It had to happen eventually

Pennypacker, that fink, will be out of pocket for a while. After a weekend hospitalization for exhaustion (read: a phenobarbital and Wild Turkey bender), he will be spending some time at Cirque Lodge to clear his head. I'll be picking up the slack in his absence. Get well soon, pal. I've got Canadian Club on ice for your return.

This poster no longer hangs in Pennypacker's office

Assorted Musings and Links

FYI - my erstwhile constituent, Pennypacker, happens to be my arch nemesis and our opinions re: Cuba are a touch different. Por ejemplo:

1. The greatest sandwich ever concocted.
2. Miami + Cuban influence = Cat's Pajamas (though that might be a bad analogy since no one in Miami sleeps. Or wears clothes.)
3. Ernest effing Hemingway lived there and he wrote some books while he was there ; For Whom the Bell Tolls and The Old Man and the Sea sound familiar?
4. Shitty music? I beg to differ sir. Salsa is sweaty, fleshy awesomeness, Changui emphasizes killer drum beats and The Cat Empire are so heavily influenced by the sounds they recorded Two Shoes in Havana.
5. Her

On an unrelated tip, the holiest of holies has been showing up all over lately. Pennypacker used it to rename Valentine's Day, I described how female marsupials have two, and then, yesterday I saw it in Safeway. "WHAT," you say? I know, imagine my surprise. I was minding my own business in the checkout line when I was blinded by screaming pink:

Va-jay-jay is the scientific term, right?

The higher-ups at Hearst Publications are getting bold. What's next, "Mr. Winky: What Don't Know About Your Man Hammer" on the April cover of Esquire?

Castro Steps Down! 80% of the Planet Says, "Who?"

Fidel Castro has stepped down as dictator, ruler, and Supreme Douche of Cuba. And we here at Gorgeous could care less. It might have something to do with how little effect the man has on, well, anything.

Fidel's brother is taking over. Will Cuba's government change? Will the Cuban people be granted more rights? Will pink become the new olive drab green? Raul is a Latino Communist generalissimo. So, no.

"Does this beard make me look douchey?"

Who knows what this reassignment of power means for the planet. As far as Cuban-US relations, the embargo is still on. This does not, however, prevent the exportation of shitty music. Or I Love Lucy reruns. Or the fact I still have to smoke shitty cigars from bootleg Caribbean islands.

What this does mean is that Miami will remain infested with Cubanos. Now, I've never been to Miami (probably because it's infested with Cubanos) so I can't really say if they're good or bad for the town. All I know is that they all cried about this picture, while I laughed.

"Say what again, motherfucker! I dare you! I double dare you!"

Personally, I'm not excited by this news. It means nothing. Raul is Fidel with less facial hair. Besides, if you think Fidel is going to spend the rest of his days on a beach in Fiji drinking Bay Breezes and ogling European chicks, you're wrong. He'll be sure to have his hand up his elbow in Raul's ass, trying to play him like a puppet.

Bar Golf '08 -- The Aftermath

I'll tell you about it within the next couple days. I was up all night sweating, shitting, and having nightmares. Literally. I'll have a write-up tomorrow, when I'm back to normal. Suffice it to say my cell phone was in three pieces Sunday morning, items were lost, and I told my girlfriend "I don't have fun anymore because you moved me out of the Muslim community." More to follow, when body and mind become one again.

Dig it!

I'm big on lists; there is something gorgeous about an intelligent grouping of unrelated items into one category. That said, here's what I'm digging heading into President's Day weekend:

1. Vampire Weekend
Yes, I'm late to the party; these Columbia-educated fellas have been blog fodder (blodder?) for a while now, but that doesn't mean the bandwagon isn't making any more stops. Infectious tunes, African-influenced instrumentation and relentless cheeriness drive their 34 minute eponymous debut. If you aren't up and be-bopping by the end of the first song you probably don't have legs.

2. Tasmanian Devil change purse
Weird you say? This abandoned toy ended up in my office and, upon further investigation, packs a wealth of fun facts in the coin-holding pouch. Did you know that Tasmanian Devils are marsupials? That nugget led me to Wikipedia, because a co-worker wondered why there was no kangaroo pouch on the TD. Turns out only female marsupials have the pouch. Another possession of the she Devils? Two vaginae. Their male counterparts answer with a two-pronged penis. Ain't evolution grand?

3. French Press
I recently brought my home press into the office. Brews enough for me, takes four minutes, stays hot and I can have it whenever I damn well choose. Like right now.

4. someecards.com
Check it out, have a laugh.

5. POTUSA song contest
Here's the deal, the Presidents are going to write a song based on titles submitted by fans. Entries are no longer being accepted, unfortch, but you can vote on the finalists here. It is a shame "Seattle Makes Me Wet" didn't make the cut. I like Aroma of Tacoma (the title, not the actual aroma, which is a mix factory funk, squandered opportunity and hopelessness).

V Day

It's Valentine's Day again, and we at Gorgeous are preparing our usual celebration: a bottle of Jack Daniels, an Air Supply cassette, and a bucket to collect our lonely tears. That's our gift to ourselves. A look back at other heart-warming Vag Day gifts:


270 A.D.--From: God, To: Hallmark. Death of St. Valentine.

1779--From: The Good People of Hawaii, To: James Cook. Multiple knives to the face.

1835--From: Douchebag, To: Douchebags. Mormanism.

1849--From: Technology, To: Fox News. First photograph of a U.S. president, James Polk.

1859--From: George Washington Gale Ferris, Jr.'s mom, To: 15-year-old boys. Birth of inventor of the Ferris Wheel, leading to a staggering increase in American hand jobs.

Zzzzzzzziiiiiiip!!!

1912--From: U.S., To: Girls Gone Wild. Future daddy haters possible by granting Arizona statehood.

1929--From: Big Al Capone, To: 7 wiseguys. Bullets to the face.

1961--From: Science, To: Nerds. Element 103, Lawrencium, created.

2007--From: Tom Brady, To: Bridgett Moynahan. Sperm donation.

2008--From: Randy Moss, To: Current biotch. A warm back-o'-the-hand. That's for making us lose.

Happy Valentine's Day, losers.

Penn State Bar Golf '08

It's February again, and that means that once again the Nittany Lions that left then den years (3) ago return home to discuss their careers, financial successes, and current relationships. Or drink so much sorority girls are interesting.


That's right, it's Bar Golf '08 at Penn State! One drink per bar, one bar per hole, 18 holes for the round. One drink per hole gets you par, more gets you arrested. Then there's the specialty drinks, like a Long Island Iced Tea at the health inspector-watch listed Cafe 210. That's an easy eagle on a Par 5. That car bomb is worth an eagle at #6 The Phyrst. You won't feel it until #8.

Authored by Steve Tracy, Frb '08 - Penn State University

The back nine gets tricky, when the highly structured event (half hour per hole, one hour at #9 to eat--vital) turns to a goat screw. People wander away, get lost in alleys, are beaten by bouncers, and loudly renounce Michigan (fuck Michigan) to anyone willing to listen.

For some, the back nine means vomiting with all the power of Anthony Morelli's arm (a lot), and are left with all of his intelligence (not a lot). If you survive to the 18th Hole, you're one of the few. Luckily, there's a prize waiting for you.

No, it's not your closest friends and family with 'life saving advice' and 'a chance for you to get better,' unlike my 24th birthday. It's another drink!


And maybe bail.

Bonus prize: a hellish, hallucination-infused drive to D.C. the next day, complete with sweats, shakes, and nightmares.

Ah, yes. Another round complete.

Update on Monday, after the tourney.

Blogs Are Gay

I'm aware of the irony. However, this 'blog' (gayest 'word' ever) is aimed at hating on the basement dwellers who usually make this shit. Well, that and everything else. You see, there is much is this world the hate and make fun of and laugh at. Namely, everything except pizza. Because it's delicious.

Was that a mission statement? Maybe, but missions statements are also gay. And I don't mean 'gay' as in 'gay.' Because I don't care if someone's gay or not, it doesn't bother me at all. But, like Nick Swardson says, some things are just gay, dude. Blogs and mission statements are only two such examples.

And I fully understand the perils of writing a blog. If anyone reads it (not an issue for us here at Gorgeous), then there are expectations to post often, and post a lot.

Well, fuck you.

We'll post when we want, i.e. when not working, drinking, playing Xbox, watching TV, etc.

We also don't have a format or special topic. Some blogs do mostly sports or celebrities or whatever. We'll just do anything and everything.

So, that's our introduction. Hopefully we'll post soon, if we have something to bitch about.