-chili trick." But the car broke down while they were stuck in Houston rush hour traffic, and the finger ended up getting lost somewhere in the engine.

One good note — after the funeral, the abusive, cheating, alcoholic, child abandoning wife beater decided to stay in town, so he’s now living with Deborah again! They couldn’t afford the upkeep of the new place, so they moved into another tiny shack. It feels more spacious this time around, because they had to leave some of the children behind. The elevator on the second floor is still broken. So, everything is fine!

UPDATE: A network memo on The Smoking Gun shows that this post is not as far-fetched as it may seem.

LA is so Laid Back

March 14, 2006 / Neil Kramer / 78 Comments

Do you remember that Seinfeld episode where they can’t find their car in the parking garage?Â

I have one better.

Let’s backtrack to yesterday.Â Sophia and I made up and my anxiety lessened.

“Do you want to go for dinner tonight?” she asks.

“Sure.”

“Oh, by the way, we’re also going out with Andrew and his mother.”

“No way.Â I can’t handle him right now.”

“It’s his birthday.Â We have to.”

My anxiety level shoots up three hundred percent.

You see, I’m a Zen Master of Serenity compared to Andrew.Â He makes everyone nervous.Â Sophia is his only friend.Â Although he is basically a nice guy, he’s what they used to call “eccentric.”Â He’s a 35 year old Korean-born artist whose only real enjoyment in life is taking photographs of bugs.Â Â His photos are actually beautiful and artistic…Â Â Andrew would be a very successful artist if only he didn’t always get into fights with gallery owners.Â He’s brooding, sullen, and bad tempered.Â But I did say he wasÂ nice, right?

We make plans to meet outside of my apartment building at 6:30.Â

At 6:30, Sophia and IÂ goÂ outside and wait.Â 6:30.Â 6:45.Â Where is he?Â We get a phone call.Â He’s on the side street, waiting at the driveway of the parking garage.Â

“And hurry.”Â he says.

We rush over and see that Andrew and his mother are sitting in a car, but not in front of MY building.Â They are in the driveway of a parking garage of an apartment building ACROSS THE STREET. Not only are they waiting at the wrong place, but there’s a loud cacophony of honking horns.Â It seems as if Andrew is trapped between the gate of the parking garage and some RESIDENT of that building, a collegeÂ girl, who wants to drive in with her Mercedes.Â She can’t move because Andrew can’t move.Â And behind her are TWENTY cars trapped on Hauser Blvd., which is always crowded during rush hour.Â So she cannot move back to let Andrew back out.Â Everyone is screaming at each other and honking.Â Andrew is beet red and screaming:

“Fuck you!Â Fuck You!Â Fuck you!”Â

Sophia and I jump into the car.Â Â The Mercedes Girl opens her garage gate with her remote.

“I think she wants you to go in,” Sophia tells Andrew.

“I’m not going in.Â I want to go backwards.”

“You can’t go backwards.Â You’re trapped.Â There’s a hundred cars behind us!”

Dear readers, have you noticed that so far, I haven’t said a word in this story.Â Usually, I’m the main character of my own tales.Â But this time, I was just sitting there wondering if my Tic Tac could be used as a placebo for Xanax.

The Mercedes Girl honks over and over.Â

“What the hell does she want me to do?”Â Andrew cries.

“Go in and then we’ll come right out again.” says Sophia.

Andrew drives in.Â Mercedes GirlÂ drives by, shaking her head, angrily.

“Idiot!Â Jerk!”Â she says.

AndrewÂ begins to lookÂ like one of those cartoon characters that have steam coming out their head.Â Â As Mercedes Girl parks in her spot, the gate closes, leaving us trapped inside.

“One of us has to talk to the girl,” says Sophia.

“I’ll do it,” volunteers Andrew’s mother.

Andrew’s motherÂ heads over to Mercedes Girl.Â We watch asÂ Andrew’s mother and Mercedes GirlÂ talk it out.Â They seem to be working out the situation.Â Suddenly, Andrew jumps out and starts pacing in front of the car and twirling around like a dreidel.

“What’s going on with you, Andrew?” asks Sophia.

“She’s dissing my mother,” replies Andrew.

“I think you should get back into the car and let your mom get us out of here.”Â

“No one talks to my motherÂ like that.Â EspeciallyÂ this bitch.”

“Andrew, c’mon,Â this whole thing isÂ even sort of funny.Â Just keepÂ calm.”

“What is that bitch saying to my mother? Hey you — what are you saying to my mother?!”

“You were wrong!” says Mercedes Girl.Â “How about apologizing?!”

“Never, you fucking bitch!Â Who the fuck do you think you are, driving around in that Mercedes…”

“There’s no problem anymore, Andrew,” says his mother.Â “She used to live inÂ Seoul, too.Â Just go back into the car.”

“You need to control you son, Miss.” says Mercedes Girl.Â “He’s crazy.”

“You think just because you own a Mercedes that you’re better than me, you fucking…”

Sophia and IÂ jump out of the car to calm him down.Â Mercedes Girl starts walking away towards the door leading to her apartment building’s lobby.

“Fuck you!” Mercedes Girl screams at Andrew, then turns to all of us.Â “Fuck all of you!”

Mercedes Girl enters her lobby andÂ locks the door behind her, purposely leaving us behind with no way to get out.

We areÂ trapped in the parking garage of someone else’s apartment building.

Sophia and I look at each other.Â Surely, the girl is going to come back and let us out of the garage.Â

She doesn’t.

We drive to the gate, hoping that it will open automatically .

It doesn’t.

We see a phone on the other side of the gate.Â

“Perfect!” says Sophia.Â “We can call the manager.”

But we need a key to get to the other side.

Sophia and I look at each other.Â Surely, someone will be either coming or leaving the building pretty soon.

AnÂ hour passes.Â Â

We are all sitting inÂ the car, the engine running, ready to sneak out… as soon as someone opens the gate.Â Â But no one is coming or going.Â Â Â We can’t leave by car.Â Â We can’t leave by foot.Â Â We don’t know who to call.Â We’reÂ stuck.Â

Sophia and I are now laughing at the absurdity of the situation.Â Â Andrew sits stone-faced and hasn’t said a word to any of us.Â Â But every few minutes he mumbles:

“Bitch… fucking bitch…”

Sophia and I try to cheer him up by saying that the whole scenario is hilarious.Â We sing “Happy Birthday.”Â He scowls.

Finally, Mercedes Girl reappears, carrying her remote for the garage.

“I’m going to let you out, but I want you to know you were wrong…Â You should be more considerate…”

‘Yes, we were wrong,” says Sophia.Â “You’re very kind to let us out.”

“Kind?!” screams Andrew.Â

He has finally decided to talk.

“You’reÂ nothing but a fucking…”

Andrew’s mother puts her hand over his mouth, muzzling him, so we could get the hell out of that garage — and finally go to dinner.

Night of a Thousand Anxieties

March 13, 2006 / Neil Kramer / 57 Comments

After a very nice week at Sophia’s (which all began because of my kitchen sink fiasco), I finally came home to my apartment tonight. Why? Simple. Because we had a fight.

I would love to describe it to you, but I just don’t know how to explain it in words without it sounding absolutely ridiculous. The argument mostly revolved around me buying some Thai Fish Soup at a Thai Restaurant rather than a Hot and Sour Soup from a Chinese Restaurant. But, of course, that’s not really what the argument was all about.

In December, I wrote a post about the difficulty of writing about domestic arguments. Melissa wrote a very intelligent comment that I’ve read over several times since:

People fight when they are emotional about something. It’s more intimate than sex because you are far more vulnerable in a fight. Your SO knows you inside and out, and they are the one that knows all your buttons – and exactly how to press them.

To write about fighting you have to write about feeling unheard or under appreciated or taken for granted or just plain unloved. Loving is showing your underbelly and fighting with someone you love leaves a lot of room for damage.

I wouldn’t want to show the world all my weaknesses.

Sometimes, when I’m arguing with Sophia about something, I’m able to disassociate myself and watch it from the distance, almost as if I’m floating above. I know that the argument is idiotic, but I’m helpless from stopping it. I’m not the type of person who believes one of us is right or wrong. The argument just takes on a life of its own. When we start arguing about something, it’s more like a car going off the cliff and the best you can hope for is that you both survive — and the next day, forget all about it.

Sophia might kill me for writing about our argument without me asking her first, but I don’t think there’s anything to be embarrassed about. Everyone argues, especially when you’re living together. For instance, in her blog, Michele of Voix Michele writes about her constant battles with her ex-partner, Rachel. She even turns to God for advice:

I just couldn’t get it, God. It doesn’t say anywhere in the Bible "Thou shalt not be messy in thine bedroom, lest thee piss off thine girlfriend." Where did she get off thinking her rules are more important than mine?

I never ask God these questions. It’s pretty clear to me why there’s no Mrs. God. Even God is afraid of getting into a serious relationship and sharing his great condo up in heaven.

Mrs. God: "God, there’s no way we’re keeping this old couch! Sunday we’re going shopping at "Crate and Barrel.""

God: "But the Mets are playing Chicago." (note: God is a Mets fan)

Mrs. God: "God! Are we really going to have this argument again?"

God: OK…OK… I’ll go with you. But who’s going to watch over the Middle East while we’re out shopping?

Mrs. God: Now you’re worried? What have you been doing all day? Playing solitare on the compuer again? Maybe they’ll finally be better off without you watching over them!

I left Sophia’s place feeling pretty anxious. It didn’t help that when I got home, the kitchen was a mess because Mario, the maintenance guy, emptied out everything from the under the sink when he unclogged the pipes. I decided to take my mind off of things by relaxing with some type of distraction. And I certainly had a lot of distractions to choose from. I had DVDs of Crash and Brokeback Mountain, neither which I had yet seen. I had the last two "Lost" episodes still on my Tivo. I had the unopened Sunday Los Angeles and New York Times. I had a half unfinished book by David Sedaris.

But when I’m anxious, I’m terrible at making decisions. I start developing "Information Overload." What to read? What to watch first? Too many decisions.

I knew the answer — Blogging.

I looked over all my blogging friends on my blogroll — and for the first time since starting to blog, I got anxious over blogging. Too much information. Too many people. Too many lives. People getting surgery. People with crappy boyfriends. People with bad jobs. I started getting anxious over my online relationships.

"Oh, my god — I haven’t read Ms. Sizzle all week. She’s gonna be pissed at me and never read my blog again! Maybe if I just click on her, it’ll look like I read her in the stats. That’ll hold her off for a few more days. Or will it? She’s gonna hate me. She’s gonna tell everyone that I’m a jerk and everyone’s gonna hate me…"

Usually reading through my blogroll gives me so much joy — except tonight.

So, what do you do when you don’t want to read, watch a movie, watch TV, or blog?

Exactly. I decided to play with myself.

Since it was after midnight, I turned on Cinemax, hoping to see one of those mediocre direct-to-video R-rated soft-porn movies with some actress named Tawny or Ashley.

Luckily, one of them was on. Some fake-boobed actress was playing a sex therapist who need to do some exploring herself… or something like that (plot not important).

I began to watch the movie — but it just made me more anxious. I watched three boring badly-edited sex scenes. Each proceeded exactly the same way:

1. Man undresses woman, kisses breasts. (you know there’s a lot of plastic surgery involved when a woman lays on her back and her tits point straight at the ceiling)

2. Woman gives man oral sex. (although the position of her head makes it look like she’s sucking his right thigh)

3. Man gives woman oral sex. (music kicks in)

4. Missionary-style sex.

5. Sex with man from behind.

6. Woman on top.

7. Man and woman orgasm as the exact same time. Man scrunches face. Woman throws her head back as if she getting ready for a shampoo at Supercuts.

I began to worry, as only I can:

"Am I having sex incorrectly?"

It seemed like a normal question to me. After all, this woman just made love with three different men — and each time used the exact same lovemaking sequence — from #1 to #7. Obviously a lot of people watch this movie and no one ever questions that. Maybe I was the oddball, not knowing the rules of engagement.

"Perhaps there’s some sort of sex "sequence" that I’m unaware of — that somehow these are "marks" that had to be hit, much like a figure skater has to do a certain set of jumps and twirls in order to get a high score?"

As usual, I blamed my parents.

"Jeez, you know my father never really had that "birds and bees" talk with me. Maybe I’ve been having sex wrong all these years? Does everyone else follow these steps in this exact sequence? Is it considered "weird" to do number 6 before number 4, or not to even do number 5 at all? You know, I’ve never really spoken about this to anyone. You’d think Sophia would have mentioned it, but then again — she didn’t even tell me I was wearing tighty-whiteys all these years like a momma’s boy! Oh, no! Maybe if I skip number 5 from the sex sequence, that means you’re a momma’s boy also? Have women been laughing at me? What are the six steps again?"

I couldn’t remember. More information overload. More anxiety. I turned off the TV.

Solution:

"Let me write some dumb blog post and then go to sleep."

I Love L.A. (We Love It!)

March 11, 2006 / Neil Kramer / 56 Comments

In any relationship, there must be change. When you first meet someone, there is always a lot of newness and sexual energy. But things grow stale without variety. That’s why I’ve changed my mind about memes in my second year of blogging — and decided to do one.

Thanks Shane Nickerson at Nickerblog, for tagging me with this special Los Angeles meme.

Four Things About Los Angeles

Four Jobs I’ve Had In My Life in LA:
Reader/Story Analyst
Sitcom Writer
Disney Animated Cartoon Writer
Web Producer

Four Movies About LA I Could Watch Over And Over:
Singing in the Rain
Sunset Boulevard
L.A. Confidential
10

Four LA-Themed Shows I Love(d) To Watch:
24
The Brady Bunch
Three’s Company
Curb Your Enthusiasm

Four Places I’ve Lived All Over L.A. (With Food Memories From Each):
Mid-Los Angeles: Fairfax and Melrose (with two female roommates — just like Three’s Company!): Corned Beef sandwich at Canter’s Deli
Santa Monica: 9th and Santa Monica (ooked out over Toyota dealer): Benita’s Frites on Santa Monica Promenade
West Hollywood: Fountain and Poinsettia: Noodles at Toi on Sunset
Redondo Beach: Yellowtail from Ichiriki Sushi

Four Places I Would Vacation At In LA:
Ritz Carlton, Pasadena
Chateau Marmont, West Hollywood
Big Bear
Hotel Oceana, Santa Monica

Four LA-Based Websites I Visit Daily
Delicious Life
Jew Eat Yet?
Words for my Enjoyment
Living the Romantic Comedy

Four Of My Favorite Foods Found In LA:
Pink’s Hot Dogs, La Brea Avenue
Dim Sum at Empress Pavilion, Downtown LA
Lemon Tart at Sweet Lady Jane, Melrose Avenue
Chicken Cilantro Soup, Martha’s 22nd Street Grill, Hermosa Beach

Four Places In LA I Would Rather Be Right Now:
Farmer’s Market, 3rd and Fairfax
Driving PCH in Malibu when there is no Traffic
Hermosa Beach Pier
Huntington Library, San Marino

Wanna Do It?
Cruisin’ Mom
Inland Empress
Dad Talk
Diary of Jamie
and Sophia!

I don’t usually write that much about Los Angeles. Maybe I’m afraid that my snobby East Coast readers wouldn’t show any interest in anything about the city other than celebrity encounters. However, unlike Pauly, I rarely run into celebrities in the supermarket or pharmacy (although I did almost crash into Julie Andrews’ car in the Beverly Center). To get a real sense of Los Angeles media life (other than the typical Hollywood stuff) I would suggest LA Observed, which is essential LA reading (and frequently more interesting than the Los Angeles Times).

A few weeks ago, I read that Parisian blogger, Nathan, was coming to Los Angeles for a visit. I always get nervous when I hear someone is visiting LA for the first time. It’s a difficult city to like, especially when you’re coming from one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I emailed Nathan, going into LA Chamber of Commerce mode, pleading with him to give the city a chance before he even got on the plane, knowing ahead of time exactly what bad things he was going to encounter — the traffic, the narcissistic people, the ugly buildings, etc. I reminded him that the city is spread out, and many of its charms can be hidden.

Despite the beauty of the Pacific Ocean and the mountains that surround the city, LA is an ugly city, filled with mini-malls and lack of history. I miss New York a lot. But LA does have a weird energy that keeps me here. Maybe the city’s lack of maturity parallels my own. Or maybe I just like wearing flip-flops to IHOP.

Update: I used to tell my friends in New York that the one thing keeping me in Los Angeles is Trader Joe’s. Today my mother called and said that they are building a Trader Joe’s on 14th Street. Damn New Yorkers!

Now there’s no reason to stay in Los Angeles —

In America, Everyone is a Winner

March 9, 2006 / Neil Kramer / 40 Comments

Is there anything worse than being a loser in America? I watched three reality shows last night. Everything was about winning and being competitive.

Ryan Seacrest announcing the American Idol finalists last night:

"And here are your twelve final American Idol contestants! All of them, winners!"

Kinnick, one of the four contestants just eliminated from the show last night:

"Even though I’ve been eliminated, I know I’m a winner — just to be able to make it this far."

Sandy Aguilar, eliminated from the show during "Hollywood Week," writing on her blog last night:

"Out of the thousands who tried out, I made it to the top 100. I’m clearly a winner."

Benji Stone, who never made it through the first day of auditions in Denver, speaking to KGGF, Denver, last night:

"I slept outside all night in line just to audition. My friends didn’t have guts to do it. I’m a winner for following my dream."

Neil Kramer, sitting in his underwear in Sophia’s living room, watching American Idol, and calling out to Sophia in the kitchen:

"This is terrible that they’re working on my kitchen sink in my apartment for another day and I have to stay here with you again. Can you make me another roast beef sandwich, please. And hurry up. Gideon is going to sing soon! (to self) Hee Hee. I’m such a winner!"

It’s International Women’s Day!

March 8, 2006 / Neil Kramer / 55 Comments

I’m honored to know that my Blogiversary falls on the same day as International Women’s Day.

Did you know it was International Women’s Day? It’s actually a pretty big holiday around the world. Sophia celebrates it. It’s a holiday with a unique history.

In its various incarnations, ranging from a communist holiday to a U.N.-sponsored event, International Women’s Day has been celebrated for almost 90 years.

Inspired by an American commemoration of working women, the German socialist Klara Zetkin organized International Women’s Day (IWD) in 1911. On March 19, socialists from Germany, Austria, Denmark and other European countries held strikes and marches. Russian revolutionary and feminist Aleksandra Kollontai, who helped organize the event, described it as "one seething trembling sea of women."

(photo by kerry alaric cheeseboro)

I love the diversity of women out there. On a typical day reading my blogroll, I meet intellectual professors, devoted mothers, knitters, widows, shoe-crazed fashionistas, nymphomaniacs, poets, breast cancer survivors, teachers, and overworked career-women.

Today, I’d like to pay tribute to a special type of woman — one who can actually FIX THINGS with her hands.

Now I know many women go weak in the knees when they meet a solid man who’s good with his hands. I’m talking about the type of man who can build a house by himself, fix a leaky roof, or replace an engine in a car.

I am not that man. I grew up in an apartment building where we called the "super" whenever there was a problem. My father could fix absolutely NOTHING. And I’m not much better. I call the AAA to change my tire.

For me, there is nothing sexier than a woman who can do the dirty work for me!

On Friday night, I was doing some chores in the house. I decided to clean out my refrigerator. I found an open can of kidney beans that had been sitting there for three weeks. I dumped it into the garbage disposal. By the next day, my kitchen sink was completely clogged from all the beans. And Mario, the maintenance guy, wasn’t back until Monday!

So, what was a guy like me to do? Find a handy woman! I looked over my blogroll. I remembered that Anne Arkham, a blogger from Chicago, had written on her blog that she was very good at fixing things.

I sent her an email. (these are the contents of actual emails!)

Neil to Anne: My sink is clogged with old kidney beans I threw in the garbage disposal. Drano doesn’t work. Can you come over and replace the pipes?

Anne to Neil: Hmmm. . . are both sides clogged or just the side with the disposal?

Neil to Anne: Both sides are clogged!

Anne to Neil: Try a plunger – a toilet plunger – preferably a clean one. Like, brand new. Otherwise no one will eat at your house or kiss you ever again.

OK, easy enough. I tried using a toilet plunger. It only made the water rise higher. And suddenly my eyes started burning. I read the back of the Drano container. It read, "Do not use with plunger or dangerous gases could be released."

I went to sleep, distraught. The next day, I asked Anne for more help. She quickly emailed me back.

Anne to Neil: There’s an apparatus called a plumber’s snake that might work. It’s basically a long metal coil that you push down your drain and crank around to stir things up. Plumber’s snakes are cheap – like $10 – and you can get them at any hardware store. They sell them in various lengths. The short one will work fine, but you’ll be happier if you buy one with a handle that’s easy to turn. Also, before you buy one, notice how big the opening is on your drain, and then, at the store, check out the diameter of the snake coil. Make sure you can get the thing through your drain opening. Get down on the floor and open up your pipes. Unscrew the sink trap (the u-shaped section of pipe) and clean it out. This sounds scary, but it’s not. If you can’t unscrew the joint by hand, you’ll have to get a wrench, but that’s not scary either. Go to the hardware store and tell them what’s going on. They’ll be helpful, and they won’t make fun of you. Make sure you have a bucket or something underneath the area when you start unscrewing, though, cause water’s going to come out. If you think you found the clog when you opened the trap, that’s cool. Otherwise it couldn’t hurt to run the plumber’s snake through the pipes around it. Just thread the thing in and crank it around.

Neil to Anne: Open my fucking pipes — are you kidding? But I’ll try the snake…

Anne to Neil: You big baby. It’s not hard. Do a google search for "clogged kitchen sink"or something like that. And, really, what’s the worst that could happen? You’d get a kickass blog entry out of it at the very least.

I started to panic. Anne is a very pretty woman. And she can fix things. The perfect woman. And here she’s setting me up to a challenge. Sort of like the princess making the knight kill the dragon before he can win her hand. I paced up and down the room, unable to email her back. I avoided her for the rest of the day, thinking she would just forget the whole conversation. But on Sunday, she sent me another email.

Anne to Neil: I just checked the trap under my kitchen sink. It’s easily removable without a wrench. You just look for the U-shaped part, and unscrew the top and bottom with your bare hands, empty it, and screw it back in. ANYBODY could do it.

The clock was ticking. I knew I had to answer. I bit my lip and emailed her back, trying to use some humor to defuse the tension.

Neil to Anne: If i get my new boxer-briefs dirty, I’m blaming you. I actually stayed at Sophia’s last night, just to avoid having to do it — and there’s no handyman until tomorrow. Let’s see how brave I am after the Oscars when I go home.

Anne to Neil: Yeah, well, during the commercials, or during Susan Sarandon’s political commentary, or Michael Moore’s political commentary, or sometime like that, open the cupboard under Sophia’s kitchen sink and look at her pipes. They’re not scary, I promise. Just remember to have a bucket under the area, because water will come out. It’s supposed to come out. You haven’t broken anything. Just scoop out the festering kidney beans, and screw it back in.

That night, I begged Sophia to let me stay another night — anything to avoid looking at my kitchen sink. In the middle of the night, Sophia woke me up. I was having nightmares in bed. I was on a mountain top in Scotland, dressed like a knight in armor — in one hand a plunger and the other a pipe wrench. And then there was a loud rumble as the monster approached — a collection of festering kidney beans walking towards me. I took a deep breath.

"I must do this for the fair maiden Anne — and for women everywhere. I must prove that I am a man!"

The next morning, I tucked myself into a brand new pair of boxer-briefs and decided to face the dragon — my sink. I drove home and parked in the garage. I sat in the car for a few minutes, thinking to myself:

"You know, if I accidentally bump into Mario on the way upstairs, I might as well just ask him to fix it. After all, it’s his job. I wouldn’t want to insult him. I mean, that wouldn’t be cheating on my part. I still got the sink unclogged. I’m sure Anne will still be impressed with me."

I took the elevator to the first floor, where I usually see Mario doing some maintenance work. But no Mario.

"You know, I really could use some exercise. Maybe if I walk around a bit, outside to the pool. Maybe I’ll just happen to meet Mario."

As I head for the pool, I pass the manager’s office. The manager — this grouchy, gruff-faced British woman, is at her desk. (previous appearance here)

Neil: Excuse me. Have you seen Mario?

Manager: Who are you?

Neil: I’m staying at Phil’s place.

Note to readers: I’m subletting from a friend. In exchange for my cheap(ish) rent, I’m not allowed to use the pool or the exercise room.

Manager: I thought you were gone a long time ago!

Uh-oh. Did I just do the stupidest thing in the world?

Here’s my last email to Anne:

Neil to Anne: I came home this morning, all ready to do what you told me, then I decided to cop out and find the maintenance man. But I couldn’t find him, so I put my head into the manager’s office and asked if she saw him. To make a long story short, the manager didn’t know I was staying in this apartment (even though I’ve been here over a year) and said it was an illegal sublet and now we’re waiting to see if I’m going to get kicked out. And she wouldn’t even allow Mario to fix my sink! All because of some kidney beans in a pipe. I should have listened to you. The moral of the story: always listen to Anne Arkham.

And to women in general.

Now, I’m back at Sophia’s, waiting for Phil to talk to the manager — and to see if I get kicked out. And the sink is still clogged, four days later.

So, on this special Blogiversary edition of "Citizen of the Month" — I’d like to thank all the strong women out there, from Anne Arkham to the female soldiers in Iraq.

Hell, I’ll even wish a Happy International Women’s Day to that bitchy manager in my apartment building.

Two Birthdays and Blogiversary

March 7, 2006 / Neil Kramer / 77 Comments

Neil is asleep in bed.

Neil’s Penis: Neil, Neil, get up already.

Neil: I’m sleeping.

Neil’s Penis: Time to get up. Don’t you know what today is? It’s our birthday!

Neil: Happy birthday, Penis.

Neil’s Penis:   You too, Neilochka. We’ve certainly been together a long time. I even consider you a friend.

Neil: Wow, Penis, I didn’t figure you to be the sentimental type.

Neil’s Penis:   Sentimental?   Bullshit. I sometimes wish I was attached to someone else. Someone who actually fucked a woman a little more often.

Neil: I love you, too.

Neil’s Penis:   Aw, shit. You see right through me, don’t you? You’ll always be my best friend.

Neil: Thanks, pal.

Neil’s Penis: Just try to work with me more, like a partnership.

Neil: What do you mean?

Neil’s Penis:   Are you a numskull, Neil?

Neil: You don’t have to get nasty.

Neil’s Penis: Let me see if I can explain this to you so you can understand. Imagine all you ever eat is pizza.    All you want every minute of the day is pizza. And everywhere, 51% of the population is walking around with pizza. Beautiful pizzas. some with mushrooms, some with anchovies, some with green peppers. And all you can think about is all that pizza, with all that cheese and spicy tomato sauce, and the pizza dough that’s cooked to perfection. You getting it now?

Neil: Not really.

Neil’s Penis:   Get me some fucking pizza!

The doorbell RINGS.

Neil’s Penis: That better be Domino’s!

Neil: Do you really want pizza?

Neil’s Penis: It’s a euphemism, moron! A euphemism for some pussy!

Neil: Oh!

Neil opens the door. It is Sophia and Neil’s mother.

Neil: Mom? Sophia? What are you doing here?

Neil’s Penis: Aw, jeez, your mother is here. Talk about a mood-killer…

Sophia: We wouldn’t miss your birthday, Neilochka.

Neil’s Mother: Look at you. All grown up. A real mensch.

Sophia: And we brought you a birthday cake. It’s giant pink Hostess Sno Ball.

Neil’s Penis:   Oh great.  How about giving him a hostess with real giant pink Sno balls….

Neil: Huh?

Neil’s Penis: Tits, you imbecile! It’s another euphemism… for a woman with a nice pair of tits that you can just…

Neil’s Mother: Neil, are you still talking to that "thing" on your blodge?

Neil’s Penis:   Penis, Elaine! Penis! I have a name!

Neil’s Mother: Who’s that talking? Do I hear someone else talking?

Neil: Uh, it’s the TV. "American Idol."

Sophia: No more TV watching today. We’re taking you out for you birthday.

Neil: I’m not in a very celebratory mood.

Sophia: C’mon, it’s your birthday!

Neil: It just hasn’t been a great year. Things are still unresolved with us. I’m still looking for a good job. I just found out I may be kicked out of my apartment for illegally subletting it. And the saddest thing, of course — Dad passing away in September.

Sophia: Yeah, we all miss him.

Neil’s Mother: Especially me.

Neil: This is my first ever birthday without him around. When I moved to Los Angeles, he was always the first one to call me up — always seven in the morning LA time because he couldn’t wait any longer to sing "Happy Birthday." He always made such a big deal over my birthday.

Neil’s Mother: It certainly hasn’t been a good year for any of us.

Sophia: But you’re forgetting one good thing about this year.

Neil: What’s that?

The doorbell RINGS again. Ther are a few hundred bloggers standing outside. It’s every single blogger Neil has interacted with this year, from Akaky to Xtessa.

Sophia: It was exactly one year ago — on your birthday, that you set up your WordPress template. And you published your first post on March 8th. Here’s what you wrote:

"What’s on my mind this evening — the night of my first post?   It’s the future.   My future.

I see it so clearly.

I’m a very spry 100 year old man, thanks to medical advances and the ability of the medical establishment to take chances with modern patient care. Who knew that the diet supplement Trimspa would end up eradicating most illnesses from the world?

I’m in my home of the future. My grandson, Bar Code #466408736664, sits at my side, browsing the internet in eye-scan mode (using the latest upgraded Intel mini-chip in his brain — the PC having disappeared decades earlier).. Suddenly, he tells me that he’s at the Coca-Cola digi-Archives site (formerly the Library of Congress) and viewing this very first post that you are currently reading.

At that moment, I will be an old man remembering the early days of the Internet. The 56K modem. Netscape. Those AOL disks falling out of every magazine. That first illegal MP3. That first post on the blog.

"Grandpa," #466 says with a twinkle in his eye. "Man, grandpa, this post really sucks."

And just then, I realize that it isn’t a twinkle in his eye, but a reaction to one of those synthetic drugs he’s been taking at school.   I laugh, remembering how I was drunk while writing that first post.

"He’d grown up just like me.
My boy was just like me.""

Neil: Wow. I did forget that.

Neil’s Mother:  I think your blodge really helped you going all year.  I know it helped me, except when you write about that "thing." I can do without that.

Neil’s Penis: (Robert De Niro voice) You talkin’ to me?

Neil: You know — originally I was going to wrte about movies and TV, but then I saw how Hilary wrote about her dating life. So, I started writing about Sophia.    And I saw how Pauly would write every single day, so I was inspired to do the same.   I was encouraged by the support of 2 Blowhards and Nick Douglas at Blogebrity, now at Valleyrag. And I began to look forward to blogging every day. Especially when I had the help of Sophia, editing me and telling me when a post was too shitty to post. And when I needed comfort, like when my father passed away, I got it not only from Sophia, but from bloggers themselves — strangers who weren’t really strangers anymore.   And during this year, I’ve made some great friends.

Neil’s Penis: If you had some balls, you could have had some action, too.

Neil: And what about now?

Neil’s Penis: Now it’s too late. Six months ago, female bloggers might have slept with you . Now you’re like the gay cousin who they talk about shoes with.

Neil: Damn it. I knew I should have made the move on ****** when I had the chance.

Neil’s Mother: I think you and Sophia need to sit down, discuss things about your marriage, like two adults, and get back together.

Sophia: I think you need to stop writing about me without asking my permission first.   Or if you do, at least start giving me some good lines.

Neil’s Penis:   I think you need to get laid. And soon. And your best shot right now is with — Tatyana. She seems to get turned on by liberals. I think she’s married, but I think if you buy her some expensive flowers, not the cheap ones you usually get for Sophia —

Man’s Voice: I think your blog is just fine!

Everyone turns around towards the open window. It is the Spirit of Neil’s Father — Arthur Kramer himself.

Neil: Dad? You’re here!

Neil’s Father: Of course I am. I wouldn’t miss your birthday. Even if I am in heaven.

Neil: This makes me so happy. Hey, everyone. This is my father.

All the bloggers greet my father.

Neil’s Father: Taking care of my boy, Sophia?

Sophia: I promised, didn’t I?

Neil’s Father: Hello, Elaine.

Neil’s Mother: Hi, Artie.

Neil’s Father: I hear you’re going to put "Be of Good Cheer" on the stone.

Neil’s Mother: You like it?

Neil’s Father: Very much. Is it possible to have it play the theme from "Gunga Din" every time someone approaches the plot?

Neil’s Mother: That’s just ridiculous.

Neil’s Father: I think it would be funny.

Neil’s Mother: No.

Neil’s Father: Just like a woman. Even when I’m dead, I still can’t get what I want.

Neil: So, Dad, how’s it going up there?

Neil’s Father: Eh… surviving. It’s comfortable. Relaxing.   Good entertainment at night. It’s a little bit like how Grossinger’s used to be in the Catskills. The food is good. But I don’t like the way they cut the corn beef. It’s too thick —

Neil: Yeah, you never liked it like that —

Neil’s Father:  You’d think in heaven they can do better, but frankly Pastrami King on Queens Boulevard made a better corned beef sandwich than they do in heaven —

Sophia: So, Dad, can you explain to us how heaven works?   I’ve always been curious.

Neil: Yeah, do you watch me all the time from above?

Neil’s Father: No, no, no. That’s only in the movies. But don’t worry, Neil. I follow everything about your life.

Neil: How?

Neil’s Father: I read your blog. Everyone reads "Citizen of the Month" up here in heaven.

Neil: They do?

Neil’s Father: Oh, we love it. A few days ago, we were all laughing so hard!

Neil: You mean people in heaven really appreciate my sense of humor?

Neil’s Father: Not really. We were laughing at you because you still wear those tighty-whiteys.   Even in heaven, no one would be caught dead wearing those. In heaven, we all wear boxer-briefs with microfiber material.   C’mon, son, get with it!   Stop embarrassing me in heaven with this mama’s boy underwear!

Thank you all for one year of great blogging.

Be of good cheer… until tomorrow…

NEIL

SOPHIA

MOM AND DAD

NEIL’S PENIS

Oscar to DVD Watchers: Drop Dead!

March 6, 2006 / Neil Kramer / 39 Comments

Did you notice during the Oscars, that the Academy seemed a bit desperate to tell us over and over again that a movie theater was "the only place to watch a movie?" As the BBC noted:

Just to make sure no-one missed the message, the stage was even set up like the entrance to a movie theatre, complete with ticket office. Clearly, Hollywood was taking the chance of grabbing its worldwide TV audience to preach its anti-piracy message to as many people as possible.

Of course, most of the Academy get to see the nominated movies on DVDs sent to their homes. And most of them watched it in their private movie theaters. Or at special invitation-only showings at the studios.

Hell, even Sophia got DVDs mailed to her for the SAG awards.

I’ve been to hundreds of movies in Los Angeles, and not once have I ever bumped into Steven Spielberg or Nicole Kidman on line for popcorn at my local multiplex.

Perhaps, as a show of solidarity with moviegoers everywhere, the Academy should encourage all members to stop watching movies at home and…

LOUD MUSIC starts to play, as Bill Conti and his ORCHESTRA drown out the rest of my blog post —

Carnival of the Mundane 5!

March 3, 2006 / Neil Kramer / 43 Comments

FIFTH CARNIVAL OF THE MUNDANE — AWARDS CELEBRATION
"The Mundies"
BLOGGED LIVE — FROM HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA
(more specifically, the IHOP on Wilshire Blvd. with free wireless!)

Announcer: And now, straight from Hollywood, it’s the Fifth Carnival of the Mundane. And here are our hosts: you know him from the website, Citizen of the Month, and you know her as the star of "The Bionic Woman" and numerous commercials — Neil Kramer and Lindsay Wagner!

The ORCHESTRA plays “Hotel California” as Neil and Lindsay enter from behind the curtain.

Neil: Hello. Hello. It’s so exciting to be here with you. I see so many familiar faces in the audience. Hey, how are you doing, Jack! Jack Nicholson, everybody!

Lindsay: That’s not Jack Nicholson.

Neil: Yes, it is. Jack Nicholson, the tax attorney from Sherman Oaks. Dean Abbott, who runs this carnival, only gives us a very limited budget. Why do you think we’re stuck with a C-list celebrity like you? How much are you getting paid anyway?

Lindsay: Paid? He promised me that you’d help me set up a Blogger account if I do this.

Neil: Oh, sure, sure, I will… yeah, right…

Neil winks at the audience. HUGE LAUGHS.

Lindsay: The excitement is mounting here in Hollywood. Who will win the coveted "Most Mundane Post of the Year" award? Or as we call the award — the Mundy. And the winner is right here in this envelope.

Lindsay holds up a golden envelope. Neil grabs it.

Neil: I’ll take that. I don’t want you to accidentally rip it open with your … bionic strength…

HUGE LAUGHS again.

Lindsay: Who writes this crap?

Neil smiles at the audience.

Neil: I see a lot of familiar faces out there.

Lindsay: Yes indeed, Neil. And everyone looks so beautiful. Like Modigli. Mo, your hair looks great. Was this another one of your $50 haircuts?!

Neil: Hey, Cherchez La Femme, did you buy those great shoes at Nordstrom? You just love going shoe shopping!

Lindsay: And what would a ceremony be without the always fabulous Maria of Naked Knitgirl? Unfortunately, today she’s only wearing one mitten. Did you lose the other one?

Maria: You know it!

The audience LAUGHS.

Neil: Hey, I’m doing the jokes here. I don’t know about you, Lindsay, but I’ve never seen Liz of Everyday Goddess looking so happy. Is she in love or did she finally get a decent sized bathtub in her apartment?

The audience LAUGHS louder than before.

Lindsay: While Liz is a local girl, some have come from great distances. Daisy Mae drove in using the same car she did for her mini-road trip in Indianapolis.

Neil: La Diabla and her daughter flew in from Israel. Isn’t her daughter cute? All day long, she’s been taking photos of the sights. She’s becoming a real photographer! Have you taken any photos of the exciting ceremony yet, young lady?

La Diabla’s Daughter: Yes. Here’s one I just took a second ago.

Neil: Get that photo off there. Uh… now back to our glamorous ceremony. Damn kids.

Lindsay: Look, even Lorie from Colla Voce is here. That’s surprising, especially since she gets too emotional even to watch the Olympics.

Neil: Kevin Kaygar is here with his wife. She is so funny when she intentionally mispronounces Spanish words just to bug Kevin. C’mon, say something for us…

Kevin’s Wife: Amiogo!

The audience APPLAUDS.

Lindsay: Of course, this broadcast is being translated into Spanish, as well as 200 other languages around the world. There is also an official podcast created by Maribeth of Smart Bohemian, which is ironic — since she insists that she isn’t a podcast person.

Neil: As you know, this is the Fifth Version of the Carnival of the Mundane, which was started by Dean Abbott of Inspired by a True Story. Dean now serves as the President of the Mundane Academy. Ladies and Gentleman, may I introduce you to — Mr. Dean Abbott,

Dean enters to a polite response, but few claps. No one ever really trusts the "guy" in charge.

Dean: Thank you, Neil and Lindsay, for that wonderful introduction. The past few weeks have been a great time for mundane blog posts. In a short period of time, we have gone through the full range of human emotions.

We have laughed at human foibles, such as Miriam’s trip to Staples with her husband. What really happens when a man and woman go to buy a chair from Staples? Can the marriage survive?

We have pondered love, commitment, and family. Kim even showed us how much it actually costs to raise her seven — soon to be eight — children.

We have been inspired, as when Tracy takes her first ever ride on the electric go-cart at Walmart.

At times, a blogger finds the dark side of life. Backyards across the country were never the same after Nelumbo‘s husband battled a hornet’s nest?

We were at the edge of our seats when Fitena had a real-life "fight club" with the ferocious town bully.

Some readers won’t even go near a tuna fish sandwich after reading about Nance‘s son and his fear of the dentist’s aquarium?

Bill asks us the probing question, “What is a shit hat?”

And who is making that mysterious call to Blundering American?

Even the usually fearless Retropolitan faces the heart of darkness when he tries wearing a sleep mask to bed.

And perhaps the most frightening tale of them all — Serena of Radical Flower vs. her filing system.

Of course, mundane blog posts can also make us believe in a better future. Who among us will ever forget Jack‘s heartfelt tribute to San Francisco’s idea of harnessing power from dog doo?

Mundane bloggers, I salute you all!

Dean Abbott exits. Polite applause. A few yawns. Neil and Lindsay Wagner return to the podium. The crowd goes wild with enthusiasm.

Lindsay: Tonight’s award… tonight’s… next card, please, thank you. Tonight’s award ceremony tops off a week of celebration and excitement.

Neil: Last night, there was a special dinner for all the Mundane Blogging participants at my messy Hollywood apartment, catered by none other than Wolfgang Puck — well, at least his frozen pizzas (on sale this week at Ralphs Supermarket) and his awful sodium-saddled canned soups. A good time was had by all. Let’s watch some of the highlights.

The lights dim as a large screen comes down. We see scenes from the party. There is a lot of drunken behavior. In the background, Lindsay Wagner and some others are playing a game of Texas Hold-em Strip Poker.

Lindsay: A who’s who of mundane blogging was there. My god, was I that drunk?

Neil: Yes.

HUGE LAUGHS.

Lindsay: During the fun-filled evening, Mata entertained us all with her rousing stories of mushroom hunting with her family.

Neil: Josh, everyone’s favorite tech-geek brought some of his new fangled electronic toys with him. We all listened in disbelief when he told us that he actually got some good customer service from his ISP.

Lindsay: Nicole got very drunk and started telling stories of the stars — not Hollywood stars, but stars in the sky.

Neil: Stephanie, frustrated with online dating, was flirting with everyone. And I mean everybody.

Lindsay: Momentary Academic had just attended the premiere of a new play, but she had trouble answering the question, "How was it?"

Neil: Tatyana, always a wonderful guest, brought along some of her famed orchids.

Lindsay: Cheryl came in late with a bunch of wild lesbians, having just experienced L-Word night at a Hollywood nightclub.

Neil: Not all the guests were as pleasant. After she learned that I buy my coffee from Starbucks, Marie seemed a little bitter, constantly comparing Starbucks to the Evil Empire in Star Wars.

Random Yak was upset that I didn’t serve pancakes in honor of International Pancake Day.

Marisa of Apartment 2024 stood in my kitchen all night, obsessed over the cutting board, saying it reminded her of her mother’s.

Pia of Courting Destiny spent way too much time cleaning the computer monitor.

Jen of Run Jen Run never could figure out whether or not she was supposed to hug anybody. Jen – that’s why they invented therapy!

Muse just left early, saying she "just can’t miss her walking group."

And Postmodern Sass was the worst. God help anyone who has to make Sass a simple piece of toast. She must have it sliced just the right way!

Luckily, the partying regained its energy when the wild TMW showed up, exciting us all with a behind-the-scenes look at his early morning blogging ritual.

Let’s just say – my place was rockin’!

The screen rolls up. The audience APPLAUDS.

Lindsay: And now, the big moment has arrived. The nominees for "Most Mundane Post of the Year" award are:

The audience goes silent. The tension is mounting —

Neil: Claire’s “Question Mark, Jerk.” — A daughter ponders whether her straight-laced father actually just said something pornographic.

Lindsay: Heather’s “Arch Nemesis” – A tear-jerker about how a young woman must say good-bye to an unlikely friend.

Neil: Chickybabe’s “Mundane Kind of Day” — The seductive tale of how the look of a handsome stranger can change a mundane day.

Lindsay: Cruisin’ Mom’s “There Once was a Boy” – A nostalgic tale of first love in the 6th Grade.

Neil: And Hyperion’s “Flowers in My Attic” — A man must fight for the right to send flowers to his Valentine.

Lindsay: And the Mundy goes to –

Neil opens the envelope –

Neil: Dean Abbott!

Lindsay: Dean Abbott? Doesn’t he run this carnival?

Neil: So?

Lindsay: This is bull****. He didn’t even submit anything this week.

Neil: Keep quiet, bionic mouth. He told me if I did this, he’d introduce me to some cute female blogger he knows in Santa Monica.

The audience boos.

Lindsay: Jeez, this award ceremony is a farce. You give out a phony award, just so you can meet some woman?!

Neil: Can you think of a better reason? Pretty mundane, huh? Which happens to be very appropriate for this carnival.

Lindsay walks off the stage in disgust.

Lindsay: You just wait until I write about this in my blog!

Neil: Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! Hope you enjoyed the Fifth Carnival of the Mudane. The next installment of the carnival will be on March 17 — hosted by Cheryl at Bread and Bread. Dean, I’ll call you later to discuss our deal!