Mix Tapes and Troll Dolls

Because of the IPod-ization of our culture, we've lost certain traditions, certain expressions of love and connection. One of the things lost has been the mix tape. Back in the day, significant others used to spend hours upon hours crafting just the right line-up of songs to record on a cassette and give to me.

This process was arduous -- recording songs from the radio, flipping through CD collections, hitting that play/record button at just the right time. Heady times, those. And before I inevitably dumped that particular girlfriend -- before Christmas or before Valentine's Day or before the end of the school year -- I was touched by the thought and care that had gone into crafting that mix tape. It was always a labor of love.

Where's the love gone? We have 100 song playlists and we can burn CD's with the touch of a button -- but no one really listens to CD's anymore. And so, the art of the mix tape has been lost...

I'm bringing it back bitches.

This mix tape is dedicated to the dear, dear readers of NTC (all 5 of you). It was fashioned according to rules (slightly modified) that Z. and I established while playing the "top ten" driving game on the way back from Ohio. They had to be songs currently loaded on my Walmart mp3 player, and I could only use an artist once.

NTC Superfun Remix '06

1. Mix Tape. Brand New

2. Blue Diamonds. The Long Winters

3. Cold Hard Bitch. JET

4. The General. Dispatch

5. The Stars of Track and Field. Belle and Sebastian

6. Help is on the Way. The Animators

7. Pasadena. Modern Skirts

8. Everything I Once Had. The Honorary Title

9. 16 Military Wives. The Decemberists

10. Steady as She Goes. The Raconteurs


**What would your "mix tape 10" look like?

Gross (the scrolldown)

Gross:


















Grosser:




















Grossest:










Oh, Britney.
Oooooooooooooh, Britney.

I fear we may have celebrated your return prematurely.

I hate your kids.

God help us: the Holiday season begins again.

Because I spend so much of my time on airplanes, winging around the country, I try to drive to my holiday destinations. This year, Z. and I will be motoring back to Ohio. While our route won't take us past The Butter Jesus, I'm sure we'll share a warm glass of laughter anyway.

What was I talking about? Oh, right. I hate your fucking kids. That’s why I don't fly for the holidays -- too many fucking brats running around the plane, kicking my seat, flipping their trays to a locked/unlocked/locked/unlocked position. Kids. Ugh.

Last week as I was surfing parents.com, I saw an article about how parents can mitigate the evil of their children on airplanes. I thought "this will be good." It wasn't. Mostly because the author misses the point: kids suck my ass. And because that is a fact, proven by SCIENCE, nothing she can write could suitably answer the question posed in the beginning of the article: "How should I deal with airplane seatmates who might get annoyed by my little first-time flyer?"

Um, allow them to strike said child until it is rendered dead or unconscious -- thus doing society a service. But, alas, we get a series of "if you made the mistake of bringing your child onto an airplane here is how to make it slightly less egregious." Enjoy my obvious fucking comments in [BRACKETS].

1. Do apologize in advance to all passengers in a five-foot radius of your seat for whatever spills, fits, kicks, and other random problems your child will probably cause -- that way, no one will be surprised when the apple juice and pretzels start flying. [Oh hell no. Some pre-emptive apology is not going to work if "apple juice and pretzels" are involved. You better be handing me a fucking blackjack and saying "if you feel the need, use this -- I use it in place of naps some days."]

2. Don't bring more than one book or magazine for yourself -- you'll be too busy running interference and reciting "Goodnight Moon" to read something for your own pleasure. [If I hear you reading "Goodnight Moon" I will end you. Seriously, don't bring that shit onto my airplane.]

3. Do bring snacks -- enough for everyone sitting around you. Who could get mad at the child of a mom who doles out Hershey's Kisses? [That depends. Are you a hot mom? What has your child done to me already? Chances are you're a fat slob from Iowa with a sniveling freak-show child. You try to hand me a candy and I'll slap your hand, engaging in a stare-off until you look away -- chastened and embarrassed.]

4. Don't pretend that you didn't see your child give the guy in the suit a noogie. It happened. Suit guy is probably ticked off. Ignoring your child's bad behavior will make suit guy even madder. [Oh, hey, suit guy here. Yeah. If your child touches my hair, you won't have a chance to ignore that it happened. Your child will be out the emergency hatch and descending to 10,000 feet before you can get your breastfeeding tit back into its Playtex corral and do something about it.]

5. Do tell your child to stop kicking (and peeking over and crawling under) the seat -- and say it loudly enough so that the kickee hears you. That way, he'll know you noticed your child's behavior and are making some effort to stop it. [Ha. What? Oh I NOTICED. And that's why your child now occupies the overhead bin ten rows away.]

6. Don't stress yourself out over the bad stuff. Bad stuff happens. But you know what? Everyone gets over it. [No, we don't. The bad stuff just fuels the hatred. Hatred that makes me want to “spill” piping-hot coffee all over your child's FACE. Because you know what? BAD STUFF HAPPENS. I'm sure your kid will understand.]

***
Remember when a plane ticket was $1500 and you had to wear a blazer to fit in?
Yeah. *sigh* Me too.

The box

Yesterday, as I walked to the metro on my way home, I noticed a homeless beggar woman taking up space.

Next to her lay a box for people to donate money and cheap attempts at humanity.

On this box a sign was attached. The sign was a piece of paper with rain smeared orange marker scribbles.

''Happy" was the first word written on the sign. The remaining words were illegible because the sign had clearly weathered a few storms . . . and because she couldn't spell.

As I came closer, the sidewalk narrowed and, because of the number of people walking towards me, I was forced to continue in a boxward direction.

Five steps away an intense desire to just kick the shit out of the box swept over me like an arson fire in southern California.

Two steps away a tall blonde wearing those knee high black leather boots DC women love caught my attention.

The box was now behind me.

I guess there's always tomorrow . . .

F**k This

Yeah, no, absolutely -- there are PLENTY of younger people working here. And, many of them wear flip-flops, or sleep in their offices when work gets crazy. It has that, oh, frat-house feel... sometimes. Many of these folks are pinching pennies to make ends meet.

But that does not...

DOES NOT

give you the *right* to leave your poor-person-half-eaten-covered-in-tin-foil can of Chunky-Vegetable-Soup...

IN THE OFFICE REFRIGERATOR.

No, sir, no way. I have to draw the line somewhere.

This is a place of business... not your cozy double-wide

See, Hear, Sprechen?

On Tuesday a human rights group plans to file a complaint in a German court seeking criminal prosecution of outgoing Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, US Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez, and former CIA Director George Tenet. The group alleges Rummy et al sanctioned torture of prisoners in US custody and intends to . . .


Wait a second . . . Germany?

Who died and appointed Germany human rights protector of the world?



And Germany?

As in the Germany that killed the Jews in the holocaust?

Sixty years pass and you think you can legitimately wiggle your 'shame on you for violating human rights' finger?

And at the man who brought the world NutraSweet and Equal?

How many lives has THAT saved?

Somebody please revive Patton because I think Germany needs another ass kicking. Wait. Patton believed in reincarnation.

Calling Steven Seagal . . .

Tippecanoe and (Plastic) Surgery Too

NTC has been conspicuously absent from election proceedings, in part because we are a bit divided about the results. (The other part has to do with C. being too drunk to post anything during election week, but that is another post for another time.) Yes, even we, the solidified front that is NTC, find ourselves torn asunder by our political convictions. Fortunately for you, we do agree on one thing:

Elizabeth Dole needs to stop with the fucking face lifts.



Seriously. Liddy? You are 70 years old and your skin cannot be pulled any tighter. You are starting to look a little gross. And lest you think i am singling you out, i am sending the same warning to Katherine Harris, Hillary Clinton, Nancy Pelosi, and Madeleine Bordallo (Though Q. has been very vocal about his willingness to sleep with Katherine Harris, should the need arise.)

And the thing is ladies, it isn't even good surgery. It's like the kind of surgery Michael J. Fox might do on a day he forgot his medication. Or over medicated. Or whatever. It's bad.

So stop with the nipping and tucking. Let's keep America safe.

Boob Tube

Confidential to you, Truck Companies:

I am a member of the 24-45 male demographic. I enjoy watching football. The combination of these two items does not mean I am planning on buying a shitty oversized truck. So please, in the name of God's holy day and the church of football, stop ruining my viewing experience with the constant -- CONSTANT -- truck commercials.

Also, hide John Cougar Mellencamp... if Z. ever sees him on the street, he's gonna get cut. For Reals (and for deads).

Love and kisses,

Q.

Well played, Old People...Well Played.

Is it weird to anyone else that we don't trust our elderly to go to the bathroom alone because they might fall and break a hip, but we're cool with them facilitating a voting process that stands to overturn the balance of power in our nation's legislating bodies?

There's probably a bigger joke here about LifeAlert, but in the meantime..i'm taking picture caption suggestions.