Call me a loser if you wanna

For the following reasons:

1. I love Nickel Creek's cover of "Spit on a Stranger."
   
2. I have missed a few days in the experimental test of my (limited) knowledge. I'll get back on track soon.
   
3. Last night I went to BAM to see Margot at the Wedding, mostly because there was a Q&A afterward with the director, Noah Baumbach. Seeing as how The Life Aquatic and The Squid and the Whale are two of my very favorite movies, I thought it was a cool opportunity.
   
   And, well, blah. The movie was interesting and deep and I probably need to see it again, but it was also one of those movies that triggered my "complicated nonsense" impulse. There were great things about it, though, mostly everyone's performance except Nicole Kidman's (whose acting was seriously compromised by her complete inability to cover her Australian accent). Baumbach also writes kids better than anyone else, and this was no exception. There aren't many writers who can write a kid like a kid (instead of a kid character who acts like an adult) and the moments that I really, really loved all had to do with Claude, son of the eponymous Margot.
   
   This was my primary substantive disagreement with the Q&A host (who referred to the performances as "universally excellent" in a way that made it unclear whether he was talking about the performances in Margot or all of Baumbach's films), but I pretty much objected to the entire way the thing was conducted. The first part of it was ten really awkward minutes of the host trying to impress Baumbach with his cinematic knowledge and desperate love for the man himself (or his work or whatever). The questions from the audience were okay, but included a couple really dumb ones ("Why do you think Rex Reed hated the movie?"). I wanted to ask why there was absolutely no music in the movie (except for a couple of things sung by child characters absentmindedly) but I was so irritated by the host that I just left (also, I had to pee, but that's neither here nor there).
   

So, that's the content of my loserdom for the day.

Things I Know About Mark (Marc?) Knopfler Off the Top of My Head

Clearly, the correct spelling of his name is not among them.

Anyway.

• He was in The Moody Blues. He may have been the lead singer, but I can't say for certain.
  
• Sometime in the last seven years or so, he made a solo album that got pretty good critical reviews.
  
• Said solo album included a track called "Sailing to Philadelphia" (which may have been the titular track but, again, I'm not that awesome with my Knopfler trivia) that was played at least once a day for an entire summer on the world's (otherwise) best radio station, WXPN.
  
• He now has another solo album out (approximately) called Something Something Crimson and WXPN is again fellating Knopfler/his album by playing the first radio single over and over. And over. And over.
  

Now for some things I *think* about Mark Knopfler. I think I'm supposed to appreciate this guy on a much deeper level, or something, and I admit that he wrote the song that includes most of my favorite pop lyrics ("I got my in-store microwave oven/custom kitchen deliver-ay-ay-ay . . ."), but I just . . . can't. I've seen the man in a partially-animated music video wearing a sweatband. Now his gravelly-voiced pontifications on immigration and having sex with teenagers (I *think* that's what the new single is about, based on my review of the lyrics as posted on an internet lyrics website). Moreover, while I love and am a member of WXPN and listen to it all day streaming through my computer speakers, I could stand not hearing the damn song twice a day -- once during their regular programming (usually Michaela Majoun's morning show) and once during the syndicated World Café.

Thanks for your attention.

Red Barn Murder

The Amish, or Pennsylvania Dutch, a religious community in the Anabaptist tradition, reside primarily in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. Eschewing most modern conveniences in favor of an ascetic, devout existence, the Amish are easily recognizable by their plain dress and non-motorized methods of transportation (particularly horse-drawn buggies).

In recent years, the Amish tradition of rumspringa has entered the popular American consciousness through such documentaries as The Devil's Playground. Teenagers participating in rumpsringa routinely gather for large parties reputedly fueled with large quantities of alcohol and drugs. On July 17, 2002, in an incident known as the Red Barn Murder, three non-Amish (or, in Amish colloquial parlance, "English") teenagers were discovered dead on the property of an Indiana farm the morning after a massive party estimated to have drawn nearly 1000 Amish teenagers.

The bodies of the three teenagers were discovered found under an overturned hayrick in a corner of a large barn on the farm's property. All three died of blunt force trauma to the head. The killers have never been identified as no useful forensic evidence was recovered from the scene. Interviews with party attendees yielded no useful information as detectives' reports indicate that every identifiable witness was under the influence of alcohol or narcotics on the evening in question.

Project Runway Recap

10:02 Aw, snap. Dumping your model in the first model elimination. And while wearing a mesh hat.

10:07 Harvey Whinestein bursts into tears when Sarah Jessica Parker (looking quite a bit better than I've basically ever seen her looking) appears as the celebrity guest. The fash-testants will be designing a two-piece look for SJP's Bitten line. They fash-gasm. They will have 30 minutes to sketch, then will each have an opportunity to present their sketches to SJP herself, who will select seven designs on which the fash-testants will work in pairs. They fash-eye roll. My Gay Husband Tim Gunn tells them that the look will have to retail for $40 and their material budget is $15. Fash-steria. Fash-freak out. The designers clearly haven't considered the fact that the Bitten pieces are made in non-air conditioned factories in backwater Chinese towns by impoverished young women paying off exhorbitant bonds who make $.05 a day.

10:09-10:12 Sucking up, hugging, crying, name-repetition. CARMEN WEBBER yells her name at SJP as though SJP is a partially deaf fifth grader. She completely loses my respect when she shamelessly spouts a completely stupid memory trick that goes "'Carmen' like the opera, 'Webber' like the baller." Oh fucking barf.

10:13 She names the names. There is much wailing and gnashing of teeth. In the end, she likes Christian, Rami, Elisa, Victorya, Kit, Stephen, and Marion. The Opera Baller looks furieuse.

Commercial: Nooooo Jeffrey Sebellia. Pimping fucking Saturns and the "secret" store behind Blends. Also, you've stolen JT's fedora and Joel Madden's skankosity and they'd like them back, post-haste.

10:19 The fash-chosen select the fash-rejects in a grade school kickball elimination.

10:22 Elisa measures her fabric by spitting on it. To "imbibe it with enery and essence." Sweet P (who, truth be told, really has not an inch of room to talk) says that she is on earth and that Elisa is on "some happy planet." It's called Xenu. Or maybe Xanax.

10:23 Ricky cry count: twice this episode. Dry the fuck up, weenie.

10:24 Stephen's skirt has a billion pieces. Tim looks skept. Stephen looks plagued. Tim moves on to Bad Idea Central, where Christian portends his demise by dismissing Tim's critique and interviewing that he is willing to hear criticism but doesn't think he always has to accept it. Ruh roh.

10:25 Tim shits all over Elisa's hand-sewing. Elisa's essence is broken and bruised.

10:26 Marion is a portrait of quiet desperation. He is also a portrait of fakey East Village bartender circa 2004.

10:30 We have our first gossip. Kit gets the Elisa-is-creative-and-unusual thing, but doesn't think she'll last long not knowing how to use a sewing machine. Sweet P commits to putting a beautiful garment down the runway. Christian is done. Sweet P tries to steam one of Elisa's seams into submission.

10:30 Product-placed services. Christian informs his model about the SJP involvement. They fash-gasm. Ricky and Jack's dress is pretty sick indeed and they're really working great together.

10:33 Kit and Harvey are surprised by how well it turned out. Heh. Marion and Stephen fucked up along the way and the fit is all kinds of off. Elisa and Sweet P seem to have pulled something off and they're both really happy. I can't get a good look at it yet, but it looks pretty cute. Victorya and someone have produced something pretty nifty and instruct their model to walk "stompy."

10:35 Marion and Stephen are having some serious fucking problems. They look a little fash-jected. This is getting kind of hard to maintain.

What the fuck is this Jessica Alba movie? I suppose I can't blame her for taking a couple million bucks just to look hot and frantic for two hours.

10:41 Harvey and Kit's outfit is cute, but the sweater is shizz-ort. It's not particularly accessible. Sweet P and Elisa's looks really lovely. Rami and Jillian's is nice and well-made and that's about all I've got to say. Marion and Stephen . . . yikes-a-roo. The fringe is completely nuts. Victorya and Kevin's model works the shit out of a really cute and really hip outfit. Christian and Carmen's outfit looks like a costume from Working Girl. Ricky and Jack knocked it out of the park. The neckline is adorable.

10:45 Victorya and Kevin, Elisa and Sweet P, Stephen and Marion, and Christian and Carmen are still on the runway. As to Victorya and Kevin's nifty dress and vest, SJP loves it and I do too. Marion and Stephen didn't quite get there. Heidi doesn't get it -- it looks like a dirty rag "from the basement." Michael Kors hates the proportion and makes a fairly inappropriate comment about Pocahontas involving headbands and feathers by which SJP seems completely mortified. SJP thinks it doesn't live up to the sketch. Sweet P and Elisa did a great job. Sweet P seems to be attempting to throw Elisa under the bus by criticizing her language and methods. Elisa wrecks her reputation by fessing up to the spit marking, leading Heidi to ask her what planet she's from. Elisa actually sort of responds coherently, saying that she doesn't know the language, but responds directly to the fabric. Kors admits that it looks fantastic and drapes beautifully. Elisa says that she comes from another planet, but she brings gifts. Ha. Aaaaaand . . . Christian and Carmen just missed the mark entirely. Michael, Nina, and Heidi say that it looks extremely 80s. MK invokes "Addicted to Love" and he's completely right. He gets even better in the confab when he references "The Facts of Life." Christian further tightens his noose by shutting down the other judges and asking what SJP thinks, because he's of the mind that it looks exactly like the sketch. She says that it looks quite more severe than it did in the sketch, and she's right. It also looks a lot more Last Days of Disco, but no one says that. 'Cept me.

Then Heidi goes a little whickety-whack and asks Carmen who should be sent home if it came down to her or Christian and she goes all weepy. Seriously, this isn't exactly Sophie's choice. Christian, to his credit, says that he would willingly go home as Carmen simply followed his instructions. She shoots the question at Marion and Stephen. Marion takes full responsibility. Stephen prevaricates that the failures can't be blamed entirely on Marion. Heidi shoots back asking whether they should both be eliminated and Stephen lames that he "doesn't like the sound of that."

The confab largely follows the same path.

Results of the Bravo phone poll are in and the audience trusts Tim's eye the most. Color me surprised.

10:58 In a surprise to no one, Marion is out. He doesn't feel like he was around long enough to show his talent and his viewpoint. This has changed his life. He wanted to win. He wanted to stay. Oh well. He's wearing a very weird jacket and I can't tell if it's ruffled or just worn.

NEXT WEEK: Michael Kors repeats my favorite line ever and calls another crotch "insane." I literally cannot wait.

Niue

The Niue are a sub-clan of the Berber people of Northern Africa, concentrated primarily along the Moroccan border with Libya. The Niue are physically distinctive for their attenuated limbs and digits, low hairlines, large kneecaps, and broad nasal passages. The Niue dialect of Berber has been categorized as an "endangered language," as the Niue have been forced to integrate more fully into Berber society and rural schools no longer educate children in the dialect.

The Niue are considered to occupy a lower social class than other Berbers and have traditionally worked as shepherds on farms owned by higher-status Berbers breeding sheep for wool to weave traditional Moroccan rugs. The 2007 U.S. Department of State Country Report on Human Rights Conditions for Morocco relates several incidents of ethnic persecution of Niues committed by Berbers in recent years; the Moroccan government appears to be unwilling to guarantee protection. Spain has reported a spike in asylum requests from ethnic Niues escaping there.

Copsi of Northumbria

The Northumbria region of England, located in the northeast region of the island, was in 1027 the birthplace of Copsi, an Anglo-Saxon Capuchin friar and Abbott of the Monastery of Adelfreid the Great.  In the role of Abbott, Copsi was charged with the spiritual welfare of several hundred monks -- that is, until the Bubonic Plague decimated the population of monks, who unwittingly invited their own destruction by opening their doors to provide medical care and sacraments to the region's afflicted.

Personal manuscripts attributed to Copsi and recovered from the monastery many centuries later suggest that Copsi had many enemies among the local lords and may have fathered up to a dozen illegitimate children.  Some twenty-seven of his confirmed heirs are currently engaged in protracted litigation regarding various inheritance claims to the monastery's extensive and valuable property holdings, now in the care of the National Trust.

My brazilliionth try at this

I've started blogs and abandoned them more times than I've been to the dentist in the last few years.  I've redoubled my efforts at daily journaling countless times and then ditched it 'cause I'd rather sleep an extra half-hour or watch TV or fuck around on the interwebs then commit my useless thoughts and boring (in)activities to paper/pixels for posterity.  Seen a million faces, rocked them all.  Et cetera.

Now, though, my waking hours are mostly spent staring at a computer screen in a sucky office in a soulless federal building.  In the interest of using my brain to produce something aside from deportation orders (don't ask), behold.  My, like, 85th blog.

I will say, however, that I was an early adopter of the blog format.  When I studied abroad in college, which was 2000-2001, I had my first blog, where I posted pictures of my drunk self and my drunk friends and stories about the stupid shit we did.  The only reader was my mom, and I quickly bored of it, mostly because my photo editing skills sucked ass (and, well, still do).  So kleahy.scribble.nu died a sad death.  Sorry, mom.

Anyway.  At the urging of The Itchy One, this will be a Blog With a Purpose ("BWAP").  He's got a good fucking point, really; "random thoughts" blogs usually blow.  I mean, I love you, Kevin Smith, but seriously.

So, here it is.  This sounds really fucking awful, but people not infrequently tell me that I "know everything."  This is patently, baldly false.  I am, however, a bit of a know-it-all -- not because I really think I know everything, or even a lot of things.  It's because I can't not find out what things are/mean.  I cannot possibly be the only person in my (claustrophobic) social circle who has this particular proclivity.  I look everything up.  Like, everything.  I have an intimate, committed, and slightly pathological relationship with Wikipedia.  The only thing I insist that my parents leave me in their (joint) will is the really nice set of encyclopedias.

It's serious.  And now it's very, very real.

So.  Every day, the Aforementioned Itchy One will hit up Wiki's "random article" button and IM me with the title.  We'll see how much I really do know.  Which, seriously, isn't much.

The only rule is that I can't look it up before I write a post about it.  Rest assured that the bulk of these posts will be complete fabrications and uneducated guesses.

Let the shames begin :).