Nicolas Cage, you magnificent weirdo


My best friend and I are obsessed with Nicolas Cage.

Why, you ask? It’s a valid question. Allow me to explain this before you decide that my blog is no longer worth your time.

Nicolas Cage is a huge weirdo for a bunch of reasons (that link being just one example. Because who doesn’t think a pet octopus makes you a better actor? Although… it can’t really hurt, in his case. Touche, Mr. Cage, touche). What first inspired our love of Mr. Cage was a little movie called Vampire’s Kiss in which his, umm, dramatic method acting skills were displayed to their maximum potential. You think his Wicker Man performance was manic? Psssh, that’s child’s play next to Vampire’s Kiss.

That was how we discovered the genius that is Nicolas Cage (real name: Nicholas Kim Coppola. As in the Coppolas. (Just speculation, but I suspect his family is feeling grateful that his professional career isn’t linked to theirs)). Still skeptical? I would suggest you peruse some of his other brilliant works, including Bringing Out The Dead, Snake Eyes, and Con Air.

If you’re still wondering what’s so special about The Cage, allow me to offer up some evidential tidbits. How many men are brave enough to name their kid Kal-El when we know the psychological impact of bullying on children in this day and age? How many men will marry (and rapidly divorce) the same woman as Michael Jackson? How many men become the focus of stalking by a mime (yeah, seriously)? How many men would get a back tattoo of a lizard with a top hat to “claim [their] own body”? That’s the kind of genius you don’t see every day.

You keep doing you, Nic. You keep doing you.


Unapologetic Confession #1: I love MMA

gina carano2 editI mean, right?

This example of awesome badassery, if you are unfamiliar with her and have also failed to read the giant green letters across the picture above, is Gina Carano. You are welcome.

She’s just one of the great things about mixed martial arts (actually, she doesn’t even fight professionally anymore). I love the whole sport: the fights, the fighters, the anticipation, the feeling of smug satisfaction upon seeing GSP pound the shit out of that asshole Koscheck for 5 rounds, the way Jon Jones defies gravity, seeing someone execute a perfect kimura or triangle choke… I even tolerate the frustrating moments, like every time UFC president Dana White opens his mouth… Seriously. Dude has nothin’ nice to say.

My dad introduced me to MMA when I was a kid, and watching fights was one of the many awesome activities we would do together. As I got older, I geeked out on stats, individual fighters, techniques specific to different styles of martial arts, and obviously getting my eyeballs on as many fights as I could. It got easier when the UFC started to really gain momentum and become a household name.

I remember the moment other people first learned about my love of MMA. I’d never really mentioned it because it wasn’t well known and no one else seemed all that into it. I had one buddy that shared my excitement; one night we got into a heated debate about our favorite fighters while having beers with a group of friends. We were both dorkily word-vomiting stats and techniques, and it took a few minutes before I realized everyone else at the table was staring at me.

“What, ahh, what are you talking about?” one of my girlfriends asked, looking amused. I explained that I had been an MMA fan for a long time, which was understandably news to them. The response to first discovering this was (in subtext; they didn’t exactly come right out and say it): But but but… you’re a girl.

But but but… wait, what? I am?! Shit. Why didn’t anyone tell me?! Well now I have to go rethink my entire gender identity, because everyone knows that there are no women anywhere in the whole wide world that could derive enjoyment from watching an MMA fight, let alone women who would actually become fighters. I mean, they’d have to have the same desire, drive, strength, and fortitude as men! Which we all know is just bananas.

Hold up…

What I think is bananas is that many people are still surprised– nay, shocked and befuddled– by the fact that I like to watch MMA, not because of the sport itself but because I have lady parts. Now, I don’t want to get up on my dainty pink lady soapbox and wax feminist all over everyone (because feminism is…bad? Yeah, bad! Equality for all is overrated!), but I’ve gotten this reaction so often over the years that I felt the need to make this bold and controversial statement: I love MMA, and I’m a girl!

Excuse me for going on about this, I must be menstruating. You know how we females get!

boxing gloves

…where the hell did I put my purse with the Midol?!

Toast + Pilgrims + Murder = Candy Corn


Once upon a time, pilgrims planted rye wheat, harvested it to make bread, ate the bread, went batshit crazy, got pissed off, blamed it on the devil’s minions, and sanctioned the killing of a bunch of innocent people.

Let me back up for a moment.

When rye grain goes bad, it develops a fungus called ergot that causes super nifty LSD-like symptoms such as hallucinations… and a few other exciting symptoms like seizures, necrosis, and lots (lots) of death. Recently historians have been investigating the link between ergotism and severe illness/death starting all the way back in 800 A.D. It wasn’t actually recognized as ergot poisoning until the 1800’s, and when we (being intelligent beings and the only Earth-dwelling animals with the ability to use reason and logic) don’t understand things, we tend to make up a bunch of bullshit to explain the problem away.

Enter the pilgrims. A rather somber group with a penchant for monochrome dress, fire-and-brimstone religion, and treating their darker skinned brethren as subhuman, they were not exactly the most tolerant of people. When a few horrible teenage girls started having seizures and hallucinations and subsequently accused some fellow pilgrims of witchcraft, the village leaders were all, “Meh. Seems legit, let’s go do some murder.” I’m paraphrasing, if I’m being completely honest.

The “witches” of Salem weren’t actually burned at the stake (just hanged or crushed, so nbd) but they were definitely killed for no reason. Or, I guess, the reason being ergot poisoning and bad parenting (because what normal teenage girl’s first response to a seizure is to condemn her neighbor to death… well, given teenagers, maybe that’s not so far-fetched). The Salem Witch Trials also weren’t the direct cause of All Hallow’s Eve, which later became Halloween, the one day of the year where we get to dress up as sluts and/or monsters, purposefully take candy from strangers, and carve faces on vegetables. But they did contribute to the history of America’s relationship with stereotyping, extremist religion, jumping to conclusions, and Snicker’s Bars.

Great, now I have a craving for toast.

happy pumpkinAhhh this picture make complete sense to me now!

Does Anyone Like Clowns?

evil clown2

I’ve put this blog under “Stuff I Like” but really it’s because I didn’t bother to create a category of “Stuff I Dislike”… although that’s giving me an idea. Anyway, this would be read more appropriately as “Things I Like?” Because seriously, does anyone like clowns? Do clowns even like clowns? Or is it a self-hating form of tortured artistic expression? If that’s the case, I want to recommend therapy and a new hobby. I hear crocheting is the bomb.

Recently I read this weird story about a clown hanging out in Northampton, England just, well, ’cause. It’s caused a bit of terror and the inclination for tar-and-feather style violence from the locals. I want to say, “Calm down, everyone, there’s no evidence that it’s John Wayne Gacy reincarnated,” but really, if that needs to be said, the dude in the clownsuit needs to rethink his entire life plan. Commence tarring and feathering, I guess.

There have even been studies done about the hatred and/or fear of clowns. Hell, even Smithsonian Magazine thinks clowns are horrible. And they’re a legit magazine! Apparently this fear is called Coulrophobia, although for some reason I had been under the impression that it was labeled Harlequinphobia. Which makes more sense, I think, but that’s not what the English language is about.

If you thought I was going somewhere with this, I’m not. I just wanted to comment on the fact that clowns still exist under the guise of giving some sort of humorous entertainment to easily frightened miniature humans despite the fact that no one likes them. I think I’m just trying to find some reason in all this chaos. Le sigh.

Gummy Bears Don’t Like Beartraps

sad gummybear

About five years ago, while wasting time online, I came across a video clip that changed my life. Dramatic, you say? Not at all! It became my mantra; I started repeating it word-for-word (the video is only about 40 seconds long so this wasn’t my most amazing feat ever, but close) and soon had all of my friends repeating it too.

To my friends, you’re welcome.

If you enjoy watching things that are awesome, and also want to understand my cheerful drawing above, go check out this epic video of a gummy bear’s misadventure courtesy of Robot Chicken. You are also welcome.

*This is not a real gummy bear mangled by a beartrap

Vote on the poll below and maybe he’ll get a shiny new limb!


peekin duck          2012-12-13_05-13-48_116

This mischievous little man is Duck (Duck Mordechai, usually called Ducky). He is now about 1.5yrs and has been experiencing the ongoing stress of losing his position as top house animal; Biscuits was 9 weeks old at adoption and was immediately the clear alpha. Poor Ducky.

Here are some facts about Duck:

  • He is insanely long for a cat. When he stretched against a wall, he reaches to about my hips (I’m not short)
  • He likes to help with computer work. Anytime I’m on the computer (as long as Biscuits is nowhere to be seen) he sits on my lap, waits for me to prop his chest up, and then presses keys. He’s very studious.
  • He is confused about dominance and how to assert it. He tries to dominate Biscuits (see the blog on Biscuits, Jr. re: discipline) but is confused by the lack of any response whatsoever. Sometimes he considers humping him, but he keeps about a foot of distance between his rear end and Biscuits’ while doing so, which hasn’t been very effective to date.
  • He performs a water dance whenever drinking. Be it bowl, my cup, the faucet, water on the ground, etc, he will swish his front legs back in forth with happiness while drinking. I’ve seen better dancing, but his enthusiasm warms me.

Biscuits, Jr.

tiny heart

This suspiciously adorable creature is Biscuits (Biscuits Henry, also known as Biscuits, Jr.). This was taken a week after he came home with me. He’s roughly 10 weeks old here.

A few facts about Biscuits:

  • He pants. Like a dog. It’s loud and surprising; the first time I heard it I thought he was dying of insta-Feline leukemia
  • He does not care about discipline. At all. Or, rather, he doesn’t notice it. Nothing discourages him from his goal and for the most part I respect that. I guess, to be fair, I haven’t tried every method of negative reinforcement, like waterboarding or ECT…
  • He has a heart-shaped spot on his right side (see picture above). It adds to the air of adorableness, which is a fact he exploits to get treats and not waterboarded
  • He can get onto high places by taking a running leap and hurtling himself sideways off lower objects (think Spiderman meets Jon Jones)
  • His paws are always really, really hot for no apparent reason

Baby anythings are better than grown anythings

puppies     tiny sloth

baby elephant

baby owl


Well, don’t look at that last one. That is death personified, with a hint of bird.

But the other pictures (the ones that are not death personified, bird-like or no) are adorable. I’m not saying that animals can’t be cute when they’re grown, but no one prefers the adult version of anything over the cuddly squishy baby version.

There may be one person out there who disagrees with the last statement. That person (I use “person” loosely) hates babies and all things adorable. Shun that person from your life and your community. Let me be clear: I’m not advocating violence here. All I am saying is that tarring and feathering has been out of fashion long enough to make a retro come-back, like leggings or ironic sayings on T-shirts or waterboarding. Just keep an open mind.

In conclusion, anything in baby-shape is better than anything in grown-shape. We are biologically driven to like baby-shapes, so don’t feel guilty when you decide to abandon or euthanize the sweet mischievous puppy your brought home once it has turned into a creature roughly the size and appearance of a Tauntaun. I’m not even making this shit up; this shit is science (the biological-liking-of-babies part, not the part about Tauntauns).

Look at the pictures below of the same types of animals as above, but now in grown-shapes:

terrifying dog     ugly sloth

angry elephant   evil eagle






By the way, why do baby birds look like this? This tiny eagle must be a Jim Henson muppet… maybe a Skeksis by way of Fraggle Rock?

jim henson eagle

(Does anyone actually get my references, btw?)