Special Halloween Edition of Why the Terrorists Hate Us!

Item: iPod Halloween Costumes
Catalogue: iAttire
Price: $6.99-$39.99

My father spotted these yesterday. "Too bad it's too late for this year," he wrote. Oh no, room will be made. Dressing your iPod in a costume actually makes the act of dressing your dog in a costume seem less worthy of a sock to the groin. It's not just Halloween costumes that iAttire is peddling.There are knitted winter caps, heart boxers, hula costumes, princess dresses and so, so much more. But the Halloween outfits take the cake. There's the devil and pirate you see here, Frankenstein monster, mummy, ghost, bunny rabbit, and of course for the lady iPods, sexy iPod. (Technically they're marketing this last outfit for Valentine's Day, but I think it follows perfectly the: Anything + Trampy = Female Costume Principle.)

The folks at iAttire almost redeemed themselves by including the following question in the Frequently Asked Questions area of their website: "I think these are ridiculous, why are you doing this?" Too bad they followed that with a cheesy answer about introducing gadget lovers to the joy of hand-crafted products.

Happy Halloween!

Angel in Blue Jeans.

When you head out at 11 to start your Halloween festivities and it's barely skimming 40 degrees outside, you improvise. Hence my lounging around various haunts in Adams Morgan Saturday night wearing a fluffy white maribou halo, feathered wings, white shirt and ... blue jeans and heels. Because wearing the halo and wings with lingerie would have just been so, impractical, you know? Special mention to the girl in the first bar who slobbered that she'd give me "$100 if you can guesssh wha my costhtume is, and if yacan't I get to kissshh you." She would have officially been the most inappropriate person I encountered all night had it not been for the guy at the last spot--a tiny, upstairs salsa joint that I couldn't find again if I had to--who insisted on trying to lick my face while I was dancing. Costume ideas for both next year: someone who knows when to stop drinking.

On the Wrong End of Deja Vu

Three years ago, I stood in Lane Stadium cheering until my throat hurt for the Hokies to beat No. 2 Miami. My escort for the evening was a dear friend who is a VaTech alum and although I didn't really have a dog in the fight, the amazing weather, pre-game tailgating and the amped atmosphere in the stadium made it easy to get caught up in the vibe the Hokies were throwing out that day. Thus, I cheered myself hoarse and jumped up and down like a loon. So imagine my distaste to find myself not at all karmically rewarded for that night's generosity of spirit as I stood in Lane Stadium this past Thursday night watching the Hokies dismantle my own team. A couple veteran Hokie players would later tell reporters that the game reminded them of that night three years earlier. I would agree, but with one glaring exception: the wrong team won this time.

It's Why the Terrorists Hate Us Friday! (Now Reader Submitted!)

Item: Bacon Bandages
Catalogue: Fred Flare
Cost: $5

Proving that it's not the cost that lands you in the WtTHU Fridays spot of honor, it's the stupidity, we present this week's catalogue offering. Eagle-eyed reader Etcetera spotted these gems and rightly forwarded them to me for public derision. (Or maybe she thought they were cute. I don't know, I don't have time to read all of my mail, what with the bags of letters the U.S. Postal Service keeps dumping in my office, "all addressed to Santa Claus!") Anyway, yes, I realize they're just a bit of frivolity. But they're also bandages that look like bacon. And there's nothing terrorists hate more than the thought of slapping bacon on their booboos.

Have your own submission for WtTHU Fridays? Email brunchbird@yahoo.com

Tastes Just Like Chicken

I've got The Greatest Cooler Ever and my oversized, orange puffy finger in the truck. I'm off to Blacksburg. Go Tigers.

John Hodgman, Drunk on Brandy, Reveals He Was a Total Alpha-Male Jock in High School

Of course that's not true at all. Last night Hodgman appeared at the Warehouse Theater to read from the new paperback edition of his book, "The Areas of My Expertise." The hour that followed proved I have no business attempting to be funny in this post. I should confine my attempting to be funny to the shower, the inside of my car, and in the confessional. Additionally, singer/beard enthusiast Jonathon Coulton led the packed theater in such traditional zombie folk favorites as "All We Want to Do is Eat Your Brain." I was struck by something during Hodgman's performance (which included a thoroughly satisfying and useful presentation on Hobo matters): comfortingly round noggin' and brown corduroy suits aside, he is not the kind of guy you'd run up to and hug like a teddy bear. To the contrary, during the question and answer portion (conducted via walkie talkie) he was actually a little terrifying. Although I'd imagine the overwhelming number of fellows in the audience deciding they were going to try to be funny with their "wacky" questions--despite his specific prohibition of "wacky" questions just prior to the session starting--was tiresome. To his credit, he merely reduced them to rubble with his acid wit in front of the crowd and moved on. There's always been only one dry, brown suit-wearing humorist in my life, and that is Robert Benchley. But for some reason, since the mid-1940s, I'm finding it harder to locate Benchley on tour anywhere, so I will keep an eye on Hodgman's touring schedule.

If Only the Hokies' Football Ability Was as Finely Tuned as Their Generosity

A few months ago I told you about the 19-year-old Clemson football player, Ray Ray McElrathbey, who has custody of his 11-year-old brother Fahmarr. Ray Ray is getting a lot of help from people at and around the university, including guys like teammate Gaines Adams who wakes at 7:15 some mornings to take Fahmarr to school. That's to be expected, as Clemson is the greatest school ever. (It's science.)

What has surprised me is the outpouring that's coming from other universities for Ray Ray and Fahmarr. Temple University players donated their travel per diems for the week they were playing Clemson to the trust fund established for Fahmarr's care. The Owls' head coach penned a letter to Ray Ray calling him an inspiration to his own players. Now Virginia Tech, in advance of this week's game, is publicizing the trust fund in a prominent spot on their athletics site. This is very generous, considering the risk of even remotely promoting part of the opposing team's mojo on your own site.

I just hope that if Fahmarr travels to Blacksburg for Thursday night's game, that all of the VaTech fans have watched this so nobody yells at the dear boy. Although I do find the idea of a university having to dispatch its own Constable Cluckenstuff to deal with obnoxious fans hilarious and I hope to see the system in action on an adult.

Two Queens in One Weekend

Phenomenal weekend. Slow going this morning. Thoughts to come.

...OK, thoughts came and Blogger just ate them. I have a rule: if it disappears before publishing, it wasn't meant to go public. So the Dauphine's expression above will have to convey my Monday posting sentiments.

It's Why the Terrorists Hate Us Friday!

Item: Bibleopoly
Catalogue: Washington National Cathedral Museum Store
Price: $32
Remember that story about Jesus chucking the money changers out of the temple? The makers of Bibleopoly don't! And apparently they're under the impression that Rod and Tod Flanders actually exist. The description indicates that they've left no stone unturned (as long as you're not casting them, eh? eh? Am I right?) because the game includes: board, steeples, cornerstones, "faith/contingency cards", "abyss cards," deeds, offering, and dice. The objective in this game is to "build a church on any of the city spaces." Yep, slam those churches up anywhere. More churches = You're a tycoon for God! No word on whether or not you can buy plenary indulgences or if there are get-out-of-jail-free cards with Rich Uncle Pennybags in a cassock.

UPDATE: Stay tuned next Friday for a special, reader-submitted product on Why the Terrorists Hate Us Friday! Want to get your own in? Email me the product and where you found it, to brunchbird@yahoo.com.

Sexy Brought Back, Hips Failed to Lie

$7 goes a long way at Cafe Citron. It apparently = 3 G&Ts, 2 shots and 2 bottles of water. I'm guessing that Lovers Happy Hour co-hostess Circle V and Scott (may I call you Scott the Shot?) have hefty tabs because they kept handing out drinks all night. There will be intense reciprocation the next time we go out. Pictures were taken, my best efforts to avoid being in any of them faltered in direct proportion to my level of hydration. So there's no confusion this time around, and in honor of the night's theme, here is a list of people who were lovely: Virgle Kent, co-hosts DC Bachelor and Sally, DC Cookie, the aforementioned V and Scott, Virgle Kent, KassyK, Rock Creek Rambler, Heather B., BHR, Kathryn and BP and his roommate, the busboy who guestured at me wildly making 'you'll slip' motions when I took my shoes off, and Virgle Kent. I managed to attend yet another event with Velvet and still didn't meet her, but I know she's lovely, too. I need to go to work now and I can't seem to find my glasses with eyeballs painted on the lenses. Gonna' need those today...

If Your Boss Rides Red Line You Can Totally Keep Making Out With the Hot New Guy in the Breakroom

A fracas ensued this morning at the Woodley Park Metro stop. As we approached and saw the ambulance, fire truck and cop car up on Connecticut I knew it wasn't a good sign. As we descended into the tunnel and saw people three-deep to wait for trains I knew it wasn't a good sign. And when our neighbor pointed out the dude flailing his arms at one end of the platform, surrounded by D.C.'s finest, I knew it was definitely not a good sign. As a result of Cap'n Clusterfuck's antics, the train heading uptown was parked and nobody was allowed on. The trains heading downtown just blew threw, dark and not admitting passengers. We finally bailed and decided to drive to work, bringing the neighbor and another one we passed along for the ride. The last guy into the truck described the scene on the platform shortly before he bailed. Apparently everyone was very polite when the trains downtown finally started admitting passengers, getting on the trains in a calm and orderly fashion. Mahuh, yeah. He saw a woman temporarily step off of the train out of the doorway just to let a little kid get on with his mother and then someone shoved her out of the way to take her spot. Nicely done D.C., nicely done.

BREAKING: My Oinking at California Tortilla Should Have Been Sufficient!

Remember last month when I oinked at the sullen California Tortilla girl to get my free chips and queso, only to have her flatly insist that I had to make a jungle noise? Well I just got the following from a tipster:

The head of REDACTED for California Tortilla was in my office earlier today for a meeting and somehow the topic of "Animal Noise Day" came up. He was saying how it used to be that you had to make a jungle noise & a few months ago they changed it to simply "Animal Noise Day" because some people (get this) thought it was politically incorrect to limit it to Jungle noises and that it should be any animal. I guess it is somehow discriminating to dogs & cats that they are not included in this ploy for free chips & queso. So, of course I shared with him that his 7th & H St location is not in compliance because only a few weeks ago we were forced to make jungle noises and we even tried to make a dog noise [sic] and that just simply didn't cut it. If only we had known this new corporate animal/jungle noise policy we could have contested the cashier's power over us!!

Oh, indeed tipster, indeed. Were it not for this evening's stuffed social calendar I would be standing in front of that chick tonight at 5:01 p.m., arms crossed, oinking like Wilbur.

(Bufoons on) Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down

Reading Subway State's post yesterday morning about hating people using umbrellas when it was only drizzling made me think that someone just had a case of the Mondays. But then on the way home I got stuck behind this nitwit who decided to stroll down the sidewalk in front of me, in a zigzag pattern, while using her ginormous umbrella to shield herself from the four raindrops falling from the sky. Seriously, Boy Scouts could have camped under that thing. Yeah, I get it: it's big so you don't get wet. But you know, if you got some lumber and nails you could also build yourself a shed and walk around with that over your shoulders and that would block the rain. Or maybe you could just put yourself in one of those boy-in-the-bubble deals and roll down the street like a hamster, taking out everyone in your path. Because both would have the same effect as what you were doing, they would just be way more ingenious. Genius.

Beers Were Consumed, Hilarity Ensued, Yadda Yadda...

If you saw me at Blogger Happy Hour Friday night or on Sunday you didn't necessarily get my A game. With the Significant Other's birthday thing going down on Saturday night, I was definitely in distracted, coked-up hummingbird mode beforehand and Joe Lieberman-meets-Eyeore mode Sunday. If you met me Friday night and I never once made eye contact with you or said more than three sentences, it was because my brain was on the following loop: "Did I buy enough spring rolls maybe I should have gotten more beer what if the toilet breaks? Did I buy enough spring rolls maybe I should have gotten more beer what if the toilet breaks? Did I buy..." and so forth.

More to come in a post later about the party. For now, here's what I'll say about HH.
One of my favorite experiences in the world is meeting new people and finding them to be genuinely nice. Not "what can you do for me" business nice, not insincere female nice, not "she's a breathing female, maybe she'll do me" guy nice, etc. Just plain friendly. So it is with great pleasure that I say this happened many times over on Friday night. Throwing Hammers, Good at Drinking, Bad at Life and your adorable entourage, KassyK, Ar-Jew-Tino, Ashburnite, host with the most I-66, Irish Red, and E :) , I'm calling you all out: you're just plain friendly. Warm smiles, nice things said about the blog, and good conversation with all. I'd previously met the lovely V, and I am happy to report she was still lovely. I had not met Virgle Kent before, but he's not going on the nice list. He's going on the Smooth and Sorta Nasty list, and I trust he of all people will not be offended, but realize that this list is way more fun to be on.

*Special note to E :), who stepped it up another notch by fixing my earring. If that chick can figure out nuclear proliferation as deftly as she wrangled a busted chandelier back into submission, we're all going to be sleeping more soundly. You know how there's that effort afoot to surround Butterstick and prevent the zoo from sending him back to China? Well chop chop, E :) is getting deported in two weeks and a thinking D.C. blogosphere won't let that happen. I suggest "Save E :)" shirts on Cafepress and human slingshots directed at the Australian embassy.

It's Just Not a Party 'Til the Toilet Explodes and the Dog Pees on the Rug

The picture above is exactly what the Significant Other's party would have looked like if Monet had made it past our co-op's security system Saturday night. Or, if you were a guest that night, because I'm thinking that some of you were a tad on the tips side. Just sayin'....Anyhoo, in this pic he's making a very funny little speech welcoming our old friends from West Palm Beach and their "replacements" in D.C. I am looking on like the doting girlfriend, but really I'm thinking "This building went up in 1910. How many more people can come in before we're really testing the integrity of the subflooring?" No, seriously, it was touching to see how many hordes of people boarded planes, trains and packmules to be there.

A few notes;
* Both events mentioned in the title did actually happen. For the former, I tried to maintain an arm's length distance from the disaster ensuing in the powder room, but the trio of a blogger, a finance diva, and the birthday boy managed to get the thing back under control. For the latter, in her defense, she was so jacked up on purloined Swedish meatballs and spring rolls that it was kind of bound to happen.
* I'm a vegetarian, but apparently those meatballs my father made (yeah, the 'rents were partying it up with everyone, because that's how they roll) were so amazing as to require the use of expletives to describe them.
* The Fort Knox-like entry system at our place, and the failure to hear ringing phones in all the noise, might have caused problems with those trying to gain entry. A thousand apologies. Next time, do what the man of the house did one night: throw a rock through the bedroom window. (If only I were joking.)
* When a guest shows up with a fancy-shmancy wine gift bag and you open it to find not wine, but a big, shiny new bottle of Wild Turkey, you know that that guest has known you a long time and that she is awesome.
* Lots of drinks + lots of fun people + cops being unable to get upstairs to tell us to tone it down even if they wanted to = phenomenal night. Thank you to all who helped send him into 40 in style.
Cent'anni.

Epilogue
A note appeared on our building's Yahoo listserv today asking who was responsible for putting a flattened, oversized bakery cake box and a pile of flattened mini-quiche and pigs-in-a-blanket boxes in the cardboard recycling. (Apparently food boxes can't go in recycling even if the entire product was wrapped.) An email of admonishment on the listserv for a building with only 16 units in it where everybody knows each other? Recycling Avenger, do you think maybe you could have just sent an email directly to the person WHO PUT A NOTE ON THE LISTSERV LAST WEEK GIVING A HEADS UP THAT SHE WAS HAVING ABOUT 50 PEOPLE IN THE BUILDING THAT WEEKEND FOR A BIRTHDAY PARTY?!

It's Why the Terrorists Hate Us Friday!

Item: Star Wars Yoda Pet Costume Episode III
Catalogue: Buy Costumes
Cost: $18.99
In some countries, they eat dogs. We dress them like Star Wars characters. You'll notice they specify that this is the Episode III Yoda costume, because Lord knows you don't want to be the shnook trotting Biscuit around in an Episode I Yoda costume. That would just be geeky. Also, the pitch specifies that it's the "officially licensed" Yoda costume. Lucas has ivory backscratchers to buy and he doesn't need you snagging a bootleg version on the black market. Incidentally, if Yoda isn't your bag, there's also a Princess Leia version (white dress and buns, no gold bikini) and Darth Vader. Trick or treat? I think that's pretty well established the minute you hand over your credit card number.

He's "Kind of a Big Deal..." and We'll Be Partying Our Tails Off at Our Place

People know him...The significant other is about to hit a very significant birthday. He's telling people that he's embracing it, "because I'm dating a 29-year-old." Just to be sure, we're throwing a party. This is the big one. We've got people flying in, perhaps a blogger or two, and enough reporters to hold a press conference. Rumor indicates that my favorite gossip columnists will be stopping by, which of course has me second-guessing my decision to not hire strippers or invite the Redskins starting lineup. So come to happy hour Friday night. After a few pints, the address to the Bird's co-op will be dispensed like candy.

Live Blogging Jury Duty

10:30--OMG! I just read a proclamation on the wall stating that as of 1991, Oct 6-12 is Jury Service Appreciation Week in the District. I bet you we're totally getting a swag bag and maple macchiattos.

11:05--OK, so now I'm waiting in the Juror's Lounge. Further confirmation that things are looking up: the televisions are big and they're playing Ken Burns' "Baseball." And Boog's on screen!

11:10--A step backward: "Baseball" has been replaced on screen by a video about jury duty. Famed 1980s D.C. anchorwoman Renee Pouissant is filling in in the role of Troy McClure. "You may remember me from such informational videos as 'What Not to Eat on the Metro' and 'Navigating the DC DMV: A Fool's Errand.'" Oh this video is a hot mess. Synthesizer soundtrack and women in floppy-bow-around-the-neck silk blouses as far as the eye can see.

1--Lunch hour. Only options: courthouse cafeteria that looks and smells like hell's waiting room or Au Bon Pain. Things unraveling quickly.


1:35--Back just in time for the conclusion of "The Net." My favorite part was when Sandy Bullock hits an on-screen button to send a file to the "FBI Central Computer." As Annie Lennox crooned over the closing credits the woman next to me turned and asked what movie that was in a tone of hushed reverence, like she'd just been given a sneak peak of "Citizen Kane." In her defense, as you can see in the photo, everyone was pretty rapt.

3--So long suckahs! We've been dismissed. I consider the actual timing of the dismissal announcement to fall within the "not even Jesse Spano would go back to class at this point" range, so I'm heading home. And between the informational video and just having sat here all day I feel like ever attending Georgetown Law would be totally superfluous at this point.

The Secret Service Left Me Alone, Now I've Got to Deal with Courthouse Security Guards

(dusts dirt off shoulders, smoothes skirt and flips hair)
I am happy to report that I survived yesterday's trip to D.C. suburbia unscathed. No frisking at the hands of swarthy Secret Service agents (mixed blessing, that) and no sudden desire to wear Momjeans or have a child named Ashlyn. So all candlelight vigils may now be called to a halt.

Now, let's see what's scribbled in the daytimer for today......Oh sweet Jesus, I've got jury duty.

Innocuous Title So As Not to Alarm the Nice Men Nearby With the Guns

I'm sitting in the car outside a building in Chevy Chase waiting for my significant other who is inside waiting for the president. He's covering an event that Bush is speaking at and I'm waiting because I need to drop him off as soon as it's over and take the car to Richmond to conduct an interview for a piece I'm working on. Do you have any idea how nerve-wracking it is sitting in a big, black truck just waiting for someone when the POTUS is involved? Let's take a look at my potential problems:
*I've got a case of water in the back seat which never made it in from Costco last night. And of course we know that water has landed itself squarely on the feds' beverage watch list.
*I've got a copy of today's WaPo editorial page open on the seat next to me. And there's an E.J. Dionne column right on top! If they observed me nodding in agreement a minute ago I'm toast.
*I'm hunched over the Treo typing away. I'm sure that doesn't look suspicious.
*Figuring I might be bored, I also grabbed the crossword on the way out the door...from THE NEW YORK TIMES!
So if I don't post for a few weeks please dispatch a team of lawyers to Gitmo. I'll be the one yelling "But I was just blogging. Blogggggging!"

At the Risk of Sounding Smug...

I haven't updated the blog lately because my weekend is still going. If there are sweeter words than, "We follow the government's schedule," I don't know what they are. Nothing of note occurred this weekend worth wasting the next few minutes of your life. However, I'll share the snippet I overheard while waiting for a table at The Diner Sunday morning. A small boy was talking to his father as they were walking out. Both had British accents.
Boy, with the cutest little accent ever: "But I've said the magic word."
Father: "Magic word notwithstanding...."
Powerful evidence that even an exchange with a nagging kid sounds cooler and more intelligent with a British accent than its American counterpart.

In other news, birthday presents are still trickling into my house. The latest to arrive is from my brother and sister-in-law: the Sun Records 50th Anniversary Collection. It's so good, you should have known how good it was going to be before even reading this paragraph, and gone out and purchased it, and be listening to Johnny London wailing out "Drivin' Slow," at this very minute. Right now you should be doing nothing but nodding in agreement.

It's "Why the Terrorists Hate Us Fridays"!

Item: Dance-on Piano
Catalogue: F.A.O. Schwarz
Cost: $250,000
The pitch: "Play 'Chopsticks' or any other tune while dancing over the 22-foot long keyboard as it lights up with each step. Then learn to dance like our professionals with a private one-hour session from Matt Williams, the FAO Schwarz choreographer."

Unless he's Tom Hanks circa 1988, there is no reason your child should be in possession of a toy that costs as much as the annual income of entire neighborhoods in Appalachia. Look, I'm generally of the mindset that if you're a bazillionare you can buy whatever the heck you want. Most of the stuff I pick on on Fridays isn't because of the cost, it's because it's just plain stupid. But the price point on this is so beyond the pale that it commits the greatest sin of all: it's tacky. To be clear though, I'm only talking about the piano itself here. Not the private, one-hour session with Williams. You can't put a price on that kind of razzle dazzle. Just think, some day little Preston or Alessandra might appear at Carnegie Hall and riverdance out 'Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.' And won't you be so proud?

Madman Strikes Arlington Newspaper Boxes, Tens Baffled, Thousands To Be Amused

Every now and then a nutjob comes along who transcends the mundane. The guy who lunged at the dude eating an ice cream cone and crossing M Street in front of me today and yelled indecipherably an inch from his face? A good show to be sure, but he wasn't really, you know, trying. Ladies and gentlemen, I bring you someone who's trying. My tipster forwarded me the photos of the handiwork of an enigma he's affectionately dubbed "Psycho Pamphleteer," and the following reconnaissance:

"None of my local grungy art friends seem to have any clue who he/she is. I seem to be the only one in Arlington who's even noticed them. I started finding them a few weeks ago while surveying newspaper boxes. (Don't ask.)"


Any guesses? Does anyone know who this advocate of polygamy, the building of a nation called Gruetopia, and the Portuguese codfish at Piratz Tavern in Silver Spring might be?
More importantly, can you believe there's only 30 days left until Werewolf Alleviation Day? I haven't even started my shopping! But really, it sneaks up on me every year.

Yeas and Nays Launch Party

As for the official reason for the party at The University Club, I'll say that Gavin and Dufour drew a more-than-respectable crowd, looked very debonair (there must be good money in the gossip racket), and sent everyone home with a bottle of Y&N wine. Hilarious. I can't add anything to that.

What I can own up to is sounding like a ginormous dork while talking to Alex Pareene (seriously, can someone please provide me a better opener than an earnest "Love the site"?), having a lovely time chatting with two crashers who as always, are as chill in person as they are on their blogs*, and enjoying just being my significant other's date for the evening, especially since he was wearing one of my favorite suit/tie combos. After briefly flirting with the idea of driving over to Jaleo for manchego and apple salad, we opted instead to go home and slip into something more comfortable. And by that I mean a large half-pepperoni/half-cheese. Perfection.

*Remember that scene in Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts, mouth full of pancake, says to Richard Gere in regard to his business empire, "Your parents must be really proud, huh?" Yeah, upon saying to Kathryn, "You must have a ton of readers, huh?" I realized I sort of sounded that naive and goofy. sigh...

UPDATE: Maybe I'm biased, but I'm sort of partial to Circle V's write-up of the event.

I'll Be the One in the Conservative Dress

Heading out to the Examiner's launch party for Y&N. If you see the Bird, come chat. Bring champagne.

Because When I Think Par Three, I Think "Healthy Boobs!"

I needed to buy golf balls yesterday. The guy at the shop pulled a box off the shelf and asked, "Is pink alright?" In a hurry, I just glanced at the box and saw it was indeed pink. But I said "sure," because it doesn't really matter what color the box is. Then I got them home and realized that the balls themselves are pink. Great. Someone's getting snickered at at the driving range this weekend. Turns out a portion of the sale goes to breast cancer research. I of course support the cause, as I have two very interested parties attached to my upper torso, but I still think it's kind of funny when the purchase of things like a golf ball, a kitchen mixer, and a cocktail shaker raise money for scientific research. By the way October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. So do your part and go buy an $8 cookie.

Bob Woodward Demonstrates Lack of Understanding About How Book Festivals Work

Surveying the crowds gathered at this weekend's National Book Festival I was struck: Having 1,000+ people jockeying for chairs to sit and listen to you talk about something that began while hunched over your writing desk at home has to be pretty effing astounding.

Also, advice to Bob Woodward. I didn't come to the festival to hear Scott Turow talk about "Presumed Innocent" (1987) or to hear Doris Kearns Goodwin talk about "Lyndon Johnson and the American Dream" (1976). So I certainly didn't come to hear you talk about "All the President's Men." When you're speaking at a major book festival in the nation's capital the weekend your new book comes out about the very naughty behavior of the people running said capital, and it's already been written about in the New York Times, don't have some festival flunkie official come out and tell the folks who've waited all day to see you that you're not going to take any questions, nor are you going to talk about that book because you've cut a deal with "60 Minutes" for an exclusive. That's the kind of thing that gets you booed. To be specific that's the kind of thing that did get you booed. Loudly. Mainly by me. In your defense though, everyone else could have just been yelling, "Booourns, Booourns."

They Did Indeed Say it Was My Birthday

On turning 29 delightfully:
*Take Friday before birthday off to ensure one is well rested for festivities to come. Spend day at the Spy Museum with my friend in from Atlanta. We attempted to crawl through the ductwork, but halfway through determined we are not cut out for espionage. If you haven't visited the museum, you must. Even though it costs 15 clams, it kicketh copious tail.
*Spend Friday night ringing in the impending birthday with four sorority sisters and beer--lots and lots of it--at Gazuza and The Big Hunt. Decide it's time to call it a night Sunday morning when the camera ends up floating in a pint.
*Wake Saturday and promptly showered with gifts by significant other. Always an excellent gift giver, he opted this year to enable my growing golf obsession. A bit later, my mother and father arrived bearing home supplies from Costco (it's the best delivery service 'cuz you don't even necessarily have to pay the bill right away) and the fixings for a delicious breakfast.
*Wile away a beautiful afternoon at the National Books Festival.
*End with romantic late-night dinner at Hank's, sucking down Blue Points, polenta with parmesan, and champagne. Because it's not a great birthday until you've contracted gout. Stop into Kramerbooks and get John Hodgman's The Areas of My Expertise. Start giggling before even making it past the cover.

P.S.-Oh and a special birthday thank you to Mark Foley, who gave the gift that keeps on giving: Republican scandal, A1.