I Really Hate Physicists

This will be short because I just realized I have mounds of Arabic homework, and I have an Iraqi test tomorrow, and I haven't done jack squat tonight.

I didn't have class today, but I had an appointment with my thesis advisor this morning, and then I had an appointment with a career counselor right afterwards.

Last week, I took one of those lame "interest" tests (the "Strong Interest Inventory") to see what sort of career might be the best fit for me. Frankly, I find such things a waste of time by the time you're 30-something (I mean, if you don't know what you like by now, you're in big trouble).

However, I was sort of goaded into it by a career center employee -- sporting very hair sprayed, permed locks and an outfit straight out of the Kohl's catalog, which frankly made me feel nervous... I mean, this woman is giving me career advice? -- who I met with last week (when I was only trying to find out if my resume was a match with any of the potential employers that come looking for workers at UA).

Anyway, big shock... my job interest results are exactly the way I predicted they would be!

Interests (in order of preference): Artistic jobs, enterprising jobs, and social jobs.
Non-interests: Investigative, conventional, and realistic jobs.

I sense a theme here... penniless jobs vs. money-making jobs. OK, so you might be able to strike it rich with "enterprising jobs," but for the most part, I'm on the losing end of the stick, I fear. The fun end, but the poor end.

Here's the interesting part. When comparing my scores to 60,000 working women, I scored the most in common with (in order):
1. Librarian
2. Advertising Account Manager
3. Interior Designer
4. Photographer
5. Speech Pathologist
6. Artist
7. Buyer
8. Retail Sales Manager
9. Public Relations Director
10. Social Worker

I've never considered library science, but apparently it's a perfect fit for me. (?!?!?)

Also of interest, the women with whom I have the least in common are in these career fields:
1. Physicist
2. Athletic Trainer
3. Mathematician
4. Physical Education Teacher
5. Physical Therapist

Umm, yes, I would agree. I get the cringe factor from all of those jobs.

Ahhh, so here I am. Back at square one.

All right, I have s**t to do now so I must run.

Back in the Babysitting Saddle

So the babysitting gig went fairly well today. It was my so-called "trial session" to see how I performed. (Seriously, the mom* called it a trial session... I guess to make sure I'm no baby shaking Louise Woodward.)

I planned to take a photo of the baby, but the mom was home the entire time (working in her home office), and I thought it would be extremely weird if she walked out of the office, and there I was snapping photos of the kid on day numero uno. So I held back.

Turns out Serena sleeps a lot. And I mean a lot. She slept the first two hours I was there, which was lovely because that meant I got to just sit on the couch and do my Arabic homework unfettered by an infant's needs. She finally woke up around 11, and she was perfect while I changed her diaper (pee only, thank god), cleaned her pink eye (yes, oozing sleepies are a lovely thing), and played with her for a bit in the living room.

Then, because her mom had told me to do so, I attempted to feed her a bottle. This was not a popular decision. She turned from sweet little sack of sunshine to crabby applekins in all of 10 seconds. She screamed, she turned purple, she screamed some more, she flailed her arms, she squirted tears, and she screamed again. Meanwhile, I kept thinking about the mom working in the room next door, knowing she was like, "what the hell is going on out there?"

Meanwhile, if I picked the baby up, she got more pissed off. Yet it seemed inhumane to leave her on her little floor mat (although I did). If I talked to her, the sound of my voice pissed her off. Therefore, I stopped talking. So I was in the midst of a situation where the baby is on the floor alone, I'm squatting next to her trying to force a bottle into her mouth (silently), and the child is, frankly, fucking furious. Of course, this is the moment when the mom pops her head out to ask if everything is OK.

Oh yes, ma'am, just wonderful! Idyllic in fact! Can't you see how well we're getting on? She clearly loves me!!

Luckily, her mother had warned me of this exact possibility upon my arrival and appeared unsurprised by the behavior. Apparently, Serena is a bit fussy about new people, and she doesn't like bottles. I just had no idea how loud a three month old could yell. I believe I am still suffering from tinnitus.

Other than that little incident, it was perfect. The house was clean & quiet, and the mom is really nice. Turns out, I'm still hired and will start working regularly (every Tue/Thur morning) beginning February 20 after the mom goes back to work. I figure the baby will get used to me after a few times... or so I hope.

The rest of my day was rather uneventful. Class, the gym, and being productively lazy.

* = I'm calling her the mom because I don't want to use her real name... just in case she ever Googles herself or something.

ps - As a side note, I know some people just love the smell of a baby, but I'm not one of them. Baby lotion, good. Baby shampoo, good. Baby wipes, good. Sour milk and Ritz cracker smelling spit-up? Not so good. In fact, babies often smell like old cheese. Just my personal opinion.

Catching Up

It's been a while since I've actually updated anything really going on in my life... so here it is:

1. I got the babysitting job that I interviewed for last week, and I start tomorrow morning at 9am. I'll be watching three month old Serena every Tuesday and Thursday until noon. I'm actually really excited because she's a super cute baby, and it will be fun to play with her for a few hours every week. BTW -- big thanks to Mack for giving me a good recommendation!!

2. My new neighbor, the silent invisible girl, remains fabulously quiet. I just thought about Sid & Nancy tonight as I was reading about Umayyad palaces for my art class... and I thought about how much noise they would have been making if they still lived there, what with their rabbit-like copulation habits, constant passageway smoking, and punk rock music. Ahhhh, silence is indeed golden.

3. I talked to Paola this weekend, and we chatted about her upcoming visit to Tucson at the end of February. I'm very excited, P!!! I am working on a Superduper Southwest Agenda!

Here we are circa 2003:

Our former Southwest party spot... Vegas.

4. I bought my Spring Break ticket to Seattle. I know, I know... Seattle for Spring Break when I live next to Mexico? Well, yes. Mexico turns into a cesspool during Spring Break, and I am running away from it. I'm actually going to visit Jojo, where I will finally see her baby, Carson, who is now an unbelievable ten months old. I'll be there right before his first birthday, but rumor has it he's already walking. I think I'm in for an interesting few days!



I'm also hoping to spend some quality time with Kelley & Sean too...

... who hopefully won't be teaching ski lessons the entire time I'm there!!

I'm actually only staying for a long weekend and then will fly back to Phoenix, where I'm going to stay with my mom's cousin at her house up in Prescott (in the mountains) for the rest of the week before returning to Tucson.

5. I talked to my niece, Isabella, today. She's in DC, visiting my mom right now with my brother.



Our conversation went something like this:

I: Hi, Kit.
K: Hi!! What are you doing?
I: I'm making a puzzle.
K: Cool... what's on the puzzle?
I: Hello Kitty.
K: Oh, I love Hello Kitty. She's the greatest!
I: (silence)
K: Is your dad being bossy with the puzzle?
I: Yes.
K: I know. He's a very bossy person.
I: Mmm hmmm.
K: So what did you do today?
I: (silence)
K: (waiting)
I: J.J. (the Cabbage Patch Doll) is wearing pants.
K: Oh, are you putting her in her pajamas soon?
I: No.
K: Is she wearing her travel gear for the airplane ride tomorrow?
I: Yes.
K: So she can just sleep in that.
I: Mmm hmmm.

And that was about it. I think she got distracted with the puzzle again.

6. I'm still job hunting yet I don't have a freaking clue what I really want to do. This is a slight problem.

7. Oh, yes... speaking of lost and uncertain -- I guess I should finally unveil the "what should I do with my hair?" poll results!!

Out of 30 total votes:
60% very short
13.3% sort of short
26.7% bob
0% shoulder length

For the record, Laura informed me that she wanted to vote for the shoulder length style, but apparently that photo of me was so totally heinous that she couldn't bring herself to cast a vote in that direction. To be honest, I thought the same thing after putting up the picture, but it was too much work to find and crop and post a better photo.

But wow, 0%. That's one ugly picture....

Please, shield your eyes! I'm hideous!

Oh, and BTW, I got my hair cut & colored with my wonderful, gay Jim at Cost Cutters last weekend, and I feel much better about my hair. It's pretty much at "sort of short" right now, but the color livens it up a bit. I might do something a little crazy with it all next time. We'll see.

8. I saw Pan's Labyrinth last weekend with Shauna. To sum it up: graphic, tragic, dark, freaky, scary, bizarre, sad, shocking, and really really really good. See it!!!

9. Thanks to Ingrid, who recently loaned me the DVD of Season One of The Office, I have been frightening my neighbors with my howler monkey cackles of hysteria throughout the day and night. As I said, I watched the British version a couple years ago and didn't even want to give the US version a chance. (Yes, I can be one of those annoying Anglophile idiots every now and then.) However, the US version is just as funny and possibly even more so. My favorite episode thus far is "Diversity Day." I actually laughed out loud on my bike on Friday when I was thinking about it.

This is the best scene. Ever....


And that's it for now. Look for my update tomorrow about my first babysitting gig in, ummm, yeah, like 12 years...

Jazzing It Up With the Dolls

Last week, the Student Rec Center offered one free night of exercise classes. When I actually have an expendable income, I really enjoy taking classes at the gym. To be specific, I am a "step aerobic-aholic." The more step, the better. The more complicated the routine, the more fun. The more jumping, criss-crossing, u-turning, a-stepping, and round-the-worlding I can do, the more I enjoy myself...

However, hopefully I have never looked quite this dorky.

So imagine my disappointment last year when I discovered that the Student Rec Center, which offers classes for a small extra fee, did not offer step. Apparently, this new Generation Y (who, in my opinion, sucks royally, as I have already discussed in my "fashion faux pas" segments) for whatever reason, believes it is cooler to kickbox and do yoga than to step.

OK, whatever. First of all, I do love yoga, and I see the merits in doing it a couple times a week. But kickboxing, kickboxing? God, I hate it! Hate it, I tell you. It's aggressive, annoying, and I can't kick higher than my own knee cap so I find it particularly detestable because I stink at it. Apparently, however, "step" is not cool enough for this trendy, over-indulged, hooked-into-their-IPods-24/7, attention-deficit portion of our population.


This is the lameness I'm talking about.

So -- now that I have vented out my frustration for the world to read... I must tell you about my experience last week at "free class" night...

Well, I looked at the class offerings, and a little something called "Wild Cat Dolls" caught my eye.

I'd seen advertisements for it...

And darn, if that didn't look like fun! And totally crazy!

So I read about it a little more closely (click on the picture if you need to see the font better)...

Unleash my inner doll? Act flirty? No guys allowed?

OMG. Awe.some.

Or not. After determining in 2.2 seconds that I would never in a million years be a "Wildcat Doll," I chose a class slightly less "you go girl!!". This class was called "jazz pizzazz." It wasn't step, mind you, but at least it appeared to involve rhythmic music and some sort of floor routine, which I hoped might involve sequences similar to step aerobics. And most importantly, it didn't involve acting like a ho in any way, shape, or form. The class started at 5:30pm, and I got there around 5:20 ready to go... along with about 100 other girls. And when I say "girls," I really mean "girls" -- like the maximum age was about 22.

Imagine me standing there in my unimaginative grey ribbed tank top, blue running shorts from Target, uncombed hair sticking eight directions, glasses, make-up-less face, and Saucony running shoes. Now picture me standing amongst a cluster of blonde bombshell college co-eds wearing bouncy ponytails, full-on make-up, coordinating leotards and off-the-shoulder sorority t-shirts, and tight stretch yoga pants.

To sum it up, I felt like Brunhilde...


A real life collection of Brunhildes.

To be honest, I was trying to figure out how all of these women were going to fit in one exercise room and then have space to perform any type of "jazz pizzazz" activities. Indeed, this was a problem the instructor appeared to struggle with as well. As there was no room to do a "regular" floor routine, she had us line up in about 8 rows of 15 women. She demonstrated a dance move across the floor (such as kick right, kick left, sashay, mambo, cross kick and finish), then she asked us to go across the room doing the dance moves with our row. Unfortunately, this meant every other girl in the room stood and watched as each row did the moves.

Let's make one thing clear... I'm not really a very graceful dancer (slightly athletic, perhaps... elegant, no), and I didn't go there intending to engage in an open audition for a "Chorus Line." My two attempted sashays and mambo leaps across the classroom floor confirmed in my mind (and to the rest of the room) that I was the oldest, gawkiest, and least flexible jazz dancer in a two-mile radius. To sum it up, I was a disaster. I had to make a graceful exit... and fast.

Luckily, I was able to slip out without much fanfare and head downstairs to the comfort of the elliptical machine. In the process, I received a gift bag for my participation (full of energy bars and foot powder) and an attempt by staff to sign me up for a future (paid) class.

Needless to say that didn't happen. So much for "Jazz Pizzazz" (and "Wildcat Dolls")... I guess I'm stuck with the elliptical!

Dove Evolution

After Arabic class today, I went to an on-campus computer lab to print out the weekend readings for my "Islamic Art & Architecture" class. While there, I ran into my friend Alisia, who asked me if I had seen the "Dove Evolution" video on YouTube.

I hadn't... so we pulled it up. I found it so cool that I thought I'd share it...

Pretty cool, huh? A normal chick with bad skin transformed into a supermodel.

But then... oh, but then... we found this (which Alisia hadn't seen)... and we almost wet ourselves laughing. Now this is funny...

I say no more.

Another Night Out in T-town

Last night I met Ingrid and her old friend, Simon, out for drinks again. It was Simon's last night in town because he returned to Chicago today. He was here for a conference on theoretical astrophysics, AKA "cosmology"...


Let's not confuse this with cosmetology, please...


We had a few cocktails before Ingrid had to go home, leaving Simon and me to our own devices. That device was called "red wine."

Here's Simon paying the tab...

I told him he looked like Harry Potter. He said everyone tells him that.

And that was the evening. I have class all afternoon today, then I will be studying for an Arabic quiz this evening and watching the "Office," which I have become totally hooked on. I loved the British version so was rather skeptical of the US version, but I've been very pleasantly surprised at the good humour/humor!

I have to head to class now. Sionara...

Agricultural Rap

OK, I just applied for a job. Don't laugh... here's the position I applied for... it's a "Fruit & Vegetable Marketing Specialist" at the Department of Agriculture's Marketing & Regulatory Programs.

I mentioned last night over drinks with Ben, Ingrid, and their friend Simon (visiting from U. of Chicago) that I was in the process of applying for this rather curiously titled job. I also mentioned that my latest blog entry involved the Chicago Bears "Super Bowl Shuffle," and I indulged them by rapping a few choice lines as I re-lived my 1980s rap fantasies.

This led Ingrid to suggest that I should include a "fruit rap" as part of my application... you know, in order to get noticed for my marketing creativity.


Yo suckas... get ready to dance...

Armed with several beers, a pen, and a small notepad, here is the rap we came up with (and mind you, we are all extremely Caucasian, or Jewish, in the case of Ben) in support of our Department of Agriculture's fine products:

If you want to roll with my bitch
You better know that meat is kitsch
Don't stick yo dick in that foreign ho
Sink yo teeth in an American mango
We like to smoke the crack cocaine
and eat the U.S. produced grain
Don't buy that Chinese SARS rice
'Cuz our homey's grits are nice
And don't go to Thailand.... fuck the kiddie porn
Ya'll should sit on my giant ear of corn
Yo yo baby, I pop yo cherry
Then feed you this ripe strawberry
Yo yo Niacin... fuck it, that's a sin
Melonballs & wasabi peans...
shout out to my gangster G's
Department of Agriculture
Blast a cap in your ass
If you season your 'tatos with lemongrass
So don't hit the pipe if you can't swipe
Grade A butter 'cuz it's so ripe
I be yo pimp washin' my shrimp
for safety's sake 'cuz I like it baked
You my ho and I'm your pimp
And we can smoke on this parsnip.

Oh my god. That is so awesome. And so bad. I LOVE IT!!!

Super Bowl Memories

Although I am always professing what a non-sports fan I am, here I am again posting about sports...

I saw on TV yesterday that the Chicago Bears will be facing the Indianapolis (I still refer to them as the "Baltimore") Colts in this year's Super Bowl. This brought back a happy memory for me...

At the sweet young age of 11, in 1985, I was a huge sucker for the Bears' William "The Refrigerator" Perry, and I was totally obsessed with the "Super Bowl Shuffle," even though I could really have given a rat's ass about the actual Super Bowl game.

To put things into perspective, I should mention that this musical obsession of mine coincided with my passion for the band "New Edition" (and associated homemade performances of me rapping "Ronnie, Bobby, Ricky, and Mike... if I like the girl who cares who you like..." to my parents, friends, and neighbors)


New Edition rocks my world!

Aside from knowing every word to "Cool It Now," I also claim the rights to knowing just about every word to the "Super Bowl Shuffle," which I recorded onto my boombox from the radio and then sang over and over in my room (complete with each player's voice and various accents... Southern, ebonics, etc.). Just ask Miguel... I sang parts of it to him a couple years ago to prove that I really did know the song as well as I claimed I did.

My personal favorite Bears' rapper is the back-up quarterback, Steve Fuller, with his southern accent, but the Fridge's rap is still the most fun to sing:

You're lookin' at the Fridge, I'm the rookie,
I may be large, but I'm no dumb cookie,
You've seen me hit, you've seen me run,
When I kick and pass, we'll have more fun,
I can dance, you will see,
The others, they all learn from me,
I don't come here lookin' for trouble,
I just came here to do the Super Bowl Shuffle.

Since I have been declared the unofficial "Master of the 80s," allow me to present to you what might possibly be the worst ever song from my favorite decade... the "Super Bowl Shuffle" featuring the Chicago Bears, circa 1985:

Da Bears!

ps - Make sure you watch Mike "Samurai Mike" Singletary, who sings third, with the BCGs ("birth control glasses"). He sounds just like Carlton Banks from "The Fresh Prince"!!!

For an added laugh, make sure to read this... it's the Onion's take on the "Shuffle." Holy crap, it's so funny I was crying while reading it.

I must also add that upon re-listening to the "Super Bowl Shuffle" this evening, I have determined that it's not only the cheesiest, but also the most boring, song of the 80s. What was I thinking in 1985?!? Then again... I must ask, what was anyone thinking?

Snow in Tucson!!!

I was in the midst of writing another blog entry when I heard Shauna shrieking outside my window this evening. Suddenly, she and Rouzbeh (her boyfriend) were knocking on my door and yelling for me to come outside.

To our shock and amazement, this was the view of our apartment's courtyard:

Yes, that white stuff is snow.

Although on grass it might have only looked like a dusting...

... on pebbles, it looks like some real accumulation!

My favorite dichotomy of the night...

... a snowy palm tree.

Here's an up close view...

... baby icicles on the leaves!

And here's my snow covered car...

... a sight I was happy to leave in my East Coast memories.

Here's Rouzbeh threatening me...

... and he got me, although unintentionally after it broke open on the ground near me.

Therefore, I pelted him with a small snowball. He and Shauna were en route to a dinner party so I didn't want to get too vicious.

All in all it's been a great weekend! Out for drinks with my amigos on Friday, hip-hop dance class with Anna on Saturday morning (in which I re-convinced myself that I am a metallic robot encased in human skin similar to Vicky on "Small Wonder" and with the rhythm & soul of the whitest person in America), did millions of loads of laundry, saw the movie "Children of Men" with A. & I. on Saturday night (great film, BTW... I thought I'd hate it, but it really was very good), and went to yoga then worked on tons of homework and job applications today.

Oh, and I must say that my new neighbor (Sid & Nancy's lovely replacement) is a dream-come-true. She came outside to enjoy the snow this evening and take photos, and she's 100% normal and quiet and nice. No more tattooed, smoking, Caddy-driving boyfriends loitering in the passageways, and no more nightly porn scenes! Yes!!!

Friday, Jan 12: A Night of Debauchery

I'm going out with Anna, Keri, and Lynda tonight so I don't have much time to say anything... so in honor of last Friday night, I say viva la Tucson!

The ladies on the town (approximately 5pm):

Ingrid...


Keri...


Anna...


Lynda...


Drinks at the Hut (approximately 8pm):

Drinking "the fishbowl" with Manny...


Drinking multiple fishbowls with Alex & Anna too...


Alex getting saucy...


Anna getting saucier...


And then the camera was hidden in my bag for the rest of the night. But for the record, we next hit "the Shanty" where we played foosball for about an hour and watched Manny (who's Swiss, and thus good at things like foosball) kick everyone else's ass as he maneuvered the foosball from player to player (who can pass the ball in foosball?!?!?) and scored repeatedly.

We moved on to "the Buffet" (the only bar in Tucson that opens at 6 am), where we drank more cocktails, became more insanely ridiculous, made several crank calls, and sauntered out around midnight.

We ended the night at "Plush" (my favorite Tucson bar), where I sipped water until heading home around 1am.

TGIF!!!!

Cigars, Bloody Marys, and the Meet Rack

I checked my e-mail yesterday after a full day of class and running around campus (faxing job application information, requesting transcripts, and filling out copious amounts of paperwork for my thesis committee & graduation requirements), and I discovered a note in my inbox from my dear friend Ben here in Tucson...

... in regards to his weekly "Cigar & Bloody Mary Night," which he hosts at his house every Wednesday evening.

It read:

Dear Friends- Cigar and Bloody Mary is tonight.
To continue the tradition of calling out people
to come followed by them actually coming, we are
going to shout out for somebody else with a name
starting with the letter K.  Kit has not made it to
Cigar and Bloody Mary Night in like forever.
Tonight, she's on trial.  She is being called out.
Will she come?  Will she follow the tradition set
forth by Kristian last week?  Is she up
for the Cigar and Bloody Mary Night challenge, or
will she think of some Middle Eastern paper deadline
just in the nick of time? There is a lot of pressure.
And hopefully she will actually read this e-mail.

Indeed -- the pressure was on. Especially considering the fact that I had no intention of making it over to his house last night, as I had a boatload of Iraqi Arabic homework and at least three hours of Standard Arabic homework to get done.

However, I do not have a reputation for shirking social responsibility... and I decided that this early in the semester, I could afford to fuck off a bit. So that is exactly what I did.

I arrived at Ben's sometime around 9:15, honking my car horn and wearing a homemade nametag declaring myself the "Guest of Honor" and proceeded to drink a couple of Pyramid Apricot beers while socializing with Ben's most-interesting astronomer friends. Luckily, Keri, Anna, & Ingrid also made appearances so I wasn't the only chica at the soiree... and I must say, a fine time was had by all.

Just as I was preparing to leave at around 11pm, my friend Gerry convinced me to go get a beer with him and his friend (another) Ben, who is visiting for the week from Boston. Figuring that I had already shot the night completely, and calculating that my first class today did not start until 2pm (leaving me all morning to finish my Iraqi homework), I succumbed to peer pressure and joined them.

I might also add that Gerry's choice of destination bar intrigued me greatly and contributed to my decision to join them. The choice: none other than "The Meet Rack"...
... which is a legend of a Tucson bar that I have heard about but had never visited before. Better yet, Gerry informed me that it was only about eight blocks from my apartment.

First, if you've never had the golden opportunity to visit Tucson, let me tell you a little something about this place: it's bizarre. Imagine a city that resembles an environmentalist meth addict who enjoys astronomy & strip mall shopping while hanging out alternately with senior citizens, the homeless, and college students. Then throw in a smattering of 1970s and early 80s automobiles, no grass or street lights, and the oddest array of bars & quirky hang-outs west of the Mississippi, and you have Tucson. Frankly, it's growing on me.

And it's places like the Meet Rack that make me like this place so much... mainly because it's just weird & eccentric... and fun. The Meet Rack is a bar owned by a man named "God," who literally brands his image on patrons with a hot iron (ensuring half price drinks for the rest of their lives). OK, that's not so fun... but the place is a shrine to "God," who actually ran for the mayor of Tucson in 1979 (he lost), and it's filled with memorabilia from his life. This would include photos from his acting days, in which he played a small role in "Cannonball Run," Arnold Schwarzenegger posing in the bar in a rather lewd position, photos from his Ironman competitions, military pictures when he was an Army Ran ger, portraits painted by his mother, and a framed collection of the paperwork & photos from his debut on "People's Court," when a branded woman sued him after the burn got infected.

Here is "God"...

He reminds me of a character from a Quentin Tarantino film.

I should also mention that God apparently lives at the bar. His bedroom is to the side of the main bar area, with a private door marked only by a large iconographic drawing of him.

Upon arrival at the bar, Gerry, Ben, and I noticed we were the only customers. Here we are outside prior to our entrance...

This is God's car. It's a Ford Festiva. I laughed out loud for about 30 seconds in my car when I pulled up next to it. (that's my enormous looking Honda Accord parked next to it on the right). And that's Gerry's tiny little Toyota Matrix, which also dwarfs the Festiva, on the other side.

I made Gerry & Ben pose on the other side so you can see the auto in all its glory...

Please note the license plate, not to mention the "aunt eater" and the Arabic "infidel" sticker.

However, this was the best part...

The dangling testes hanging off the rear bumper.

When we got inside, this is what we found. A totally empty bar (God was hiding in his bedroom, unfortunately, and I never did see him in person)...

... please note the memorabilia on the walls and the women's undergarments hanging, well, everywhere from the ceiling. However, I guess no one goes there on Wednesday nights.

We were greeted only by George, the resident bartender, who claimed to have been waiting just for us all night...

Although you can't tell from this photo I took, he had total Lou Ferrigno/Incredible Hulk hair (which I believe I told him)...


He was from Long Island. And he's a musician (or so he says). We heard a lot about George in the hour we were there. Way too much actually. As you can see in the picture above, he also decided to serenade us with several Jim Croce hits on his guitar (mediocre at best, but then again, we were the only customers in the Meet Rack at midnight on Wednesday).

Ben and Gerry (haha!! Ben and Gerry!!!) were amused...

A totally weird night!

I should also mention that George gave us a full tour of the bar, in which we were shown the "sex toy gallery" in a private room, the condom dispenser in the ladies bathroom that results in only a siren and spotlight going off when a woman attempts to use it, and then George's renditions of a number of magic tricks and dirty jokes.

My recommendation: If you're ever in Tucson, make a visit.

Wigging Out

There's a wig store in Old Town Alexandria, Virginia that has always intrigued me. I remember years ago walking down the street with my friend Paola and stopping in front of the wig store. We played a game called "which wig would you pick?" in which we looked at three or four different wigs on the numerous mannequin heads in the display and then had to choose which one was least offensive. I tend to go for the brunette bobs... although there's nothing wrong with the occasional blonde bombshell look.

A couple of months ago, Miguel informed me that a number of men's wigs had recently been featured in the window display... and they had been given names on hand written placards that were placed in front of the mannequin heads. His personal favorite was "the Napoleon."

The obvious image sprang into my mind...

"You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join 'cause I'm pretty good with a bow staff."

Better yet... here he is in action:

Of course, when I was home in DC this past Christmas, one of the first things I wanted to do was check out the wig store and to gaze upon "the Napoleon" with mine own eyes.

Here it is in all its glory...

It almost looks like Maury Povich but with far more evil eyebrows.

Maybe Tony Curtis instead?

What's up with the gloves?

Anyway... after I took the photo of the Napoleon, Miguel and I surveyed the rest of the wigs in the display case and discovered a real beauty.

It didn't have a name. But it was obvious what it should be called.

Allow me to introduce "the Jordy"...

OK, so it's slightly more "Ted Kaczynski" than Jordy...

But there is some similarity, wouldn't you say?