August 2005

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I love the blogiverse.

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And may I recommend Frankie Can't Relax for those seeking a sidesplitting chronicle of single life (and justifiable hatred of TheKnot.com)? Those are her real lips, y'all. Check it out.

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 30, 2005 1:19 PM

 

Overheard in the Pussy Wagon:

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Jonny: "Look at how wide that Buick is."

Me: "It's like the car version of my ass."

Jonny: "You would never have a Bush/Cheney sticker on your ass."

******************

Did anyone else sit through the VMA telecast on Sunday night? God, that was more grotesque than  Comedy Central's Roast of Pamela Anderson, and Courtney Love's heart-shaped box wasn't even on display. Explain to me how R. Kelly pacing back and forth onstage, lip-syncing haphazardly to that ridiculous "I flip back the cover...oh my God, a rubber!" song constitutes actual entertainment. Video!

Also? I am old. When I was part of the VMA's target demographic, I looked forward to that broadcast with the zeal of a wee Gentile on Christmas Eve. Remember the '97 awards, when Marilyn Manson grimaced in a latex thong, Fiona Apple railed against the music industry's "bullshit" at the podium, and Puff Daddy publicly mourned his fat homie alongside Sting? That was actually kind of cool. But Sunday's "50 Cent, feat. Four Shouting Guys" crap didn't electrify me. Eva Longoria in her weird little Valentino-esque swimsuit and Claire's Boutique phony-tail didn't even raise my dewpoint. Huh.

Bonus "Song That Sucks Dong": "Wonderful Tonight" by Eric Clapton: Attention, high school dance committees. You might want to reconsider using this ballad as the theme for your next Sadie Hawkins soiree. Know why? Because it's not actually a romantic song. It's about a marblemouthed drunk who has to be carted home by his trophy wife/nursemaid after boozing himself to the point of impotency. Seriously. Listen to it and be enlightened. Love, Diablo "I Quickly Put it on Vibrate" Cody

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 30, 2005 10:43 AM

 

Three More Songs That Lick Dong

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1. "Morning Has Broken" Cat Stevens

If Jonny wants to infuriate me, he knows all he has to do is sit down at the upright piano in our living room and bang out that oodly-noodly Bach-wannabe intro to "Morning Has Broken." Oh, how I despise this song. I don't mind the rest of Cat Stevens' oeuvre, but this one makes me want to Cut my Boddy into Peeces. The organist at the Catholic church I attended as a kid used to play a molasses-slow, (allegedly) drunken version of this at daily Mass (yes, you heard right, daily.) The woman sounded like she had fallen asleep at the pedals. Also, if pussies could sing, they would sound like Cat Stevens.

2. "Epic" Faith No More

First of all, these assholes killed an actual fish for that flopping-ichthyoid sequence at the end of the video. Secondly, I once (and by "once" I mean a very long time ago) dated this guy who really liked Faith no More. He also liked: his mullet haircut, Kentucky Fried Movie, abusing women, and giving really shitty gifts. Therefore, Faith No More sucks. Confession: Last night as I was compiling this list, Jonny tried to convince me to add "Cult of Personality" by Living Colour. Unfortunately, I sort of like that song. Same goes for "Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman. Sorry Jonny. "AIIIEEEE-hi had a feeling that I belonged..." That's dope!

3. "Cat's Cradle" Harry Chapin

Wow, a song designed to make people feel like shit! Whether you're a parent or a child (and chances are, you fall into one or both of those categories) there's something in this song that's sure to inspire self-loathing. I do this really annoying thing where I make up new and absurd verses to "Cat's Cradle" to see if I can upset people. The lyrics can be about anything, and people will get equally maudlin. For instance: Someone makes a peanut butter sandwich and puts the jar of Skippy back in the frigo. I'll start singing "You put the peanut butter away...maybe you'll have some another day. But the peanut butter feels so alone as it languishes in its chilly home." Inevitably, the person will be like "I LOVE YOU PEANUT BUTTER! I'm sorry!" It works in any situation. Try it!

I'll add more once I find myself inspired/irritated anew.

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 25, 2005 11:15 AM

 

My Five Least Favorite Songs

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5. "Old Time Rock and Roll" Bob Seger

From the staccato piano intro (a harbinger of suck if there ever was one) to the sucktastic fadeout, this song blows like Chloe Sevigny at Cannes 2004. Every time "Old Time Rock and Roll" comes on the radio, my mother cranks up the volume to a sensible 4 and declares, "Now this is a great tune!" Mom is wrong. Bob Seger has only ever written one good song, and this ain't it. Nor is it the one where he rhymes "Katmandu" with "that's what I'm gonna do." Really Bob? Is that really really where you're going to?

4. "Time in a Bottle" Jim Croce

This song is gratuitous, icky, and has a vaguely gay Ren Faire vibe that sets my teeth on edge. It's like when you have an orgasm and you're beyond done but the guy keeps messing with your clit anyway and you're like "QUIT MESSING WITH MY CLIT, VIGGO!" It's just...oogy and oversensitive. Plus, I hate songs about the fleeting nature of time (with the exception of "Dust in the Wind," which rules. You're my boy, Blue!)

3. "Far Behind" Candlebox

Man, did I hate Candlebox during their brief moment of popularity circa 1993. Sample lyric: "I didn't mean to treat you oh so bad. But I did it anyway." Dude, obviously you did mean to treat her "bad" (sic)--if you hadn't, said poor treatment wouldn't have been the conscious choice implied by the "anyway." It's a matter of semantics. And the fact that you are a total dong.

2. "All That She Wants" Ace of Base

An easy target to be sure, but there's nothing worse than phonetically-sung Swedish synth pop that isn't Abba. I would possibly crack if forced to listen to this song repeatedly. Even once makes me twitch. It doesn't help that when I was in ninth grade, I was forced to do choreographed calisthenics to this song in gym class. (Of course, when it was my turn to pick the music, I forced the other girls to do squats and lunges to "Peace Frog" by the Doors. Revenge is sweet.)

1. "Life's Been Good to Me So Far" Joe Walsh

Wow, it must suck being rich. Please whine about it some more, smegma-head.

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 22, 2005 6:10 PM

 

Thanky-spanky

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I want to extend a quick but sincere thanks to everyone of you who emailed me this week. I received an astonishing volume of sweet, funny and/or complimentary messages out of the clear blue, and those are the best kind to get. Many deep rectal kisses from me. Y'all are cool.

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 22, 2005 10:38 AM

 

Boo

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Being the horror aficianado I am, people have asked me if I'm planning to see Red Eye this weekend. I sure as heck am.

First of all, it's directed by Wes Craven, which automatically means it's going to make me piss myself. Jonny and I are such big Wes Craven fans that we watched Nightmare with the commentary on the other night just so we could hear his incongruously soothing voice. Secondly, Rachel McAdams (that hot bitch from Mean Girls and The Notebook) stars, and she's fun to look at. Third, the trailer tricked me into thinking it was a meet-cute romantic comedy until, you know, horrific things started happening very suddenly, like Cillian Murphy getting FREAKY EVIL EYES. I enjoy being tricked. It's been eons since a quality horror movie came out, so I'm there by default.

In other news, I'm craving cinnamon toast, enchiladas, and Sprite Remix.

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 15, 2005 6:18 PM

 

Flies to honey

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Like the remedial housewife I am, I accidentally left a sack of decaying russet potatoes under the sink for months. Jon noticed a few days ago that swarms of flies were congregating in the kitchen and alighting on everything. Jonny hates flies, moreso than the average person. He bought flypaper and a sadistic fly motel-type contraption and prepared the traps. Yesterday he peeked under the sink and shouted in horror; the offending sack of rotten taters had been discovered, swarming with flies. Thar's your trouble, ma'am.

Jonny bravely rushed the foul sack out to the trash while the child and I beat a quick retreat to her bedroom, screaming and eek-ing all the way. That explains why my kitchen has smelled like rotten potatoes for literally months. Yes, I am that dense.

The whole point of my relaying this nasty yarn comes here: Last night, Jonny got really drunk on Absolut Apeach; he was swallowing whole glasses of the stuff. He wandered into the kitchen with a magazine and started swatting at every surviving fly he could find. "I have to find the queen," he slurred. "I bet she's heavy with eggs."

Maybe you had to be there.

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 15, 2005 12:24 PM

 

Totally Awesome Animal Entry

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I've been innundated (okay, not exactly innundated, more like gently prodded) with requests for photos of my menagerie. May I present the Flatulent Three for your pleasure:

Agnes

This is Agnes of Dog, otherwise known as I'll Give You Something to Smile About. A sage poet named Edie Brickell once said that religion is a smile on a dog. She was right. Check out the Miss Universe grin on 'Gnes! But before you coo too delightedly, be aware that this dog was probably digging cat shit out of the litter box five minutes prior to being photographed. Her breath smells like a mass grave.

Here's Aggie in a more soulful mood. If I catch her looking this cute, I'll inevitably wrap my arms around her and yell some nonsense like "Ooh! Coyote Pretty wants a big kiss from Mama!" She suffers my delusions nobly.

Here's Agnes begging for attention as I compose some work of genius (ie; surf Google Images for celebrity nip slips.) The laundry on the floor is an anomaly. I never leave clothes on the office floor. I leave them on the basement floor, so they can get nice and moldly and reek of feline emissions. God invented warshin' machines so we could be careless with our finery.

George

I only have one picture of George to share today, but I think you'll agree that it's priceless. The face says it all. This is my rotund, snuggable, 25-lb graemlin of love. I refer to the other animals as my pets, but I unironically call George my son. God, I have to go zrrbrrt his paunch now.

Larry, aka Douchepacker

Once again, the face says it all. You can see the depths of madness in his eyes. I admit the little half-Hitler schmear on his upper lip is kind of cute. The dripping mandibles and insatiable bloodlust? Not so much.

I call this one "Shroud of Douchepacker." This is a typical Larry tactic: hiding somewhere he's certain to be found, then attacking once approached. I never expected these servicable gold Ikea curtains to become battle camouflage, but Larry is clever when it comes to unleashing hell. Once again, I'm willing to admit that he's cute, but the scars on my calves don't lie.

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 11, 2005 4:49 PM

 

Galleys humor

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I received a few advance copies, aka "galleys", of the book yesterday. It was very surreal to see my ramblings in book form. I still think the front cover looks unnervingly like this, but I'm no designer, so whatevs. I hope people like it. I know I could get fucking eviscerated by the critics--I've made peace with that possibility--but I'm way more fearful of readers' responses. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm secretly glad the Fametracker forums don't exist anymore, specifically the "Publishing and Multimedia" section. The last thing I need is to read multiparagraph posts about what an inarticulate cow I am.

Eh, this book stuff is small potatoes, no? A mere hobby. It's not like writing the book caused any kind of radical unheaval in my life or my relationships with my family. Oh wait, it totally did. Right.

Last night I caught a sneak preview of The 40-Year-Old Virgin. It was up there with Anchorman in terms of hilarity. Recommended!

Quote of the day: Jonny: "I kind of want to see Ice Princess, but I don't want to say why."

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 11, 2005 10:46 AM

 

Big pimpin'

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I was on the Lori & Julia show yesterday, and like a dolt, I forgot to beseech people to tune in. You can hear me being uncharacteristically dry and professorial soon, when I post an mp3. If you'd like to hear me speak in Real! Life! go ahead and walk down the hallway to my office. I'm the chick with the Aladdin Sane mullet, wearing a cheap sundress and eating chocolate graham crackers like they're going out of style. Lori and Julia were awesome, incidentally. They were nice as fuck.

Also, my book Candy Girl is now available for pre-order on Amazon. Like, buy it now so you don't forget or something. It'll be a fun post-holiday treat to read in the tub, especially if you like graphic descriptions of cum on Plexiglass. If you hate it, you can always post obnoxious reviews attacking my personal character. I love that.

Also, yesterday Jonny suggested that Josh Saviano play him in the hypothetical movie version of Candy Girl. I plotzed laughing because, dang! Most guys who'd spent the last three weeks gyrating in leather trousers for screaming teens would be all puffed up with pride. Not my husband. He still thinks he looks like Paul Pfieffer.

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 10, 2005 10:08 AM

 

Some positive things about living in Minnesota

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Since I've been doggin' on our Fair, er fair state for week upon humid week, allow me to offer a sprightly Defence of the Land o' Lakes:

1. In Minnesota, you can be invited to a church function that promises "a light supper," only to arrive and discover that in Minnesota, "a light supper" means "a gut-busting three-course meal that would bring Andre the Giant to his Greenlandish knees." This actually happened to us on Sunday. I appreciate that approach to portion control, ie; no control whatsoever. We staggered out of that church, I tell you.

2. Minnesota is so left-wing that they actually have churches for people like me.

3. Last night I was at a bar with a large group of pals and satellite pals, and people were having a sincere, non-ironic conversation about where to buy the best venison jerky, and whether bear meat is actually worth eating. (The verdict: too greasy.)

4. Apparently many people here have second homes called "cabins." Normal people, not just Richie-Rich shitheads with platinum waterslides.

5. Bars. Lots of 'em. And I don't mean taverns.

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 9, 2005 10:08 AM

 

Jonny's Response to My State Fair Rant

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"See, but the whole thing about the state fair is: There's NOTHING cool to do there, and that's precisely the point. Its a little slice of rural america, which is exactly what we lack here in the city. I think Minnesotans, especially city-dwelling ones, either a) wish they were living in a small town, b) grew up in a small town and miss rural culture, or c) are fascinated by rural culture because their uncles, aunts, etc. were part of it. I grew up visiting various small towns, farms, etc. most of my childhood -- in fact, I think the BEST fair experience I ever had were the little COUNTY fairs I used to go to as a kid, which were ten times more redneck and rural than the State Fair. Try the Freeborn County Fair in Albert Lea if you wanna see some REAL fair goin'.

Its a chance to get away from hipster culture and look at COWS. I mean, I can see where that wouldn't be appealing to a lot of people, but personally, I *need* that once a year or so to remind myself that yes, there is a world outside of the Big City that isn't full of hipsters and cool stuff to do -- its full of stupid stuff, animals, tractors, idiots, bad food, crazy culture, etc -- basically small town crap. Exactly the antithesis of coolness. Which is why I find it an ENORMOUS tonic. Its hard to be cool eating a frickin' blooming onion and staring at an International Harvester tractor. And that's why its cool, NOBODY who goes there can be cool at all.

I mean, hell, COWS.

I'm guessing that in Chicago there are a lot fewer people who grew up in rural or farm-belt Illinois -- most of them are very likely native Chicagoans who were born in Chicago, lived in Chicago, die in Chicago, big city people all their lives. In minnesota, I'd bet about 50% of people in Minneapolis probably started out in some small town and moved here for the opportunity. They at very LEAST spent a lot of time in small towns growing up. Probably a lot more than Illinoisans." --Email sent by Jonny

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 4, 2005 2:00 PM

 

All's fair and I'm a whore

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The Minnesota State Fair is, inexplicably, a big fucking deal. Every year, hordes of people named Leif Johanssen and Erika Andersson and Gretschen Schmedke descend on the fairgrounds for four humid days, inhaling a humid airborne broth of carny sweat, funnel cake batter, Axe deodorant (available in X-Treme scents like "Battered Wife," "Nearly Gay," and "The Shocker"), and, of course, animal fecal matter. Our state fair is no different than your state fair, except chances are, NOBODY GIVES A WET FUCK about your state fair while our state fair is treated like some kind of monumental, unmissable event.

To wit: I lived in Illinois for 18+ years, and to this day I have no idea where the Illinois State Fair is held or if it even exists. That's because Illinois is a normal state populated by normal people who have better things to do than gawk at prizewinning sheep. And it's not like Illinois is cosmopolitan or nuthin'. Denizens of the 'Nois don't make any claim to hipness, despite what Sufjan Stevens would have you believe. Illinois is just a long, largely agricultural state that appears to be dripping off the Midwest in hot pursuit of the South. Illinoisans are just folks. Folks who don't give a shit about their state fair. Normal people, in other words.

This year will mark my third Fair as a resident of this state (I managed to dodge the bullet when Jonny and I were merely dating, though I recall excited talk of the Fair.) The first Fair I went to sucked because my then-four-year-old friendchild came along and little kids, frankly, ruin everything. It's "Look at the baby cow!" this and "Buy me some ice cream!" that and "You smell like vodka!" all  friggin' day long. Jeebus, what a trial. The second Fair was considerably more tranquil, but it was pissing rain most of the day. I did, however, see an amazing crop-art rendering of Ray Romano, which made the trip worthwhile. (I just realized after clicking on that link that the Minnesota State Fair has a total monopoly on the crop-art phenomenon. Bizarro.)

Still, I felt a nagging emptiness when I left. That was it? That's the event Minnesotans talk about all year long? I hope this year is nothing short of spectacular so I can quit drinking Haterade, jump on the bandwagon, and suck the Fair's cock like everyone else.

The reason I was inspired to write all this was that I heard a really ridiculous commercial for the Fair on the radio this morning. It was kind of a quasi-rap, only the announcer had no flow. It went like "Seed art! Seed art! Many kinds of swine! Butter sculpting! Livestock! Rah-rah-roo!" or something like that. Wow, so many things and NONE of them appealing! Give yourself a hand, Minnesota!

I am determined to embrace the Fair this year. Third time's the charm. I must be missing something. I must.

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 4, 2005 10:51 AM

 

Slightly psychic

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I just felt an inexplicable urge to listen to a currently irrelevant performer on my iPod. Then I felt an inexplicable urge to check a blog. Said blog featured a new post about said irrelevant performer. Weird.

I'm craving Chinese buffet.

I sitll haven't bought a stripper pole.

I wish I had a mental filter that could block comments from people who aren't nice.

I haven't been to church in two and a half weeks.

My hair is an electric dandelion color that makes me look like the thick Dixie Chick circa 1998.

There are no cash machines in this Romania I work in.

I broke down and bought some more lipgloss yesterday.

I am not going to accept the offer to rewrite this one movie because I secretly think it's already good. Secretly.

 

 

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 3, 2005 4:12 PM

 

The High Dive

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We went to the community pool yesterday. I'm relieved to report that community pool culture hasn't changed a whit since I was 12. They still have "nachos" at the concession (orange plasticene cheese piped onto a wreck of tortilla chips), tween Lolitas in string bikinis, and incontinent toddlers slathered with Coppertone SPF 120. The air smells like popcorn and chlorine. By August, even the most Nordic Minnesotans are brown and rested from weekends on the lake; they no longer sport those shamelful fishbelly-white paunches.

In the small town where I grew up, a place with a curious economic mix of working-class Poles and Porsche-driving socs, Centennial Pool was the place to be. If you were lucky, your mom would get you a season pass and you'd spend all summer camped out poolside, flirting with your best friends' cousins. I was not very popular at the pool because I didn't have tits. I didn't have any tits. The tit situation was so grave that when I entered the water, my hot pink Ocean Pacific suit sagged all the way down to my midsection (it was made of that heavy bicycle-shorts spandex), revealing my emaciated sternum and puckered baby nips to the entire crowd. That was a dark day, and I probably deserved the humilation for insisting on purchasing a suit from the teen department at Kohls when I was clearly still child-sized. 

My husband, by contrast, was only cool at the local pool. As he puts it, "I wasn't school-cool. I was pool-cool." Girls who usually ignored him went wild for his dark native tan in the summer months. Those vacation subcultures always fuck up the hierarchy.

Anyway, I jumped off the high dive yesterday for old times' sake.  I got water in my nose upon impact and my bikini predictably went straight up my ass, but it was still fun dogpaddling to the ladder next to adrenalized nine year-olds.

Posted by Diablo Cody at August 1, 2005 1:22 PM

 

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