|THE BLACK LIST: ATTACK OF THE KILLER CORN TREES.|
|By The Black Table|
Yes, last week we did get some new furniture. It is a nice change of pace from the clutter that seemed to take over most of the apartment. And that corn tree we got? It does fit in quite nicely. It's like being greeted every morning in the family room by a butler made of leaves. Until we actually had to water the fucker.
Yeah, it's only once a month (a low maintenance plant -- a huge selling point at the time) but it's still big, clumsy and a little heavy. The plant store people suggested we water it in the bathtub. So we carry this corn tree through the apartment, stepped over coffee tables, negotiated around migrant chairs, tangoed with it a little, and brought it into the bathtub for its monthly soak. We forgot how big it was, however, and got its bulky limb caught on the shower curtain, causing us to violently fall into the tub, resulting in a bruised forearm and a face covered in potting soil. Yes, living in a "grown up" apartment is a blast. It is.
Anyway, we're sure this fine batch of humans who have graciously submitted
their plucky words and ideas have never been assaulted by a corn tree.
If they did, we would've heard about it already. And if any of you are
ever assaulted by any type of tree, animal, or home appliance, please
use the form to the right and let us know about it. We need you.
THE NEW YORK TIMES SELECT: Until recently, one the things that dulled the pain of working a corporate desk job was being able to read The New York Times online and free of charge, particularly their Op-Ed section. Bob Herbert's righteous outrage at the shabby treatment of America's working class or Paul Krugman's latest intellectual bitch-slapping of the Bush administration makes for good reading any time. Recently though, all the news that's fit to print will now cost you, as the Times is charging money for people to read their more popular articles online. Advertisements promise "exclusive online access" to Times columnists. Will Thomas Friedman call us to chat about the wonders of globalization? Will Maureen Dowd give us our own obnoxious nicknames? Doubtful. The Old Gray Lady has become a money-grubbing harpy. D- -- Matt Sheehan
FRUIT FLY WAR: You were waiting in ambush as soon as I stepped into the apartment; flying lazily and erratically around my kitchen nook. Dozens, maybe a hundred troops ready to claim my land as your own. Oh, I was shocked by your audacity and chutzpah, but I was poised as always to defend my homeland.
Every fruit and vegetable in my humble abode was torched within
ten minutes of my arrival. Vacuum tube in hand, I chased your forces through
my pantry, over my living room, and into my bedroom. However, you proved
too swift for my strategy! A new plan was in order: a half-drunk glass
of orange juice left innocently on the kitchen counter. I knew you could
not refuse its temptations, vile enemy. Returning home from work, I saw
at least fifty of your troops drawn to my trap. Victory! A plastic bag
and a trip to the dumpster had now decimated your troops. Take no prisoners!
You fought valiantly for days afterward, but the vacuum proved too formidable
a foe! Having your apartment invaded by an army of disease-ridden fruit
fuckers? F. The thrill of battle? A! -- SM
DATING A MAN WHOSE THREE-YEAR-OLD HAS EYES: "I'm gonna lick you!" "Eew. Please don't." "I'm gonna lick you like a lollipop!" She looks up at me and flutters her eyelashes and I realize I've seen that look before -- on her father. When he's...um...let's just say licking can be involved there as well. She proceeds to lick me on the arm, maintaining eye contact the whole time, with a stare any outsider would assume was mischief and amusement. I hope. I shudder. The Dad: A+. The Daughter: A+. That I now see that look in his eyes and hear, in a sweet toddler voice, "I'm gonna lick you!": D. -- Stacie
STAYING FRIENDS JUST TO GET A KICK ASS HALLOWEEN COSTUME: So I met this guy out one night , who I figured was hitting on me, but he was really funny and seemed genuine, so I chatted with him for a while and actually thoroughly enjoyed it. I decided that while I didn't want to date him I did want him as a friend, as I just moved to LA and needed some cool people to hang with. Unfortunately my desperation blinded me to every cheesy line he used, even the old "I'm not trying to sound pervy, but I really just need to use your bathroom." Cut to three hours later when I want to go to bed and he's still in my apartment. Being the slut bag whore that I am, I assess that the easiest way to get rid of him is to just suck it up and sleep with him. But just as I'm about to dismiss him from my life forever he informs me that he also does special effects makeup and can do some crazy shit for Halloween costumes. I love Halloween! So what if I have to play along with his stupid advances for the next couple weeks? I'm gonna be the best bludgeoned/bullet-ridden zombie whore you've ever seen! A- -- CRIDLEY
AYN RAND FANS: I have a lot of random strangers write me via Friendster. In the rare occasion that they say something compelling enough to make me click through to their profile, I am frequently let down when I discover that they list "The Fountainhead" or "Atlas Shrugged" as one of their favorite books. Gee, who knew that so many single men in New York considered themselves practicing objectivists? Didn't this go out of style in college? Do you have an inkling what objectivists believe? Do you even know that her name is NOT pronounced "Ann"? Are you just trying to prove that you are smart enough to read really, really long books? I'm not sure what you're trying to say in your profile by touting your love for Ayn Rand, because here's what loving Ayn Rand says to me: that you are a preachy, dour, merciless, humorless, compassionless, pedantic, overbearing gloat. Yes, I've read "The Fountainhead." If you consider Howard Roarke to be your perfect man, I don't consider you to be mine. So quit writing me. D -- Erin Schulte
BASEBALL PLAYOFFS SPARKING NICKELODEON GAME SHOW NOSTALGIA: So it's getting a little colder outside. Schools are in full swing and everyone can expect to be pulling out their windbreakers and Isotoners for the coming months. Along with this magical time of the year, come the major league baseball playoffs; the most useless event in modern American culture. Every time I hear about baseball or happen to flip past a game on television, I am reminded of an episode of Double Dare I saw when I was a child; God knows why I still remember it. Double Dare -- that crude, family based show from Nickelodeon hosted by Mark Summers. Double Dare had a challenge based on baseball, except that both contestants dressed up in chef's outfits, wore black moustaches, pitched meatballs and swung at them with large loaves of bread. I think that explains itself. Do the baseball fascists that always take over opinion columns this time of year know that most people care more about their toenail clippings than some trouser-stain gushing about their favorite team? Does the rest of the world have to suffer because your filling that abyss in your life with a sport that you'll never play? Baseball Commentary: F-, Nickelodeon ripping on Italians: A+ -- Greg
POORLY THOUGHT OUT BUMPER STICKERS: Never been much of a bumper sticker person. Except in high school when I thought a truck stop bought "Honk if yer horny" sticker was the first step to finding loose women where ever my '73 Volkswagen Bus took me. The thing I've never understood are the folks who slap a statement making sticker on the back of their car and proceed to defy that statement. You've seen them, the guy with the "Choose Life" driving like he's out to kill someone. Or the Jeebus fish eating the Darwin fish plastered on the back of a car that's booming Black Sabbath. Saw another classic the other day on the back of a brand spanking new Jetta. "How many lives per gallon?" How politically fierce. I wanted to ask the hipster chic behind the wheel for the answer but she couldn't hear me since her attention was divided between her friend on the other end of her Bluetooth and the sparkly lip gloss she was applying. But I came up with an answer on my own. How about not enough since she was still choosing to drive around. My political science minor might have come from a third-tier land grand university but I'm not even that dumb. Seriously, that's like PETA going to protest a KFC and deciding to get a couple buckets of chicken for lunch since it was already dead anyway. D+ -- Todd Munson
WHEN THE HIRED HELP GETS UPPITY: And before you get all offended, by "hired help" I mean people that fit into this category: Hairdressers, Pilates instructors, makeup artists, nutrition counselors etc. Guess what? If one of those is your title, you are pretty much spending your days at best doing menial tasks and at worst filing someone's toenails. Being in charge of J-lo's asscrack bleaching does not make you a celebrity. Anyone with half a brain looks down on you, so don't pretend that you're an artiste or that you're status is the same as your clients. And when your client invites you to his summer house? Its not cuz he's your friend, he's just hoping you'll give him and all his friends free massages while you're there. D- -- kowgurl
BLACK TABLE LINKS: Since the infamous "restructuring" of the Blacktable several weeks ago, numerous changes were noted to be made. Of those, as I recall, there was going to be an attempt to add new exciting links to the front page. Since then we have been treated to an astounding two (2!) new links. Great work, Blacktable, you've blown my fucking mind. F. - Rob Harry
Each and every week, Black Table readers like you write the Black List and get absolutely nothing in return. Ain't that some shit.