Let us gaily tread the measure

Dickies Girl: Honest About How This Dress Will Look On Your Butt.



(Also, Dickies Girl: Where You Can Shop By Butt. Basically, Dickies Girl: Our Butts Let Me Show You Them.)

I tried on that dress at Naked City, and suddenly things were popping out, like some sort of terrifying horror movie. There is Sexy Oh Do I Have Breasts There I Never Noticed, and then there's That... That Button Was Not Built For This Kind Of Pressure.

I know clothes are hard for all womenfolk, but man, I am finding a whole swath of problems just because Ruben would be all over this bidness. I go to the second hand shops and there should just be a sign saying PLEASE NO LADIES WHOSE BIDNESS RUBEN WOULD BE ALL OVER.

Speaking of blogging about fashion: I forgot that Mindy "Kelly Kapoor" Kaling has a blog about her adventures in consumerism. It's adorable, and taught me that other ladies want spats, too.

Speaking of spats: Check this stuff out out. I'm glad that someone else was dumb enough to be arbitrarily enthusiastic about this---and put their money where their arbitrary enthusiasm is.

During a slow afternoon, one of my co-workers sighed wistfully.

"I want to go to Narnia."

I stared at her. "Narnia?"

She led me through salvage to an old cabinet.



And this is why I almost regret not getting a job in the salvage department.

All right dudes, I give you: The Wookiee Book. (I forgot a few; they'll be added later.)

I finally have a tag to outnumber harrypotter, and it's wookieebook. So it goes.

Thanks to all who contributed!

Day one of Stumptown was a total success!



The wookiee book is going well, with a nice mix of AWESOME and OKAY. I tried to coax a little boy into drawing me a wookiee, and he was all sheepish that I was talking to him... His dad just pulled him away and said "JAKE. DOESN'T. DRAW." Jake, I'm sorry daddy's a jerk, okay?

I spent half the day at the table and wrote about thirty limericks without getting too much of a brain cramp. Tomorrow, I'll spend the whole day at the table---we'll see how my brain fairs... Apparently, while I was gone, someone offered to trade me a sonnet for a limerick. This is like trading a Big Mac for some ribeye. Needless to say, I am hoping she'll come back tomorrow.

Stumptown Comics Fest is this weekend! Once again, Brenna Zedan and I will be sharing a table (#55), and once again, I will be writing limericks! I got these snazzy embossed cards, and vellum envelopes, and little seals. It will be the classiest crappy limerick you've ever gotten.

Last year I paid people a dollar to draw me Ron Weasley. This year I will be paying people a dollar to draw me a wookiee.

Here is what Brenna and I look like, only imagine new, exotic haircuts:



I'm dyin' to pick up the new Bill Mauldin collection from Fantagraphics! I mean, I should get indy stuff, and I will, but oh gosh oh jee oh golly.

(SECRET TO KATE BEATON: Show up at my table and I have a present for you! Also I would like to shake your hand.)

In other news, tonight all my TV planets align: Lost, 30 Rock, and The Office, all in a continuous two-hour span. God bless America.

I have had a cranky week, and I want nothing more than to defeat a polygonal person. Even a sense of triumph grounded in play would be something about now. Irrational frowning: initiated.

In that vein: tell me again why I should get an 80 gig and not a 40 gig PS3?

I do not want Metal Gear. But then again, I don't want Spider-man 3 either. I would prefer a Dualshock, but Foley doesn't care. Of cuss more room is better, and backwards compatability is swell---but I do have a PS2, and we don't plan on using the console for multimedia whatnot. We do not need a bunch of USB ports because we will never own Rock Band or its ilk. I know more games are requiring installs, but is that it? Am I missing something? I know I have heard this argument, but I can't remember to what end.

Did you guys see that Battlestar was on the cover of the Soap Opera Digest? NOT WRONG. They had a little photo captioned "Anders and Kara," and I just... My heart just melted a little.

Speaking of nerdings: Kudos go to Drew Goddard, who took me from being lukewarm about the Buffy comics to full-on-chortling enjoying them. UNEXPECTED. He reminded me of what I liked about Buffy, i.e., antics. Hither to now, the only thing I have enjoyed about season eight is Nick Fury Xander.

I have been sick all week, after just having recovered from the first round of The Gross. I am conviced that my sister brought me some exotic Texas strain.

Do not trust this sweet face.



Foley and I bought a 26 inch HD TV, and it is glorious, but I only have my PS2 to play things on it. It's like cooking a sirloin steak in a toaster oven. GOD DAMMIT.

Also, here is my review of the new Devotchka album:

It is not very good. There are a deficit of songs I could sing along to in the car with the windows rolled down, which is, like, all I require of these people, come on. It is the sort of album I could listen to while tuning it out, except to focus abruptly when Mr. Urhata starts yowling overmuch, so if that is what you want---an album that you don't listen to until it is irritating---pick it up. Apparently I am musically unadventurous, which is a fair assessment I guess.

I dunno, maybe I'm just an implacable audio crank in my old age. All music that is not Patapon sucks lately.

I enjoy working at a place where, when you mention you're considering buying a ukulele with your stimulus package, you learn that half your co-workers know how to play. And another offers to give you one of the three ukes she just has lying around.

Guess I'll use it to buy half a HD tv, instead. That's that dilemma neatly solved.

Randomly there are a pile of movies out (or impending) that I want to see. Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, Run Fatboy Run, Leatherheads, Baby Momma, Flawless--and IRON MAN. I am so arbitrarily excited for IRON MAN, as my caps might imply. I have never had an opinion on Mr. Stark, but now I find that I am inexplicably pro-.

Speaking of movies---it's like a week after St. Patrick's Day, and I still haven't watched The Quiet Man yet. I'm incredibly disappointed in myself.


(I couldn't find a picture of punches [!], so here are rainy make-outs, which are also good.)