Lost in a fantasy

I finally made good use of Dynamo's Tivo remote Wednesday night during Kate's "Oops, I'm conveniently wearing a thong" scene. Imagine getting on that plane in granny panties, and then crashing on the island. I'd be mortified, and wishing I listened to my mom when she told me to wear clean underwear and pack extras, just in case.

50 something days on an island though, and she's still white as heavy cream. Smooth, luscious, delicious heavy cream wearing a mismatched thong and bra.*
Hmmm.
Sorry.
SPF 5000 much, Kate? At least she could never reject me based on my own whiteness flaw.


*Note: None of this matters much. The owner and sole contributor to this blog is completely in love with Evangeline Lilly. If you're reading this (and why wouldn't you be) come to my apartment and eat marshmallows with me, sans clothing, on my shiny copper naugahyde couch. Though this offer is too good to be true, it's also ongoing.

Go Dynamo. It's your birthday.

We're gonna party like there's a nor'easter on your actual birthday (so not so much, as rain dampens spirits, umbrellas, and once, my wallet. That sucked, and then it took me a long time to replace it.) But the rest of the time was fun. Everybody, have fun checking out a recap of Dynamo's birthday. Everybody, check out Dynamo make adjectives out of nouns too! But mostly, everybody read about his birthday fun!

1 more minute of birthday fun, Dynamo (according to the highly accurate and never tampered with blogspot official timepiece). Enjoy it while it lasts, because tomorrow I'm going to sucker punch you. Just cause.

Lymon Buccaneer

Lymon Buccaneer, Scurvy Pirate, the Scurvinator. No matter what you call it, Captain Morgan's and Sprite is still gross, pkilla!

I found this out at a recent concert that pkilla and Al Franken's stunt double took me to during Tartan Week. Nicole Atkins and the Sea opened, and opened hard. Then came 1990s, whose bassist wore an old school batman tee and whose drummer was like a real life version of the Gorillaz in cartoon form. Sons and Daughters headlined, but I was less than impressed. I almost caber-tossed them, but thought better of it and left.

Lost Wages (NOT!)

I don't understand why people cleverly and ironically call Las Vegas "Lost Wages." If anything, it's nickname should be "City of Secondary Income." I recently went there for another photo shoot for a few days, and came back with more money than I left with. In fact, my first night out there, I played craps for about 20 minutes and playing loosely and falling asleep between rolls, I made 20 bucks. Using algebra, we can discover that $20 in 20 minutes = $60 in 60 minutes. Taking this one step farther, we realize that that's a wage of $60 dollars an hour, quite higher than my actual salary. Frivolous gambling, or working hard for the money?

Things that I want to put into list form:

• It seems my company flew me out there to sit in my room 8 hours a day, backing up hard drives and processing RAW images. Taking photos of myself in a bubble bath probably wasn't one of their ideas.


• Neither was going on Rolling Stones magazine's "best near death experience in Las Vegas": extreme dune buggying in the desert. That's sort of what happens when the company uses both $3500 Macbook Pros as props and I get tired of observing shoots where I feel useless.


• I didn't get to eat at In n' Out Burger, one of the great fast food franchises of our era. Apparently, burgers are not a 24 hour item like casinos. If only they would make slot machines that spit out Double Doubles Animal Style, or Flying Dutchman. With shakes and fries, of course.


• Speaking of slot machines, they assault the senses immediately after entering the Las Vegas airport terminal.


• In fact, most of Las Vegas assaults the senses. It is excessive excess, and one of the strangest places I've been. I'd like to go back, since my time on the strip consisted of sneaking into the MGM Grand so we could shoot in one of their $1600 a night suites without their permission. A building is considered old when it was built in 1990. Hell, if they want to raze a 1990 building and build a casino/hotel, come to my hood and knock down my condo.


• My bosses probably didn't envision me moving the food tables out of the way at the wrap party so I could take crew members money in silo. 4, 5, 6 baby!!


• I found out playing craps by yourself in a mostly empty resort casino on a Wednesday night may be worse than drinking alone. I work hard for my money, though.


• I am not used to luxury. We stayed in an immense resort in a suburb called Sumerlin, where I had a king bed to myself, a rainfall shower with a regular showerhead too and a jacuzzi. Free food, 18 pillows on my bed (actually, 17 of them were useless and weirdly shaped) and maid service? I'm just a simple dude from Queens, but all that after my St. Maarten experience makes it hard to come home to my not finished condo.

You can view photos of the desert adventure, as well as casino adventure and bubble bath adventure here. After teaching 5 people how to play craps, I'm up $30 on Vegas and anxiously awaiting a rematch. And no, I don't have a gambling addiction. I have the Protestant work ethic and urge to make money.