A treasure trove

I have great friends, and I wanted to put together a brief little list of the various links that three of them (i.e., Sam, Allison and Liz) have left on my Facebook wall of late:

Sam:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZRHoDd-tSjg&feature=player_embedded#!

Allison:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J8tODhvb47s&feature=player_embedded

Liz:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=87FSK6Dfnt4

New favorite scene...

Morgens: You broke your fucking hand.

Tim: Yeah, whattya gonna do?

Morgens: You crazy son of a bitch.

Tim: Brother from another mother, this guy! Could somebody get this guy a beer?

Never....ever....rest....ever....rest....EVEREST!

My new favorite show!

Of course, after finishing a (good) book, I do a Youtube follow-up of related videos, as well as some Google image searches (if the the book is a work of fiction, I search for people that "look" like the characters and make a little Paint collage that I can stare at all hours of the day) and mood-appropriate playlist construction. This time, after finishing Jon Krakauer's "Into Thin Air," I've started watching a "docudrama" (<-- Netflix came up with this term) called "Everest: Beyond the Limit." It came out in some year, somewhere, and I'm sure nobody watches it but me. Ya'll don't know what you're missing!

The title sequence of the show uses a careful play on words to invoke a feeling of excitement and adventure; a breathy male narrator whispers ominous phrases, then, almost tauntingly, "Don't...rest...ever....rest...EVEREST!" I was amazed that someone was clever enough to notice something this simple. It's like the first time you realize that the word racecar (though it should be separated by a space in the middle) can be spelled the same frontwards and backwards. TUBULAR.

The customary adventure-type music plays in the background all the time, though it sort of doesn't fit with the usual goings-on at Everest Base Camp, which more closely resembles an outdoor North Face clearance sale than a moshpit. There are some heartwarming stories about men beating the odds to reach the base of the world's highest mountain, but even as tears are being shed there is a trickling of acid rock barely perceptible, just around the corner, like hopeful prayers drifting on a bitter wind.

My favorite scene so far involves one American guy (who sold his Harley to get here, wears an LAFD cap at all times, and seems like he enjoys The Fast and the Furious film franchise) and an unremarkable Australian dude who sit down against some rocks for a lunch break.

"I'm eating this high-protein, sodium-rich, artificial space age thing that tastes like [expletive]," the American explains, "and you," to the Australian, "are sucking on eggs." For a minute I thought Mr. LAFD was insulting this guy, but it turns out the Australian really is sucking on eggs. One can hardly believe it. The Ausi laughs knowingly, as if he's been called an eggsucker hundreds of times in the past, perhaps it's even transformed into a sort of endearing nickname. But this Paul Walker impersonator isn't finished yet.

"That's the difference between our two cultures," he says, almost revelatory. "I'm eating this paste, and you're sucking on eggs." He sits in wonderment for a moment, overcome with this most astounding of realizations. "Well," he says finally, "let's try to keep diplomatic relations civil."

THE DRAMA JUST KEEPS COMING!

I'm still on the first episode, but I am literally chomping at the bit for more

high-stakes action. And I have Instant Netflix to thank for it all!

BEST:

Second Best:

(No offense, Mab.)

Young No Money

It definitely feels like Daniels never happened. Boston has been plunged into a three-day spell (yes, it's a witch's spell) of rain and wind and all that good stuff. My usual response to rain is to throw my entire body onto my purse to keep it dry and mumble, "Jesus H. Christ!" while creeping along a nearby brick wall. On the plus side, I did nab some new fleur-de-lis boots that will go with EVERY OUTFIT. Thank God for small favors.

A longer post is soon to come! Right now I'm sort of in a paranormal activity-type mood, because I'm just so excited about this!!!!

For now I leave you in good hands:

Memorytown

Daniels, what can I say about you?

Every day of the week has a corresponding alchohol reference ("Margarita Monday," "Tipsy Tuesday"...), thanks to drunken brainstorming. The crickets chirp approbations.

A wandering minstrel has been spotted from the dining room window. No one knows from whence he came - could he be a product of mass hallucination? Anything is possible when you've eaten so much food that colors start to blend.

While playing Taboo the other night, Krista tried to have me guess the word "pilgrim" by reminding me about a past birthday party. "Hey Emily, you had this birthday party a couple of years ago, blank and blank..." My answer? "Surprise and fuck!" Never have I been more taken aback - and jealous - of my own hypothetical birthday party.

Krista and I did win the Crazy Dance Contest, however, which I chalk up to a potent mix of Sex on the Beach featuring peach schnopps, eyeballed vodka shots, cranberry juice and other fruit derivations. Anything is possible with the right amount of mixed drank.

See you soon, real world!

On repelling a repulsive (41-year-old) person on OkCupid...

him: Hey sweetie

me: and he's back

him: Hi puppy Howgoes it ;)

him: :)

me: oh, you know, got a sex change. sorryyyyyz

him: Awww no dont ell me. you were cute Haha

me: times have changed, tbone

him: you like me and you know it

me: how could you tell? could it be the obvious attraction that i, as a 21-year-old, would have for someone old enough to be my creepy uncle?

him: youre so goofy with that creepy this creepy that b.s. Just have to get to know eachother a while more and get you here to visit

me: in a retirement home?

AND...

different guy: i dont wanna sound like a dick lol but you look like you have big boobs :)

different guy: thats a happy face

me: i do :-( i don't advise it, man. too heavy.

different guy: : //

me: do you live in a place with empty beer bottles on top of shelves?

different guy: i have a bandroom like that, but not here

me: all right

I think we all know where my line of questioning was headed.

Oh, to be carefree...or rabid.

Those crazy Brits...

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Us vs. The Jesuits

Every year, a group of thirtysomething Jesuit novices comes to Cape May to sing karaoke and get up to no good. They all wear unflattering khaki shorts and leather flip-flops, and they dedicate every song to the Phillies, each other, or some bashful middle-aged woman in the front row. This year I learned that not all of them are Jesuit novices, though the ones that are seem to be the drunkest. Their karaoke lineup (which Terry of "Terryoke" kept screwing up anyway) included "Piano Man," "Born to Run," and "Sweet Caroline." Needless to say, the boys are crowd favorites.

I wasn't too shabby with my usual "Like a Virgin" deal, but unfortunately one of the louder and grosser novices latched onto me for the rest of the night, occasionally screaming my name and telling my mother that he had a "little crush on her - welllll, maybe a big crush." This is the same guy who blared "I'll be here all week!" during every musical break in his song.

The kid who did "Don't Stop Believing" was not a Jesuit novice, but some random son or cousin in a group of hundreds of tanned Long Islanders with balloon hats. Aunt Patti leaned over to me during his performance to say, "Well he's half shot-in-the-ass."

And you know how at every single karaoke bar there's an old guy wearing a polo shirt who'll sing three or more Frank Sinatra songs? Our guy's name was Skip, and he closed his eyes and clutched the mic with both hands while singing "My Way," which I thought was a little dramatic given that we were at the Jersey shore in a bar called The Boiler Room. Mom seemed to like him, though.

I've always gone out to karaoke with a group of like-minded friends, but let me tell you, there is nothing on this earth more hilarious than singing karaoke with a whole host of older family members, each of whom has had two-and-a-half stingers apiece. If you can't convince your family to suffer through an entire night of amateur singing, I'll gladly lend you mine.

Family, broken down

Bakery Cake = $45.00

Jumbo candy bag = $4.99

A dozen grown adults playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey = almost too good to be true

Cape May, Same Old Jersey

What a wonderful place New Jersey is, and I'm not being facetious. I really think it's a well-camouflaged paradise. There's cheap beer, shirtless guys, clean beaches and, my favorite, a nightly flag-lowering ceremony (replete with Bermuda shorts and Kate Smith). People warn me about the New Jersey water, but water tastes pretty much the same anywhere you go. Those who claim otherwise need to start drinking less boring stuff.

The only problem with this vacation (which I've taken with my family every year since I was at least 10) is that my beloved cousin Jess is in France. I'm not saying I'm jealous of her - France is great but requires me to be flexible about learning new things, which I just can't do - but she is my saving grace each year down the shore. What am I supposed to do with myself without a rigid cool-person schedule to follow? So far I've mooched off my family's beer supply and drove 15 minutes to the nearest Starbucks, located in a promising shopping center next to a Sonic. Most of my cousins (who are all over 30) are recovering alcoholics, so it's not like we can go out on the town one of these nights. One of them suggested an 8:00 showing of "Operation" tomorrow night, produced by the local Cape May theater company. I said I'd go, but I'm not sure I'll survive.

Is it too desperate to go to a bar by myself and pretend I came to watch the Phillies game? Knowing me, I'd go on a night when the Phillies aren't playing and would end up having to watch The Bachelorette.

REMINDER: IT'S SHARK WEEK! More on that later, I think.

Finally, I overheard one of the best things ever in the history of eavesdropping: I was walking along the boardwalk (read: elevated walkway) in search of postcards when a group of teenage ruffians walked by. One of them turned to his two friends and asked, "Hey guys, how do you get semen off your pants?" I didn't hear their answer, but now I'm making it my special mission to find out once and for all.