Chips Ahoy Part II

There were a few responses to the list of generic cookie names that I really couldn't let go by unnoticed.

The first is from my mom: "How about Pirates of the Carob Bean? (in health food stores now.)"

From my father: "How 'bout: 'I stepped in Dog Chip' ??"

And finally, a message I received on facebook from my very funny friend Shawn Carlow: "As to the important matter of Chips Ahoy! knockoffs from your blog, I'd go for Chips Annoy! And they would be cookies that defy conventional logic by being at a significantly higher rate of chips to cookie dough than has ever been done before. So much so that eaters would eventually start spitting the cookies out, saying "This is just too much." But I would only do that because I'm running the company, and I got it from my rich ex-wife as part of the divorce settlement, and I'll show her. Probably Treasure Chips would do that just as well."

In addition to coming up with elaborate stories about heartbreak and baked goods, Shawn also does Stand Up around Los Angeles. To see where he'll be performing next, check out his MySpace page here. While you're there, read his blog and watch a few of his short films. I love the Godzilla one.

Health Tips For The Wealthy

I recently came across an article in a popular publication whose headline boasted "secret" health tips from foreign countries. Imagining all kinds of obscure yogic and food-based remedies for common maladies, I proceeded. Unfortunately, the article listed only four, and they were less than earth-shattering.

One suggestion was to drink wine with your pals ala the French. Reasonable, I suppose. Wine's supposed to be rich in some kind of...thing that's good for your ...whatever. Plus, boozin' it up with your buddies endorses mental health. Makes sense, in an "I already knew that" kind of way.

Another pointer was to go out for more sushi. Duh, people- fish is healthy for you and it's instant portion control. It's also rather pricey. As is the next suggestion- Going on vacation! Bombshell: People who go on vacations live longer than those folks who work 51 weeks a year, leaving their desks only to pee and pilfer cheetos from the break room.

And the final foreign health secret? Have health insurance! Wait wait wait. Do you mean to tell me that people who are able go to a doctor for regular nutsack check ups are likely to be healthier than people who just let their nutsacks go unchecked?!

Sure, health insurance is something my employer fortunately provides, and I do think it's a great idea. But the rest of it? A more accurate title for this article would have been "Four Ways That People With Money to Burn Can Have More Radiant Skin." I'd love to discuss my latest proctology appointment while I booze it up over wine and sushi with my friends on a long vacation. But, as is the case with most people, I'll be in my office, talking about a rash I can't get diagnosed while I guzzle diet coke and microwave kettle corn.

There She Is

I spent Saturday night at my parents' house, watching the 2009 Miss America Pageant. It's a tradition my mom and I try to keep alive each year. It's not that we're obsessed with pageants. Tiaras and ballgowns don't make us all googly-eyed. We don't particularly enjoy the parade of bronzed bodies in bikinis and heels. No, the reason my mom and I watch is for the talent portion of the evening. If you've never seen a shellacked, glistening twenty-two-year-old pound out a Chopin nocturne on a Yamaha, well, you just aren't whole.

But this year, the assortment of talent was rather disappointing. When the most interesting act is a tap dance to Fever, things are pretty bleak. (No offense, Miss Iowa- I respect your moxie.) Can't someone pick up a banjo? What about bird calls? Or the lost art of the Geisha? These are all respectable talents, and yet they've been pushed aside in favor of robotic ballet and singing that could easily be confused with yelling.

BUT- the talent competition was redeemed by the addition of "pop up" factoids about each of the performers. As we watched each woman writhe or belt, we were treated to interesting tidbits displayed briefly on the screen. Somehow, though, the information we received seemed out of place. Luckily, my dad had his camera. (Yes! Father Cole watched Miss America- and enjoyed himself, dammit.) Each time a piece of out of place data came up, we paused the show and took a photo.

Here is the first. It's Miss Indiana (Spoiler Alert: She won the crown) singing what I believe was called Via De La Rosa.


Surprise! She shows dairy cattle at her county fair! Which is amusing. But not as amusing as the next contestant, Miss California. And guess what?



She has performed at a Raiders halftime show! In her tutu? Do you think she got hit with any flying beer cans? Discuss.

And finally, nothing is more disconcerting than this:

Uh huh. Miss New York has sung at a PRISON before. A moment of silence for her mental innocence, please.

What were they thinking with these? My mom calls them "Miss America Trading Cards." I'm glad she came up with something to call them, because I couldn't.

It's Tax Time Again

The only thing more exciting than getting your new issue of Gourmet magazine in the mail is opening it up to the page about 30-minute pork loin recipes and finding your W-2 inside!

That's right, kids! It's tax time! Now, back in ought-seven, Turbo Tax held a contest on YouTube: Make a rap about their product! If the YouTube-crazed public liked you, you could win prizes! I can't remember what the prizes were, because I think they were tax software and maybe like... a stuffed monkey or something. Anyway, it wasn't important.

David Malloy and I decided to enter the contest, so we wrote a rap starring MY PARENTS- who are incredibly good sports for participating.

So, in honor of W-2s arriving everywhere, I present to you, The TurboTax Rap:



And remember: Always check your food magazines for important legal paperwork.

Another Plug

FunBox Comedy's back with another delightful video...

It's WASH MY RIDE!!!



I love these guys.

FUN FACT! Rachel Noll, who plays the car owner, and I went to college together- we didn't meet until the day of the shoot! (I was on set for moral support, and also to hold the boom mic)

A Thousand Chips Delicious!

A few months ago, after the kitchen at work had been recently re-stocked, my coworker Gina and I were delighted to find a package of chocolate chip cookies on the shelves! "Chips Ahoy!" we shouted! But, upon further inspection, we found that they were the generic Safeway brand of cookies, called Treasure Chips. The cookies, while delicious, bore a somewhat unappealing name. So Gina and I decided to come up with a list of new names for a generic version of Chips Ahoy. Today, when I was sorting through a pile of dusty post-it notes under my monitor, I found that list:

- Chips Aweigh!
- Chips, Ho!
- 20,000 Chips Under the Sea
- Chip Shape!
- Chipwrecked!
- Chip n' Whales (Whoa. That one was a stretch.)
- The SS Chips
- Shiver Me Chippers!
And my personal, ridiculous favorite:
- There Arrrrrrrr So Many Chips!


I think I'd be inclined to eat these products over Treasure Chips. What does that even mean?

Swimming Dillemma

So, Monday was my first day back to work after a two-week hiatus, and Tuesday was my first day of working out after a two-and-a-half-week hiatus. Now, there are a lot of reasons that I find it difficult to drag myself over to the Rose Bowl to swim. These include (but are not limited to):

* Being tired
* Lady troubles
* Feeling bloated from tacos and/or cupcakes
* It's cold
* It's Tuesday
* Mothra attack

But Tuesday marked the dawn of an entirely new excuse. As I was preparing to leave, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and my hair looked tremendous! I had it back in a bun, but the ends were poking out as if lovingly arranged by six or seven European stylists. Little tendrils were falling around my neck, and my bangs had somehow miraculously retained an impressive level of volume after 12 hours in the office. I admired my hair from all possible angles, an exercise which lasted a good two or three minutes.

Let's see, I thought. Who will I be gracing with my presence tonight? Who will be fortunate enough to gaze upon my fantastic updo?

No one, that's who. In a half hour, I was going to be jamming my entire head, hairs and all, into an off-white silicone swim cap. Let me tell you- this is nowhere near an acceptable look for a person. Since I spend all day at a desk, in a room without any windows, my skin is untouched by the sun. I'm not kidding. I probably have rickets. Under the fluorescent lights of the Rose Bowl Aquatic Center locker room, the swim cap is almost the same color as my skin, which, when I don my bathing suit, makes me look like an old Greco-Roman Wrestler.

Hey- my New Year's Resolution was to look good. I'm sure you can see my dilemma.

Eventually, my better judgment returned, and I ended up in the pool, but not before taking a picture of my hair. Which I will not post here, because it did not turn out well.

The Brothers Cole

Remember my Good Ol' Reliable Father? Well, he has a brother, Jeff. That is all; you can go back to your Christmas shopping now.

Christmas at the Cole House

Every family has its own holiday traditions. One of ours happens to be getting together to decorate the house and the tree for Christmas. Each of us has a special stocking that we hang from the fire place. My mom needle-pointed mine, and Louie's. My brother made my dad's. Here it is:

Aside from the misspelling of our father's name, Steve, please note the Tie Fighter.

And, in keeping with the Star Wars theme, here is my favorite ornament on the tree:




Well, almost my favorite. Because our tree wouldn't be complete without ...


...The Christmas Ballsack, courtesy of Louis & Dad:

FriendPoll: What Is Hell To You?

I posed this question to a few friends: "What is Hell to you?" and encouraged them to include an explanation or anecdote, if they felt so inclined (in the case of Brian, that may have been a mistake). Here are their answers:

Gina: "A world with no ice cream trucks."

David: "I think being in a Pinto, going cross-country with Vince, from ShamWow , no air conditioning, the windows rattle and won't roll down, and the radio's stuck on an AM Banjo station. The seat is stuck upright and won't tilt back, and the seatbelt is too small and digs into my belly. And a cat had peed in the backseat and it smells."

Jody: "My idea of hell is working at a certain place where I was referred to as 'Girl PA,' and was so terrible that I wish diarrhea at an inconvenient time on almost everyone there."

Joe F: "A common interpretation of Purgatory has always been a veritable Waiting Room for Heaven...hanging out, hoping that the the people you have left behind pray for you enough that your number gets called, deli-counter style. I think Hell is sitting in that room holding a number that won't ever be called, but you don't know that. All you know is that some skinny bitch who just got here had her number called three days later and the speaker won't stop playing REM's Everybody Hurts."

Brian: "Hell is an idea that exists in many cultures as a way to balance out the injustices of the world. Both as a means to control people and prevent wrong behavior. And secondly for peace of mind, to believe that all injustices will ultimately be righted. So I believe it is a cultural invention of humankind for disciplinary and comfort purposes. I think the Buddhist hell makes more sense than the Christian one, as rehabilitation or a term of penance, rather than the eternal useless vengeance of Satan's bidness. The ancient Greek hades was interesting because it wasn't necessarily a reward or a punishment, but instead a dreary but necessary next step. Says something about their culture."
(Can someone give Brian a hug and make him watch some cartoons?)

Brandon: "A childproof lock, and I am a child."

Feldman: "Being force fed opera and classical music on a dirty, earthy smelling, outdoors hike with my parents stopping every possible moment to admire the nature." ...30 Minutes later.. "How rude of me not to ask, what is your hell? Something involving massive amounts of vomit?"

Oh, Feldman. You know me so well.

Chef Liz in: "Steer Clear of Steer"

The weather's finally starting to cool down out here in Los Angeles. And when that happens, it's time for heartier food. Soups, stews, casseroles. So, today I'm going to pass along a glorious recipe: Scalloped Potatoes & Tongue.


Of course, I use the word "glorious" the same way I use the word "magnificent" to describe the bombing of Hiroshima.


Gaze in wonder at the recipe card:



The first step is to "Wash tongue well." At first I thought this referred to the diner's tongue, and would have made more sense at the end of the recipe, after the steps "Ingest" and "Regurgitate." But it appears the recipe is talking about beef tongue.

After washing, you boil the tongue, and then it gets really terrible, instructing you to "skim foam" from the boiling water. Pardon? Am I to understand that preparation for tonight's delicious meal involves a step that can be described as skimming beef foam from boiling tongue water?

Hey! Have you seen a cow's tongue? No? Well here you go:



I'd like to move on now, please.

The rest of the recipe is fairly unoffensive, a basic scalloped potato recipe (albeit with the inclusion of an unappealing bovine muscle). But, have you read the suggested menu items? Zucchini salad, glazed carrots, finished off with a strawberry sundae- not too bad. You may be able to get around eating the entree at all. Unless you are a guest- then it would be rude, so you must force down a full plate of this culinary monstrosity. And what will your host, ever-faithful to the recipe card's plan, select as the beverage for this evening? What will be at your disposal when you need desperately to wash down the tongue juices and white sauce?

Ah, yes. Tomato Juice. Thanks, Host. Nothing helps quench a thirst brought on by 2.5 pounds of lingual meat like watered down pizza sauce.

So, remember, this fall, when you're looking for a delicious, substantial recipe... This isn't it.

Last One, I Swear

Here's Louie's arrangement of the jazz classic "It Don't Mean a Thing." It perfectly shows why he is my favorite person in the universe.

Hollywood Mourns Loss of Progressive, Go-To Archetype

By LIZ COLE

Los Angeles, CA- It was a morose scene at the office of hit show 24 executive producer Howard Gordon last night. Gordon, also a writer for the show, had, moments earlier, been rejoicing over Barack Obama's victory. However, the reality of what the election of a black man to the presidency meant to the entertainment industry quickly dawned on him. "We had an African American president on our show way before anyone had even heard of Obama," he said, referring to actor Dennis Haysbert who played president David Palmer for five seasons. "This is great news for America, but what are the writers supposed to do now?"

For years, the Black President character, officially called Archetype 6D, provided valuable information about a script's story. "The idea that our country was being led by an African American was such a far off concept that it really let us set the tone [of the story]," says Deep Impact scribe Michael Tolkin. "It was such an easy character to pull from the shelf and sell the idea that, okay, this movie is going to be purely fictional, almost futuristic." Now, with Barack Obama in the Oval Office, writers are going to need to find another way to show their story takes place in a more idealistic version of America.

But help is on the way, according to WGA president Patric Verrone: "We're doing what we can to find a replacement for Archetype 6D. We've called our reps at the major studios and shows and, some time next week, we'll all meet for a big brainstorming session." He wouldn't expand on their plans, but there have been a lot of rumors circulating on literary message boards about the possible use of the Robot President archetype (6H) in future productions. "I don't know, though," said My Name Is Earl assistant coordinator Darren Wilner. "The possibility of a robotic leader of the free world may not be far enough off for us to get good mileage out of the archetype. I'd say, if the WGA wants to endorse anything at all, it should think seriously about Archetype 6L, Grizzly Bear President."

Overdue Apologies- Halloween Edition

Dear Louis,

I know I already offered an apology for the whole bath tub water incident. But I feel I owe you another for Halloween of 1998.

You see, my friend Lauren and I were very concerned with getting our costumes ready. I can't remember what the hell I was going as. But it was of the utmost importance that we discuss it behind closed doors. That day, you were your normal, bouncy, 12-year old self, excited at the prospect of a sackful of candy, and looking forward to donning your latest army-surplus getup. Your pre-sugar madness brought you, uninvited, into my room.

So I yelled at you to leave. This had the opposite effect. It was a classic case of moody teenager versus pre-teen wise-ass. I pushed you out, you stuck your arms and legs in the doorway. I kicked at you, you just laughed. I rolled my eyes at Lauren, pushing the door as hard as I could, as you tried with all your might to push the it back open. I gave one final shove, and you were out.

But something was wrong with what should have been a routine exiling. I was holding the door closed, yet it didn't want to stay flush with its frame. And then you let out a cry. You were in real pain. I quickly opened the door again, and freed your finger.

As I replay this in my head, I want to run over to you and hug you and say I'm sorry and tell you that when I'm older I will write you $500 checks every month to make up for this. But, I was 14, and a jerk and so as you stood holding your hand and howling in the hallway, I shut the door again and went back to costume planning. My face felt hot from guilt.

Dad came to my door about 20 minutes later. "You broke the tip of his finger. He is in a lot of pain. I had to to give him a shot to numb it, and now his finger's going to be in a splint while he trick-or-treats." He didn't ground me, or yell. I think he knew that just telling me about Louie's situation calmly would be painful enough. It was.

Lauren and I went down to the end of my driveway and sat by the mailbox. I looked at my feet, and played with a roly-poly bug in the dirt. As it curled and uncurled slowly, I told Lauren that I felt like crap. I probably had a more miserable time than you did that evening, worrying that you weren't enjoying yourself because of what I had done. But, judging by your confectionery haul, you were able to have a good, long trick-or-treating session with your pals.

Later, when we got home, and you and I dumped all of our candy out onto the floor as was customary, I wanted to make it up to you some how. So, staring at your bandaged finger while you sorted your candy into piles, I'm sure I probably gave you some pretty great candy trades.

All Ho's Eve

Everyone is talking about Halloween (Actually, everyone is talking about the dismal stock market situation, but let me just have this one, okay?) and I couldn't be more excited!

Being the organized and on-top-of-it individual that I am, I'm still deciding on my Halloween costume. I have a week to figure it out. Actually, given my work schedule, I only have this weekend to figure it out. So, what better way to spend my down time at work than surfing the internet for costume ideas? (My psychiatrist said to use my free time to learn a foreign language or better myself intellectually somehow, but what the hell does he know?)

Google "Women's Halloween costumes." G'head. I dare you.

Witchs, pirates, cops, ladybugs, NUNS- They've found a way to make everything hyper-sexy. Yet, the men's costumes are pretty tame. Priest, psycho butcher, Batman, Julius Caesar. How come, if a girl wants to dress up for Halloween, she's gotta be a skeevy mass of cleavage and leg? Do you know how many people would actually look appealing in those outfits? The nine people they hired to model the clothes in the first place. That's how many.

This isn't a new phenomenon to me. I went to school in Malibu for lord's sake. I recall in the 8th grade a girl in my class (I'm not going to name names because we just became friends on Facebook and I really don't want to screw that up) wore a Nurse costume to school on Halloween. Aww, how cute, you're probably saying. What a wholesome and Florence Nightingale-y costume!

WRONG.

Have you ever been to Hollywood Boulevard? Have you ever a passed a store called Bed Behavior? I believe that is where the girl got her costume. I think the only part of this chick I couldn't see were her lungs. I learned more about the female body on Halloween '97 than I did in my freaking college anatomy class. So, she strutted around all day, twirling her plastic stethascope, driving all the other girls to feelings of utter inadequacy.

Meanwhile, I too had given into the pressure to dress at a sexiness level far outside of my comfort zone and was dressed as a "Sorceress." You better believe I was wearing what I considered a low-cut dress, with a fancy steel-reinforced brassiere. PLUS- a headband made from glow-in-the-dark bones and tusks, a feather boa, AND a custom-coiffed Barbie head with a safety pin stuck through it hanging from a chain around my neck. (I later donned that Barbie head every day for several months in the 10th grade as part of my "Bite me- I'm weird and proud of it" phase. That's a whole other blog.) Needless to say, I looked freaking awesome. Awesome enough that - OMG! - the most popular boy in school told me I looked "rad." (Cleverly, I rolled my eyes at him, and as a result, didn't ever have a real boyfriend until 12th grade.)

But I couldn't compete with The Naughty Pre-Teen Nurse. It just doesn't seem fair that a guy can get away with smearing red tempra paint on his shirt and calling it a costume, and the other half of us have to wear skirts so short you can see our "parts." I just can't ever seem to make it to that level of Skank. Sure, once I was Tinker Bell On A Bender, complete with hip flask and crooked fairy wings. But I was completely out-sexied by the scads of Slutty Waitresses and Skeevey Bank Tellers.

Of course, I'm still going to give it the old college try and go as some boob-tastic version of a beloved childrens' book character or something. Though I still haven't decided on an actual costume, I have purchased a FANTASTIC bra, so I've got a pretty good chance of fitting in this year.

Avoid Sudden Movements

A Fact About Me: I find shows about beekeeping fascinating. There is a show on RFD, the farming channel (Yeah. I watch it. So?) that comes on about once a year. It features Dr. Keith Delaplane, who may or may not have a hidden stash of dead wives buried underneath his porch. Keith teaches you all you need to know about beekeeping.

But once a year is not enough to satiate my hunger for apiological programming. Thank god for YouTube, and this guy. I love him. Aside from his vast knowledge of bees, he is completely amusing and wacky. To see my favorite video of his, click here. If you need to see more of Crazy Bee Guy, search "ExpertVillage" on YouTube. He has TONS of videos.

Dude- I sing in Portuguese now

So, this weekend, I totally sang in Portuguese. My dad played piano, my brother played drums (and recorded) and our friend Hans played bass. The song is called "É Com Esse Que Eu Vou" by Pedro Caetano, and it's probably my favorite song.

I hope you like it!

My Yearbook Photos

I have lived in my apartment for over a year, but yet I am still unpacking. I was going through a box the other night and found my old yearbooks. I thought I'd share them here with you. (Scroll down slowly, so you don't ruin any surprises!)

Oh man. Remember this hair trend? Yikes! Also, I was high out of my mind (sorry, Mom!) And this was my senior photo! Mortifying...



Here's when I was in eighth grade. Look how young I am! Kids used to say I looked just like my father...

Wow, 11th grade! I had a really bad hickey on my neck for picture day (thanks a lot, Random Boy From Fresno!), which is why my collar is buttoned all the way up...


Aww! 9th grade! I was a little freaked out that day... first day of high school and all. My mom spent hours on my hair do that morning, and I fell asleep on the bus ride to school and mashed the back of it to hell. Oh well! It's still a really nice photo...


No laughing please! I'm actually really embarrassed about this last photo, which is from the 10th grade, when I was in my "Ted Danson" phase...


I hope you all enjoyed this indulgent walk down memory lane as much as I did!

*Thanks to Hartwick Hanson for showing me the website that made this possible. www.yearbookyourself.com.
IF YOU USE THE SITE, PLEASE SEND ME YOUR BEST YEARBOOK PHOTO AND I WILL POST IT HERE!

Althea Parker, Why Do You Look So Sad?

Goodness me, I love the internet. I especially enjoy websites that cater to the desires of people with weird, expensive interests. One of these websites is the Gentleman's Emporium, which has a vast collection of ridiculous Victorian and Edwardian outfits for both genders. I like this website better than other costume websites because not only do they sell the pieces separately for ease of mixing and matching, but they bring the outfits to life with the name and title of the fictitious person who may have worn such a thing. PLUS- Backstories!




Why, look! Here is Phoebe Robinson, Stenographer:

She's a widow!
Her husband died in what the website refers to as "the great fire of three years ago." That was 2005, so I'm pretty sure they are referring to the big fires in Simi Valley. Also, she is fond of hats that look like a giant potpourri sachet exploded on her head.









Next up is Professor Babcock, Man of Science:

His entire outfit costs over $500! It is also extremely flammable and may, at any moment be ignited by a bunsen burner! It's a good thing that, as the site mentions, he spends a lot of time giving lectures "at the esteemed Institute of Technology!" How the Victorians love being vague!






And then we have the perseverant and puffy Caroline Sullivan, Pioneer. Caroline's backstory features:

*Surviving "a bout of the ague!"
*Surviving an "Indian attack!"
*Surviving the birth of five children!
*Surviving on a farm without her husband!
*An actual quote by Ms. Sullivan about her arrival in town after surviving the long journey!







And take a look at this asshole, Baron von Frohmann, Aeronaut:

In his unbelievable hat, he builds dirigibles. Also, he doesn't believe in Bernoulli's principles. The website's creators were lucky enough to find a quote from the Baron on the subject. He said that the flights of heavier craft were "mere parlor tricks, no more interesting to the scientist than the ballistic flight of a well-shot cannonball." It should be noted that he hails from the fictional land of "Frohmann."








And last, there is Althea Parker, Victorian Lady:

Althea! Why so glum? Your husband is the well known Dr. Calvin Parker! You have three boys! You started the public library, and were the school's superintendent! Chin up, Althea! Put on a more brightly colored snood and smile!!







*Special thanks to David Malloy, Burbank Gentleman, for finding this site!

Thank You, Foreign Persons!