Confessions

1) I love frosting.

Oh sweet, creamy lord. I feel so free. I can't tell if these are tears of joy or tears of missing frosting. Like cake frosting. Not "icing." Not sweetened whipped cream and a little vanilla extract.

Butter. Powdered sugar.
Maybe some cream cheese, or "albino fudge" as I ask for it at the store.
A bit of vanilla?
Cocoa powder.
A little cream, maybe some milk.

Graham crackers. And a spoon. Maybe neither.

I love it. I don't go crazy on it anymore, but only because I have mirrors and a family history of grand delusions. It's not healthy.

But this time of year, I cry. I cry for the abuse, the misuse of frosting.
The recent cupcake boom of the past 2 years has helped bring frosting back to the forefront. The frosting, I eat it last.

And some heartless people who yell at animals are using frosting as an apology for their shoddy work underneath, this time of year. The generalized letter of boring family recap that nobody cares for, under frosting. Fuck your stale cakes, Accounts Payable. Just leave the frosting bucket with the lid off and some spoons next to it and let us do as we like.

Stop mis-using frosting. The world's in bad enough shape as it is. Carson Daly has a career. Enough said.

Stop it you guys. Seriously.

I love frosting.
There. YOU deal with it.
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2) Got a cat last week. It adores me.

I'm not a cat-person. I'm more of a "guy." But this cat, about 2.5 months old, loves G-Unit here. Will fall asleep in my lap within a minute. Purrs only when I pet her. Will go into her litter box and "show off" with a display that can only be described as "1/8th her bodyweight." She has no traction on the Pergo, and no recollection of her lack of grip while negotiating a turn into the office.

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3) I thoroughly enjoyed myself at the Chop Suey- LaffHole show last night. That was a great crowd, and the interactive-ness of the standing bar patrons just adds to the rock show vibe. KUDOS to Kevin, Emmett, Scott, Dan, and all the others involved in that movement. They love comedy, they created an environment for comedy (Not just stand-up), and it's flourishing. Sweet-ass.

Andy Peters, I say... HUZZAH, sir, for calling that poseur emo-hipster buttcrease on his tattoo shenanigans. He's set up to do nothing but play Guitar Hero and power-wallow at Bauhaus. Next time, we'll kick his ass.

Also, here's how I envision a rehearsal of the band "That'll Do Robot, That'll Do" would go:
Dude's on the couch, face to the cushions, arms overhead. Wearing a maroon and blue-striped sweater, a size too-small, a.k.a. a "hipster Large."
-- Another dude enters. He sees couch-sleeper and another guy in a papasan chair holding a copy of "Figurine Monthly" in his hands, moving his lips while he reads.

FIRST GUY
(to guy on couch)
Hey. Dude. Wake up. (kick)
Come on, we have to practice for the
show tonight. Wake up, man. (nudge)

(to guy in chair)
No, it's cool, leave the gorilla mask on.
Okay, you shotgun this bottle of Vick's 44 and then
swan-dive onto the credenza while holding this ukelele.

I'm going to plug this keyboard into the wall,
stand in this pool of my collected urine, and
launch myself down the stairs.

(to guy on couch)
You. Hit the record button when my ballet slipper
comes off. Do NOT screw this up, guys. I did not
have my parents put me through art school to sound
like I know what I'm doing.

Okay, on the 2 & the 4, here we go...

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