(Photo by Ray Olivares)
Back Wednesday. Be safe.
If you're reading this on Thursday: I have the day off, back tomorrow.
(If you're reading this on Wednesday: prepare to miss me like crazy!)
Also, yes, I know Rush Limbaugh and Mary Lynn Rajskub are not really dating.
And I heard about the Neutral Milk Hotel hysterical overreaction.
("This mission would be so much easier if Viagra had never been invented.")
From Roll Call, via emails:
"Rumors were swirling around Capitol Hill and beyond Tuesday that Rush Limbaugh is dating actress Mary Lynn Rajskub, who plays Chloe O'Brian on the Fox series '24.'
"If you saw the papers over the weekend, including The Washington Post, there were photos of Limbaugh planting a big kiss right on Rajskub's lips during a dog-and-pony event at the Heritage Foundation."
Shhhhhhhhhh, it's okay! I choose to believe that Mary Lynn is a secret operative, tapped to use her superpowers as professional heartbreaker to destroy Rush's will to live. What Oxycontin couldn't do, Mary Lynn can.
* The Billyburg Short Film Festival (hosted by Michael Showalter) was cancelled because of the rain on Saturday. So now it will be this Friday, and everything else is the same. Click the flyer for more info.
* My awesome coworkers Karen Lurie and Nick Poppy's very short pilot, American Cookbook, has been picked up ("Greenlighted", if you will. "Given the go ahead", as it were) by the watchers of Channel 102. Watch it here.
* Mark my words: Someone is about to get an email from D.C.
Is anyone going to talk about the fact that the guy on the left's stuff was on display for a full count of three on last night's episode of Lucky Louie? (Entourage + Lucky Louie = best hour of TV you can watch right now. I used to hate Entourage until I realized it was about five desperate, insecure, needy people and they're all GUYS. Finally!)
Anyway, dicks in sitcoms. Wave of the future!
I think I'm going to that tomorrow. I used to date a guy in my Williamsburg days who took me to the Mccarren Park Pool on the back of his bike on our second date, when I didn't even know it was there and the only way to get in was through a hole in a barbed-wire fence. The only word for it was "magical." (I'm not expecting magic tomorrow night, just good friends and Michael Showalter.)
(Word on the street is the beer license fell through, so bring your smugglin' purse.)
Huge, enthusiastic, and slightly belated congrats to my friends Mark G., Scott, Maud and Mark L. for being chosen for Entertainment Weekly's 25 Best Entertainment Sites. Check out each of their own site picks - I love how they chose to highlight interesting sites that readers might not have seen, sharing the spotlight, spreading the love and sending the elevator back down, as it were.
(Unlike one biz-blogger on the list, who chose to tell us about his discoveries: Friendster and US Weekly. So transparently un-generous. So nouveau-blogger. I remember when this whole thing was about sharing - and clearly, so do Mark, Maud, Scott and Mark. So yay for them, and yay for Entertainment Weekly for being so cool.)
All of the art in my apartment was either found in the trash, created by me (badly), or bought from the Steve Keene store. (When my friend AJ first saw my Steve Keene paintings, he exclaimed "What were you talking about? Your art isn't retarded at all! It's good!" and I had to explain that that was real art, my shitty art was in the other room.)
So I was really happy last week when my friends Amanda and Eric and I were coming out of a bar and saw the above painting propped up against the trash. I ran over and plucked it up and it instantly became one of my prized possessions. On the ride home, I stared at it, trying to think of a name, and then I noticed the guy is holding a knife. Disconcerting. I speculated that maybe I didn't "find" this painting at all, maybe the guy left it out to be found and this was his way of being an exhibitionist (an idea Eric named "the trash flash.") I decided to name the guy "Ira the Ripper" and to keep the painting somewhere other than the bedroom to ward off nightmares and monkey's-paw curses.
When I got home to my Chinatown apartment, I got my mail and read it as I stumbled up the stairs. When I reached my landing, my Chinese next door neighbors were having dinner with the door open. The only neighbor I'd ever seen there was the very sweet elderly Chinese woman who speaks no English, but sometimes knocks on my door with a present of sticky rice in a banana leaf. I assumed these were her grandkids, since they were my age. I smiled and started putting my key in the lock as the three of them sat there staring at me in a curious but not unfriendly way.
I couldn't get the key in and the girl got up to help. "Oh, no, I'll get it, it's just because I'm nervous" I said. I then looked up at the door and realized I was on the fourth floor, not the fifth, and that these were my downstairs neighbors. "Oh my god" I said, blushing. They didn't seem to speak English so all I could do was make the universal gesture for "too much to drink" and skitter over to the stairs. It wasn't until I got to my real landing that I realized that I was clutching a painting of a middle aged man with a large penis and a knife, and that it had been facing them the whole time I was trying to basically break in to their neighbor's apartment.
There was nothing left to do but make the biggest production that has ever been made of a key successfully opening a lock, throw Ira face-first in a corner of the kitchen, and call my best friend.
Wholesome Swimwear: because Mormons need to swim, too!
Also, I just thought of a Mormon pickup line:
"I'm not wearing any special underwear."
...And I have a new screensaver. (Thanks to co-worker Nicole.)
* Variety reports that my former nice neighbor Corey Feldman will star in "Coreys", a Curb Your Enthusiasm-style show with Corey Haim. How much does that rule? HOW MUCH?
* Via Golden Fiddle-on-Jane, who needs to send me some of the meth-like-substance that is allowing him to blog like it's his job that he just got and doesn't hate yet: long awkward pose. I will be doing this to my friends on the ambassador ho-phone forthwith, so beware!
* Rolling Stone has entered the blog game with Rock Daily and my friend Lizzy (Spin-when-it-was- good, NME) is one of the writers, yay.
* A few weeks ago I made a comment on Radosh quoting someone who compared the new Adam Sandler movie, Click, to Nicholson Baker's The Fermata.
Today I learned that CNN mentioned that idea and linked to the comment. I was shocked that they actually gave attribution of an idea to a blog comment, but saddened by the fact that I hadn't attributed it myself. The person who originally made the Fermata joke, in email, was Jeff, of the blog Heart On a Stick. He really didn't want me to post this, but justice must be broughten!
Also, CNN is linking to blog comments now. (Also, if you can decipher the above paragraph, I salute you.)
* Last night I fell in love with a painting at Niagara. I scribbled the artist's name down on a magazine page and googled him today - I can't find the painting online but it's called "Flashlight" and it's by Ted Riederer. My friend Jen obliged me by snapping a picture of it last night. I liked this painting so much that for a few brief, Yellow Tail-soaked minutes I thought I might have 400 bucks just lying around waiting to be spent, but then I came to my senses. "If I were married, it would only be 200!" I joked, realizing I'd just found the most compelling reason for me to get married that had ever occured to me before. What I'm trying to say is it's a really fucking awesome painting. The picture doesn't do it justice. Go see it. And buy it. And let me come over and look at it.
Here's a profile Current TV did of Ted Reiderer in January.
ABC is premiering a new show tomorrow night delightfully named "Master of Champions." The first episode includes an "urban freestyle match" and a yo-yo showdown." I'm in this really cynical place right now where I can't consume media without imagining the board meeting in which it was (they were?) conceived, so when I heard this name all I could think was "What, "Best Winner" was already taken?" But hilariously vague title aside, admit it: you want to see someone play jump-rope with a car. Master of Champions, consider yourself DVRd.
I've had this rule for myself for the past few years called "David's Law." David's Law was signed into law in 2003, just after an unfortunate "I was that drunk girl" incident at the Tinkle Booze Cruise. David's Law makes it illegal for me, Lindsay Robertson, to speak to David Cross or any other public figure whom I admire (usually comedians, because I generally only admire funny people) unless introduced by someone else, directly spoken to, or if I already know them, or if it's for work.
Since David's Law was passed in 2003, it has helped many talented comedians unknowingly dodge the bullet that is meeting me, including but not limited to Sarah Silverman, Patton Oswalt, Demetri Martin, Zack Galifianakis, Paul Rudd, Amy Poehler, Janeane Garofalo, Thomas Lennon, and David Cross like three more times (though I was introduced to him without time to run away in February by a mutual friend, so that doesn't count, and all I said was "I've been a fan for a long time" and then escaped as fast as I could.)
Anyway, imagine my delight when I opened my copy of New York Magazine (it was $5/year for the subscription, okay?) last night and found a sidebar by David Cross himself entitled "Where Do I Know You From? How not to alienate That Guy From TV."
It really made me feel like the last three years of not annoying my heros has all been worth it. Also, it's really funny. David's first rule:
"If you don't know who he is, ask your friend. Or a stranger. Don't ask him. And certainly don't ask him to keep listing his resume until you realize he's the guy from Blade of Innocence 2 who lost his shoe and got killed by the vampire with outer-space AIDS."
Anyway, I've never really spoken publically (ha) about the incident that sparked David's Law, but I will say with a very red face that it may have included the sentence:
"I was definitely the only cute girl who was obsessed with Mr. Show in 1996."
Which, besides being horrifying in other ways, is sort of an insult. So, um, that's how a personal bill becomes a personal law.
This is so cool: you sign up for this email list that these UK pranksters set up, and when the list has enough people on it they'll choose a David Hasselhoff song and send out an alert. Everyone on the list is then supposed to buy the song off iTunes for 99 cents on the same day, thus catapulting an old random David Hasselhoff song to the top of the (UK) charts. The awesome thing is, these people aren't David Hasselhoff fans. They're just fucking with the stupid, meaningless chart system. And for that they have my undying respect.
And probably the attention of every record label and music promoter (For all I know record labels already do this, but I seem to get a lot of emails from record promotion companies who haven't figured out this isn't a music blog and I haven't seen a coordinated e-commerce attack of this magnitude yet. Not that I actually read them.)
So at first I was all "viva la revolucion!" but then I remembered that co-option by the Man is always just a step behind. Sigh.
I was listening to the podcast of NPR's To the Best of Our Knowledge yesterday during my commute, and they did a segment on Indigo Children (click the link above to listen). I've been obsessed with the hilarious concept of Indigo Children ever since I first read about them in the fashion and style section of the New York Times in January (a must-read.) Basically, the idea behind Indigo Children is this:
"My child isn't obnoxious, self-absorbed, unmannerly and unlikeable because I've raised him or her with zero discipline, given him or her a trophy for just showing up and allowed him or her to run ramshod over his parents and everyone else s/he encounters rather than damage his or her precious self esteem...no...s/he's obnoxious, self-absorbed, unmannerly and unlikeable because s/he's here to save the world!"
If anything you've ever read, seen or heard about parenting in this day and age is like a big huge Post-it note the size of a Times Square billboard reminding you to refill your Nuvaring prescription, I think you'll find the concept of Indigo children to be the most "of course, now, here, at this precise time and place in the entire history of the world...of course" thing ever. We who are either child-free or in the minority of people who are raising children rationally no longer lack for a one-stop-shop shorthand for the anxiety and ennui we face when we think about what the world will be like when these little tyrants come of age and start being in charge of shit. It's now all wrapped up in one iconic, easy-to-remember-because-it-has-a-color-in-it brand: The Indigo Child.
Anyways, that was my little rant.
I thought it would be funny to make tee shirts ridiculing the Indigo Child "phenomenon" but apparently they're already out there.
"Indigo means Annoying"
"My honor student beat up your Indigo Child."
"Please Curb Your Indigo Child"
"Indigo F**k Yourself" (okay that's just mean. and absurd.)
I found this interview with an Indigo Child expert who is helping the people of Europe understand their little messengers from the Universe. This part was funny:
SB: How do you explain the truth to the German mothers of Indigos?
CH: This is a problem. In America you can talk of a ''new race'' of children, but you can't do that in Germany. If I'm working with groups in other countries I can speak about this, but in a group of average mothers in Germany you can't talk about that.
SB: Is that because of Hitler?
CH: Yes, that's why.
Last week, Kambri sent me to this amazing site where I was enthralled for, well, minutes, but that's a lot of web-enthrallment for me: celebrity lookalikes for hire. Like Unfortunate David Schwimmers 1:
These aren't even close to being the funniest ones, I just got tired of uploading photos on a free site because of blogger sucking. The site must be fully explored to be appreciated.
UPDATE: Apparently this was on CityRag in April, I have no idea how I missed it!
(Things might be weird around here for a bit because I'm making the switch to Typepad, yay.)
DVR alert: Last night I channel-surfed-upon the most amazing show: the Rock, Paper Scissors Championship on A&E. It's tongue in cheek and almost everyone seems to be in on the joke, but it was still really funny. I immediately called my friend Eric and he answered the phone by saying "Rock Paper Scissors!" because he knows me so well. It airs again Saturday at noon.
The Great Louis CK's much-anticipated new HBO sitcom, Lucky Louie, premieres Sunday night at 10:30. I linked to this article in the Boston Globe about Louis and the show a long time ago, but it's still good. I'm a huge Louis CK fan and I'm crossing my fingers that the planets will align in favor of smart comedy and the show will be a hit. Everyone, watch it!
My friend Brian IMd me and I feel the need to clarify my Grandma's Boy recommendation (below). (I changed some of the words to make it tricky!)
Brian: if you truly didn't hate grandma's boy with every fiber of your being, i don't think we can be friends anymore
lindsayism: loved it!
lindsayism: you don't [REDACTED] enough [REDACTED], dude
Brian: unless you were so [REDACTED] that you didn't know what you were seeing
lindsayism: Well, last night I was thoroughly entertained by something called "When Surgical Tools are Left Behind", if that gives you any idea what you're dealing with.
lindsayism: I'm sorry but Swardson was hilarious!
lindsayism: "I can't believe you came on my mom"
Brian: i would enjoy the surgical thing
Brian: but that movie was soooooooooo terrible
lindsayism: were you [REDACTED]?
lindsayism: WERE YOU [REDACTED]?
lindsayism: if not, you cannot speak!
Brian: I was not... it was a work screening
Brian: I was hopped up on cold stone, though
lindsayism: well then you were not the movie's intended audience
lindsayism: [REDACTED] movies must be seen by [REDACTED] people
lindsayism: maybe I'll start a movie review website with that philosophy.
Brian: sadly I was in a screening filled with studio execs
Brian: and they loved it
lindsayism: Well, I hope you learned something from this conversation. You're the reason Waiting got a bad review from THE FUCKING ONION.
lindsayism: Stoner comedies must be reviewed, and seen, by their intended audience.
Movies I Saw this Weekend
The Break-Up: A master(piece) of low-expectations. The critics tried to second-guess the public and got it way wrong, which is always amusing. I saw it in a packed theater full of laughing people - everyone in my group was shocked at how much we liked it. Even the straight guy. As we walked out, a group of NYU fratboys were loudly and seriously debating the ending.
Oh, and I haven't seen this mentioned anywhere but up-and-coming movie comedy it boy JUSTIN LONG steals every scene he's in as a gay goth receptionist.
Okay, now you're going to hate it because I built it up so much. I'm not saying it's the best movie ever, but it accomplished what it set out to do, no more, no less. I laughed out loud many times and, uh, well, there is this one REALLY SAD PART that I needed a tissue for...
Let's cleanse the palate...
Grandma's Boy: (now available on dvd) An excellent addition to any stoner comedy collection. Adam Sandler produced it, and it's basically like an entire movie made up of stuff that the lawyers made him cut from his other, more mainstream, movies. It's predictable and relies too much on the "old people saying raunchy things" hack, but has some surprising and original scenes and is funny throughout. And everything Nick Swardson touches is pure comedy gold, of course. Be sure to watch the extras.