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mutual self promotion, in motion!

2007-06-03T21:28:00.000-04:00

every once in a while, teeter and i are paid by a third party to do what we do on this site for free, so in other words, every once in a while, mama gets a steak dinner and maybe a baked alaska depending on how successful that "work" is. so, with our eyes on a sweet, sweet flaming prize, teet and i are taking a moment to promote each other's most recent projects with the hope that you a, buy them, b, stop bitching about updates, and c, buy them for friends. read the book while listening to the cd even! after taking them out of a datexedge totebag? one of us! one of us!

the book sb is in, Damage Control: Women on the Therapists, Beauticians, and Trainers Who Navigate Their Bodies - by teet

Hear ye, hear ye, people of the dateXedge micro-empire! This here moment is SB's time to effing shine; the shiniest shine that ever once shined, literary gold, nobody puts baby in a corner style. Lady-dude has used her bananas people skillz and madd heffer wordsmith-ery stylings to score herself a key spot in a rad-zapping new book of essays on beauty, and as such finds herself in the company of many a fancypant lady celeb. Damage Control, published this June by HarperCollins, features works by a double bakers dozen of brilliant women (SB, Minnie Driver, Rose McGowan, pre-teen superauthor Francesca Lia Block, word!) and was edited by the ever-sasstacular Miss Emma Forrest.

No no no, totes double sware, SB and I are not gay, but yes, natch, her essay is all about me (stop! go on!). She changes my name to Kelly and describes the gnarly (GNARLY) bikini waxes I would get back when I was in a relationship that, in her (sadly, very correct) words made me "a shell of my former amazing self." OH MAN. Didja know that my stoops former selfs shell even lead to SB and I breaking up? LIFE WIFOUT HER was 2+ years of SHEER TORCHER (both parties included). Let's not mince words here, I need this lady to live, in a, totes double sware, fully not-gay way.

When she first read me the story this February on her throw-up brown and orange couch, in her otherwise lovely Silverlake apartment, I was all like "Owch! That cuts like a knife!" and then like "Oof! Is that really how I was? Dang!" and then all "OMG, love yr story so bad, am so proud yr gonna be published in a ginormous book, let's got to Vegan House, I'm chubbs and hungary." No matter the aforementioned linguistic genuis style knife cuttery, I knew every word she wrote was f'reals 100% TRUTH; the subtle ache of which a savory seitan club and soy shake could totes help heal.

Ye Olde Villagers of the dxe Shire, consider SB's contribution to this book a gateway to MAJE AWESOME PUBLISHINGS in the very near future. Let us give her a round of e-applause for bringing the sad plight of my formerly broken mind and hairless hoo-ha to the people - through her ever insiteful and hilarious voice from pen to paper or keypad to Microsoft Word or whatever. OMG LOVE THAT LADY SO PROUD GONNA PUKE CAN'T EVEN STAND IT BUY HER BOOK NOW OR FEEL OUR RATH OR HOWEVER IT IS THATCHA SPELL IT. Also, my review is not as funny as hers. Second-rateness in the world of DXE is my cross to bare.

*

teeter's new band, ladybirds, and their debut cd, "regional community theater." - by sb

when teeter and i met back in the 1970s, we were both interns at a major indie label, and while i won't say which one, it wasn't sub pop, was located in downtown nyc right above a giant neon sombrero, and was most famous for releasing ground-breaking chart toppers by acts like the arsonists, the demolition doll rods, and the wisdom of harry. while teet has since burnt her bridge to matador (whoops, that's the name) with a beef supreme-style industrial flame tosser (whoops, referenced idocracy, which nobody has seen), it doesn't really make a difference, because, with or without her months in the mail-out saltmines in exchange for mark eitzel cds, she's already got so many ties to the rock world and has left such a distinct imprint that half of her vocab just got sliced into a book about emo (whoops, forgot the bibliography trevor!).

anywho, after years of doing everything from being an internador, overseeing all manner of merch design/product/sales, and briefly fronting a fake band that allowed her to call some tween girl a cunt in front of thousands of people, teet is now singing for a real band with her friend/former fake band bandmate tyler, and she has equal creative imput for once, and she's even agreed to cover yaz's "only you," which would probably be the song playing as the first dance of our wedding were we not not gay. her new band is called LadybiRdS, crazy capitolization as an homage to aforementioned fake band initials, and their first record is called "regional community theater." it's being released on creep records, and getting reviewed in wired and thrasher and stuff, and since i read wired (while wearing a thrasher sweatshirt) (that i stole from teet in 1999 or something and she should just stop asking about it because statute of stolen goods limitations is totally over it's mine now bitch just SHUT IT), i'm ever so impressed.

and also by the songs! cuz they're all keyboardy and made of computers, and usually i hate that shit and would really just rather listen to that john prine song bonnie raitt sings about wanting to be a rodeo poster and having flies in the kitchen and all sorts of thing that make perfect sense when yr depressed as shit. but even i, who hate those new fangled keyboards and want those fucking kids to get off my goddamned lawn, i think these songs are pretty great, especially the one teeter sings with that guy from motion city soundtrack (to WHAT? that band name bugs me almost as much as the fact "law & order" should be "order & law"-- so annoying!) (that i'm just now hearing isn't on the record anymore, but whatever, wait for the limited edition plexi mp3 or what have you). i even have that song on a mix, which says a lot, because that means i actually want to hear it while stuck in traffic in some godforsaken corner of southern california, or pushing my ass up the santa monica mountain range, or writing an article about nicole richie (which i'm doing right now, i swear, and just in case you didn't know, she swears she's not rexic, so just stop asking already). and the other songs are good, too, and there are some noteworthy duets, and publishing rights sure do make lives complicated.

long story short, after a zillion years of having others snake her qualities in order to get into the spotlight, teet's finally doing it for herself, and i'm ever so proud. and it's so good! better than the wisdom of harry even, if that's possible.

*
MISC PROMOTIONAL JAMBOREE!

Unrelated to us things (dudes that will never be mine, and music from the mid-90's that I can't let go of, primarily) that I am presently obsessed with - in a whole lot less words than SB, cause she's just naturally way wordier than me, if that's even possible, and I gotta go pack for my summer of snowboarding with faux-punk teens at Mt. Hood.

teet:

A) Okkervil River - OMG best band on earth that no one seems to know about, can't be shore why, but totes don't mind. I listen to their album, "Black Sheep Boy" on perma-loop .

2) Lost, Season 2 DVD Box Set - I love Jack Shephard so bad, such a committed dude. My life is empty.

D) OMG. SITTING TWO FEET AWAY FROM BOISES FAVORITE SON - My friend Paulie (he's hystairical) and I went to the Nuerolux recently while I was visiting Boise, Idaho - and ended up sitting mere inches from Doug Martsch, lead singer of one of my all time fave bands, Built to Spill. Not to get all halftard stalker style on my very own self, but, let's not mince words here, BTS has long been a mucho important part of my musical upbringing. Dudes an ultra mega unabashed ginormo-genius. Sitting near him was way aces because I not only got to hear his speaking voice when he ordered a drink (waitress refused to let him pay. Sup, famous!), but I also got to watch him sniffle and blow his nose. The nose blowing made for some exceptional full circle mental connections (dude has a cold!) - as I had seen a giant box of tissues on the dashboard of his car earlier in the day when my friend Carter and I rode our bikes past his house 3 to 16 times in hopes of maybe seeing him, like, mowing his lawn or raking leaves or something.

14) Greg Goulet.

J) Archers of Loaf. Fer Life!

17) The little brown boy from Cannon Beach Bike Shop. He totally fixed my bike bell last week with WD-40 and a hammer. I find myself making up excuses to go there. My life is empty.

sb:

*rescue me
one thing i've come to realize about boston, now that i haven't lived there for 10+ years and have become so homesick for the east coast that i geniunely miss living among a million catholic people who have such a colorful pronounciation of the word fart, is that it is one giant small town. denis leary's "no cure for cancer" came out when i was 14 i think, and even though it's an OTT collection of jokes about shit, smoking, fucking, and basically a best of-/overdone melange of bill hicks' material (i know, i know, but i'm over it), the guy became a local hero. he's still a local hero. so is john raztenberger. and i'm sure "the departed" is going to top the boston film critics' association's best of list again this year, and next year, and on and on until another movie comes out where everybody pronounces it "faht." the ideal would be "jordan's furniture commercial: the movie!" that regional joke? becoming local legend, as we speak.

but, like i said, i'm east coast homesick, even for new york, which i was so fucking burnt out on a year ago. i spent some time there in january, when it's at its greyest and most soul-destroying, and even then, i wrote an open letter to christ their lord, begging him to deliver me to a job somewhere in the five boroughs that'd allow me the ability to afford my own (currently subletted) apartment. i went to better burger, and while waiting for my turkey deliciousness, a tv was showing ny1 and just the sight of pat kiernan made me want to weep. thank god it wasn't gary anthony ramsey, or i probably would've ripped my clothes and thrashed upon the floor. so when i finally gave in to the chorus of people telling me to watch "rescue me" (a chorus of two; emma was soprano, brendan was alto), it was pretty much the greatest thing ever.

not only is the show dripping with nyfd pride/general nyc goodness (cinema village! vesleka! horrible queens! love it!), but everyone on it is from boston. not just denis leary, but lenny clarke, who sounds like the third tappet brother from car talk, and friggin cam neely-- cam neely!-- who actually gets to play hockey and act like the fourth (not-"funny lookin'") hanson brother from slapshot. can manny cameo as a little league coach? can someone set bill weld's townhouse on fire? can there be a gay couple played by the guys who own jordan's furniture?

and oh yeah, the show is really funny, and denis leary pulls a steve coogan in that he's playing himself to his most assholish finest. i could do without the talking to ghosts, but so could denis' character, and i haven't seen season 3 (dvd out june 5th!), so maybe he does, who knows. i also heard that at the end of that season he sort of rapes his wife (!?), which is an upper level of asshole that might be just out of my reach as a viewer, but whatever, i'll cross that bridge when i come to it. maybe it's a test of my loyalty, and if i can overcome this moment in the show, jesus will deliver me back to my rightful home in manhattan, *and* give me a guild job with dental. ah, jesus. the ultimate caltholic local hero.

*bbc's robin hood
due to many factors not really worth hashing out here, my west coast life is hermity beyond my wildest dreams, hermity to the point where it's crossing over from wildest dreams into worst visions of an empty future followed by a slow, solitary decline. in order to numb myself from the stark reality of my own mortality, and the fact that i'm stuck living in a city filled with actors, trees that burst into flame, and the kind of people who cancel veronica mars, i've started watching a lot of tv. a lot. a lot to the point where i watch heroes on purpose (see my feelings about that show here). on the good side, if i weren't relying on my tivo for solid companionship, i never would have started watching robin hood on bbc america, and then i never would've gotten to see a really pretty english guy (like, gross pretty, the kind of dude who could be on east enders after amicably leaving take that and then coupling off with some one-named english celebumess that nobody in this country has ever heard of) trot around through the woods, speaking with some geordie-esque accent so thick that when he talks to his side kick, much, it sounds less like the name of canadian mtv and more like the guy who painted the scream.

said pretty guy and his band of merry men (including-- hello, 00s-- a muslim woman posing as a dude!) have sword fights with bad guys like lilly allen's dad, work with robins "luuv," a totally awesome/normal-pretty maid marion, and generally act so over the top and unabashedly corny that if you're not enjoying yourself you're beyond dead inside (ie, more dead inside than i am). plus this season ended with such finality, like they have no hopes of coming back next season, that the last shot was a freeze frame of robin and his men (and woman) jumping in the air, fists aloft, and it was such delicious cheese that i would've loved to have spread it on an some wheat bread, put a tomato on it, and fried it up for lunch. but they are coming back! and knowing bbc america, that'll probably air sometime in the '10s, but whatever, love this show, and if you've ever liked to watch actors fight, hear funny accents, or think about doing it with the animated fox in disney's robin hood until you realize you can't eff a two dimensional drawing, this is the programme for you.

[a month+ later, i've realized this is like the 10th mention on dxe.com of wanting to have relations with disney's robin hood. this means we are either a, closeted furries, b, broken, c, doomed to die alone, or d, all of the above (minus the furries thing).

*maximo park, "our earthly pleasures"
maybe it's because two of the only people i speak to in LA are english, or because, like all new englanders, i have a real fondness for the mother country (which, for my family, is actually lithuania, but who's counting), or because the pound is just that powerful right now, i don't know, but long story short, i find myself in a one-two punch of anglo-love. not only do i love robin hood, but i also love maximo park, and while one is a show and the other a band, both have fun northern-y accents and are popular in that place across the sea where it's not that hard to be popular since the country is the size of maine.

i liked the first maximo park record, "a certain trigger," but mostly just the song "the coast is always changing," which was a key summer jam last year and which can still push a car dance out of me if the stars are properly alligned. then i dl'd their recent record, "our earthly pleasures," and i think i've been listening to it almost nonstop for at least a coupla months. and i never do that, or at least haven't done that since the days where i wore only band t-shirts, wrote for zines, and generally gave a shit. i wrote a huge review of this record here (shut up, scroll down), but it was mostly an excuse to rant about other shit (kind of a trend, eg, what you're reading right now), and at the time, i merely "liked" this cd, as opposed to now, when i "need it to live." not all the songs are gold, but the first 3 and the last 4 are like platinum dipped in tastidelite set in diamonds filled with unicorn tears.

and, like robin hood, they are kind of fortified with cheese and an accent that turns the word "luck" into "look" like magic, but unlike robin hood, our hero, singer paul smith (whose name i only recently learned, and which i can actually remember thanks to the clothes i can't afford that share his name), is not gross pretty, but bald. or on the way to bald. first record, he had the creepiest, ambulence-chaser-like, hitlery, giuliani x10 x10 combover. and in videos they'd just try to show his face, cuz it's a nice face, but then bam, he steps back and there's this rainbow of all dark brown pulled over his scalp with a little curl at the end for extra ew. somebody, maybe one of the girls from one of his songs that has tortured his poor, combed-over soul, bought him a bowler hat, and it's a huge improvement. then another girl got him one of those army-y hats from 5 years ago that were supposed to be the next trucker hat but didn't really catch on. i think the baseball hat is just from his mom, but long story short, the comb over is now under a vast collection of headwear. maybe by the next record he'll have a buzz cut and i'll actually want to make out with him.

vs

as it stands, pretty much everything but the band's music is negligible to me, because the more i find out about bands, especially english ones, the less i like them. still, they're two for two record wise, which ain't bad, and since both the new qotsa and shellac cds kinda blow (boring and boring, respectively), it looks like me and "our earthly pleasures," or at least the last 4 songs, are on our way to a combover of the heart.

ps: i second okkervil river, esp since i pushed them on teet in the first place, and would like to remind the world that they are originally from new hampshire, and also that new hampshire is the last state in the union without a seatbelt law, and that okkervil river are playing in concord in july, and that i probably can't go but if i did go i wouldn't be stupid enough not to wear my seatbelt, and also that's not that funny but i wanted to bring it full circle. i'm done now.

dxe first ever POETRY CONTEST open call!

2006-10-06T14:41:00.000-04:00

teets note:
ARGH MATEY!
ahoy there (micro, if any) pirate readership,*

exciting new dxe development: in the wake of our oodles of free time, sb and I have recently started a slam poetry troupe that performs never and sticks to only 1 theme, as dictated by newly instated (sp?) troupe bylaws. the name of our troupe (and the 1 phrase that is required to appear as the final line of all of troupe poems) is REGRETTABLE NAKED TIMES. (see: fruit of google image search below)

we are asking (all 2 of) you to submit your best, most earnest poetry samples detailing the harshest REGRETTABLE NAKED TIMES you can bare to put to paper. best (read: all 2) submissions will be posted here on the front page of dxe interweb hq and one lucky winner will git to go on a date with us to atlas never because we don't live on the east coast anymore.

please expect our first submissions to be made by either john carney or lauren austin, as they are the above mentioned only 2 people who read this site. i would also like to see something sent in by this dude bryce hackman that i just met as he majored in poetry in college and that fact kindof blows my mind (pieces everywhere style.)

thank you in advance with yr help in this matter.
TS

* - we don't mean pirates in a 'burg-ian, post-ironic mid-bullshit, hobos-are-the-new-pirates kind of thing. we just thought it was a funny intro.

sb's note:
the phrase regrettable naked times comes from my description of my enemy #1 (all about giving myself credit in the 06-07 school year), and since we've all had many of them, the two people who read this site will have no trouble coming up with some real doozies. (see further google image search fruit below. that is shame. channel it.)

oh! lauren and other guy, make sure you sign yr poem with yr name and location, eg, veronica mars, neptune, california. but don't pretend to actually be veronica mars cuz that crosses the line into internetsad.

oh! oh! the last words of every poem must be "regrettable naked times." that's the law. as such, haiku are not admissable unless yr trying some 7-9-7 shit, which seems kinda bullshitty, but whatever.

*

starter poetry examples by either ts or sb (we share a hive mind tho so none are signed):

1.
saw yr parts
wanna barf
you were mine
now get in line
for regrettable naked times

2.
I touched yr d.
As you watched tv.
I had that thing UP!
As you played fifa world cup.
Yr disinterest shines. And also -
you've got the BO.
Regrettable naked times.

3.
went in for the death grope
then abandoned hope
our love didn't last
but at least the sex was fast
regretable naked times

4.
Yr d is hairy
and that sweat smell is scary.
I cry myself to sleep.
I incessantly fear
yr tongue in my ear.
God, please my virginity keep.
Regrettable naked times.

5.
had to give you the complete tour of my zone
since a woman's parts you did not know
you needed the facts
like, don't touch me like that
regrettable naked times

UPDATE: new (and more pointed-- owch!) contributions:

never met something you couldn't hate
cept my cash, which you loved to take
now we're not in the sack
you won't give it back
regrettable naked times

Yr were my man, but it was a joke
I lentchu money cause you were broke
When we came to that place
When I stopped kissing yr face
You took my dough and ran
I just went and bought mace
To kick yr ass I will race
Hipster minion you know I can
Every generous girl dates slimes, hence
REGRETTABLE NAKED TIMES

yr a thief, a drunk, a hack
i want my fucking money back
our sexin lead to your web of lies?
REGRETTABLE NAKED TIMES.

Yr life has been impossibly hard
That fragile latin heart is scarred
You've got free reign to be a fucktard
I want my money back, assface.
REGRETABLE NAKED TIMES.

stayed in nyc for eight weeks
enough to hate life again and kick it to a creep
came home to spent bottles of wine
and hair that isn't mine
(shed during some else's)
REGRETABLE NAKED TIMES

now yr turn! make us proud! if you don't, screw you guys, we'll just write more ourselves. nobody's funnier to us than us anyway, and we are one of us.
-ts/sb

ps: check the comments and prepare to pee pants!

DXE ENEMIES #1 (THRU 7)

2006-10-03T14:34:00.000-04:00

prologue: while this entry is pretty hate-filled, please note that both ts and sb currently live in the woods, don't wear shoes, and, like, make their own bread and shit. we both look/feel like old school neil young and have generally burried all the drama from our new york days but sometimes it's fun to go thru ye olde feuds, like a clip show on yr favorite sitcom. so enjoy!

*

as if we haven't stressed this enough, we love atlas cafe on 2nd ave. we eat their food, gossip with their employees, and spend overnights there painting the menu on the wall in exchange for pocket change and all the cake we can eat. while those nights are usually good times that leave us with positive memories, renewed appreciation for team dresch, and a drawer full of pants that no longer fit thanks to unlimited chocolate-encased strawberry shortcake, the one downside is that somebody keeps ripping the datexedge sticker off the wall that we've strategically placed right near where we've signed our names under our menu craftsmanship. aw rootbeer thought to laminate it right to the plaster, *and it still got defaced/stoled/toe' up*. so while we used to think people loved the stickers and wanted to give them good homes (teet's note: one did end up scanned on some brazilian post-hardcore chatboard, no lie), now we think it's more likely somebody hates them. or rather, hates us. and we're not actually that surprised.

you see, if yr gonna be as loud and proud as we are, AND live in the same city for decade give r take, AND occasionally fraternize with people from wrong island, yr gonna make enemies. so here's our suspect list for stickergate2000. we lay the case, partner in crime serves as judge. all the parties listed should be ashamed of themselves, really, whether they f'd with the sticker or not.

***

SB Suspect/Enemy #3: college people. wait, not people-- actors.

the beef: i don't really know, cuz they started it, but whatever, they're actors.

the motive: i went to nyu for writing, but a lot of people in my department were writer/actors, maybe because they were *so* self-involved that they could not imagine better lines to deliver than those written for/by themselves. anyway, i was young and a recovering actor myself so i befriended these people, and we tried to make a movie together which i a, financed from my savings, b, filmed in my hometown which meant everyone had to stay at my parents' house, and c, pretty much single-handedly organized, so naturally, the experience ended with everyone hating my guts and resenting the fuck out of me. if you've never been instantly hated before by a small group of people, and i hadn't been, let me tell you, you really aren't missing out. it was like the most psychotic mean girls scenario, except some of these girls were really just girly men, we weren't in high school anymore, and i had to live with/share a bathroom with 2 of these people, one of whom took more of my resources than my dog does in that i not only fed her (she stole my food), cleaned up after her (never met a dish she couldn't not do), and managed her toilet time (only suckers like me buy tp), but also had to hear her run lines. at the time i didn't get how people could be so quickly hateful-- and en masse, no less!-- and i still don't, but at least now the disdain is mutual. if they've taken my fucking sticker, they can shove it up their insane, meisner-trained assholes. none of them were particularly punk rock, but maybe they're just going wherever the eating disorder wind blows them, ie, to a vegan cafe.

teet's side/verdict: Ok Ok, the only actor I ever knew SB to know in college was that kid who now stars in that superstupid sitcom which, natch, is not very good and films in L.A. There was also one other medium fameous dude, oh yes, that's right, Jason Schwartzmann's best friend whose name I cannot recall, who, at the time, was most intriguing to us, because, Rushmore was still life-changing then (Karen Patch 4ever!) and JS had yet to become a classic case Hollywood full-tard. That said, if these dudes are in New York at all, they are likely spending time uptown with Bijou Phillips or that Latina VJ from Fuse. And as long as Atlas leaves their vegan chicken salad unwrapped overnight, has pools of standing water in the kitchen and roaches cruising all throughout the espresso machine, it will probably always be located in it's cozey dirtnook at 2nd ave and 5th street. That said, unlikely candidates indeed, SB don't hate, hearmenow.

sb's response: dude, none of the actors i'm refering to ever were/will be successful. duh. those famousy guys were aw rootbeer's friends who i cannot remember so well as i met them in the post-actorpocolypse fall-out. my former friends are now doing dinner theater in branson or selling appliances. just fyi.

*

SB Suspect/Enemy #2:hockey people

the beef: for calling them out on being babies, telling them to go fuck themselves, ignoring pissy emails, and generally not hand-holding spoiled man and women-children in the way they think they deserve.

the motive: for what seems like 293893 years, i've run a hockey league in the LES. i founded it with the intention of meeting people and playing a fun sport badly, but around season 2 or 3 we got some people who didn't really have a sense of humor and kind of changed the league from being casual friday and silly to rules intensive and, for those of me running it, a job. some of those people were just investment bankers letting off steam, some were people who were repeating the psychotic hockey dad cycle, and some, natch, were from long island. all could easily be pissed at me for being the place where the buck stopped/the wielder of the hammer when it went from an upright to a down position/head nigga in charge, like when i was the deciding vote to punish a guy who *punched someone in the face*. nobody in the league had the courage to kick him out, and i had to be the one to say, hi, he punched someone in the face, goodbye. so now a bunch of ex-hardcore kids-- scratch that, just hardcore kids, because hardcore kids are like alcoholics and must always be referred to as hardcore kids in the present tense since they're tied with high school football stars in terms of owning property on memory lane and never ceasing to relive their glory days of wearing t-shirt sleeves on their heads and crying (teet: also, finger-pointing also) in the front row, at least if they've had a few beers which is funny since the days they look back so warmly on were probably all about not drinking and wearing many, many xxl t-shirts with slogans relating to that fact (with sleeves sometimes removed to be used as headbands), but i digress. anyway, this group of kids with regrettable straight edge tattoos, homies of the puncher/a doucheload* of kids from long island, would all have no problem calling me a cunt to my face if they saw my in the street. and i'm pretty sure they're all vegans since sietan must taste great with whiskey.

^=i am just now realizing that the second season of hockey was best, third almost as good, 4th hit a rhythm, and it all sort of got boring from there, and now i'm pretty much leaving after the seventh season, which means THE HOCKEY LEAGUE IS JUST LIKE BUFFY HOLY SHIT MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH.

*=as whales come in a pod and crows come in a murder, long island kids come in a doucheload. you can look it up.

teet's side/verdict: Dudes, from what I've been able to gather, hockey people don't care about anything cepta drinking themselves and each other under the table each Sunday at Welcome To The Johnsons, winning games, and spreading word that SNL hockey-loving Canadian laugh-factory Mike Meyers plays in their league. Oh, that and working their part part part-time dirtbag Generation Records/Kate's Joint/Beacon's Closet jobs or crunching endless numbers from their Wall Street high-rise/glass-encased conference room/ bullshit executive posish at Globo Chem-Corp (Ed's note: Since the dawn of BTSH, two equally gross yet opposing social worlds have fully collided in the name of the sport. This upsets SB greatly as she hates dude TMs.)

For as far back as I can remember, each weekend SB would have a crush on a nerdy new hockey dude, who in many cases was way gay/short bus/pterodactyl looking and still holding his V card, and who, within 3 games, she oft ended up hating anyway - which is funny and classically SB - although they nevs s'much seemed to hate her back.

Even double moreover, the one time I watched all of them closely interact with her was when she threw last years end of season hockey party at the Delancey Lounge – and, at their drunkest, wiliest and most offensive they still treated her much like I would imagine Warren Jeffs insanebrains Mormon followers treat him, ie, like an EFFING DEITY.

In summing up, although she is a full-whiz on all other subjects, SB is kindof a paranoid half-tard on this one, I think, in part, because years ago she had to kick off that whole team of (shock!) poorly raised, full-tard Wrong Islanders – and has since convinced herself that league-wide everyone hates her gutz, when, in fact, as previously mentioned, they think in total tunnel vision about only the few things listed above, and as for the dudes, probably about quiet Asian girls as well.

Also also, just this very second, on the Instant of Messengers, which, much like teenagers, we communicate on incessantly, SB just asked me to please please mention that: "now no one knows who i am cuz i've been away and they're just all drunx anyway", which, also, unfortchunately, totally blows up her own tenuous spot, cause if someone doesn't even know who you are, how can they shanghai yr much-adored vinyl sticker collection from a restaurant they don't even know you go to? In summation, I win. Verdict overturned. Thank you. That is all.

sb's response: whatevs, motion granted.

*

SB Suspect/Enemy #1: misc ex-boyfriends.

beef: my ignoring emails in which they tried to sincerely/aggressively passive-aggressively "apologize", their having too much pain in their man-ginal regions to confront me to my face, general bad vibes since our long ago, regrettable naked times.

their motives: ever since my falling out with the acting community, i've tried to purge my life of drama on all other fronts as well. i know when to hold em, know when to roll em, and when things start to sour/i am dumped on my ass, i know when to walk away and when to run (but kind of the other way around). that said, if things start to dissolve between me and a co-sexer, i don't want to prolong the entropy; let's just say it's over and maybe reconvene one day when we don't give a shit anymore and the thought of each other's genitals makes our respective stomachs turn. natch, it never really works out that way, either because i'm pissed or because i'm pissed, and with rare exceptions, relationships end with me never wanting to speak to that dude again. the problem is that that dude, if i've dated him at least, is a metaphorical eunuch (see: milton photo above), so, while he wants to talk to me, he fears my wrath if he tries, so instead he "tries." i've had ex-boyfriends declare their yearning to talk to me on internet message boards, via friends in very, very awkward moments, and by naming their bands after their desire to kill me, so if one of said dudes was trying to get to me by ripping down my stickers, it would be both pathetic and par for the course.

seriously, for whatever reason, i have the world's worst taste in dudes, because even if all of these dudes aren't awful people, we were awful together, hence the dxe lifestyle i embrace today. what they don't realize is that the real wrath comes out when they pull shit like the acts mentioned above, ie, try with just half of their asses. someday, i will date a grown-ass man who can fix his car, has an insanely well-trained dog, and has felt a wounded woodland animal's lifespirit leave its body due to an injury he has caused it in order to use all of its parts down to the hooves, and the wound is most likely caused by a bow and arrow and my future man's excellent marksmanship, but if it's a firearm wound instead, i'll deal. because if this magical dude wants to talk to me and/or call me on some shit, you can be shit sure he'll just show up at my door-- no crazy voicemail, no myspace postings (dude ain't even on myspace, duh), no breakdowny word salad emails that he's written after i've said i need time off because said emails don't violate the time off rule according to him for reasons i'll never understand-- and he will make his thoughts known and generally take action even if he's totally wrong like most dudes usually are.

honestly, i would rather have these guys come up and fight with me than pull the shit they seem to be pulling now. then again, these are the kind of lads famous for projecto-pologies, ie, apologies that are actually passive-aggressive insults. eg,"i'm sorry you won't write me back, i'm sorry you've decided to hurt me, i'm sorry you're such a cold hearted supercunt," etc. if you're a dude and you do this, heads up, you're not being contrite, you're being a manipulative, passive-aggressive asshole. and if you look up passive-aggressive asshole on wikipedia, you'll see pictures of pretty much every dude i've ever boned.

and of course they all know atlas since 10 years in nyc put me in a scene jail that managed to rival the one i grew up in in terms of incestuousness and gossip, cept a boston is the size of a single block in long island city and new york has 3990teen million people, although only a 7teen million of those people are vegan record nerds and of that scene there are only a handful of dudes who don't find me instantly terrifying/strictly date japanese women/immediately suck. and oh yeah they all enjoy cake. not that magical dream guy doesn't like cake, but his cake probably has meat in it. and cheese. oh my god i love him.

teet's side/verdict: Ok check it: this one is not as improbable as the others because, even though she is the single most cynical, judgmental and hysterical person I know; near constantly mocking bike messengers, Philadelphia, Long Island, Mumia, quiet Asian girlfriends and each years crop of awful new bands - SB's past men, with the exception of one, who is an unabashed ginormo-tard, have seemed relatively harmless and well, pretty loving, even if full-on awkwardly so.

Howevs, they have also, most ironically, been the knee-deepiest scene dudes this side of the Mr. Roboto Project or Sean Agnew. And even though the owners of Atlas, a gaggle of well-intentioned skeeezy young dude TM's from Tunisia, can't for the life of them figure out why the "kids who smell awful, wear a lot of black and always always order the Mississippi Chicken Chops" love their cafe so much, let's not lie: we all know that for chow, this place is a scenehog prerequisite, that's why, everytime we go, since the year of Our Lord 1998, we see that medium-cute quiet kid who played in Antarctica, eating by himself. With that in mind, I think, in specific regard only to the ginormo-tard scene-king ex-bf, that he is totally likely jacking our goods over a romantic Mississippi Chicken chops dinner with his quiet Asian girlfriend - because someone once told me that he covertly lurks on the dxe.com and curses SB's good name on chatboards.

sb's response: you call it full-on and awkward, i call it suffocating and self-centered, let's call the whole thing off.

***

TEET Suspect/Enemy: #3: Long Island, New York

Beef: A History Of Violence.

Motives: Ah, Long Island and anyone on the earth entire raised outside of Long Island - two worlds that, by the grace of its giant non-universal moral fiber and sense of propriety, were never (ever? ever ever. - whattup Outkast!) meant to collide. I'd never heard of this special place until I was 20 yrs old, which is bizarre because I grew up a scant hour away, but, apropos of nothing, I am also 100% F'reals Attention Deficit With Hyperactivity Disorder, so it is simultaneously not that weird.

Without getting into too much detail, cause Mom would be way bummed, Long Island and I, Nassua County if we are to be detail-oriented, waged all-out war on each other during the years of Our Lord 1999 to 2003, with the final months seeing the most shrapnel fly. This war entailed not only yr standard procedure emo chatboard sabatogery, but bicycle theft mixed with equal parts intense emotional abuse and scandalous job loss. 3+ years later the legacy of some of these dynamic events lives on negatively in the heart of many a doucheload (all of whom eat at Atlas and never tip,) including but not limited too that mouthy Hispanic dude that I've never met who plays bass badly in Cobra Starship. That's not too say that gaggles don't look back on it fondly too: as getting a slutty 20th wave mainstreamo superfan who was stealing limited edition Nike colorways fired from her super sweet job at Foot Locker fer snaking yr man is kindof effing awesome, no matter how you slice it. 5 out of 5 non Long Islanders agree.

In summing up, those kids love claiming straightedge even though they all ultimately break it - and since the DXE stickers in question are a parody of said meaningless movement - stealing them seems like a natural extension of everyone's collective letting go issues. Howevs, in retrospect, if I the chance to do it all over, I would have just joined the Peace Corp or would have waged war on Connecticut instead, as though kids don't hang out in the city quite as much. Hell, hindsight is 20/20.

SB's Verdict: first of all, i'm shocked that teet can talk about wrong island without invoking the Guido Overnight Toiletry Drawer, ie the drawer of he-products her soon-to-be-cokehead, at-the-time-cheating-cocksucker boyfriend left at her house so he and his chinstrap beard could start every day looking their very Guido best. second, with apologies to my two friends from long island who seems normalish (sup sheela and brendan who will never read this!), teet is 100% dead on, those kids are broken and should never venture further inland than floral park lest they contaminate the rest of civilization. i say that they are very likely guilty, or at least one of them is (see below , C.Blech), and i sentence them to being barred from the texas is the reason reunion show and having go to p.f. changs with their moms instead. they also have to pay because mom probably does their laundry right down to folded underwear and deserves a little gratitude.

*

TEET Suspect/Enemy #2: The Locust

Beef: Musically inaccessible, Murder-On-Yr-Ears Rock Band That Can't Handle Criticism.

Motive: In the year of Our Lord 2001 I participated in an invite-only pro-Locust/anti-Locust roundtable for a controversial punk rock fanzine (whattup Jessica Hopper!) where I was staunchly anti-Locust. As it was, I had just seen them fully destroy an Elks Hall in suburban Michigan as the elderly Elks stood by and watched in frozen old-guy shock and sadness. Also, even prior to that, I had been unable to appreciate their catalogue of sonic hellscape-ery, even if their (kindof hot) rexic frontman was in Swing Kids. The threatening phone calls from band member Joey began shortly after the Hit It Or Quit It issue was published and continued for quite some time after, years, I think. Negative chit-chat to mutual friends followed suit, with the most recent case dating back to last week (whattup 5 years later! Dang, do my acts of negative awesomeness have staying power or what?). Even the sending of an apologetic greeting card, (ie, drawing of a little little man holding a white flag ((made of a toothpick and construction paper) with a thought bubble that read 'truce', handmade by me, natch), to Justin Pierson (lead screamers) San Diego PO Box did not help improve the sad state of affairs, which is total drag city because, as you can see from above, it is ever so rare that I make conflict-ending efforts.

Far be it from me to understand how a band that makes weird music for dirt merchant social Outkasts (whattup Outkast!) can't take a little smack talk from a lowdmouth Tardbonics loving lowdmouth. In conclusion, Justin is apparently vegan, although I've heard from a credible source that he rarely eats, and we all know that Atlas is tops for meeting complex sets of vegan needs (even those that do not exist.) Not to make hugely self righteous assumptions, but I bet he Google searches my name, see the endless text about our love for Atlas and then tries to think of ways he can get revenge during those times when he is in NYC not eating. Hence, his sworn vendetta against my stickers.

SB's verdict: ok, ignoring the fact that talking shit is a national pastime for people who have the internet, opinions, and haircuts - the locust, at least when they were at their height/relevant (ooh, did she just say that? here we go again!), were constantly getting into feuds, including one involving a fake florida band that called themselves "ton-e loc-ust" and came into fake-existence only to threaten to open for the locust during their local show (story courtesy of roy styles, tm). when yr sparring with bands that don't exist, on top of wearing costumes and making music that, if it's not the mythological frequency that makes people shit themselves, can still be described as "the brown sound," you need to relax. and maybe have a little nosh. so i doubt it was them who destickered us, but if it was, i would sentence them to 48 hours in a room watching the 40 year old virgin, coming to america, anchorman, airplane!, etc brazil-style with their eyeballs pulled open so they can learn what humor is. that or a scared straight-style intervention where the aforementioned elks confront them on how their feelings were hurt by the locusts actions so everyone can have a good, cathartic cry.

*

TEET Suspect/Enemy #1: "C. Blech" [i made teet give him an alias because i truly believe he's nuts and that if we put his full name on the internet teet will wake up in the night with him standing over her, face done up in camo paint, knife in hand, trying to steal the breath from her mouth before stabbing her many, many times. -sb]

Beef: A Raging 5-Year Run of Sporadic Hater-y.

Motive: Although he fits squarely into the straight-up terrifying LI category on a number of levels {whattup, Suffolk County!}, this weasel merits his own {fr}enemy standing based solely on the swiftitude with which he has created dramatsunamis around me, ever since the day we first met, in the year of our Lord 2001, in Long Island, ewh, but natch. Dude is 18 or something now and is a primo fibber of the most highest order. Case in point - he just "hates" Atlas and sposedly "never goes there" because he's "so sick" of the Vegan Chicken Sandwich, and well, frankly, all of the ten million 999,947,585,82 8,000 and a 1/2 other menu items available are "gross." Howevs, shockingly, my non-bitches in attendance at Fat Club meetings have reported seeing him there on something like 3 to 16 occasions. And those sightings were all way late at night too, total covert ops style, almost as if he knows he's being watched - which would, on nites when I'm slacking on having the surveillance team on duty out in the field - provide his wildly Sketchy D style a perfect chance to yank our stickers. Even though they are now LAMINATED TO THE WALL, dudes hate runs deep.

Motives pt 2: C. Blech was sposed to drop 3 hundy to help pay for the first ever wave of DXE merchery in 2004 or something when SB and I were at our primo most broke ever into perpetuity and beyond throughout the universe. Sadly, before we were able to secure his cash moneys - he and I stepped into the ultimate battledome and didn't speak for like 3 to 16 years or something. Hard truth is, he must be feverishly jealous and filled with regret that he missed his chance to be an integral part of this unabashedly retardo mini-empire and can't handle those constant in-his-face graphical reminders at such times when he is NOT at Atlas at midnite ordering a sandwich he totally hates.

Also, as previously mentioned, he's kind of a liar, but one can only hold that medium against him considering the geographic surroundings in which he was raised. In the history of history of all time ever ever - no honesty, justice or righteousness has ever come out of that place -except fer Public Enemy, Long Island Iced Teas and Foot Locker in the Garden City Mall (sup, slut!).

Also also, back when he was like was way young and I was the make-out bandit and before his first wave of dramatsunamery hit I would occasionally kiss his face and touch his 1950's style bathing suit region, that is, until I skipped town to do the same with someone else. Oof.

Also also also, he constantly asks for presents that he gave me back and, natch, I always say no.

SB's verdict: have to say, of the doucheload of LI kids that want yr head on a steak and gaggle of passive fucks who curse me under their breath, this lil' guy is our most likely candidate. unlike the other people on our lists, C. Blech gives hating you his all, texting/calling constantly, sitting outside your house, and generally living his own one-man lifetime movie of the week that, were you to appear in it, would co-star you played by tori spelling. he also embodies what frustrates me most about 99% of the LI-ers i know (so close to liar yet so far!), which is the little-boy-victim attitude; why is the world against me, why won't you be my friend anymore, where are my mommy's ever-loving arms, etc. and it's like, dude, remember the way you were an asshole? said mean shit to me? or, in my case, punched loud adam in the face? and remember from, ya know, being alive that doing bad shit often has consequences? and that "friendship" is usually defined by two people who enjoy talking and keeping each other's company, not one desperate guy who unrequitedly stalks his "friend" and then, as a token of his friendship, tears her stickers off the wall? i swear to god there's something in the water coming out of plainview or wherever that stunts the drinker's emotional growth at age 12. cb practically swam in that shit, but also he's nuts, and ps, he has since found work for american exploiter, er, apparel. which is really all we had to say in the first place. so, long story short, i'm pretty sure he's guilty, pretty sure he's standing outside teeter's building right now wearing a black hooded sweatshirt with love and hate tattoo'd on his knuckles, pretty sure his punishment should be carried out by the proper authorities. ie, the nypd. most of which probably live on long island.

*********************

BONUS: OUR CO-ENEMY

Suspect/enemy: G+ra$d C<>L=Y (Google-proofed) - President and Owner, Matador Records.
Beef: A (most retarted amazing ever) Myspace related e-war (myself, SB and J. Ho vs. G+ra$$d C<>L=Y and his nationwide team of dying hipster indie elitist minions.)

Motives:

teet's take: Mid-sweetbeef, my (Rest In Peace) party blog, where said sweetbeef was being detailed and commented on, was receiving up to 6,000 hits a day. Our continuous, now web-fameous claims of G+ra$d C<>L=Y eating rotisserie chicken while getting his back waxed and plucking messages into his Sidekick earned us a fleet of insta-enemies and devout superfans. Let's not lie, we said some of the meanest things ever - many of which, natch, I penned, and so, as you, our (micro, if any) readership may know, involved not a cohesive though t in the bunch - thereby giving G+ra$d C<>L=Y the opp to name my style of writing "Tardbonics," which, I'm fairly certain, he was hoping would e-bum me out, but instead this (effing brilliant vocab overthrow) only heightened my manic stoke and helped me kick out weeks more worth of mouthy, music related linguistic incomprehensibles. Also, from what we've been told through the gossip grapevine, this e-war put a sad end to his hipster baseball blog. O.w.c.h

Granted, dude lives in London, but with the release of the new Chavez record, it is not ridiculous to suspect that he would have the dough to fly the corporate jet over to 2nd Ave and 5th street to jack our wares.

sb's take: i got into this whole mess by stating my opinion re: myspace, which is an opinion i stand by to this day: if you are putting a profile on the internet that showcases you to your e-fullest, you're doing it to get attention and play the game of "whoever has the most friends wins." this is truer than ever a year .5 later, since "thanks for the add" now counts as a heartfelt exchange in the myspace world of e-friendship, but why g3r8937rd, or anyone, would refuse a "friend" is kind of beyond me. you can ignore that "friend," i guess -- i do that in real life all the time, i live in new hampshire! -- but to reject someone for not making it past your e-velvet rope is just sad. it's fuckin' myspace, dude, so yr pristene profile is already forced to share most of a URL with a community made up of half-naked 15 year olds who mistake attention from perverts for love (and often have their toddlers wandering in the background of their noodz), a zillion fake larry the cable guys, and juggalos. while i still think g5r43d c000sl*y should get over himself, i concede that teet's stream of consciousness e-tantrum was a little below the belt, if only because the shrapnel hit other members of the matador staff, including at least one who didn't deserve it. it reminded me of that moment playing with friends as a kid when someone would get hurt or the baby of the group would start crying or someone else would out of nowhere want to take their toys and go home. ie, it was the moment the fun died. but still, conflict! was a long time ago, we're all old now and in the scenester retirement home, let's all listen to tom petty and make fun of sufjan stevens together, shall we?

also, sorry for using e- so much.

also also, who would have thunk that sub pop would emerge from the 90's major indie clash of the titans with their cred intact and with a better roster? or is it just me, or is cred kind of a passe notion now that a blogger can pick up a demo by ratfuck and the asshats and say that it's changed his life, and then a million bloggers fill flikr with pictures from the RF&TAH show at cakeshop, and then pitchfork gives them an 8.3. no, 8.4. meanwhile, ratfuck and the asshats used to be a fuse-style 6 piece (guitar, drums, bass, two screamers [one a former horn player from his days in ska-tological humor] and a guitar player again) whose name was just the image of a single tear and who happened to make really awful music that would probably garner a pitchfork review in the negative integers and not even make it to warped tour's 8th stage on top of the portashitters?

but i digress. anyway, his sportsblog lives on, so much for wishful thinking.

SB's Verdict: since g cissy is in town for the latest jean paul sartre experience ep, i'm guessing he's spending all his time dining at michael and zoe's and angelika's with stephen malkmus and liz phair, hitting shows at brownies and tramps, boasting about the atlantic deal, and just living it up 1996-style, because that is where i imagine him to be frozen in lucite, because part of me is frozen there, too. [insert quiet, sad moment of reflection here.] [i'm just going to shut up now because my fingers ache from verbiage.]

teet's verdict: Dude didn't remember me from my year long torcherous unpaid internship, hence refusing to accept my fake bands Myspace friend request; and thusly inciting the wellspring of hateful web-wordery, but Lord knows he remembers me now! To be honest, from the tone of his text during said e-war, nestled snugly between his moments of total e-maliciousness aimed squarely at me, I think it is fair to say that some of his words read like we really hurt his feelings; in part, because we are young and he is not and we said as such, repeatedly, and being at the receiving end of someone pulling the youth card always cuts like a knife. My guess is that, as a 65+ year old dying hipster, who is desperately holding onto his last moments of relevancy through the work of Chan Marshall - and who is surely taking stock on what his life has become (a la the 'Hurt' Johnny Cash video) that he would rather just avoid the painful memory of us altogether. So what if on the internets he gold-fronted like he came out on top in all of this blog drama; in the confines of his London based, Railroad Jerk funded micro-castle, I know he cried himself to sleep while snotting all over his No Pocky For Kitty pillow case, wishing earnestly for the Homestead Records days of yore.

With all that meanness aside, he's defs no suspect for stealing our dxe stickers, dude's too busy putting out bad records.

***

Teet's Editors note: In summing up, despite how this whole featurette may read, I am not an awful person, was just bored and feisty in my younger years. Now I live alone in the woods (for real). Thank you, that is all.

SB's Editor's note: i also live alone in the woods, but soon i'm moving to the west coast, so fuck all the haters, keep yr stickers, i'm out.

SB and I Might Be The Only People To Ever Read This X-tra Wordy Interview, Besides Lauren Austin. At The Thought Of This, I Shed A Single Tear. By, TS

2006-09-02T21:56:00.000-04:00

SB Bennett Jackson-Lamay, besides being the most text intensive person I know outside of myself, is my total handsdown bestie fer life, as well as my partner in the datexedge mini-empire, as well as inexplicably hilarious. I know her better than I know anyone on the earth entire, yet because of our mutual fascination with both ourselves and each other - I thought it best to do the LONGEST INTERVIEW IN THE WORLD WITH HER FOR NO APPARENT REASON. Viva 2006 and our dual oodles of spare time.

1. Yr my best bud on earth, hands down. That is why I am interviewing you. I am obsessed with myself, flat out. That said, even though this is yr interview, lets start off by asking me a funny interview question. You have my solemn vow that I will do my best to answer it real funny-like.

1a.SB QUESTION: why are we both so in love with younger dudes? is it because we are both in towns where we are the sole single representatives of the/our (coveted) 26-32 demographic? because we/i work with older women and yarnstuffs all day and am even starting to think the 20 year old at the coffee shop next door who looks like alfred e. neuman seems hot because he has a lot of tattoos and a pulse (and 20's being generous, but i'm guessing he's not 16 unless he started getting tattoos at birth, but if he is that young i'm pretty sure i could go to jail just for writing this)? or because all dudes our age who aren't life partnered up are bald and or drug addicted? where's oprah when you need her?

1b. TEETER ANSWER (be forewarned: not as funny as I had initially anticipated): As we both know, I have severe cases of tanorexia, post nasal drip and mental/emotional arrested development. I am so effing old yet I insist on believing/living/acting like I am still a teenager. Some of my current besties in life, besides you, natch, are 14 to 17 years old. I identify with them on such a solid cultural and intellectual and musical level. In fact, my crankypants 31 year-old sister and I just got into a knock down, drag-out battle while I was trashed on cheap red wine because she said my favorite 16 year-old boypal ever, Gordon Levy, couldn't sleep over in the living room on the aerobed, by himself, after the big emo show next week because he was too young to be in her house and that it was super weird of me to even ask. Also, I love project dudes and the younger ones tend to be way more effed up. Also, Oprah is eating lean grilled chicken in a white wine and sun-dried tomato reduction with her full-time personal chef while blogging about how much she hates James Freys gutz. Obvi! Also, the song Clean Sheets by the Descendents is undeniably very excellent. Also also, apropos of absolutely nothing, I kindof hate Matt Owens. Thank you, that is all.

2. Who would you rather tongue smooch and also maybe touch in the bathing suit region: Jess Mariano from the Gilmore Girls, Logan Echolls from Veronica Mars, Jack from LOST or Angel from Buffy? Matthew Fox is one hot piece of ayass. I know from experience.

I currently live alone in rural new hampshire (tm), so thinking about intimate times with fictional characters takes up a big chunk of my day. it's hard tho, because their real life actor counter parts usually get in the way of my warm thoughts, and as much myself and, say, the kid from everwood would enjoy exploring each other's bodies, i can't get over the fact that said actor (ew) might be canadian/l ron tarded/like, 18 years old. so as i weigh the pros/cons of each character, the lines between fiction and reality might be blurred a bit, so prepare to go through the looking glass, people.

jack from lost: i am getting this out of the way up front because i don't watch lost. i know. i know i should watch lost. i should watch it and try to figure out the stupid numbers and be upset they killed the drunk 'rican girl off. BUT, the thing is, there is no room right now in sarah's tv obsession inn. veronica mars is taking up most of the top floor, gilmore girls has the presidential suite, and now sports night dvds are sharing tandem rooms by the pool. so lost has to wait at least 2 years until it makes its way up the waiting list, and besides, that guy was on party of five where he had a mullet, face moss and an on/off relationship with a bipolar skeleton. VERDICT: i don't know this guy from a hole in the ground and he needs to shave his face.

logan from veronica mars: as you and i both know, dudes on tv named logan are bad news; their characters are usually as unbelievable and contrived as the "wacky" name the show's scribes chose from the "baby names like montana and hunter" book they have in the writers room. in addition to being named for an airport, this logan a, has frosted tips, b, shops at toosh in the west village, specifically for fitted printed tee and manly windbreaker twin sets, and c, has some sort of deviated septum/broken nose/hayfever something something you can hear when he talks that makes it sound like he has to make that gross rumbling sound in his throat and/or hawk a giant loogie after each line of dialogue (and as much as you don't want to be there when he does it, you just want him to effin do it already because you are this close to pulling a mom, putting a tissue to his face, and saying blow). and of course, in real life, this guy is married to his scito high school sweetheart, hands out l ron pamphlets by the freeway, and insists tom cruise's baby is real. also his character coordinated bum fights and "did it" with cordelia. VERDICT: he looks like he just got back from a "lifestyle" conversion camp and i wouldn't want to be his one woman "welcome home" party, if you know what i "mean."

angel from buffy (and horrible angel): as you know, and as you readership should know, i am a yellow belt level joss whedon nerd-- while i've seen all buffys and angels and fireflys (but i didn't see serenity in the theater, i'm sorry!), i'm not lining up to buy my tickets to the james marsters at sea fanfest2000 where an autograph from demon #3 from "once more with feeling" will cost you $20. a lot of buffy fans liked buffy with spike, and in fact, if you go to youtube right now and search buffy and billy joel, you will find homemade videos to "always a woman to me" created to illustrate that fact (go now. i can wait). i guess i thought that pairing was a good idea at first, because angel was so self-righteous/left the show and spike dressed like my av nerd friends in high school (sup, tucked in black t-shirt) and liked the show passions, but when they actually did consumate their love/destroy a house in the process, it kind of made me ill. but whatever, this isn't about spike or the 44 year old man who played him (imdb.com. i've got all day). it's about angel, but the answer to this is simple because a, angel became a ginormo tank towards the end of his series, like, the-fat-guy-on-celebrity-fit-club-who-actually-needs-AA big, b, he has vampire zone cooties from his stupid exgirlfriend/the most insufferable angel plotline ever, darla, c, he married an effin playboy playmate in real life, which means that when his kids ask how he met mommy he'll have to say he fell for her at first sight when he saw her waxed'n'nekkid in a magazine, and d, if you get to know him biblically, he becomes evil and kills everyone, or if he doesn't, that means your private time together didn't make him truly happy, and that's when feelings get hurt. VERDICT: not even when hell freezes over (even and especially if buffy sends him there again).

jess from gilmore girls: as fans of datexedge know, jess was the hands down winner in the '05 gg eff toss, as we liked his punk planet t-shirt, love of the shaggs, and his ability not to be dean, so i feel the subject is well covered thankyouverymuch. then we touched the fourth wall when you had a romantic italian dinner with him (and his friend), and when his then-girlfriend, rory gilmore/"kim", praised the design of a handbag made by the company this very website serves to promote. but notice i say then-girlfriend, because he and rory/not-alexis are no more, and if i am to believe the gawker stalker, and it's more fun to, he was a total jerk to her, called her bad (the worst?) names in public, made her cry, and then told someone who asked if anything was wrong to eff off. this tells me that, unlike all the other dudes, jess and real-life jess and closest to being as one, so while he seems like a buttface, at least he won't chafe my face with his 10 o'clock shadow, try to give me a personality test, or go from being a waxed muscle man to having to shop at today's man big and tall. then again, now that we (ie you) have met him in real life, i feel kinda gross saying "i would venture into that guy's bikini area" when you have broken bread with him. also, he's kinda short, right? VERDICT: maybe? sorry.

IN CONCLUSION: i would easily have relations with the kid from everwood with the short haircut if hard up enough, or, if that creeps you out too much, danny from sports night forever and ever all night with lotion. happy now? also, seth rogen, call me.

3. Please decribe yr dream dude and the type of footwear that would be permissable and not permissable for him to wear. Shortie socks - approve or deny?

we have had many discussions about our dream dude, or at least the slim shaded section of the venn diagram where our dream dude qualifications collide (for example, being little is squarely in your circle, being-able-to-touch-the-rim-of-a-basketball-hoop tallness is in mine). as per our discussion: must be able to build/fix things, can be a sportsfan without having to watch televised sports, skateboarding can be in his past, but not the present/owns no element t-shirts and agrees that bam margera is a pox on humanity, acknowledges that dogs are #1 and wouldn't be a total mary about picking up dog poop (curb your dog, it's the law), reads on purpose, and can cook meats. long story short, normal is the new unique.

as for footwear, most types of classic tennis shoe are appropriate-- chucks, stan smiths, dunks, new balance, half-cabs, whatever-- but if you're wearing flip-flops, you better be on a beach or in a gay bath house, because real men don't put a thong between their toes, nor do they wear tevas, meshy merrils, or any other kind of outdoorsy foot baskets that do nothing but smell bad and make you look like a tourist. dc shoes indicate you believe fred durst, ipath shoes mean you're smuggling something in your footwear, and altaltjapanalt nikes mean you care more about footwear than girls which is gross. and i don't know about formal real shoes because i only date deadbeats that don't have real jobs anyway. but i guess if a dude is wearing bass loafers i'm going to assume he's either over 50 or under 18 and dressed by mom. please note: i have just described all the males in the town i live
in.

oh, and shortie socks are your nemesis. i really don't care, unless said socks are worn with the aforementioned mandals, and then it's like, dude, you don't even deserve feet.

4. Detail fer our readers yr experience as a torchered indie rock teen at that country club style private sleep away high school you went to. Also, please do go ahead n dish the dirt on the poser siblings in Cl@p Yr H@nd5 S@y Y3ah (googleproofed).

i attended a half sleep-away/half not-sleep away private school in the suburbs of boston for seventh thru twelfth grades. despite the fact i made 4 very close friends there-- friends i still talk to and in fact just spent 3 days with cooking elaborate meals, complaining about dudes, and watching sports night dvds-- i never really felt like i fit in there because i was a, jewish, b, fat, c, loud/depressed, and d, not very smart. those 4 traits describe much of the incoming freshman class at tisch/nyu, so that's where i decided to go to college. unfortunately, i didn't possess the 5th trait, which is insanity for girls and homosexuality for boys, so i didn't exactly fit in there, either. but i did get a boyfriend and eat foods from around the world.

as for the twins for that band, i won't mention them by name because google is a tricky mistress, but they were in a phish cover band i think, and if they didn't officially cover phish they took parts of their songs and then put them in a blender and then spit them out different. i hated phish, and i still hate phish, because to me they sound like classic rock they might be giants. everyone at my school loved phish tho, and loved to follow them in their parents saabs and range rovers and wear their t-shirts under button downs their moms bought them at the mall. i liked superchunk, knowing that if i wore my prized foolish ringer with the bunny on it i would be called superchunk, but i didn't give a crap. anyway, those twins, they loved the phish-- put the band on their yearbook page, if i'm not mistaken-- and shared that page with a group of friends that included a guy i had every class with in seventh grade (because we were both pretty stupid) who is, like, 5 feet tall and was inexplicably popular, and another guy whose dad was my french teacher in eigth grade and called me fat in class, in french, thus making me cry, in english. that guy (son of jerk teacher) also spread a rumor that these two not gay girls were gay because they crashed a party and he was just a totally loathsome human being. i hear his dad left his mom for a llama farmer, swear to god. good for her.

the only thing i know about the twins themselves tho is that one was niceish and the other was always a straight-up d-bag, just totally unpleasant to be around and not nice to anyone but girls whose boobs he wanted to see. i also heard a rumor in 9th grade that they'd both gotten electrolysis on their unibrows, which is why they had these red marks between their now-separated eyebrows, but that seemed weird to me cuz they're blonde. they're also now currently balding, but you don't need to know them from high school to know that.

the last thing i know about them is that one of them currently lives with or maybe just dates this other girl from our class who was like insanely smart, pretty, manipulative, blonde, and your general high school nightmare. she was nice to me sometimes but other times i could pretty much tell she was meangirlsing me and i couldn't trust her farther than i could throw her, which was not far, despite the fact she was quite slim. she hates me now because i have a gossip palsy and told a group of people she knows in nyc about this high school rumor involving her and her then boyfriend and her butt, and i know i shouldn't have, but she was seriously so much in the past tense and unreal in my mind that i could have been describing last week's despserate housewives, except i don't watch that show. anyway she has every right to hate me, but i hope it wasn't my callous rumor mongering that drove her to living with/dating? baldy mcasshole von noindiecred.

my 4 good friends all went to the reunion this year (i couldn't had work thank god) and i don't think the twins were there; probably playing some "indie" fest with the manager, publicist and eyebrow stylist they've had before they got signed in tow. (i made that last one up, but please note that i am being snarky because indie bands do not have managers trying to get them signed and if you think they do you probably like/are in the strokes or know nothing about indie music and grew up listening to phish [altho i realize that people's tastes can diversify in college cuz i really like creedence now and in high school any music made before 1977 made me wanna punch a wall]).

i don't think the loathsome guy, or the short dude, or the meangirl were there, either, but 3 of my friends spent the night flirting with this guy who had a mullet freshman year and a different pearl jam t-shirt for every day of the week. so if you're in high school now, don't worry, even the lamest guy could be hot one day if you have enough free cocktails and he's one of the 3 dudes in yr class that isn't totally bald.

5. How didja come to be so painfully funny?

trust me, no one but you and me is going to understand a word of what is written here, let alone be amused. some might cry, tho.

6. I have been obsessed with you since forevs.com or something. We are not gay, howevs, you totally broke up with me somewhere around 2001. Will you be doing any snow shoe-ing this winter?

i'm a big fan of snow shoeing, even tho it's really just walking thru the snow in clown shoes, but i think that's just cuz i don't have the right shoes because my mom and i have the same shoes and i'm about half a foot taller than her so it doesn't seem right. we, you and i, went snow shoeing across the lake once on a warm day just before we broke up and you freaked because there was water in your snow shoe print, so we had to walk along the shore to get home thru the trees and piles of scat, which is a folksy term for deer poop. you also refused to take off your built by wendy coat and from-japan/ill-fitting fuzzy hat, even in the snow, and generally tried to kill me with your eyes. so thanks for bringing that up.

7. This summer I am snowboarding with affluent teens on a glacier in Oregon and you are hiding out on a lake where Stephen Tyler from Aerosmith is yr seasonal neighbor. What do you like better - Sebadoh or sugar free Jello brand Snack Packs?

i'm kind of over jello right now, because trader joes pudding pretty much owns me and i don't need to eat gelatin fruit right now because it's summer in rural new hampshire (tm) and you can get blackberries by the roadside and eat nectarines so juicy you need a wet nap. i still listen to the freed weed in my itunes tho (drugs are bad stay in school) and if you don't get lil chills from hearing brand new love then you are most likely dead inside.

H. Dude, on Tuesdays in NYC we have secret Fat Club meetings at Atlas, our fave mediterranean hole in the wall, on 2nd Ave and 5th street. Our skeezy homies that run that place spell pretty much everything on the menu wrong. Please make up an entree name using some of their most prized mispellings.

maracan chichen sandwhiche pancak - tomoto, cucumbre, creem chee, harts of pam, and spicy.

8. Ask yrself n answer 2 questions that you secretly wish someone would ask you in a published interview situation. Blow peoples minds, please.

1, what 15 movies do you think you've seen more than any other movies?

in my family, we believe that everybody has "a touch of the 'tism," which is to say that, no matter how normal you think you are, everybody's just a little bit autistic in one way or another. i make my way on to the spectrum because, if i like a movie or tv show, i can watch it 900 hundred million times. of course, sometimes "watching" something means listening to it while i crochet (i'm a professional crocheter, fyi) (yes, we exist), but a lot of times, watching means just that. ie, #15 on this list, ie, the movie i have seen the least of the most, is a movie i have seen easily 50 times. judge me if you must, but it's not like i'm rainman or anything but it does sort of explain why i hate being touched. oh my god breakthrough.

also, a lot of the runners up would prolly be in the top 15 if they hadn't come out/weren't favorites in my youth when my parents regulated my tv time and homework destroyed my life. some of the top 15 did come out then but made their way into my summers or came to my attention later in life since they had nipples in them or something and my parents wouldn't let me watch them while in their direct care.

the runners up: rudy / slapshot / roadhouse / ladies and gentlemen the fabulous stains / rushmore / dazed and confused (i saw this 6 times in the theater and i don't even smoke pot! [stay in school just say no]) / before sunrise / raising arizona / better off dead / the ringwald-hughes troika (ie, pretty in pink) / dirty dancing / braveheart / pee wee's big adventure / my own private idaho (river pheonix dude don't mess) / annie hall / the muppets take manhattan / billy madison / other crap i probably blocked out out of shame, and that means it's got to be pretty bad given what my #2 movie is.

15: serenity - when i was moving from nyc to rural nh (also tm), this was one of the only dvds i left unpacked, and in the weeks before i actually filled up the rental van and got the hell out of dodge, i had a job crocheting a sweater for a pattern book. i had, like, 2 weeks to make the entire thing, like project runway for yarnarts, and i spent 50% of my hookin' time with this movie on in the background. i even listened to the commentary once, and i like joss whedon commentary, even tho he refuses to talk smack about his actors (and you know that real life buffy probably wasn't cake to work with), because you can tell he loves all that he does and is most likely totally kick ass in real life and can probably restart an arrested heart with his mind. anyway, this is a great movie, even if you're not a total nerd, because the lead guy is hot (swear to god-- squint a little, you'll see it), stuff blows up, and people say funny crap, even tho there are random swears in chinese and people you like die (unfair!). i'd see firefly first tho, not just because this movie'll make slightly more sense, but because it's just a good show and i really don't get why battlestar gallactica has been on for 2 years and this show got axed in 10 minutes. also, david krumholtz, get a haircut and call me.

14: boyz n the hood - my freshman year of college we didn't get cable, got no reception, and this is the only movie my roommate owned. i think we watched it on a bi-weekly basis, that and party of five, so they're kind of mashed up in my brain now which i don't mind telling you is a little weird and kind of uncomfortable to talk about.

13: anchorman / the 40 year old virgin - i will take any excuse to watch these movies; saw both in the theater more than once, have on demanded them, dvd'd them, forced people who've never seen either to sit thru them, will take planes if they're the inflight movie, whatever. everybody knows about these movies so i don't really need to explain their genius, but if you have the anchorman dvd, the lou rawls commentary is kind of mind bending, and oh also IT NEVER STOPS BEING FUNNY NOT EVER.

12: 28 days later - this is kind of a head scratcher but i caught this movie on cable late at night when i was at death's door with tired and i kind of loved it cuz a, the magic of tivo made the really scary parts fly by, and b, i wanted to be on cillian murphy. so i guess it really isn't that complicated. my friend emma says he looks like a mid-op transsexual, but she's just jealous of how pretty he is. plus he has a shaved head and everyone knows that all boys should look ready to join the military at any given time. in fact, my friend rebecca and i were talking this past week about how the marines are our favorite branch of the armed services because the army does yeoman's work and the navy is just too gay. and we're both total pinkos who used to love evan dando in high school. we hate the war, we support the troops. or at least we want to. in that way. semper fi.

11: shawshank redeption / back to the future - when i was a sophomore in college, i shared a tv with 4 girls, and one of said girls liked to spend her saturdays watching tbs. this should pretty much explain everything. she even called tbs "the shawshank channel." sometimes, when i also had no life, i'd find myself watching andy do the redemption crawl for the 9 millionth time, but i'd only get teary when marty would say he wants to go back to the year 1985, cuz dammit, i'm old and i'm sick of my entertainment reminding me of that fact.

10: kicking and screaming (not the will ferrell movie)- this movie lives in any tivo i have anywhere i am. i guess it's coming out on dvd soon, which is good, because i've broken my vhs copy and ifc can only show this movie so many times a year. this movie is at once totally familiar and totally strange; you've had conversations like this, and you know people like this, or at the very least you've watched enough movies and tv shows that attempt to capture the same thing so it feels like you've lived it a thousand times. even so, you watch it and you're left wondering, why are these college dudes wearing blazers, and is that guy really supposed to be 22, and why do movies and tv make it seem like telling someone you love them is a big deal when i have a friend who signs off business calls that way? noah baumbach directed and co-wrote this movie, and i almost like his other movie, mr. jealousy, better, but
it's hard as hell to find and eric stoltz is a little harder to look at for 2 whole hours. noah baumbach co-wrote the life aquatic, which i kind of hated, because it seemed like a vogue photo shoot come to life instead of a movie, but it makes sense since both noah baumbach and wes anderson made amazing debuts (kicking/bottle rocket), great followups (jealousy/rushmore), and then total crap (aquatic/the royal tennenbaums, aka rushmore with max fisher's traits spread over a bunch of more famous actors). long story short, this movie is funny in a way that things aren't usually funny but if you're a teen it might go straight over your head, if only because one of the leads has some of the worst 90s hair i've ever seen.

9: heathers - i've written 2 academic papers on this movie and bullied my history teacher into showing it at the end of my junior year of high school, which doesn't make any sense since it doesn't have anything to do with federalism or fdr or any american history except that of cinematic excellence. still, i have an excuse for watching it so many times/practically memorizing the entire thing, because it was, like, research or something. kids, your wacky aunts might rent you pretty in pink or sixteen candles and talk about the teen movie glory days, but make them show you heathers even tho they'll say your parents won't like the idea.

5/4 (it's 3 movies but whatever): grease / goonies / disney's robin hood - i had these three movies on one vhs tape when i was a kid and watched them every day for 2 summers straight, sometimes more than once. it's weird watching grease now because it's sort of dirty, but my sister and i just liked the songs and sassy stockard channing. oh, and that weird noise john travolta makes at the end of summer nights, between the "oh suh uh mer" and "nhiy-yights." there's nothing i can say about goonies that teeter probably hasn't already said, but it totally stands the test of time and if they try to make a sequel and ruin it with an olsen twin or andy milinakis or whatever, i will firebomb all of hollywood. as for robin hood, it's probably the best disney movie ever, better than the little mermaid even, and totally better than the lion king which seems racist in a way i can't put my finger on. also every grown woman who saw that movie as a kid wants to kick it to the animated fox and if they say different they are lying.

3+: coming to america / raw - coming to america is always on one cable channel at any time during any day of the year, i swear to god, and 90% of the time, i am watching it and laughing out loud. sexual chocolate, soul glo, stay off the drugs, whatever, i have seen it so much it is playing in my brain somewhere right now and i am still amused. as for raw, i went thru a phase where i watched this movie at least once a week after finding the vhs on ebay, and when i told this really snooty friend of my sister's about it, this harvard guy who looked vaguely like the guy trying to enter the midvale school for the gifted in that farside cartoon, he scoffed at me, like, you watch raw once a week? well, yeah, jerk. kiss my leather suited butt.

2: bull durham - nobody understands why i love this movie so much, but i seriously love this movie, love it like a woman loves a man, or parents love their kids, or my dog loves to pee on the corners in my house (which is more than the other two even tho it's not immediately obvious). i mean, i like baseball in that i know the red sox are the best team ever and coco crisp has a HILARIOUS name, but i can't tell you what an rbi is or what place they're in (ok, they're out, but next year dude) (i'm a cliche, deal with it). i like the dialogue, and i like characters that have been totally crapped on their whole lives, and i like that it makes me like sports even tho i completely hate jocks and watching sports on tv and pretty much everything athletic except for tennis, kayaking, and hockey on feet. the only thing i don't like about this movie is the jacuzzi jazz interlude in the scene before crash (!) goes to annie (!!) to commence their long overdue physical times, because ew. otherwise, this movie is filled with life lessons and even manages to make kevin costner appealing, which is pretty much on par with cold fusion or making peace in the middle east.

1: airplane! - i know this'll be hard for the younger, hilary duff generation to believe, but those of us from the winona generation remember a time before vcrs. my parents got one early since up here in rural nh (tm) didn't used to have tv reception of any kind, not even channel 7 or reruns of taxi. people would come up to visit us a lot on weekends, and we would make almost all of them watch airplane!. then, when they weren't here, we'd finish dinner and my dad would say, "who wants to watch airplane!(?)," and the answer was everyone. i recently updated us to dvd since our bootleg copy is now half decayed into a pile of dust and daddy longleg skeletons, and ps, still funny. i have seen this movie so many times it's practically embedded in my dna, and hey, there are worse things to pass on to your children, like titanic, or crack addiction, sayin.

2, what do you like so much about new hampshire?

i like that it would be perfectly normal to see a guy riding a motorcycle down the highway with no helmet, a tubetopped woman in the back, a fist of state liquor store-purchased cheapo whiskey in one hand and lit fireworks in the other. i like that crocs and immitation crox are the shoe of the year second year running, or really that a shoe can have 2 years in the spotlight. i like my job, and i like that i can kayak after work like it's no big, and i like that i can listen to music really loud while cooking dinner that i would be too ashamed to listen to if anyone else was around/generally embracing that my musical taste has fallen off completely and that i'm turning into an old woman even tho i'm never going to shop at chicos or wear control top hose or really hose period. i like that i can drive down main street and get fresh farmstand produce and run into people i know at the coffee shop and not have to see any american apparel ads that make my stomach turn/not have to listen to people who try to justify american apparel's policy of exploiting workers bad-exploiting women ok/not talk to anyone who really knows what american apparel is. i like that, even tho a dunkin donuts just opened in down, i don't get the feeling like i do in nyc that in the next ten years the only businesses that are going to be able to afford rent are bank of america and dunkin donuts thus limiting your business transactions to taking money out of the atm to get a coolata. i like not being broke constantly, and that the pharmacy has pretty much everything you'd need including tupperware and award ribbons and life jackets, and also, i really like not living in new york.

Open Letters Drive Us Apart.

2006-01-31T13:57:00.000-05:00

My dearest SB,

Gosh SB, big news: I've just completed my first afternoon scrapbooking seminar
at the Kissimee-St. Cloud Elks Club and while I was there I think I
also found a boyfriend! His name is Willy Janks and he's a total dream.
Granted he's a bit younger {16 and a half} but SB, he really understands me, we
just have this indescribable connection. He's an excellent scrapbooker
- was actually working as the teachers assistant and caught my eye
while he showed Mrs. VanHeusen his most recent finished work. You should
see his Vacation Sensation and Gone Fishin' pages, they have such a
wonderful flow about them.

Gosh SB, then he invited me to Burger Notionz rite after seminar and paid for the
Value Meals and the Cinnamon Twists and Mr. Pibb and everything.

Then we walked down to the duck pond right by the Interstate overpass and
scratched Kenny Chesney lyrix in the mud with empty beer bottles;
talked about life, spirituality, penguins, vlasic zesty pepper rings,
improving ones self-image and renters insurance.

The last time I felt that comfortable was when you and I ate Pastrami sandwhiches and nondairy slaw at the 2nd Avenue Deli and then fell asleep face down in our corner
booth.

Gosh SB, I'm pretty sure he's the one. In other news, Aunt Brenda and Uncle
Ron are pissed because the Gremlin died last Wednesday and has been sitting
by the dumpster in the 99 Cent Dream parking lot - and I haven't called Troy at
Repairz4Less yet because I spent my entire paycheck this week on some
new pieces for my ceramic kitten collection.

Gosh SB, I sure miss you and Buzzo and NYC and the {F}Atlas crew. No matter how much Willy completes me, life just isn't the same if every Tuesday night I'm not powerstuffing 3 to 16 slices of delicious delicious vegan cake into my garbagey piehole with all my bestest most isolationist big city girlpals.

Cindarella Falafel 4ever!

Kissimee-St.Cloud is fer lovers,

The future Mrs. TS Janks

***

dear teet,

so here's the scene-- i'm sitting outside the quack shack in my
soon-to-be hometown of manatee*, nh, eating a chocolate vanilla froyo
swirl with double jimmies (on top and on the bottom, only way to go)
when a young man in a john cougar melloncamp t-shirt starts petting
buzzo and huffing his face.

i tell the man that's a bad idea and the man says he likes dogface smell and have i been to the thrift shoppe upthe hill yet tonight because the pickins is good. i point to my $2/bag haul and we joke about the white trash family that comes to the shoppe's late hours every week with the severely downs-y son and grandma who
isn't older than 40.

he offers to buy me another round of froyo and
says he actually recognizes me from my hiptop blog, pocket max
fish-erman, in which i take digital portraits of me and my supercool
friends at new york's hot spot for aging hipsters/livers, and asks if i
want to go with him to a manchester fishercats game. i say, word, and
know that i will never know alone time again.

AND THEN I WAKE UP...FROM THE NIGHTMARE.

while i am glad kissimee st cloud has given you access to free food and
a sweet job, do not forget the dxe, young grasshopper. sure i may look
for face-on-face action during my up north sojourn, but let us not
forget that relationship jail always ends with a death sentence, and
while you might be blinded in the sunshine state, i choose to live free
or die. here are my goals for ought6 that no manpiece shall interfere
with:

-becoming a level OVII crocheter, or whatever tom cruise is in his cult

-kayaking down job's creek and seeing a beaver dam

-learning the drums to every song on damn the torpedos

-inventing a cookie recipe that brings out the splenda flavor

-getting my ears pierced

do not lose sight of your dreams in the haze of a special new place! i
believe the children are our future! free aaron echolls!

kill em all,

sb

* - nh town name changed to deter wierdos

Open Letters Keep Us Together.

2006-01-19T02:27:00.000-05:00

SB-

Greetings friend. Yr pal TS here. Just wanted to let you know that things are really shaping up over here in Kissimee-St. Cloud. I have been warmly welcomed into a caring circle of Christian Fundamentalist friends and just yesterday threw out all of my secular music in Gods Name.

I finally scored that position as Junior Assistant Manager at 99 Cent Dream - you know I had been lobbying for it for weeks! So I'm really psyched about that.

Gosh, thank the Good Lord for Uncle Ron and Aunt Brenda helping me to finance the Gremlin or I wouldn't have any way around town. I've included a picture of Ron with the car on the day we put down the first payment - it was so exciting!

My favorite part about Kissimee-St. Cloud is that I live right above Burger Notions -and I've been such a solid customer (three times a day; breakfast, lunch and dinner -natch) since my arrival that I now get every Big Value Cheeseburger Meal for half price. That adds up to some really great savings.

Must say though, I really do wish you were here. Let me know what's new in your life! Have you gotten to third base with Malik yet? If you can come visit, Uncle Ron recently found a sweet flight on airGORILLA - have you heard of it? He said it was really cheap and that they have a Pabst Blue Ribbon/Prawn Chips combo for $1.25. I know you don't drink and stuff, but I was thinking you might be able to snake some for me as a little pick-me-up after my long drive to the airport to get you.

As a sidenote, I have gained about 28 pounds. This week alone, that is.

Gotta hoof it to Bible study.

YRS IN CHRIST,
TS

**

teet--

here in nyc lots of shit is going on i'm sure, seeing as this is the fucking center of the universe, but whatever, i've been holed up in my apartment watching my chosen one buffy boxset (40 dvds of pure dorking pleasure don't mess) and that pbs frontline special about those boys from shithole, ky. they have something in common in that a, both star people who are fundamentally doomed, b, both involve cameos by embarassing bands (lotion/the pastor's jesuspalooza all-star jesus hammer explosion whatever), and c, both have given me bad dreams. only the pbs show had a giant potbelly pig being dragged out from under a trailer home tho, while buffy has, like, 3 giant snakes and david boneranus or whatever, but he is kind of hog-like, so maybe they really are as one. long story short, nothing's really going on really except that i'm glad i'm from a blue state and that seth green aka oz is so small that prince could use him as a vibrator (quote emma 2006, tm).

as for the gossip, aw rootbeer ordered AND DRANK a tom collins and is the first person under 50/not-canadian to do so, so that made her a NY1 new yorker of the week, which was pretty cool. in the past 4 minutes, suz bought 8 new pairs of shoes.

oh and rory'll probably get back together with logan but now that i watch veronica mars i get really confused and sometimes think she's gonna reunite with a gaynotgay maybe-murderer who hands out scientology pamphlets by the freeway in real life. it's all too much to take. it's a wonder i can even walk the dog.

in a few weeks i'll be up in nh teaching militiamen to make baskets and live off the grid, so that should be rad. they pay pretty good.

bless this mess,
sb

DXE.COM.-MART - TAKING YOUR HOLIDAY DOLLAR$ AS WE SPEAK!

2005-11-30T16:14:00.000-05:00

THE DREAM IS REAL, THE TOTE IS NOW

THIS GIRL WHO IS NEITHER TEET NOR SB LOVES TO TAKE A MOMENT TO HERSELF AT WORK WITH HER DXE SURVIVAL KIT TO THINK ABOUT HOW MUCH WORK SUX, HOW WEIRD IT IS THAT MILO IS PLAYING ROCKY JR, AND HOW XMAS RUINS LIVES VS. CHANNUKAH AND BLACK CHANNUKAH, AKA KWANZAA, AT LEAST WHEN DXE TOTES AREN'T UNDER THE TREE.

so there's that.

also, due both to our ADHD and our slackadasical contributors, we probably won't update until 2006, so here are 2 top fives.

teet's top 5 mall emo bands that don't exist
5. last summer's november
h. transcripts of her AOL breakups
4. hot topic, cold heart
q. talls ships in a sea of loneliness
*. tempest, bled so
3. someone please tell lisa to pick up the fucking phone
2. livejournal deathwish
1. ley royal scam

sb's top 5 '05 jams that don't exist (all genres)
5. wasn't not funny - sof surv feat. mr sprinkles
4. i know, right? - jezika feinstein (headliner of the tampax pearl stick it up your summer tour this summer)
3. get autistic - parti-tyme
2. older lady let me wash your hair - sportfuck
1. (touch the place on my face) where the hair grows thick - go-rilla

BUY OUR SHIT!
xo.
sb/teet

CMJ "New" "Music" Festival 2005: A Self-Destructive Circle of Jello, Speed, Tears, Brocolli, Puking, Social Akwardness, St. Pauli Girl and Crochet

2005-10-04T01:17:00.000-04:00

ah, cmj, the 5 day "music" "industry" death march that invades nyc every fall (cept 2001, when cmj lost in the battle of terrorists vs yet another sub pop showcase). as you can see, teet and i live very different lifestyles, yet we are still BFF. what gives? you chew on that one, we'll be here watching season 4 dvds while i embroider DXE logos onto our jean jackets and teet tries to get her sidekick to stop howling like a dog that still has its balls whenever she gets an IM, which is every 10 seconds.

Tuesday, September 14th, 2005

TS: On Tuesday, September 14th, 2005 I rolled out to the much anticipated Syndicate CMJ Pre-party. Scoped the scene with one of my main party o'clock lady brodeos, H. Raff - who doesn't for one second let the fact that she is like 16 years old and partially blind in both eyes or something hold her back from her god-given responsibility towards advanced social warriorism. We double fisted mixed drinx and snuck ginormo gulps of cough syrup from the secret flask our Howard Johnsons assistant continental breakfast shift manager friends Linda and Denise, sang and danced to Say Anything like total lame drunk popular girls, and were so effing drenched in sweat and Presidents Choice Diet Cola that trying to move in for the pipe-n-toss on party attendees Tucker Rule or Andy Milonakis or even that pre-AI Clay Aiken doppleganger wasn't an option. I puked my weight in Gilmore Girls Season 4 DVD box sets all over Chad Sanderson, the man-orexic, torchered artist lead singer of Elliot's June Snowfall- a recent Drive Thru Records signing whose lack of sales on their debut record rendered them a commercial failure even before the writing, recording or selling of their debut record; a troubling new industry phenomenon.

I then mistakenly took speed given to me by this chubby regulation emo dude while standing in a hallway with George Clinton and proceeded to stay up until 6am pounding my Thundercats pillow in distress, convinced that my heart was going to pop out of my chest.

SB: dude, i think we all know what i was doing--tuesday means both cake day at atlas and a double dose of gilmore girls reruns at 8. but what ho! premiere night on the WB! that basically means gilmore girls, 6000 promos for dean's shitty new show, dean's shitty new show, and the kind of local news where there's one story about the hurricane and news stories that are actually promos for dean's shitty new show. sadly, due to my responsibilities as social chair/co-comish of a hockey league, i had to skip cake and catch gg on my tivo later that night, and, despite luke's weave, the lack of post-engagement smooching, and bizarro rory, i was not disappointed. i was semi-disappointed by my hockey league, or at least the dudes in it, who are all either a, married, b, fake-married, c, grotesque (but still married or fake-married), d, under 24 years old, or e, bad sports who are all "what did i do?" when a ref calls them on something shitty that they know they did which translates to them having small weens. another obvious sign of small ween-having: tiny, silent asian girlfriends with a grasp of english as small as a small ween. but this is neither here nor there nor the kind of thing i like to focus on but i guess hanging tight with my on-the-rebound pal andrea has really put dudes on my mind in the place where, say, making a living should be. i should have been figuring out how to stop my money free-fall, but no, just hockey, GG, and dudes for me. and i think crocheting was also involved.

***

Wednesday, September 15th, 2005

TS: On Wednesday, September 15th, 2005 we totes cut out of work early and went to see rad zappers Motion City Soundtrack play all acoustic style at the fakest of fake NY venues, Arlenes Grocery. There were free beers and snax and weed-n-shit but I was still too sick from the night before to even consider eating or stealing any. Kates Joint was totes next on our to do list (natch. sayin') where faces were beyond sufficiently stuffed with Unturkey Clubz and regulation emo dudes were unsuccesfully scoped (said natch uh, word - sayin'.) We then hoofed it over to 2nd most out of the way venue in all of Dirty NYC, Tribeca Rock Club, to see Motion City Soundtrack again, amidst a sea of super amped teen mall punkers - but this time they were plugged in and all MCS standard procedure pogo-ey fantasia style.

With a drunk 15 person posse in tow, we cruised the 99% asshole-run Knitting Factory to see the Slowdance Showcase [sb's note: sorry i took off 1% but brice at the knit has done right by me a few times so i can't disrespek. sorry vis a vis yr integrity but i don't have enough wood to burn bridges sayin.] It was here that I saw a drunk shortround Mexi-man who didn't speak English or even seem to like music pee all over The Velvet Teens pedals, cables and stacks - enraging hot ass frontman Judah Nagler to the point where he couldn't stop screaming about it from his spot on stage. So upset over the pee-struction of his gear, he had a full on emo seizure, replete with tears and convulsions, begging loyal roadie Hambone to bring him his blankie. Judah then sucked his thumb; rubbing his index finger against his nose until he puked all over the girl in the front row on crutches with the Mary Tyler Moore flip do'. It was here that I noticed that Ezra, Slowdance Records Head Cheeze (S.R. H.C) was super hot in the face, had no haircloud, was romantically available AND SB's people, 'sayin. It was 1,037 and a half degrees at this showcase and made me want to punch myself in the eye or drink Boric acid, an acid that smells like farts even more than farts smell like farts. Instead, I opted to get my freak on with the ugly barback in front of the entire Knitting Factory Tap Room within the iceyness of the bottled beer well. I came out wif my hair in sexin' it knots and wreeking of St. Pauli Girl.

I then mistakenly took speed given to me by the mexi-man as he sat crying out front, having just been kicked in the teeth and booted out by the strings of his shredded ghetto gown. We sat on the curb, defeated, both crying, he due to the lack of any further access to the beer that made him pee the pedals, and I, because I effing hate CMJ so hard.

SB: wednesday i was supposed to drum for a coupla hours at the music building on 8th ave, aka the place where all of the rats in all of the five burroughs go to die, but when i got there i fell asleep on the practice room couch for a half hour and realized i was not going to be damon che-ing it anytime soon so i walked all the way home. when i got to the farmer's market i realized i still had that bag of potatoes in the fridge from mom's garden and oh look there's some broccoli for sale and who doesn't love dining on nature's broom? so with two veggies to go i just needed protein, but since i am not allowed to cook meat due to my chronic impatience (me+half-cooking meat=guaranteed e coli for all) i hit the whole foods for a coupla premade chicken boobs and went home to make myself a normal meal for once that doesn't include a take-out container, sprinkles, or jello. passed out in front of the tivo, crochet hook in hand. dreamt of moving into a large house in miami with teet, suz, and andrea, eating vegan cheesecake, and talking about the good ol' days back when we were 27 and realized that it was normal for dudes our age to be bald/almost bald/have hairclouds (a sad fog of hair that sits on a dude's head with the silver-lining of scalp underneath) unlike when we were 23 and it was normal for dudes not to look like our dads. woke up tearsoaked (JUST LIKE TEET! WE ARE ONE!), wanting to throw the eff to luke (minus weave!). i thought this was a real turning point/coming of age moment so i rewarded myself with a take-out containter filled with sprinkles/jimmies but no jello because i forgot to make money again.

***

Thursday, September 16th, 2005

TS: Thursday, September 16th, 2005 reached maximum allowable USDA musical hellscapery. My very own fake not fake mall emo band played a CMJ show with a bunch of snootrock, fancypants, Lego-pop-on-hair mod dudes and the on-stage/off-stage firey resentment I have for my fake not fake now ex-bandmate made me puke up my Frito-pie all over Steve's drumset while twirling my baton during the 12th wave eem keyboard breakdown of that one song I can't fucking sing which in actuality could be any song in my band or the music world at larges song repetoire. I wanted to shoot myself and my bandmate in our left thighs and then crawl into this hole in the floor that I dug with my teeth but instead went to (F)Atlas; ate Ruben Studdard's weight in Vegan Cake and puked in both my and the counter helps hair.

I then mistakenly took speed given to me by the bouncer of the club who only gave it to me after I assured him I was indeed 18 years old. He did not as the ask age of the dudes in black and white verticle Hamburgler pants (that were practically see-thru in the club's New England aquarium/average stoner's iguana set-up-style blacklight) or Kate Perotti who is single-handedly trying to bring back early-90's-style, Roseanne's sister's-style, ugly-style vests. Brave lady.

SB: went to see teet's band but evidentally she saw a different show cuz i spent the next few hours convincing her she was really rad (when in her alternate universe she was william hung or something, it was trippy man, ah'word). got to drive around in teet's dad's car and eat at max's, which is a kind of insanely delicious italian restaurant staffed by actual for'ners and is in no way related to the max i know who is clinically insane yet being milked by his record company and "friends" so the payday doesn't end. viva the music industry! anyway, i ate too much bread and andrea's semi-brown canadian friend called me on it, which was gay. went home late but remembered to crochet myself some toothpaste before bed and dreamt of teeter's alternate universe where she can't sing and i can't eat or be lazy.

***

Friday, September 17th, 2005

TS: On Friday, September 17th, 2005 we totes cut out of work early to go see the ever charamastic J. Mascis drum it up in his old-guy Hessian band, Witch. They did not suck and J. was a surprisingly spiffy drummer, spiffy clearly being the absolute wrong word to use right here in describing this man or anything he does. I then proceeded to eat J. Mascis's weight in Kate's Joint Unturkey Clubz. (Yeah I'm always at Kate's, sup?) I slept/cried for 5 hours on the stinky excersize mat in my apartment building basement gym cause natch I mislocated my keys somewhere on my person.

Later I rode my BMX bike with my crack hanging out of my OP shortshorts to see Limbeck and Lucero, the gatekeepers of modern day whiskey-soaked alt alt alt shitkicker rock. A few drunk people who are always drunk and always mean to me were mean to me, so I rode my bike home at 3:30am blindfolded and with my right foot bound to my handlebars, jus fer Kix 98.2 FM. (Playing the Henderson Valley's Most Rockin' Mix of Songs from the '30s, '40s, '50s, '70s, '80s, '90s, and Today.)

I then mistakenly took speed given to me by the homeless man who lives on my corner who, in a different social realm, could easily be mistaken for Dan Higgs of Lungfish. I slept in the cozy confines of his beard, protected by gnomes and pegasi (the new unicorns, sayin'). and woke up on the stairmaster in the aforementioned basement gym with his puke dripping from my ears.

SB: suz had a camp-themed party on her roof which was actually her third attempt at a pre-foot surgery send-off. suz has bunyans, and what better way to celebrate their eminent removal than with s'mores? her roof smelled like brooklyn, aka feces and garbage, but i have a disease which made me eat melted sugarstuffs til i got physically ill and had to be rolled to the subway station by my favorite power couple, andi and jeff. got home by 11. not saying i watched a few eps of freaks and geeks with commentary, but i'm not saying i didn't, either. crocheted myself a barfbag but barfed into a d'ag bag instead cuz i can sell that crocheted shit in brooklyn to silent japanese girls for big bux, FINally. dreamt of being given a s'more by another of andrea's semi-bald canadian friends but insteada chocolate it was poop.

***

Saturday, September 18th, 2005

TS: On Saturday, September 18th, 2005 I was sposed to take part in a bunch of CMJ related "networking opportunities," {read: industry nutglider retard rodeos } but bailed on them all, instead opting to sell dirty old clothes to Beacon's Closet so as to rest assured that repeatedly powerstuffing Kate's Joint Unturkey Clubz the following week was indeed a goal within reach.

I then went home to Mom-n-Dads and cried myself into a 3 day torpor followed by 96 hour catatonic episode which was not completely catatonic because I would willingly talk to PA Ingalls, Tinker Jones, Willie Olsen and Doc Baker while Mom had me set up in the wheelchair in front of my TIVO-ED episodes of Little House on the Prairie.

In summing up, CMJ makes me want to die (quickly, which is why I mistakenly kept taking all that free speed).

SB: i pledged to avoid all cmj cept teet's show but decided to go to a sample sale on saturday day anyway to keep spending that money i don't have. my bad. had to walk thru cmj central, the lower east side, past the insider douche bag/steve aoki memorial lounge, past abc where i get yelled at by marcel for being too old to see his band and hurt my eyes
looking at his chest hair, past fatlas even where i'm pretty sure the entire weirdbeard/bike messenger/don't flush the toilet/use one washcloth instead of tp for our assholes philadelphia constituency was having a convention. it was grotesque and i didn't open my wallet all day lest one of those douches ride up on a track bike, take the few bills i had and give them to mumia. my friend mark mcadam was nice enough to escort me home so i wouldn't be roughed up at all by any of these badge-wearing lowlifes. walked buzz and then watched freaks and geeks all night until my eyes bled. crocheted myself a life-sized martin starr and we ate mac and cheese and ding dongs while watching gary shandling and then held each other and cried.

in summing up, shirley says i know a lot of people but whatever, i'm old, so old that i have to fight to not think like ally mcbeal while writing a song about how miami is cuter than an interuteran and/or crocheting myself my lost soul. also fuck cmj a lot and free cindy sheehan.

COMMENT OR SUCK IT

Dispatch From Planet DXE: "Can You Hear Me, Major Teet?"

2005-09-26T13:52:00.000-04:00

friends, neighbors, random person who tried to plagerize andrea's essay on a random gg fan forum,

sorry we have been away for so long not updating and/or providing entertainment (altho, let the record show, we did review peter banks a month ago in the reviews section, so we haven't been as absent as you think, sayin). (in addition, we never said we weren't lazy. in fact, teeter's dad also thinks we're lazy, and he is famous for his strong opinions on things, like teeter, laziness, and voting republican. said sayin.)

so...where are they now?

sb: following up the eff toss bracket proved to be a real crusher for sb, who spent her days brainstorming, gnashing teeth, napping, storm braining, and trying to capture her frustration thru 3-d crochet. after spending too many days and nights at the bottom of a mr sprinkles bottle, she got help, and while it's been a hard road back, she really likes her sponsor and has found routes home that avoid tasti d lite. while no new updates have come to her yet, she is taking it one day at a time, and has adobe illustrator'd the totebag below (with teeter guiding her hand on the mouse). she has gotten fatter also.

THE DXE TOTEBAG GRAPHICAL, AVAILABLE IN OUR STORE SOON!

huge so you can see all the details. will make a great channukah gift! see if you can stuff it with all the contents on the bag! (good val-u attention deficit medic-ine perscription available from doctor Pancho Allister St. Germaine Suarez, see teet interview way below.)

ts: Teeter's been away for the last two months. She was road manager for the Kleenex/Paxil CR "When It Pains It Tours" tour featuring The Promise Ring and Texas Is The Reason. A messy 3 van and trailer accident occured when TITR lead-singer Garrett, in an egomaniacal hankering for all you can eat carrot-n-pea medley, tried to make a blind u-turn into the Olde Country Buffet parking lot. Aside from that though, the tour was just a raging success. Word about the 2nd wave eem circuit was that she worked those rockers to the bone, making them stretch and run laps before each performance. Fer now she's back working the graveyard shift at the Duane Reade Photo Lab on 1st Avenue between 4th and 5th and is prepared to focus much more closely on furthering the dXe cause. Please do excuse her lengthy absence while yr buying yr hot new DXE totebag.

Lastly, she developed some of these tour pix on the sly last Wednesday at 3am, natch. Dxe por vida:
the boys sass teet as she makes them run circles 'round bos "beantown" ton.

teet at the starting line with the promise ring at the "boys don't cry" 10k, assuring them "nothing feels good" like victory.

in addition, gilmore girls returned and pita power closed. oh the circle of life!

xo,
sb/ts

ps: comment now or perish in flames.

gilmore dudes eff toss bracket showdown - FINAL ROUND

2005-07-06T00:31:00.000-04:00

ts and i have decided that we are so f'n precious that we simply won't get it up content-wise for anything less than 4 comments. that said, it is now time to settle the score. let us know yr reading these insane brains tirades, we need the positive reinforcement that we're good enuff, smart enuff, and that people like us, all jack handy style.

judges:
sb again again, who is taking this way too seriously.

ts again again, who probably pecked her answers into her sidekick while getting her back waxed.

ROUND 3:

gg expert (sb): yes jess is gonna win but this is actually kind of hard for me because as much as jess is more "my demo" (alt alt fashions, born in the '70s, a dipshit), luke is the kind of guy i actually hope to find when i pull up a stool in my local nh diner (when i am in nh and in the weird town 20 minutes away, not my own town which doesn't really have a diner, just a "family restaurant" where retarded people are always sitting in the booth by the window and there's a tcby machine) instead of being greeted by a fat lady who gets pissed when i order a diet coke and spaghetti-os from the kids menu. don't get me wrong, i am too old/grizzled to find antagonistic dudes to be anything but lame, but that luke has gnarl opinions and will also lend you the $20k it takes to fix your weirdly laid-out house's foundation AND can probably lift heavy things wins him major points, even tho he bought a reggae cd on purpose and probably watches baseball on tv. jess' opinions are all kinda rebel-y tm and he'd sooner steal from you than lend you the change for microwaved spaghetti-os in a shithole diner in western nh but this is a battle for who i'ma eff, not who i'ma stand next to whilst he steps on a glass, so jess still gets the gold.
gg non-expert (ts): HOLY CRAP! i just loved veg city diner. we used to go there, me suz and sb - and some of the other stay at home mom core team - and spend bucket loads of dough on high calorie vegan junk food over a steady diet of gossip, collective self-deprecation, and shit talk courtesy of me, per usual, re: my sisters meanjeans micro-bf and how I have no money due to an ever-increasing online purchasing addiction. (curse you, shopintuition.com.) the only thing that ever made me kindof hate VCD was that the vegan treats.com cakes and pies and whoopie pies were like 12 dollars a slice or whatever. (editors note: just loving the word whoopie.) now, if Luke worked at veg city diner during its punk rock cafeteria hayday, before it got closed down for all those blech-ass health code violations, like rats in the walk-in fridge and such; i would totes considerate throwing him the power eff, hair cloud or not, because that would mean EMPLOYEE DISCOUNTS all around, and i am not below selling myself. (viva lower-cost oversnacking.) but since he doesn't work at veg city except for in the pretend snack village fantasia in my head, he can throw the eff to himself, or like, a my-big-fat-greek-wedding era nia vardalos or rhoda dupree (a d-grade hollywood actress who is cousins with roseanna arquette or antonio banderas or something who does not even exist.) that said, as was always always said, into eff toss bracket perpetuity and beyond, i would bun jess in a firey hot oven anytime rather than my non-existent version of luke who could help me eat even more nasty, hi-cal foodstuffs than i already do.

winner: jess' sayin.

gg expert (sb): again, not as easy as you would think as in my whole career as a sex maker i have never kicked it to one of my own people, and even if it would mean having to talk to my parents about a naked moment, i think they'd be very proud of me if i told them i'd experienced the ultimate intimacy with a tribe member, even if he's not a doctor and he's not ever gonna come over for a nice chicken dinner any time soon. i guess that's not really important since, for our purposes, max is italian, and while i've never done it with a pizan, teeter has, and her ex is such a misogynistic wrong islander guido motherfucker that if i could kick him, stab him, pour grape juice on his white pants AND set his gelled hair on fire all at the same time without hurting myself or going to jail, i'd be doing it right now instead of typing this treatise. jess, while an italian in real life, is ethnically blank in the gilmore world-- his mom is irish *maybe* and his dad is just a darkhaired regionally-ambiguous thug. teeter's ex wishes he was a thug but it's hard to buy that shit from a guy who has to pick his gf up from her job at the mall, has a good cry after screwing whores, and probably likes dudes. it's like good charlotte and their relationship with dms-- what's next, hells angels popping up in videos with avril lavigne? but i digress. long story short, max isn't technically a jew and jess isn't technically italian and teeter's ex technically sucks so that settles that.
gg non-expert (ts): I could never date a dude who is SB's people because ultimately their moms or grandmas our their in-the-closet estranged half sisters who don't exist would shun my lowd ass because i am not one of the chosen and dont know what borscht or spetzle is, EVEN THO my dad says that generations back, our ancestors most likely americanized/catholicized our last name in order to avoid a future of needless persecution, and my nose is totes kind of jew steez iniwaze, or so i have been repeatedly told, by people ugly and otherwise. that said, and all jewnotjew speak aside, i love sb so bayad and she loves me so bayad and that, when coupled with our plutonic gaynotgayness, and double coupled with my hella broken dude picker, explains why she INSTA-HATES on any manboy i ever show make out or life building interestest in, with the swift exception of my spacey toofed shining star skateboard ex-boyfriend greg goulet, cause he was raised in boise, idaho on a sugarbeet farm and doesnt have a lame bone in his whole entire mini-body. (he skateboards to the post office wearing buddy holly glasses and a shower cap. IN LUV, i tell you.) and why, retrospectively, her mad hatred of said sub-par dude partners has resulted in multiple dramatic daytime soap opera style brake ups between she and i. since she already has a sizable sense of hated for that max dude or something or that paladino guy or whatever/whoever up in that above paragraph, (i cannot even keep pace with the wellspring of hatred,)i will refrain from choosing max, but instead opt to pipe (SHOCKING!) WH Jess (white hottt jess) so that i can still have a commitment ceremony with SB in massachusetts or hawaii where our cat mr. whiskers will be the ringbearer and where the indigo girls song "romeo and juliet" or "closer i am to fine" will be our official ceremony song and where there will be a love montage style beater digital video on loop at our reception in the leisure world main ballroom . its tuff, but i must accept that if i ever have a boyfriend/partner in piping that means no more delicious delicious fair game on garden burger riblets or free internet surfing capabilities or made-to-fit thrift gifts, courtesy of my heterosexual life partner. simply not a life not worth living. so, YES JESS, LETS MAKE A SWEATY MESS (cepta that you look SO not yr aesthetically near perfect self in that below pic, that i just heaved in my handbag - NO DISRESPEK!)

AND THE WINNER IN THE FINAL ROUND, ROUND M, M STANDING FOR MAN ALIVE IS HE A HANDSOME ASS MAN...it's jess but whatever we've known that for 10 weeks.

ADDENDUM:
gg expert (sb): girlfriend is in quotes because jess is not a real person but the picture above actually happened in reality and not a parallel universe (where we have a timeshare).
gg non-expert (ts): we are sure rory/insert her real name here is a lovely (adorable!) person and whatever dress she prefers worx fer us. after all, shes the fameous one. we're jus' ever so board. in summing up, in reality this bracket toss dose not exist.

NEXT TIME: eh, we're not so sure. 5 comments and we'll think about it (and teet's comment is void so somebody else say something dammit so we can take another month to update this fucker).

gilmore dudes eff toss bracket showdown - ROUND 2

2005-06-20T14:32:00.000-04:00

after getting ourselves two (2!) whole positive reponses on round one, we figured we should press further on into the eff battledome of stars hollow. join us, won't you?

judges:
sb again, dropper of gilmore science.

ts again, dropper of specific names of real-life dudes and she has/would like to kick it to.

ROUND 2:

gg expert (sb): hrm...truth be told, i never really like "hot" guys, usually just the room temp and/or luke warm/tepid, with a twist of glasses. alex is too "hot," which is to say you could find him on a calendar or playing the bf of any cookie cutter actress like uncle jesse's wife from full house or that cunt from that show i don't like (you know, that show, the one with the cunt on it, that i really don't like). i also got constantly rejected by the guys i liked when i was 14 so luke would help me avenge their shunnings and keep me from not checking out pre/mid-pube skateboarders that pass me on the street/getting a boner for them on the off/constant chance i do take a gander. which is to say, if luke can fix things, he can fix my perversions and broken coming of age, which has since turned into a going of age, since i am known to wear an overall jumper. plus alex obviously can't commit (hello, 4 episodes!) and he uses a hairdryer.
gg non-expert (ts): I could never date a dude wif a headshot and, conversely, I could never date a dude wif a haircloud. I am tired and cranky and so I defer to SB on this one. I effing hate when VeganTreats.com baked goods at Atlas are nearing a week old and are kind of stale. My sisters boyfriend kind of sucks. Also, I would avoid any dude named Alex cause I was once not too long ago hanging out/making out with this little dude Rob H., and then, through some slip of the tongue when I was trashed at the Soho Grand, ended up making out with his Jason Schwartzmann look-alike best friend, Alex S. - nearly ruining my friendship with Rob - and rendering me the receiving end of many a snarly text message fer like the 17 and a half weeks following said event. I would also like to take this opportunity to point out that Alex is a liar and totes said Rob wouldn't care and that it's all peace now cause none of really cared about each other in that way, and all it took to calm Rob down was a pricey dinner at the Olive Garden in Times Square. I would nevs evs pipe either of them, but even in thinking about for this eff toss bracket showdown, the name Alex makes me think of madd heffer amounts of drama and puke in my mouth a little.(see below).

winner: luke! luke! alex makes us puke!

gg expert (sb): i got in a fight with my friend ali on sunday who works at tv guide who says that yes, dean is/was a pussy but hey he's just hotter and that's that. then ali cursed the color of her pedicure and wondered aloud if she should've played hockey in her h&m halter dress. plus, while doing an appearance on a morning show on fox or something, ali made up the world documenatryist, which sounds like something someone who never went to college would say, even tho she did (but dean didn't! are you feeling me?). i loves me some ali, and she is sort of a tv authority, but i think the info above pretty much sums up why i am a jess girl por vida and why he has won the hearts of dxe, rory, and ugly-footed bitches everywhere. also, say what you will about his coiffure, but the higher the hair, the closer to god. there's not much else to say so back to to teet's personal page 6.
gg non-expert (ts): Our friend Suz swares that feelings for dudes and stuff can run deeper than just, like, jammin' yr grubby little hands down their pants when on the horizontal make out stampede. I can't really begin to comprehend this because every feeling I've known to this point is based solely on how cute in the face the boy at hand is. Hence, my past dating/eff throwing corrale of profeshional male pattern loosers. Hot in the face por vida. That said, and again and again, I choose Jess. Oh wait, while Jess ultimately wins no matter what, I have this to say: I had a sweet ass roof party last Friday with at least 1,000 Really Popular People {R.P.P} in attendance and there was this Jalapeno Cheeze Hot Pocket of socially inept askingforit/notaskingforit dudes from L.A. there, all JUST SO RIPE fer the pipe and toss. SB would respectfully disagree wif me on this one cause they were, like, MTV 10:30 Spot TRUE LIFE "I Was Born A Fucking Jalapeno Cheeze Hot Pocket, Pipe-able Dude" dudes, rather than, say, near sited Harry Potter/Librarian/Stamp Collecting Nerd/Record Store Clerk/Scared/Pteradactyl lookin' dudes - but I don't even once care what she says on this one. I would much prefer to repeatedly throw any or all of them the eff as opposed to a fictional TV character, cept fer the honest fact that I have cobwebs down there due to a} only being medium cute and 2} having a ginormo relations ice chip, no block, on my grubby little shoulder. Apropos of absolutely nothing, I would also pipe Brandon Reilly from Nightmare of You, if only a) he were not in a band, 2) a total man ho, D) a client I work with, and 17) from Wrong Island. That said, I'll take Latin Derivatives, no I mean Jess...in the primetime television gaywad quiz show that is throwing the eff to any dude, ugg boots or otherwise.

winner: hell jess.

gg expert (sb): i am all for having crushes on the nonexistent, but for the purposes of this showdown, mr kim is a cartoon, and the last cartoon i wanted to mash it with was the fox from disney's robin hood. he had an accent, wore cool shoes, and was down with fat people (hello, his bff, not-li'l jon). sure he was mean to the gay snake and was 2 dimensional but this was back when i was a child and my imagination wasn't yet crushed by the entertainment industry/14 year old boys (see above). so even tho max asked lorelai to marry him for the dumbest reason imaginable (cuz he was tired of fighting?) unless mr kim can swordfight and figure out an a-ha-like way to become real i'm sticking with my own kind thank you (3D/jew).
gg non-expert (ts): I'm gonna go fer the korean cartoon dude. Oh dang, no, scratch that - forgot that you wouldn't be able to close the deal with the lights completely off with that necessary-fer-him-to-be-there TV glare filling the room. And geez, I fergot to shave! Gimme Max cause one time I made out with this super cute underage dude name Max in my eggplant colored wheelz and although it wasn't the most smooth as silk make-out sesh evs, at the end of the day he was still really hot in the face and I have the luxury of storing that memory in my near-to/yet-far-from- the-eff-throw back catalogue forevs, to help me feel less like a looser when I'm riding my BMX bike all over the city by myself to take pix of spelling errors on random sandwhichboards to post immediately on my hiptop blog: http://www.hiplog.com/hiplog/read/4/4488

I'll take Max. I am so totally board and hungary.

winner: to the max.

TUNE IN NEXT WEEK TO SEE JESS WIN!

gilmore dudes eff toss bracket showdown - ROUND 1

2005-06-11T03:21:00.000-04:00

here are some facts for you-- green means go, rain is wet, gilmore girls is a good show. just sayin. also irrefutible is the fact that good tv shows must be funny and have characters doing it with each other (see: wonderfalls review, which makes me add to this fact that good tv shows must also not be on fox on friday nights). we have decided to take that one step further and see who on this good tv show we here at dxe(.com) would do it with ourselves. we have set it up march madness-style bracket for easy elimination until we have one victor/fictional manfriend (is. there. any. other. kind). bring it on.

judges:
sb, resident gg expert, judging based on her vast gilmore knowledge. favorite going into the competition: jess, because, whilst a shitty boyfriend, he loves the distillers, broods like a champ, and pretends to read punk planet while actually reading a self-help book (who can blame him? life with larry probably don't pack as much punch as anything by dr. phil).

ts, totally gg ignorant, judging based on looks and alone. favorite going into the competition: totes defs jess because he was hit by the hot stick at birf AND skateboards and whenever i hear skateboard wheelz roll-out in dirty nyc the world freezes fer but a moment while i temporarily suspect, then and there, that i might be able to build a life with the maker of said noise until i realize it is either a scrappy 11 yr old heading to the steps at union square before curfew or a university of delaware stocks/bonds/kegstands/skirt nailing master's program major (a title for a field of study that does not exist except in my us-against-them head) bottleneck on a sector 9. i am destined to a life solitude. DXE POR VIDA. jus' sayin.

ROUND 1:

gg expert (sb): dude, michel's pretty much the wayland smithers of this show in that he's started out black and is a stealth 'mo. unlike the og wayland tho, he has remained black and never wrote a musical about malibu stacy. i put him in the bracket cuz he gets some of the best dialogue but i'd sooner objectify richard simmons. as for alex, he's way too soap opera looking for my tastes and his character was pretty much a placeholder but at least i know for sure he's not a bottom.
gg non-expert (ts): MICHELLLE - I am all fer dating Hispanic dudes and whatnot, but this guy looks a) too muscular; no matter how you slice it, and i just can't git down wif the bottlenecks yet seeing as they were mean to me in grade school 7) tanner than me even after 9 sessions of 12 minutes each in the 32 dollar per session SolarOrbit H54 Non-UV Stand Up at Tantaztic Tanz on route 35 between BK and the Roller Rink in Eatontown, NJ and D) too comfortable with that nast flavor savor beneath his lower lip. Fer the record; Crazytown died a swift and efficient death, as did Drowning Pool, Adema, and Sidewinder-Z (a nu-metal band with much facial topiary that does not exist) - let no dude who we throw the eff too taint our fleeting moments of intimacy with the dark black cloud that is manscaped pubez of the face.

winner: alex, the vapor boyfriend.

gg expert (sb): again, not a tough one. yes, luke's "hair" is dubious at best (like tv's jeremy piven ["one crazy summer," ari on "entourage", most likely a coked out asshole in real life], he's mysteriously getting less and less bald from a starting place of a serious scalpitude), but that "big bat" joke in this season's closer was great AND you know that deep down you have a secret private dream man that's a lot like him altho maybe he's in nh instead of ct and reads more and shaves his face and isn't such a pussy and would kick it to you after 4 months tops instead of 5 years. and logan has the personality of my imagined version of real-life jeremy piven.
gg non-expert (ts): Luke is old and has permanent party bloat but I have an insane-brains case of the hate for Logan-- he makes me want to puke in my disgruntled pet ferret mr. whisker's hair. that said and by default, I'll take Luke for a night of painting the town red after 3 to 16 servings of Michelob Light at his or my neighborhood WT bar/lounge that does not exist - but i will not kiss his face or touch his d because he is like 57 years old and i would totes puke in my own hand, wipe it in his eyes, and then kick his teeth in with my rocket dog platform flipflops or my new mee too backless white sneakers, whichever i am wearing at the time, while he is making efforts to heavily pet me, all domestic-yet-aggressive ferret with a muzzle at the vet trying valiantly to fight having his anal sacs emptied style.

winner: luke of the almost-elton john like coiffure.

gg expert (sb): bullshit contest, but taylor reminds me of a gaynotgay teacher i had in high school right down to their too-high pants and diction from hell, which is mildy redeeming. still, his character is kind of nazi-y. i know that jess treated rory like crap but it's only because his dad didn't love him and his spin off was doomed due to "high production costs." he read punk planet, he loved the distillers, and he embodied gg's "sex and the city"-like talent to find undercover hot actors and let their hotness shine on a platform they deserve. oh, and that vest. and motorcycle jacket! he pulled one prank on taylor but with a little egging on he'd probably leave a bag of flaming poop on taylor's doorstep. and the poop'd probably be his own. and the flames would be from my heart.
gg non-expert (ts): Taylor looks like a gray haired version of the dude that sells Ziplock bags or a white version of the Dad from the TV show that starred Erkle whose name is presently exscaping me. I WOULD
TAKE JESS IN A HOT SECOND NOT ONLY CAUSE HE IS ON THE UPN AND KNOWS WHO SLINT IS BUT BECAUSE HE IS ALSO SUPER HOT IN THE FACE AND WOULD MAKE A NICE TROPHY BOYFRIEND TO UPSET THE MYRIAD OF DUDES WHO HAVE BLOWN ME OFF OVER THE COURSE OF MY HARD LIVED 20 and a half YEARS. it will never happen though, because i am, yet again, destined to a life of solitude, owning only in this world an ill-behaved pet ferret named mr. whiskers and a subscription to cat fancy while renting a small room with a single width cot in nyc's much feared women's only dorm hotel, the webster, on 34th and 9th avenue or 11th avenue i cant remember because i smoked a ton of dank nodgies in high school in keyport, new jersey. i will work at duane reade.

winner: jess, jess, a thousand times jess.

gg expert (sb): a tough one for once-- dean was good to rory, but too good, like a guy who agrees to buy you tampons on a run to the deli but also needs a good cry post-orgasm. christopher is only medium hot and is not good to lorelai or rory and he listens to rammstien in his car but ok yes he kinda sucks but i'm not sure if he sucks more than dean. i think the dealbreaker is that dean MADE rory a fucking car and christopher just made lorelai a baby and i'd rather have a car than a child, post-coital tears be damned.
gg non-expert (ts): I'm gonna go fer Dean on this one solely because of SB's bril description of him. A boy after my own heart circa 7th grade at Shrewsbury Boro School. Per usual and apropos of absolutely
nothing, that last sentence made me remember how much I hate this new prog-emo band called Circa Survive. i think it was because we played with them at westchester university when we opened for taking back sunday (namecheck what what) where all the kids super hated on us and i called this ugg boots young scam naysayer girl a cunt from the stage - while circa survive acted all nu eem suburban lego pop-on hair snootrock tude style towards us. oh, and also because they are blowing-up blowin-up here's my card because they have a good booking agent while i totes shame-in-my-game sell cd's at sounds on st. marks just to be able to eat to stay chubby - although i cant be shore if that's why.

winner: lean mean dean machine.

gg expert (sb): jeez, i sure have challenged myself! max is the man of my temple beth dreams but kirk is just the kind of freakazoid i always end up spending months with and worrying my parents about. BUT those same functional retards i date, the ones like kirk who scream in their sleep and work shitty jobs and announce when they've made a pee pee, those guys end up dumping ME first leaving me to wonder just what kind of freak show/vegas brothel i'll have to get hired by in order to have relations again. so i'm going with max, even tho he'll never, ever be on the show again, because he sent lorelai a jillion daisies, he'll be ok with a chupah (that luke whittled!), and he won't lead me to a life of whorin.
gg non-expert (ts): i am going to go wif kirk fer no other reason than he looks like alan cumming (star of such filmic masterworks as: reefer madness, son of the mask, cat tale, ant bully, bam bam and celeste and josie and the pussycats). he is totes a ginormo flaming mo who happens to live on my block (7th and b, woot woot) on occasion, i see him making out with this bald fat dude who resembles mr. kissimee-st. cloud, my skeezy phys ed teacher from 6th grade who does not exist, over on the corner by the diana and dodi deli - 1998's winner of the " nyc-based, korean-owned bodega wif the most fucked out biz name that inadvertantly references a worldwide cultural tragedy" award.

winner: max, because alan cumming is really just famous for having a last name that means "the act of jizz making" in english. that is so gay and gross.

gg expert (sb): mr kim (see above).
gg non-expert (ts): i am not racist but uncle skip (sanderson - on mom's side) is and he would be super bummed if i chose mr. kim, not because uncle skip is a bad person, but because he is a wealthy old school race horse owning italian whose gutz i love so much because he, oft under the cloak of darkness, loans me madd heffer amounts of old money when i e-overspend on limited edition c. ronson converse. plus, i have always had secret visions of dating a hessian even though a) i will never date again as i am destined to a life of solitude as a ferret owner whose cot-only rental room smells like urine and b) daniel paladino is not the nasty fatass pictured above who is instead the dude that popped up when sb google image searched (GIS#1) jerkwad. (see above)

winner: mr kim because we are all equal on the inside.

TUNE IN NEXT WEEK IF WE AREN'T ALREADY BORED OF THIS FOR ROUND 2!

Peace in the Middle East (Village) - TS reviews her local Falafel

2005-05-18T16:29:00.002-04:00

Aside from my cryogenically frozen guinea pig, Mr. Whiskers, and the smell of mom cooking Shake -N- Bake chicken tenders on any given Tuesday evening while I watch Price is Right, there is not a thing on this earth entire I love more than solo powerstuffing Falafel and Grape Leaves in NYC's own dirty East Village or Brooklyn's post art-school retard rodeo, Ye Olde Williamsburg. {Please note: I stuff solo because I have no friends.} (lies. -sb) Below find definitive conclusions to my comprehensive 3-month field study:

{Pre - script: Before reading any further please note that each outlet gets a .5 bonus for being open all nite, like every Mediteranean place in the world is, and for always welcoming, with open arms, at 3:30am or later, drunk sluts and normal dudes {dude TM's} who want to get their grub on. This makez for sensational people watching; solid fodder fer silent, mean-spirited razzing, which is my raison d'etre if ever i had one/knew what that meant.

Chickpea, St. Marks and 3rd Avenue, NYC - This place has no grape leaves at all, which is unabashed ridiculousness, and they know it. The falafel is just adequate. The staff, howevs, is five fucking stars; the girl with the mole and the baseball cap behind the counter will totally teach you how to make grape leaves if you act dissapointed enuff. The other small-fry flows me madd free sides because he clearly also wants to throw me the eff. Weird sidenote: "Chickpea," the name of this joint, is painted in Times New Roman size 567 point font down the front of the building. I may only be speaking fer myself here but I would so not want my 2700 dollar a month studio apartment to be snugly nestled on the 3rd floor behind the word "pea," jus sayin'. It's bad enuff to live on St. Marks, man.

SCORE: 3.5 points + default .5 open all nite bonus - 2 points for the
writing on the building and the no grape leaves bass ackwardness = total points, 2.

Damask, Avenue A and 5th Street, NYC - The bald guy workin the graveyard shift has this stone faced expression 100% of the time and is a total meanjeans, all zero fucking stars style. The grape leaves are dry compared to Cinderella Falafel, whose grape leaves reign supreme. This partic make of sandwhich will stink you out of home, office, and subway, which, when you've devoted yrself to a dxe life of celibacy, really matters not. But if yr going to keep trying, under the cloak of darkness, to unsuccessfully kick it to Brandon Reilly, it is advisable to avoid Damask for 3 to 16 days prior to actualizing any {embarassing enuff} eff throwing attempts.

SCORE TO FOLLOW: I am so fucking tired.

BONUS SB COMMENTARY-- i once brought a damask falafel slurry into a movie at the two boots dealie on 3rd st and you could practically see the green smell waves coming off my dinner like it was pepe le peu. even in the dark i could understand (understank?) where the expression "giving the stink eye" comes from. i left the movie early so i wouldn't get discovered as the source of stink/lynched.

Cinderella, St. Marks and 2nd Avenue - HOLY CRAP, the grape leaves here are twelve fucking stars, so sweet man. Totes unbeatable, like on some 2001 era Tiger Woods level. They also stand alone in terms of stacking the falafel sandwhich components correctly; each ingredient one on top of the other, allowing for a cornucopia of savory goodness in every last bite. {Insert Pepsi commercial style thumbs up here.} Main helper dude is so nice, but all like hubbah hubbah nice, dirtbag smile style, that one just can't help but feeling objectified. Watch out fer well dressed teenage homeless scraps with expensive dogs all beggin' fer change rite outside the entrance.

SCORE: 5.5 + default .5 open all nite bonus = 6 - 1 point for poor people/objectification combo = total points, 5.

Pita Power, on Bedford btwn North 7th and North 6th, is all gourmet and shit. I have never had their grape leaves but let's pretend I did and say they were too mushy. Their 'flavored balls' are delicious and rad but for years management and staffers gold fronted non-dairy status until, after an Action 13 Expose hosted by Roz Abrams, the Vegan police came and revoked their club membership card. The sizable staffer lady with frosted lipstick who rolls the late 80's Jersey style "claw" bangs always throws maje tude but douses that shit in Trappey's Red Devil; the Jag-you-are of cheap hot sauce, essentially racing from behind to snag the baton from the equally 'tudey Damask dude and win the Regional RudeNotRude Championships. Additionally, one of the counter boys used to be in, like, Native Nod or Indian Summer or Antioch Arrow or something and occasionally gets recognized by area musical elitists as such. Last but not least, one time 3 dude TM's got in a sick fight right outside and broke the giant front glass window and door. PP management left the area covered in duct tape for more than 5 weeks. OG Bonx!

SCORE: 5 + default .5 open all nite bonus - 1 for Claw Bangs 'tude + 2
for Trappey's Red Devil and Indian Summer and/or NativeNod and/or Antioch Arrow affiliation - 1.5 for misrepresentation of vegan eats + 4 for sick dude TM fight and inexcusably lengthy use of duct tape = total points, 7.

Oasis, on North 7th btwn Bedford and Berry,
smells like ass 24/7. All the chairs are either too high or too low for the counter, and there is so much aging shawarma visible it makes me throw up a little. The front is all glass so if yr tring to eat 3 sandwhiches and 2 {secret} servings of Baklava than be sure any number of kids with that flock of seagulls haircut are gonna be privy to yr binge. The falafel is unmatched because they put pickles in it, howevs, the grape leaves are sub-par because they are too tuff. I know this for a fact even though I have never had them.

SCORE TO FOLLOW: I am still so fucking tired.

DECISION: Class, please meet the winner of this year's NYC Area A+ Bad Breath Price-Point Pocket Meal, PITA POWER.

OTHER DECISION: Props to the author for writing a review about falafel and grapes leaves having only eaten the grape leaves at one of the 5 establishments reviewed. Viva la foundation of anything predicated on lies!

In super summing up, Shawarma is kindof gross and makes me throw up a little, as does the thought of Bea Arthur throwing the eff, as do eggs. In double super summing up, Kate"s joint has the nastiest freaking Marlon Blando style hummus/epoxy ever.

Mini bonus review by sb. That place in bk she likes to which I have been because I am fat and lazy...and am missing 3 toes on my right foot since that mini bike accident that never happened. (it is called zytoons and you know it's good cuz of the liberal application of tahini on everything. i think it's even drizzled into the diet coke. and oh those rock bottom bk prices! when you're there, you're family!* (*=semites only, sorry). -sb)

-ts (and sb on graphix and back-up opinions) (don't forget, sb also) (an sb concept and production)

d8xedge II - 8 questions for ts, by sb

2005-05-02T15:41:00.000-04:00

preface:
SB!
THIS IS THE LONGEST INTERVIEW I HAVE EVER DONE. EDIT IT DOWN AND I WILL BE VERY CROSS WITH YOU! YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME! ALSO... I WOULD HIGHLY ADVISE YOU TO INCLUDE THE PART EARLIER IN THIS PARAGRAPH REGARDING THIS BEING THE LONGEST INTERVIEW I HAVE EVER DONE CAUSE IT IS FUNNY AND I NEED TO PERPETUALLY ONE UP YOU. Ready to post, Skippy! THENX.

*********

1. has being dxe improved your life or cast you down into a world of perscription meds, soapnet, and vaggy teas with hooker names (sleepy tyme, pg tips, sip n'bleed, etc)?

- datexedge {.com} has vastly improved my life because now I am free to have wicked bad crushes on exciting new, completely parent-unapproved boys every three days, in both my noggin and in reality; sometimes even volleying back-n-forth between them when we are at the same 5th wave emo social affairs.

- I have a close personal relationship with prescription meds... Ever so 'bout it 'bout it. My complex needz are generously met by my friendly, invisible, resident, pretend Doctor, Pancho Allister St. Germaine Suarez at: http://undergroundrailroadprescriptions4u.com, Username and password, respectively: help.me.be.less.inhibited and 2manycutedudes2count05

2. if gilmore girls' logan is as ugly and disgusting as you claim, why is he the "star" on a long-running program on a semi-major television network while a lad you deem to be hot like that manboy from that band or whatever is putting on his guy-liner (eye liner for men (tm)) somewhere before playing a show to a crowd that is equal to or maybe even less than the viewership of the 4 am screening of beastmaster on spike?

- These days, I tend to go for the underdogs! Having been ensconsed in the neverending collective super-circle jerk that is a coddled "overdogs," world, so to speak, I felt overshadowed and left behind, like the first two girls from Destiny's Child. With my many underdog male associates, I am able easily outshine them.

"HELLO! I AM TEETER AND THIS IS MY RADIO FLYER RED WAGON LOAD OF PERSONALITY! Indeed, my here counterpart is an unabashed humbag snoozefest, so how about paying me some more mind? Do you like my new shoes? Isn't may hair a most unusual shade of red? It really make my green eyes stand out. Did you know I'm a bonafide, screen actors guild enrolled cartoon voice? And a Sperber sister? And the lead singer for an up and coming mall "punk" band? If you'd be so kind as to put that in yr emo chatroom and smoke it, that would be grate."

I'm going for the gold with my quiet, looser, boring vapor trailed boyfriend always 2 steps behind me. Teeter Sperber por vida!

3. choose one phrase to never be able to say again under punishment of kicking: "i am the fattest," "i tooted," "MY needs!", or "i could make a life with him, don't joke!" or "i don't like him anymore."

- Sheesh, I guess "I am the fattest" cause Mom told me today I have to go to Fat Camp upstate because I am pushing maximum density and only spiraling to an even worser disgusting chubby dumpling style mess that no good man will ever marry. Owch, but, truer words were never spoken. No more cakes and pies for this chowhole.

4. from the overwhelming shampoo/air freshner smell of your former wheels to the perfume you used to wear in such enormous quantities that i thought you bought it by the steel drum, you are a fan of/oft associated with strong, girlie smells. if you could drench yrself in any one smell (french toast, new jersey apple orchard [minus white trash smoking moms], deli flowers), what would it be?

- French toast wif maple syrup and bananas - cause I read in Circus mag or maybe it was Metal Maniacs that the above is Gerard Way's favorite food and I would really love to have him inside me, howevs, he is in a band AND an overdog so it would have to be contained to captivating him with my overwhelming scent, while I sex make with him {read: throw the eff on dexicon page} in my head.

5. it's a sex baseball game: the pitcher throws the f, the batter doubles, one man goes out, the dugout goes wild, the fans do the wave, a player steals third. a, did someone get fucked or what? b, how much DO i love the movie bull durham? c, go sox.

A} someone got fucked and I think it was right on home base! Success, full success.

2} you love Bull Durham more than a smorgasborgue of bionic food and I would even wax my womanly assets for you if could get you 7 minutes in the back of a toyata carollo {a make of car that does not exist} with kevin costner. Remember sb, IF I WAX IT, THEY WILL COME {read also: cum} [ed note—lies! that sheltland pony of a man does not give me a boner! –sb]

D} no disrespek, borat style, but the sox effin suck. Toledo Hot Sticks 4ever { a baseball team that does not exist}

6. if one part of you had to be gay, which part would it be: your hand, your hoo, your face, your left boob, or the 4th toe on your left foot?

My hoo, I guess, but only if I could throw the eff to Kaya from The Butchies and/or Team Dresch she is the hottest and only blonde girlnot girl dudenotdude I have wanted to jump the fence for. I am assuming my left boob would up in this homo mix by default, no?

7. please describe the act of wilmer valderama pooping as if you were writing a press release. go:

2nd May 2005

For immediate release:

{Los Angeles, California}

Socially Meaningless Hispanic GayNotGay Actor Willder Valderamma Craps His Guts on Command During Tryouts for Lead Role In Miramax's Remake of HMS Pinnafore.

Today, at a go-see in back Lot 277B with Harvey Weinsten or whoever now runs that company, in the Miramax West Hollywood Compound,
Wilder Valderamma {that 70's Show, Punked, 1% Fake Restarauntour} crapped his gutz on command in front of an entire production staff onto a heap of old newspapers in hopes of landing a starring role opposite Kirsten Dunst and Bea Arthur in the 2006 remake of the HMS Pinnafore.

Onlookers remarked that casting agents were unimpressed with his fey 8 inch monkeytail topped with only a small spiral of diarehhea, as well as his nervous energy during his performance.

Tobey MaGuire {and his twin brother Jessup MaGuire - who does not exist} ended up landing the role by kicking out an impressive 10-minutes- to-produce black and green poocano. He is also newly super fat, so the team had more confidence that he would be consistent and effective in the gutz crapping demands of the role.

Wilderamma's rep was unavailable for comment at the time of release.

For additional information or press photos of above event, please contact Stunt Company Media, Inc.

Teeter Sperber - Head Publicist
{718} 222- 1746
Teeter@stuntcompany.com

8. math question: i am pure moods, headed for an emoseizure at 6 swings per hour going north towards gilmanton, nh. you are also pure moods, going due south on the same track at 10 swings a minute en route to philly. given this information, when are we due to enter the battledome and make each other cry?

We will make each other cry only when we put Andrew Ellis due center and effing skin him alive, work through 8 bags of Olestra tater chips each thereby making our asses explode, crap our gutz onto 2 price slash bin copies of the new Switchfoot album, and then beat the memory of both our loser ex-boyfriends with an old style, heavy as the hell, metal tennis racket. Clearly, I will make you cry first cause I am meaner.

With that aside, we will then bust the full on dine and dash at Kate's Joint, powerstuffing stacks and stacks of barbecue not buffalo wings, Unturkey Clubs, and 10 servings each of banana tiramisu - all the while with me downing Whiskey Sours AND Captain morgan's and ginger like tomorrow coming depends on it - with you being on yr cell phone all weeping that you suspect I am a raging alcholic finally hitting rock bottom. I will simulataneously be demanding that our fave waiter, A.J., pump Track #5, "Feels Like Rain" off the new Motion City Soundtrack record, entitled "Commit this To Memory," produced by Mark Hoppus of Blink 182 and mixed both by money rock bigwig Tom Lord-Alge and Drive Like Jehu tantrum rock luminary, Mark Trombino; featuring Patty Carrie of Limbeck on backing vocals as well as Hoppus himself; dropping on June 7th, 2005 on Epitaph records. {Read: I am a full time rock and roll publicist.}

We will then feel painfully full, call it yet another day in manic, hand to mouth combat New York, hi-five and part ways to watch Tivo for the next 3 to 16 hours. Laziness is the fucking panacea.

d8xedge - 8 questions for sb, by ts

2005-05-02T14:50:00.001-04:00

1} Hello. I am making us do these interviews because I feel strongly that, in general, you-n-me need to have more spotlight shone on us. Are you resentful of this, yet another one of my "brilliant" ideas?

at this point, do you or i really have such a thing as a unique idea? our ideas are like bat sonar-- we send them out from our heads in little waves to bounce of each other without even opening our toothy, rabies-filled little mouths. in turn, i resent nothing, but, as a bat, i would like to avoid the spotlight as i prefer eating bugs, the dark, and pooping upside-down.

2} You broke up with me {read: plutonically, for the last time mom and dad, we are not gay} from 2000 to 2003. Why? Along those lines, how did you get so racist against indoor tanning?

as with our ideas, our decisions are made in jointly, if not in simultaneity. yes, we broke up in part due to yr excess tanning/waxing/manicuring/starving because i was frightened of the insecure sorority girl who had possessed my friend teeter, the lass who used to fart in public, order her cheese fries with a side of cheese and some cheese also, and do coffins on her skateboard without worrying about the effect it would have on her fingernails. also, your then-boyfriend hated women A LOT, like, mach 9 hatred, the kind of misogyny found only in fashion designers, high-ranking catholics, and ann coulter. as a woman, i did not like being around him, which i think is not unreasonable-- were you dating a neo-nazi, i'd probably take a raincheck on being the third for friday night dinners at denny's as well. ANYwho, whilst i had my issues, you had yr issues as well, and while neither one of us can remember exactly what they were, i'm sure they had something to do with my issues and something to do with our hating the world in general. either way, our split was mutual, as was our reunion.

i got racist against indoor tanning back when i got eyeballs. there are a lot of things inherent to being a lady-- baby-having parts, instinctual nurturing skills, chee chees-- but the ability to, at any moment, be able to strip down and look good with a gold pole between your asscheeks, aka a bronze butt burrito, is NOT one of them. which is to say, the only reason i'd sit in a cancer pod to turn my skin brown would be if my job depended on it, and it does not, thanks god. dressing like a park ranger if you are not one can be cool, dressing like a stripper if you are not one is lame. this also explains my aversion to giant nails and extreme pubic topiary. there were certainly more important things for you to worry about back then, like, say, "why am i so hungry?" and "why am i dating an asshole?" SAYIN.

3} I love Strivectin SD, Rembrandt Super Tooth Whitener, and color-depositing Aveda Shampoo and Conditioner twin sets. I hate my sisters boyfriends dog Miles and Andrew Ellis. Name your three favorite beauty products and yr 2 most arch nemisis's.

that aveda hair oil lube stuff, the fancy clarins zit cream my sister got me which is really just sweet smelling clearasil, and tylenol blue, which doesn't really count, but who doesn't love occasionally doing the blue? i hate rupert murdoch and jay leno (you know i hate other people but google is a powerful thing and after what happened to biggie and tupac i'm all about increasing the peace).

4} Tell the readers about how much or how little you like my band, Ley Royal Scam and why.
Also, pls tell the reader what yr honest assessment of my bands 4 new songs that you heard one time for the very first time 1 hour ago is.

i like ley royal scam a lot because teeter is finally in the spotlight and nobody puts baby in the corner. also because her speaking voice is aural gold and getting it to the masses via song is a gift to the world. the new songs are good but it was hard to hear them over you saying how much you hated them/hearing them/your voice etc.

5} I am so happy that we are grate friends because, much like I think of myself, - find you to be an effing literary genius. What are the emotions you experience when you hang out with me?

elation, frustration, exasperation, rinse, repeat.

5a} I just looked over my shoulder and saw one bit of your interview questions for me on the computer screen and I can already tell that your questions are going to be funnier than mine. This evokes feeling of inadequacy in me regarding how yr so much more funnier than me you are. What the eff?

mom, dad, don't fight. girls are always crying and bleeding.

6} FUCKING PARSLEY AND ONION? BITCH! What is yr favorite hummus brand?

well, i like parsley and onion flavor a lot but i think sabra is my favorite brand, chunky style my favorite flavor, because it comes in a fuckin' trough and has the same name as the falafel place i went to when i was a kid when falafels were the size of my fist and the world was a magical place.

7} I am sitting 1 foot away from you right now, having just eaten 2 Taco Bell bean burritos. Can you smell my onion breath?

actually, you asked me that with yr mouth about four inches away from my face, and no.

8} Is it funny to you that most of yr interview questions somehow tie back to me or is this par for the course?

bitch, i know yr life. totally par and funny as well.

Bonus question: I poop like 7 times a day, do you? If not, am I normal?

i do not have enough time in the day to log (no pun intended) that many hours in the WC. you are normal for an infant or old person, sure.

Extra credit 7th wave emo question: Tall Ships in a Sea of Loneliness are opening for Empty Promises and Samantha Jane's Diary at Starland Ballroom in Sayreville, NJ. You really want to wear yr Empty Promises t-shirt to the show and I repeatedly encourage you not to cause that's so gay. Whose right, you or me?

BUT if i'm wearing my tall ships in a sea of loneliness (tsiasol) pin and my samantha jane's diary patch on my courier bag (conveniently covering the brand tag which i don't remember anymore but it's the kind of bag that comes with a li'l koala keychain thing that i thought was totally cute at the time but that was a year ago and now i realize that it was retarded, duh), then won't empty promises be hurt if they get left out? i've read their myspace page and they say their fans mean a lot to them! did you mean that i should wear the pink empty promises shirt i have instead of the green one? or maybe the blue one? IM me back asap cuz my mom's driving me to the show in an hour and i want to have this settled before i do my hair so i don't fuck it up changing shirts a million times. i'm meeting messageboard friends and i don't want to come home and find out that the whole internet thinks my hair is uggs and that i'm fat also.

NEXT WEEK - TS IN THE HOT SEAT!

THE CHIRCH OF DOGZ, SISTERS, AND WHEELZ. DxE(.com) por vida.

2005-04-06T11:21:00.000-04:00

datexedge is effin famxily

while sb and ts/teeter are the majority stock holders in dxe ltd (copyright dxe.com MMV in perpetuity throughout the universe), we do not opperate in a vacuum. here are some of the people behind the people that make dxe.com the google of the relationship-free set.

SISTERS!
sb and ts have 4 (four!) sisters between them-- ts has sis heath, sis aim, and sis chris, and sb has sis becca. 3 out of 4 siblings live in the empire state while one lives in the trunk of a pt cruiser and was somewhere on the other side of the country last we checked. sb and ts have no brothers, altho sb does have a he-friend (not in that way of course!) named sharif who is black, so he is technically a brother, but only technically, and even then not really because he went to an ivy league college.

DOGS!
ts has her dogs like her italian food, ie, family-style, so her pets are a shared custody situation with her parents and sibs. In ts's and the sisters sperberverse, all dawgs must be x-tra micro - like the size of a parking ticket or a t-mobile sidekick. Ts's most favoritest is wiggle puppy, a wiley 5 pound submissive urinator. Her least favoritest is miles, the destructive dawg equivalent of laurel zinn, who was the most nastiest dirty girl in all of shrewsbury school. sb, on the other hand, has her very own dog named king buzzo, aka buzzo, buzz, buddo, buzzerino the buzz pants, buhhhhz (like bud on the cosby show), and king piss. contrary to popular belief, buzz is not a fancy-pants poodle. he is instead a nappy pants mutt that adopted via petfinder 3 years ago who had so much hair from being homeless and living the thug life that he was listed as a baby girl. he was a grown-ass man! buzz has started a chapter of nah-dh-pla in sb's apartment (north american he-dog he-puppy love association) but so far the only taker is her parents' poodle woody allen who, thanks to buzz's occasional visits, has the cleanest dog penis on the east coast. buzzo totally completes sb and she misses his breath when they spend time apart. and yes, he also sings for the melvins, since you asked.

Ts would also like to make asn per usual natch note that the paragraph about buzzo is like ten scrillion wordz longer than the ones about wiggle puppy or stupid miles, but sb would ilke to clarify that this is because those are time share pets and buzzo is sb's full time adopted child, albeit one covered in fur who won't grow up to hate her and never call like all jewish sons everywhere.

(PLEASE NOTE: HEADS IN SHITTY POLAROIDS APPEAR LARGER THAN THEY ACTUALLY ARE.)

WHEELZ!
sb has no wheels, just some old skateboards she is often to afraid to ride and many pairs of birkenstock pro clogs (in exotic euro colors). ts, on the other hand, is always on the go, in motion, and her collection of wheelz is as follows:

Teeter here, natch. I have not 1 but 2 skate toys called the long rider which were totes, like, x-tra garbagey when I procured them at a even more garbagey yard sale in frisco, colorado in 1998. They are like half an inch wide, room enuff fer only 1 foot and none if yr a big dude or woman wif huge feet. It has a flex plastic neck that scoopz into a handle that is way too small fer a fat hand like mine. If I could redesign this toy I would give it a sweet kicktail and a bigger handle, roomy enuff fer one whole fat hand, duh. I had to replace the crappy clay wheelz with krypto marshmallows, even though kryptos are kind of gay cause they orginally stemmed from a once {and still} 'tarted foundation of fruitbootery. Enter some black panther bearings that cost a grip {!} and teets one of like zero grate girl skateshredders in town.

I also dressed it up with an unbeetable decorative grip tape job. I am now the envy and headscratcher of every dude and woman in town, 'specially the real normal ones. Post 'pimpin my skatetoy' powerfixup, I can now waste practically any dude or woman in a race, cepta spacey-toofed greg goulet, who is one of my, like, 95 scrillion boy candidates in my noggin to build a life wif. He is wifout rival the most best dude or woman skateboarder I have even once ever known globally and into the universe and whatever. Snowshredder too, but not snowler-blader, cause that is totes uncool. Sometimes people on the subway are mind-boggled by my thrift score, the long rider, and wanna chit chat about it fer the whole ride. After 7 years of this, it makes me stampy and also makes me kind of hate said chit-chatty dude or woman.

I also support-n-represent roller skates {quads only, gaybladez # never} and soap shoes {stoops but rad zaps nonetheless} and kick scooters {haro only} and unicycles and beach cruisers with ginormodome seats fer huge butts, but only old ones, none of this new jack bogusness that's fer certain. In an alternate universe I would rep for those 3,000 bean stand up moto scooterz. {not even sb, queen of useless info, knows what these are called.} but I am presently and will forever be a broke motor-mouthed style scrapper, roaming the meanstreets alone under the cloak of darkness, my silver flask and a pocket knife in hand. Wheelz, my man. In motion anytime is # x-cellent. And so it was effin written, spanky.

sb would like to note who ts' description of her wheelz is about 923394 times longer than sb's ode to king buzzo, and buzzo has a soul while her scoots do not, and ts would like to remind her that she can suck it.

-ts/sb

ts and sb proudly present/pass down...the ten commandments of dxe.com

2005-03-23T04:20:00.000-05:00

until the supreme court says we can't, dxe.com will keep these laws front and center. so begins our testimony!

I. as far as dxe is concerned, the most important inventions of man are as follows: fire, penicillin, google image search, jimmies/sprinkles, and tivo.

II. dxe's core marketing meetings are too be held every tuesday at 9 at the new whole foods. let the 365 grapefruit soda flow, holla!

III. dxe.com will never serve as an online battledome for teeter to spar with a, record execs, b, world religions, c, exbfs, d, dumb hos, or e, any combination of the above. dxe serves to bring people together (in their self-proclaimed solitude), not start drama. plus, we cannot afford the 200+k in donations to the harlem boys choir it will take to make things right.

III.b drama anonymous meetings are to be held every tuesday night at 9:30 at the new whole foods. low fat guac to purify!

IV. at no point is dxe.com allowed to raise sb's internet profile so that all her enemies from summer camp can google her and post pictures of her from her supporting turn in 1991's production of fiddler on the roof.

V. shit must be bought. make haste!

VI. sb must get cancer (maybe just of the foot or something) so that she can get the make a wish foundation to book her ten minutes in the back of a van with josh homme. she doesn't care if the new record is mediocre because his face is 5 fucking stars and she's gonna get her foot hooked on smoking right now.

VII. nobody makes the authors of dxe.com laugh harder than the authors of dxe.com. and so it was written.

VIII. should sb and ts friend-break up again (NEVER) then sb will get dxe.com during the week and ts will get it on weekends, xmas, pesach, and prince spaghetti day. they will meet at the fresh city at the cheesequake reststop to transfer custody and share the cost of dxe.com's food, orthodontia, and tuition at vassar.

IX. member that time you spent $25 on a fucking white t-shirt? what were you thinking? oh wait, you can't tell that story to impress the opposite sex because it hasn't happened yet. fire up the flux capacitor, get back to the future, and buy our shit!

X. NEVER DOUBT DXE.COM. DXE.COM IS THE POWER, THE LIGHT, AND THE WAY. DXE.COM IS WILL GIVE YOU SHINIER HAIR, WHITER TEETH, AND REDUCE THE SIGNS OF AGING. DXE.COM IS THE ANSWER AND YOUR LIFE IS THE QUESTION. IF DXE.COM LASTS FOR MORE THAN 5 HOURS, YOU SHOULD CONSULT A PHYSICIAN. ALL HAIL! FOLLOW US! THE NEW WHOLE FOODS IS SO FUCKING CROWDED! A FIRESTORM TO PURIFY! DXE(.COM) POR VIDA!

ts's top ten of sxsw (as posted by sb as teeter's in emo deprogramming)

2005-03-23T04:03:00.000-05:00

Fer those of you dxe'ers who are not looped into to seasonal music industry protocol, pls find ts's top ten list for this years sxsw music conference/maje labe circle jerk/6,000 person alcoholics anonymous meeting waiting to happen:

10. That one cute dude from My Epiphany on Eyeball Recs who sold me the super gay light pink belt rite off his very own 28 inch waist while Tegan and Sarah were playing.

9. Hangin pimp tite wiff that other one cute dude who works at The Militia Group who I had been waiting to meet after months of hubba hubba phone flirtationz. He was a total vision so I pinched his tush.

8. Tex-Mex.

7. That other other one cute dude who works for DCM Management who came to our brunch whose face I dreampt of kissing wif tongue as he powerstuffed chipz and salsa and completely ignored me.

6. That other other other cute Australian 20 yr old wif those eyes you could just melt in bowling a few games by my side at the snoot city hubba hubba humbag snoozefest Deisel party while he too steadily ignored me. Um, I beat him by, like, 299 points. Throughout the whole match he only knocked over one pin. Teen incompetance is ever so hubba hubba delicious!Oh! And that accent. Ready to throw the eff, f'reals. 100%

5. Frozen Margaritas.

4. Spontaneously kissing the face of that other other other other one super cute dude in the driveway of the Unnoficial Spin Magazine/Stolen Transmission/Soundgirl house party. I am now hopefully going to build a life with that dude.
Watch me work.

3. Beans. Pfffffft. I tooted.

2. Sharing a bed nitely wif the hottest gay dude I know and wanting to shout it from the mountaintops simply because I was sharing my bed wif a dude. No Mom and Dad, fer the last time, I am not gay!

1. Cause no matter how many cute dudes you pretend are gonna be all up in yr gutz, watching real deal drunk sluts never gets old.

DATEXEDGE: A LAND WHARE ONE CAN DREAM AND BUY HOTT MERCH

dateXedge: this ghettron website took 2 years to build. vilkommen.

2005-02-12T13:57:00.000-05:00

Sis Heath just recently went dateXedge, this fact proven by Dad sternly advising her the other nite not to have casual sex... hands off, lads! Buy a SHIRT!!!!

ALSO, this site is finally f'n done! it took us a long time, but we at long last found some e-help, an escaped psych ward patient named jawarhalal whose anglefire homepage had more beautific java than our li'l eyes could handle. bless 'im for his rainbow of text, tables, and tentative crap! we have never made ourselves laugh harder in our lives than by the stuff written here, so read the shit out of this if you want to join us in pants-peeing.