u s e y o u r h a n d s

So, last night I was out at Neo and “Girls on Film” came on. And I remembered a story I have featuring this Duran Duran classic.

One evening, I was watching the local news in Los Angeles when a story about mammography came on. The bumper music? That’s right — “Girls on Film.” I think that if I saw this now, I might laugh, but it was really offensive at the time, and I called the TV station to complain. They actually took the music off for the 11 p.m. broadcast.

Girls on Film!

Today, I asked a co-worker about her relatively new beau. She’s extremely in like with him and he recently gave her what she called, “the most beautiful poem in the world.”

Without even thinking, I said, “Have you run that through Google yet to make sure he really wrote it?”

In this case, I’m the asshole. Not even a question.

UPDATE:  The poem is an original. And I’m still an a-hole for suggesting that maybe it wasn’t.

(Oh, yes, I do realize that the title of this post is a Pavement album. And while I don’t enjoy Mr. Malkmus and his band, I will steal his title. Thanks, indie rock kids.)

So, I just got back from dancing for hours and hours. It was divine. And it’s Monday. There’s no work tomorrow and the day stretches long before me, full of possibility and hummus. Which I’m eating now. It was just insanely fun to go find some fun dance music, come home and listen to Belle and Sebastian, and then plan what kind of fruit pie I’m baking tomorrow. All with a cat doing a fun little galette around my legs.

How can any girl ask for more?

That’s the Fiddlehead Cafe in Chicago’s Lincoln Square Neighborhood. That’s the FIDDLEHEAD CAFE. Let me say it again so it’s sure to get picked up on search engines. Fiddlehead Cafe.

It’s awful. Here’s why:

- There were no vegan options on the menu. And while I don’t expect much, I think it’s sort of stupid not to have something when you run a restaurant in a yuppie neighborhood. I’m sure it’s come up a few times before.

- Anyhoo. So I ask for a veggie frittata without the eggs or cheese. And the waittress says, “Um, how’s that going to happen?”

- After Miss Snottypants walks off wiht my order, she returns 90 seconds later and says, “Um yeah, the chef won’t make anything not on the menu.” Chef, you are a dick. It wasn’t that busy in there and I wasn’t asking for anything you wouldn’t have done in making the whole frittata anyway.

- So then I ask for a fruit bowl. “I know it’s not on the menu,” I say, “But can you see if the chef will acquiesce? Otherwise, I’m not eating here.”

- And then it took 20 minutes to get the check.

- I still tipped a decent tip. But I will never go back to the Fiddlehead Cafe. It was way, way better when it was Square Kitchen. Dear Fiddlehead, Suck It. Love, Me.

So I like to lie, right? And even more than that, I like to make up fakey backstories for people. The other day at work, we were talking about this dude who was recently let go and I mentioned that he’s quite the consipiracy theorist (which he’s not actually.) “No,” I said, “he has all these outlandish theories on all kinds of stuff. Like the Kennedy Assassination. You know who he thinks killed Kennedy? Kennedy. He thinks it was a suicide.”

And it occured to me that that is the ONE theory on the Kennedy Assassination that I haven’t heard.

- Darfur
- Top ways to kill people, including pouring gas into someone’s ear
- The a.m. potential of Van Halen’s “Jump”
- Dysentery
- Frottage
- Hair bikinis
- The “importance” of an orgy room
- Cupcakes as perfect method for acquiring female attentions
- The crucifixion as staged with hip-hop performers
- How the “hot dad” from “My Two Dads” is probably on drugs
- The sexual politics of “Saved By the Bell”
- Staring contests
- The new LCD Soundsystem album
- Etc. Etc. Etc.

Was spent pedaling around Golden Gate Park and loading up on fancy vegan food. Then a hip lit cabbie zoomed us up and down the streets of Nob Hill. Oh, yeah, and listening to a drunk conventioner puke in a Sheraton parking lot. Thanks, Hotwire.com.

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