Seattle...aka LEATHER DADDY'S BOY CONTEST

Ever since Everett left the apartment upstairs, Madison and I have been indulging in his free catalogs from Barneys--getting the "what's IN" on the fashion scene, glamrock, and ikea-like cb2 mags for better home-making and living decor. As we both have learned from Everett's obvious taste in fashion and living, not to mention our recent jaunt to Seattle, WA...the gays know how to live it up.

Despite the famed "sleepless" nightlife of frequenting the bars and clubs, we quickly learned that the "straight" life was NOT at all popping. Yes, there were men. Yes, many were of the 'woodsy scruffed-lumberjack meets potentially hipster yet not pretentious' type aka Maddie's future husband, but were they under 30? Probably not. And being surrounded by our new friends (and trust me, all 20 of them were beautiful gay men) did not help our cause to find said spouse.

Instead, we started the night at 7 with a light dinner followed by a bit of R-place, Barca bar (the ONLY straight bar we went to, for 10 minutes), Purr, and Cuffs (a "leather" club for gays, some of whom were "fifty and creepy"). We didn't complain though, because gays love us. Why? My theory is that they are drawn to my cuteness and the ability to pick me up and twirl me around a few, while Maddie..well, they just love Maddie.

In the end, we went to all of these bar/clubs (minus Barca) every single night. Even the coat-check trannies (in drag and white facepaint) remembered us which may-or-may-not be something to boast about.

Sure, Stephen took us around to the shops, U-Dubb's campus (university of washington), thrift stores (Red Light), and the Space Needle from afar...and yes, we definitely took his hiphop class with two 40 year old cougars and two middle-school girls...but the taste Seattle has left in our below-40 cold mouths is one of rainbows and gay men in undies.

Something to look forward to on your next trip to the best coffee-brewing capital! Oh, and a massive shout out to OWL CITY for playing on the radio a jazillion times with pride.

yo

A-MADDIE-BLOG

hay 'merica.

as of late i've been mildly nostalgic. But not the "remember-christmas-of-'98" nostalgic, this kind of nostalgia I have occurs whenever Halloween is near. For some reason, this holiday stirs up the most unearthed emotions in me. That aside, that brings me to the topic of todays blog.

What your Halloween costume says about you!

If you dress as a...

Witch: Your mom bought your costume on sale from Rite-aid 30 minutes before the neighbors annual halloween party. You are mostly female and are probably 11.

Anything Slutty: You drink from red cups at frat parties and probably have a belly button piercing. You like talking about your ex-boyfriends and the only TV show you watch is HEROES or LOST.

A pirate: You are just a girl wearing black and red and an eye patch.

Tobias Funke: You are cool and don't mind sacrificing your jeans into "cut-offs." You are at least 20 and probably see movies at Laemmles.

Tom Cruise in Risky Business: You forgot to think of a Halloween costume but have access to a large white dress shirt and you wear Ray-Bans anyways. (i.e. See me and Kim's costumes from last years HARD)

ANY Historical Figure: You are either a 7 year old boy and your professor dad dressed you as Thomas Edison (complete with kite and electricity skid marks) OR you are a highschool student who hates PE but likes eating in the teachers classroom during lunch.

Max from "Where the Wild Things are": You probably saw this movie at midnight last night. You like Pabst Blue Ribbon and showing your friends cool videos on the internet - (but not videos of cute kittens or puppies)

that is it.

late night research

Mr. IX from Mr. IX on Vimeo.

Double Trouble

This is next up on my queue. So far I've rewatched "Ever After" and "The NeverEnding Story". I'm looking forward to revisiting Hocus Pocus however, as I never made the connection that Sarah Jessica Parker (of Sex In The City) is the Blonde witch (who I used to admire and thought was super pretty aka tried to model myself after...sooo dumb). ALSO...I'm going to try to find Mary Kate and Ashley's Halloween film "Double, Double, Toil and Trouble" . So good, I recommend you do the same! Tally Ho! -Kimberley

Charleston Willy

Don't you hate when a book comes out with a "translated version" that sucks 100 fold worse than the original? Simply put, I do.

It's like, you might as well be watching a dubbed version of Harry Potter with chapped lips (the lack of Cherry Chapstick being the kicker).

AND...(starting with a conjunction to show my heady disapproval) Although the people in the theatre might not be laughing at the right parts, at least a v.o. (version originale) beats lips moving out of synch to "Helly Potta or Hairy Pothole" or whatever absolutely-Wrong pronunciation is uttered. Case-in-point : "Kiffe Kiffe demain" by Faiza Guene.

Here we have a wonderful little story about a troubled youth who comes from the ghettoed projects, trying to find her way to womanhood. There are so many pop and cultural references specific to France (especially the slang and lingo used) that merely does not reciprocate on the American translated take, that they should never have translated my Livre de Poche in the first place! No one should ever be required to Buy or Read Kiffe Kiffe à l'Anglaise.

Why? Need I go on? Because it loses it's spunk, it's cool, it's pizazz and turns into a limp noodle. In laymen's or rather ghetto speak ..I don't want no top ramen shiat! Yada? For the more hardcore, ebonify your lingo, like so: "ah don' like it at all what 'chew trippin foo'"

It could also be due to the loss of humor in the translated version...jokes just don't deliver, lines sound unnatural. No one in their right mind would talk like that. In this next example, you will see what I mean and nod your head, then jump off a cliff like all good lemmings do.

Ok, this is kind-of a weak example, but I randomly selected a pg. so ya get whatcha get!:

"Even if i think Mme DuSomethingorother's a fool too, at least she does a better job of playing social worker to the local poor"(9)

Here's the original: " Mme Duquelquechose, même si je la trouve conne, elle joue mieux son role d'assistante social de quartier qui aide les pauvres" (19)

...conne is a much stronger word than fool. this is probably the sorryest example i could find but you catch my drift ya?

I'd also like to point out the inconvenience of American books being all-different-sizes. Most books in France are all the same size (depending on the type) so they fit cute and perfectly on the bookshelf.

Plus they're small and easy to carry on the metro, so more people read them. I'm just being biased here, but it makes a lot of sense. Doesn't it bother you when a bookshelf is full of awkwardly sized books? Just me then? Alright...

I understand the argument that people who Don't read french need the means to access the book, thus a terrible bastardized version of it should rightfully be available....but it hurts just a little bit. I wish there were some sort of way to learn the common languages- Spanish, German, French, Chinese, English, Italian the quickest and easiest way possible.

Although this is too idealistic, if Everyone knew more languages, we'd become more well-rounded people and have access to more information, more resources, more human communication. Perhaps the cynics and xenophobes will criticize me for this, but wuteva mang!

I wonder if some of the smartest people know the most languages? That would make a lot of sense to me.

gabbing gabby...Kimberley Rants about Rats and Feral Cats

I've been wondering about the rat situation in Los Angeles lately.

Is there one? Do they exist?

Only in sewers, perhaps.

But I imagine rats multiply rather quickly, thus you (predominantly I) wonder just HOW MANY rats there are and if they ever do come out into the open and Why are they such unsanitary critters? It Fascinates me to the bone that they are virtually in every major city and get around quite easily, or seem to (ie. the Bubonic Plague, boats to/from Italy, etc). I wonder if they are as nice as Remy from Ratatouille! (Not really... i'm just being dumb on this little rant here).

Upon further investigation (as I pondered whether the City and the Greater Los Angeles Area put out traps, pesticides, or had some sort of scientific and urbanly planned devices at play) I found THIS! : "Just in Case You and Your Home are Suffering from Rats" --I would have titled it. I almost (al-moooost) feel sorry for those guys, they get a real bad rap from the media (excluding Remy, of course...)

Apparently, however, there ARE systems at work (just like the magical unseen workers who cut the university grass at late hours for our next-day viewing pleasure)...the Rat Patrol. More formally known as the LAPD's FERAL CATS.

I wonder if they look as deadly as this and if so, then well, i guess it makes sense that rats would flee from fear.

I'm happy to be a Human.

Da Beezy Bronx Beat

Whilst in France (Lyon to be exact), I learned how to make crêpes with a Normal Pan, Normal Flour, Normal Butter, and Normal Sugar. That's all it requires really, pretty simple actually. It is the best drunk food for french people and every french person (me included) knows How to Make Crêpes. I plan on starting a chain of crêperies in the States around college-y areas...so look out for that America.

[ The Pikachu above is what turned up on google when i searched "Lyon + Crêpes"...apparently this biosphere burger company puts edible PRINTS on your food. sooo cool. ]

In response to Madison's post of all things quotidien, this is my short European take on day-to-day tomfoolery (it's longer, too long... but slightly more exciting):
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2:00 pm : Wake Up. Look at my cellphone for the time. Go back to sleep.

2:15 pm : Wake Up for realz. Realize that the day's almost over and shit, I have three missed calls/texts

3:00 pm: Look mildly presentable and go out to scavenge for food.
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3:15 pm : Eat a whole falafel and coke (which cost a total of 8 euros, the equivalent of $12 and consequentially counts for both breakfast, lunch, and maybe dinner) and feel very, happily stuffed.

4:00 pm : Walk around on the cobblestone narrow streets and wonder why I don't just live here forever.
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4:30 pm : Try to find a Frenchman worthy of making my spouse.

4:45 pm : Realize there are just too many good looking men here that I could never pick just one. And continue to flirt with Number 13 in a mixture of romance languages to show off my cool and sense of elite

5:00 pm : Hit the bars with some mates (mostly on Mabillon street, probably "The Frog and Princess" English pub) for some barfood (which consists of cheesy nachos and buffalo wings) and Happy Hour prices (5 euros versus the usual 10 euro cocktail)
----
6- 11 pm : Go to the club and dance with boys. Get asked if I would like a drink. Accept. Talk for a bit, say thank you, and politely excuse yourself to find your friends (but maybe exchange numbers if he was really a future possibility)

12 am : Get some crêpes. Maybe hit up that absinthe bar we always go to in the Bastille area.

1 pm : Decide if we should stay out until the metro reopens (5 am) or run to the metro which closes...Now.
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2: 00 am : Missed the metro. Buy some illegally-bought 2 euro wine (no sales past 11 pm) and
go to the Seine to wait out the next 3 hours.

4: 00 am : Only one hour to wait. Everyone is drunk or hungover. Time seems to move at the pace of a dying snail.
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4:30 am : Less than a half hour to wait, but we are so damn tired and it is so unbearingly cold that we hail a taxi and go back to the hotel for some zzz's.

2:00 pm : Wake Up and "do it all over again".