At 7 a.m. I find my partner snoring on the living room couch, the television’s blue glow reflected in the glasses that he is still wearing. ‘Good afternoon,’ I shout, mimicking the greeting offered by his boss whenever my man is a little late for work (i.e. every day). ‘Oh, I fell asleep out here,’ he mutters needlessly. Continue reading
So I had the shittiest, busiest work week ever, texting my special friend RenMan to explain why I would not be making it to the gym that week. Yes, for the first time in about 20 years, I did not train for a full 6 days in a row. And yes it was horrible. So when I told Ren that I was totally stressed out and praying for death to take me, he kindly offered to help. That was a big mistake, for I immediately asked him to write a guest blog. I did so, however, not simply because I was too busy even to bathe— Continue reading
‘I am an adrenaline junkie,’ proclaims the broad-shouldered man eating Ethiopian food at my dinner party, ‘but I would never wear a squirrel suit!’ I am a little confused. What could be dangerous about a furry outfit, other than the ‘about to come loose’ fan whirring away inside the oversized head? Even I would risk donning a rodenty costume, and I am too afraid to have my ears candled.
Chester Brown’s graphic novel about hiring prostitutes in Toronto is simultaneously engaging and dull. Still, I would recommend it. For one thing, it made me think long and hard [get it?] about the value of friendship, inspiring this post. Continue reading
‘Hey Gavrilo,’ I call out to my partner, who is busily scrubbing himself in the shower. ‘Would it be wrong to title my next post ‘Stalin Was a Party Pooper? The industrializing Soviet leader was, after all, a mass murderer. ‘Hell no,’ he replies. ‘Honey badger don’t care.’ So there you have it: his fault. I was about to ask him another question, but finally decided against it. The purpose of his new Old Spice shower gel, suspiciously called ‘The Playmaker,’ is his business. Honey badger don’t care about that either. She is nevertheless intrigued by the poetics of both historical and contemporary displays of manliness, scented or otherwise. More about that below.
First let’s explore my subtitle: ‘Russian Celebration.’ Is that phrase also potentially offensive to millions? Not at all. It refers to a remarkable moment in Sergei Eisenstein’s 1938 Soviet film, Alexander Nevsky, which features a thirteenth-century prince who defended ‘Mother Russia’ against invading Swedes and Germans.
Get in line, Mongol bitches.
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