Tuesday, October 26, 2010

How to Have a Horrifying Halloween

Okay, I get that everybody loves Halloween. What’s not to love? If you’re a kid you get to dress up as something totally disgusting and creepy, eat all the candy you want, and egg Mr. Wilson’s house. If you’re an adult, you get to dress up as something totally disgusting and slutty, drink all the Halloween cocktails you want and…well, that’s about it. But I like talking about the bad sides of stuff. So you can use this guide to determine what not to do this Halloween, or if you’re a sadist, you can follow my advice exactly.

Eat the Most Horrifying Candy:

Candy corn looks so innocent and colorful, but what they don’t tell you is that it tastes like ASS. And don’t even get me started on those little pumpkin things. WHAT THE HECK?

I’ll personally be out in full forces with the best of the 12-year-olds this Halloween night, so I’ll have easy access to every variety of candy. But even if you’d rather sit at home listening to the Monster Mash, you’ll probably indulge in some sort of Halloween candy that will plunge you into a tunnel of despair so deep that only more candy or perhaps a bowl of ice cream could cure it. If you’d like to have a truly horrifying Halloween, make sure you eat extra Tootsie Rolls, Necco Wafers, and Fun Dip. Check out this article on the Top Ten Worst Halloween Candies for more tips.


Wear a Horrifying Costume:

You truly haven’t lived until you’ve done a keg stand dressed as Big Bird.

Try to restrain yourself from buying a bed intruder costume (it’s a daily struggle for me as well) or a Snooki wig or even last year’s Kate Gosselin costume on clearance. If you want to have a truly horrifying Halloween, you’ll need to slut it up a little bit more. And no, your kindergarten French maid costume and your slutty clown costume from ’08 are not going to cut it. I’m talking slutty AND scary, like, say a Sassy Cookie Monster or an “I’ll-Tickle-You-There Elmo.”


Stay Home and Wallow in Self Pity:

SJP was lookin fly, even in ’93! Okay fine, she does look like a foot.

If you wanna go truly horrifying this Halloween, I suggest your park your La-Z-Boy near your front window and settle in for a long night of Hocus Pocus and Halloweentown II: Kalabar's Revenge, all the while staring down the little brats who audaciously ring your bell. Might I also suggest you fill a bowl with candy and cradle it lovingly as your eat every last morsel during your G-rated Halloween marathon, never bothering to get up off your Ms. Fat Booty to answer the door.


Or Have a Sad Night on the Town:
This picture never ceases to amuse me. I haven’t been sad since I first discovered it last April.

If your life in general is already horrifying enough that you’ve already seen both Hocus Pocus and Halloweentown this year, then I suggest you go out. Make sure you wear one of the aforementioned horrifying costumes and spend the night bumpin’ and grindin’ to "The Monster Mash," "Thriller," and the Ghostbusters song. For added horror, why not chat up a hottie wearing a chicken suit or a banana costume. And if you really want to go to the extreme, dance with both a chicken AND a banana, then let them brawl with each other over your true love and devotion, because remember: there is nothing funnier IN THE WORLD than a man in a chicken suit fighting with a man in a banana costume.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Guest Post: Something Special from Wisconsin Weighs In

Some people weren't too pleased about my treatment of cheese heads earlier. The ol bf's roommate, a native of the land of cheese, was riled up enough to write back a Wisconsin style rebuttal. If you want to read more of his Wisconsinish witticisms, make sure you check out his blog, Cream City MSTP, about the trials and tribulations of becoming a double doctor.

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A few weeks ago, I was asked to serve as the inaugural first quasi-annual guest blog post author guy of KTA, a title I have been secretly pining for quite some time.

For those who aren't aware, KTA provides a valuable niche service, in that it informs and offers opinions on the happenings in pop culture. I often catch myself wondering why there aren't more blogs to handle this, but then I rationalize that it must be because the author does such a great job. [ed. note: you rationalized correctly.]

The blog is miraculous. Hence, you can understand the shot that was taken at the great state of Wisconsin, an assault I will be spending the majority of my time addressing in a new segment I am hereby dubbing

Raman Kutty's Inaugural First Quasi-Annual "Wisconsin is Better Than You Bitches" Guest Blog Post.

I'm sorry but You asked for this.

1. Wisconsin. The University.
The best party on the planet has been draping Badgers in cardinal and white since 1848 and shows no signs of stopping anytime soon. How much better is Wisconsin than you, you ask?





Sorry, your silly little school ain't crazy enough for me.

2. It's both size AND how you use it.
Chicagoans, for some Godforsaken reason, are enamored with their hot dogs. I do not understand this (although I do suspect Penis Envy). What, you put a pickle on it and now it's the shit? No, it's not. Allow me to explain:

While you southerners were getting all excited about your franks, the Germans of Wisconsin were working hard on something far better: the Bratwurst. The comparison between the two goes something along the lines of a Mickey Avalon song. The Brat is "mine" and the hotdog is, well, "yours".

Also, it's what you do with it. Chicagoans are all about sitting around eating it or doing whatever it is they do. I'll let you in on a secret: tailgating. No one does it better than Wisconsin. It is something that ties our entire state together. Hunters and PETA, Gays and Evangelicals, Kanye and Taylor Swift...they all can get together for a good ol' fashioned tailgate. Additionally, there is always one happening. See: Green Bay Packers, Milwaukee Brewers, UW-Madison sports, fishing, etc. Throw in a game of bags and a brewski or two and it's pure magic.


Oh boy, look at THAT.

Further, ketchup goes on a hot dog. Kraut and mustard go on a brat. Please accept this so we can move on. [ed. note: for the record, ketchup does not go on a hot dog.]

3. Even your criminals suck.
Most notorious Illinois criminals? Al Capone, Blagojevic...blah blah blah. All of them didn't really do anything novel, they ran gangs, sold senate seats, etc. Hell, even I've done that, and I'm a med student. Whatever. Ed Gein made lampshades out of PEOPLE (in all fairness, it really did bring the room together). Jeffy Dahmer? Google it.

4. Chris lives here.
Not that i feel this is a terribly important point, but you can't argue it and like him at the same time.

5. Illinois is a wasteland.
You know this. I know this. Proof? You FIBS love to complain about how awful the state is, yet we're overwhelmed just counting the cash after you leave every summer. If Illinois is so effin great, go vacation there. You know this isn't true and that's why you're hanging out in the Dells, Waupaca, the north woods - essentially all over this great state (much to my personal dismay). The sooner you admit to your inferiority, the better off we will all be. [ed. note: did you really just cite THE DELLS when arguing why Wisconsin is better???]

But what do I care? I mean, this additional tax base only helped to pay my cover fee to the greatest party on earth (see #1). Thanks!

6 (BONUS!) Population statistics.
Coasties are native to your state. They are not to Wisconsin. It's atrocious and I strongly suggest you do something about it. Wisco: Coastie free. Game, set match.

I will, however, concede that we do often smoke more than we eat. I've gone through a pack just writing this damn post, and with the prices we pay for cigs these days, it's no surprise that us poor huddled Wisconsinite masses choose smokes over food. You would too if you were as poor, uneducated and useless as we are.

So, that concludes Raman Kutty's Inagural First Quasi-Annual "Wisconsin is Better Than You Bitches" Guest Blog Post. With that out of the way, I can serve as a KTA-Tell-All and fill you in on a piece of news that has been bugging me for some time now.

Brett Favre.

Ok, so here's the deal: let's rewind to early 2008. Brett retires. Well, no not really. Ok yeah he did. No, he's coming back, but going to the Jets. Anyway, while playing for the Jets, Deanna let him off the leash just long enough to meet the fine Ms. Jenn Sterger of FSU fame. Apparently she wasn't much into him, but being the fierce competitor he is, he went for her anyway. Fast forward to 2010: news breaks that Bretty texted pictures of Little Brett to Sterger. October 2010: alleged pictures released on the website Deadspin.

A few observations, if I may (and I will, con mucho gusto):

1. Seriously? What was your thought process here, Brett? "Well, she wasn't a big fan of my insane career and southern personality...think Brett, think....GOT IT! DICK PIC!" In the words of Ed Lover, "C'mon SON!" Getthefeckoutofherewiththatshitbrett.

2. Ineffective and moronic decisions aside, has this ever worked? I'm not the right person to ask here, but I feel that if a lady got that in her inbox, there's little reason for her to feel compelled to make a move on it. After all, she knows it's there...whatever.

3. People are arguing that it's not actually Brett, instead some impostor who was messing with a) Brett Favre b) Jenn Sterger c) the Jets and d) the American public. That's stupid. And I can prove it's not true. Here's how:
Ever been in a locker room before? For those of you that have not, towels are...optional. In other words, there's an offensive line or two who have seen Little Bretty plenty (and I'm not insinuating that he sexted them too...though that would be RICH beyond words). I have yet to hear anyone step up and say, yeah, I've seen the real thing, those pics ain't the real deal. Granted, it may raise a few eyebrows, but for a bunch of guys who get paid to take shots to the head to protect him, a shallow homoerotic accusation is to be taken in stride.

4. As a future clinician, it would be well to discuss the effect this is having on Brett's game. After all, that's the point of a guest writer, right? Anyway, if you missed the Monday night game this week, you either a) missed nothing (aka, are from Minnesota and therefore are a moron) or b) missed a meltdown. Brett was shaky, uncoordinated and generally not himself - that is, until the 4th quarter where he got it together and threw a game-ending INT, true to his usual form. This isn't surprising as these symptoms are indicative of Stergeritis; look for a forthcoming case report in JAMA next month, authored by none other than yours truly. Unfortunately, the prognosis is grim and will eventually lead to liquidation of 50% of his assets, amongst other malignancies. Undoubtedly, bed rest is the best course of action, as the patient is historically sensitive to vicodin.

That's all for now folks. Check back here for more pithy posts, and moreover, check out creamcitymstp.blogspot.com for the perspective of a not-so-soon-to-be MD/PhD. Peace, Love and screw the Bears.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Made: Decoupaged Wall Art

FaveCrafts is hosting its first blog hop today so I decided to post another installment of the “crap I’ve made” series. See previous installments here, here, here, here, and here. I’ve been redoing my room pretty much all summer, and one of my first projects after painting the walls was to decoupage some wooden plaques to hang on the walls. I got the idea from Better Homes and Gardens. Of course theirs looks better, but that’s mostly because my photo-taking skills are practically nonexistent.

I started with wooden plaques of various shapes and sizes from Michael’s and painted them with the same stuff I used for the walls. I don’t know if they make paint specifically for using with wooden plaques, but the wall paint sufficed. Then I traced the plaque shapes onto pieces of 12x12 scrapbook paper and cut out the shapes.




I used Mod Podge and a sponge brush and coated the top of each plaque before placing the paper shapes on top. Then I added another layer of Mod Podge on top of the paper to seal it down. This is what decoupaging is, in case you’ve ever wondered.

The paper got wrinkly when it got wet from the glue, but it smoothed out when it dried, and it got all shiny and cool looking.

I made a bunch of different ones with different papers, arranged them how I liked, and hung them on the wall.


I’m linking up here:


Saturday, October 9, 2010

This is not a test. Actually, it is.

I think my blog is broken. The last post, which was amazing BTW, never made it into the feed. Speaking of that, you should subscribe to my RSS feed. There's a little box to the left (to the left) that'll help you out with that. Maybe I shouldn't have admitted that it was broken before soliciting subscribers...But I'm sure it's going to work now.

And while you're at it,
like me on Facebook.








Saturday, October 2, 2010

The People of a Pink Floyd Concert

You’ve all been to that blog called People of Walmart, right? There are all these different varieties and subcategories of Walmart denizens, documented efficiently and conveniently in one spot. Well, I think the same should happen for Pink Floyd concert goers. If you know anything about life, you know the types of people you would expect to see at a Pink Floyd concert. As someone who attended a Roger Waters concert in Chicago last week, I can safely assure you that the clientele was exactly as you would expect.


Type 1: Moms who want to remind themselves and everyone else that they used to be cool

Is it just me, or does every mom have this hair?

Before stretch marks, mom jeans, Martha Stewart hair, mini-vans, and dirty dishes took over their lives, these women were groovy. They dated garage band musicians, sometimes stayed out past 10 o’clock, and participated in Vietnam War protesting lite. Pink Floyd reminds them of their glory days when the government was not to be trusted and recreational drug use was something to “experiment” with, instead of something to “just say no” to. These moms have even been known to say “I used to be cool, ya know,” to their kids. “I used to groove to Floyd! I listened to that music before you were even a twinkle in the milk man’s eye!” At the concert last week, these moms wore an alarming combination of high-waisted, pleated, tapered jeans and Floyd t-shirts they’d probably purchased at Kohls for the occasion. They showed up in groups or with their reluctant, republican husbands and, for a minute, remembered what they used to live for before procreation ruined their chances at a halfway decent life.


Type 2: High school boys who feel that Pink Floyd lyrics really get what they’re going through


Don't even try to understand him. He is misunderstood.

High school boys of this variety (usually the offspring of the aforementioned moms) can be identified by their long hair and Dark Side of the Moon t-shirts, which they wear through the halls of “that hell-hole” of a high school they attend. Despite the strong anti-Apple undertones in last week’s concert, they are never seen without ear buds blasting Floyd loud enough that posers can hear and be jealous that they’re not cool enough to like Pink Floyd music. They carve anarchy symbols into the desks at school, oblivious to any and all political science theories about the effectiveness of anarchy, never having paid attention in government class. All these boys know about government is that it’s bad. They can’t tell what’s better, anarchy or communism, but either one has to be better than what we’ve got. These high school boys express their love of Floyd and their superiority for liking their music through status updates filled with obscure lyrics. If you haven’t heard of a song they quote and you’re stupid enough to ask “what does this mean?” they’ll respond with “You’ve never heard this song before…?” The kiss of death.

Type 3: Alternative/Hipster Guys

You know what, dude? You both have the same hair, so STFU.

If I had a dollar for every guy I saw at this concert with ironic facial hair and jeans that bordered on jeggings territory, I’d have about enough money to pay for a ticket to that concert. These guys are cool mostly because they’re not you. Their M.O. is similar to that of the high school boys’, in that no one understands their plight save for a few aging British rockers whose lyrics really speak to them. The difference is that the high school boys are mainly terrified of uncool people, whereas the hipsters are more concerned with the intellectual degradation of society. I mean, at least Pink Floyd songs talk about real world issues unlike that damn Justin Beiber, they’ll argue. Not that they’ve ever heard any of his songs…That’s his name, right? Bieber? They wouldn’t know because they’re too busy making sure to avoid modern day pop culture. See How to Be Cool.

Type 4: Ex-sorority girls and other beautiful types

You know that time Paris Hilton dated "punk" "rocker" Benji Madden? It's the same concept.

They heard it was cool to like Pink Floyd. They lived through high school, observing all the cool shaggy-haired hotties carving miscellaneous political messages into the desks, and then they dated a few hipsters whose blatant disdain for their Miley Cyrus affinity only turned them on more. In order to attract more v-neck-wearing, mustache-waxing douchebags, these girls have to be proactive and seek out these rarest roses in their natural habitat. And when asked what they like most about Pink Floyd, their response is invariable “their music is, like, so deep and so meaningful. And I just love all the fireworks and stuff!”

Type 5: Middle aged people who smoke more than they eat and probably drove down from Wisconsin

This is what lives in Wisconsin, in case you've never been.

Sorry to throw my neighboring Midwesterners under the bus, but it’s true. You’re all poorly dressed with 80s hair and bad teeth. These people have scary, scratchy voices from literally decades of puffing on cigs, and they use these voices to their advantages when verbally abusing their children and forcing them to fetch another can of beer for them. If I had liked Pink Floyd back in the 70s, I would much rather have become a member of the mom-jeans mafia than this scary group. Since I live in Illinois and not Wisconsin, I’m guessing that I would have gotten my wish. Oh, by the way, it wasn’t cigarettes they were smoking at the concert last week.

Did you like Pink Floyd back in the day? Do you own a Dark Side of the Moon T-shirt? (if so, get out)