Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Like the Travelocity Gnome.... but Las Llaves en Miami.

Joel's Keys took a fantastic trip to Miami the other week...we wanted to share with you all the crazy and wild things they did. Joel's Keys let effing LOOSE!

04:00:00 Joel's Keys: Empty SEPTA car en route to PHL Airport. Sooo excited!!

08:30:00 Joel's Keys: Bienvenidos a Miami!! Checkin' out those palms!

12:30:00 Joel's Keys: FT. Laudy, beaches! Eyein' that storm on the horizon.

13:00:00 Joel's Keys: Smokin' a cig after a long day en la playa.

22:00:00 Joel's Keys at the dyke bar.

10:30:00 Joel's Keys eating Huevos Rancheros... South Beach, the morning after.

11:30:00 Joel's Keys shopping off the hangover.

12:45:00 Joel's Keys seeing the sights.

21:00:00 Joel's Keys gettin' crunk at the arcade they call Dirty Blondes. And Leah's O-face...wait, what?

Much later.... maybe 3am, maybe 5am Joel's Keys with the hott young THANGS!

Joel's Keys did it all. To see where Joel's Keys go next, visit See y'all in the next HOT SPOT destination! ;)

Jessica Rabbit
Leah, wife of Jacob

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Father's Day Run Down

Happy Father's Day!

My sister refuses to use sugar packets (or sweetener packets) that aren't yellow.

My mother chastised my sister for stirring her coffee without holding the spoon like a pencil. She then demonstrated for my sister the proper way to stir coffee. My sister then corrected my mother, telling her that she was stirring tea, and therefore, my mother's assessment was irrelevant.

Fox News gets there White House correspondence via Obama's Twitter account. Which is sadder? Obama letting us know information about Iran by tweeting? Or the media considering Twitter newsworthy?

My father declared this morning: "First! The coffee we make today will be vanilla flavored. Second! I am staying in pajamas until 9p.m. Well, actually maybe 9a.m. because by the time 9p.m. comes around, I will be going to bed so there really isn't a point to declaring my pajama state finished until I wake up tomorrow."

There are dark clouds closing in on Lancaster, but the sun is shining on the west part of the house. I am drinking orange juice, and blogging at the kitchen table.

I am currently jobless, and I am going to the beach for two weeks in about two weeks. Ha!

Check this out:

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Aaaah!! Bird attack in my backyard!

Okay, so I am currently sweaty, red in the face, and wearing grass-stained sneakers. Although I am always a classy, bougie lady in DC, while in the Lanc I am a grass-mowing, flannel-wearing, construction-man-attracting Lancastrian Woman. hahahaha. Well, perhaps not...

The past few weeks, except the one during which I went cruising down Sistrunk Blvd in Ft. Laudy looking for hookers, I have been out in my yard doing everything from mowing to trimming to weed pulling to pulling large shrubs (including the roots) out of the ground by hooking a chain from the back of my Isuzu Trooper to the shrub and then replanting it in the backyard so my mother and father can see it as they enjoy their coffee on our back porch in the mornings.

To the back of our house there is a line of pine trees three times the height of our house, which are good to have because I don't have to do any yardwork involving those. However, to the other side (the much longer side) there is a long row of forsythia which are more than ten feet high and wickedly overgrown. My mother's idea of a dream yard is one in which no one can see her so if the mood struck her someday, she could sit naked on our back porch and no one would even know.

But it's my job to do the yardwork because no one else knows how to do anything here, so the forsythia needs trimming and I got to it!

I trimmed the sides and the bottom, making sure the bottom was slightly less trimmed because they live longer that way (don't ask me why). Then, I got out the old rickety step ladder that scares the shit out of me because when you step on it, it sways wickedly.

But! It's the only way to trim the fly away branches at the top! So I was on the ladder, with the electric hedge trimmers, which are plugged in and BAD things happen if you don't pay attention and you accidentally cut the cord. Ouch and sparks!

But today the ouch was not because of cutting the electric cord. I, in my haste to get the hedges trimmed before five, trimmed into a bird's nest!!!!!!

The little gray tailed something or other Bird darted out and screeched at me and then began plunging toward me, flying back up and then plunging toward me again. I screamed and jumped off the ladder, throwing the hedge trimmers down on the ground and I ran back into the garage!

I waited a few minutes before emerging from my safety grotto (haha). But when I came out again, the bird swooped toward me again, and I ran back into the garage and then into the basement, up the stairs, and into the kitchen to sit down and calm down for a minute. Those birds, man! They are determined to have eggs!! Jeez Louise!

Now, I don't really know what to do, except wait for a while and then start trimming down the other end first and then avoid the bird's nest for a couple days. I don't want to hurt it... we love birds here. We have birds nests all over, but the hedges are just getting out of hand.

Oh yea, I forgot to mention that there is a lot of construction going on along the road in front of my house. When I ran and screamed as the bird attacked, a bunch of the construction men turned around and laughed like I was Jeff Foxworthy or the Cable Guy (I think that's who people around here laugh at).

I also thought this was appropriate because of those BlackBirds in ?California? that are attacking people in the city's financial district.




Saturday, May 23, 2009

Apparently Summers are Difficult.

One would think that, without a job and without classes, I would be blogging it up! But no... apparently occupation is the mother of blogging.

I will preface my first graduate post by saying: The summer will be slow. And... continue:

Things Adults Talk About, in no specific order:

1. EZPass

2. Aches and Pains

3. Sales and How Much Things Cost

4. Diseases (compliments TMcD)

5. How Lost Our (as in you and me, not the Adults) Generation Is (compliments TMcD)

6. Charlie Horses (IDK about this one... K suggested. haha)

7. The pleasantries of giving business to one company over another, and in conjunction...

8. The criticisms of businesses who do not deserve receiving business.

9. The way things (like well water and septic tanks) work.

10. What is the best way to kick children out of homes when the children are approaching 30.

11. The pros and cons of croquette vs. horse shoes

12. Which dressing is best for pasta salad, and a chronology of dressings used prior to the current pasta salad dressing.

13. Cell phones. Cell service. Hand-held technological devices, and how they can't figure them out but they can't remember how they got on without them.

14. Hitchhiking.

15. The best highways to use.

16. Tolls.

Did I miss anything?

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Ducks Graduate. And some Non-sequiturs.

Well, today is the end of an era. As my dad would say as he quotes the great Sam Clemens, "I've been through some horrible things in my life, some of which actually happened." I'm not sure if the shaking in my body is from my nerves or from all the vodka redbulls I had last night.

Probably the latter, if we consider both the affects of alcohol and taurine versus my baseline behavior in other milestone events.

At my high school graduation, I couldn't get out of there faster. So done. So ready to move on. In HS Graduation I was sitting next to this girl who is the eleventh of thirteen brothers and sisters, and she started crying. At first I thought, "Ya, I guess it would be sad, esp having to leave a large family like that." Then all the rest of the girls and a few guys in my row also started crying.

Then I immediately thought, "Oh, wow. I'm so glad to be getting out of here. No more Deer Hunter games at the pool hall. No more Tractor Day. No more watching my friends chug a gallon of milk, throw it up, and then the next friend try and see if they can do it, before of course throwing up themselves... all while Homecoming is going on."

But now, looking back at what I originally thought about the girl next to me crying, I still think my subsequent thought reaction was appropriate, but I would like to qualify my reaction to the first girl:

It doesn't matter how large your family is for this liminal space to seem so... unliminal. haha. I don't really know what I'm saying anymore... I think my hangover is starting to set in.

Last night, as I went downstairs to pick up my order of hot wings from Pizza Movers (it was the only place open at 3:40am) I started imitating E.T.

Eliot. Eliot, be good. (good rhymes with food in this instance, in case you forgot how E.T. speaks)

So cool, man. The end of his finger lights up.

Also... another thing I thought of while writing this post: when I (and many others) abbreviate the words like "esp" or "idk" or "nvm" there really is no way to say those 'words' literally. Isn't that interesting? We've moved from a world in which words and the idea they signify are difficult to separate in our minds into a world in which that separation is almost irrelevant. It's like... we don't even need the aural signifier for communication anymore. kk ttyl cya. Those aren't words. They're ideas.... weirrrrrd.

Alright, I'm taking a Gummy Vite and rolling some topical caffeine under my eyeballs. Woo. Woo. Woo.

Yea College!



P.S. Just so you know on what I look upon as writing this morning: a room with no visible floor, and a lot of paint chips all over the place. Don't tell maintenance or housing, but Keren and I had to sand and paint parts of our wall... oops. We didn't know her dad's industrial tape would be so.... industrial. (Btw, you can totally still tell that the wall is effed up.)

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Infomercial-->Slap Rap?

Friday, May 8, 2009


Thursday, May 7, 2009


Wednesday, May 6, 2009


Pifdylli y thregbatter rehn burther cohyn rhuet wheurityn. Ohng yurhknut shuftergurgurgwherner y purhehrnumorit. Quoricthirth iourthyier shoullet. Pifdylli y thregbatter rehn qherourourellesly y zhycamera zigot zygote?

Bluhr quibster ashcanter fohlgerum tridental.



Enh...rhemun opticlytia (shurgs shulders).

(Twelve hours later...)

What I think I mean to say: I'm having difficulty expressing myself verbally.

Physical gesture to express how Ducks is feeling:

Lying on floor of living room. Forehead to carpet. Waving arms at sides like the making of a Snow Angel.

Lolling tongue outside of mouth. Dropping chin to neck, and looking upwards into Purgatory.

Erm... I don't really know what else (shurgs shulders).


Monday, May 4, 2009

Contents of an Alien Dob Kit:

1. Effervescent blue spackling paste made from any type of building material (such as concrete or human bathroom tiling) used to heal neon green bleeding from thorax.

2. Personal sized Infrared Interferometer (It picked up from the equivalent of the sample-sized dollar bins at CVS) used for finding life.

3. X-Ray mirror (hand held) used for even deeper inspection of pores, blackheads, blemishes, and the like. Especially used among the metrosexual alien demographic, and of course, women aliens.

4. Miscellaneous paper that It threw into the dob kit as it rushed to check out of the hotel room in the morning:
a) The equivalent of the human palm card that contains pre-calculated tips for a list of meal prices (i.e. Cost of Meal: $20.00 --> Tip: $3.00).
The Alien's "tipping" palm card includes the elements of the Drake Equation, which approximates the number of planets containing Life:
-The rate of formation of suitable stars.
-The fraction of those stars which contain planets.
-The number of Earth-like worlds per planetary system.
-The fraction of planets where intelligent life develops.
-The fraction of possible communicative planets.
-The “lifetime” of possible communicative civilizations.

b) Other miscellany paper products randomly strewn about the dob kit, including the Soviet Union's 1967 stamp, shown at right and the receipt from Seven Eleven for a 3-pack of Magnums.

5. A vile of Expanding Liquid Water, for shaving in transit, as in--IN SPACE. And a razor: Gillette, of course.

6. A small black box nicknamed the Substrictus Alienus Cache (of course, the Alien who owns a dob kit will be in love with Roman history, and thus he names this black box in the Latin words for Small Foreign Cache).

The SAC is used as a prison for microbial life, which is the most common race of enemies for aliens. He realized however that on Earth, humans do not fit in the Substrictus Alienus Cache, and microbial life on Earth is the least of the enemies unless harnessed by Middle Easterners who then spread the microbial life in places in which the Substrictus Alienus is unhappy... and then it kills humans and other large beings.

7. a) A vile of a base dilute ethanol (70%-90%)
b) Oil of lemon, orange, or bergamot
c) A sprig of rosemary, lavendar, or jasmine
(aka Eau de Cologne)

8. A comb, with various spacing and sizing of teeth.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Cha-Quack Amex Card, also: Religion Maybe.

Funny word: cause/Cause

"It's for the Cause!"

"So the It is causing the Cause?"

Speaking of causes and Causes...


A girl eats lunch with her business partner, who is also a woman.

After discussing sundry business items that they had written on their small leather agenda books, the one girl sighs.

The other girl asks why the first girl sighs. The sighing girl responds, "Boys."

The other girl looks up to Heaven and says, "Oh my women relatives, why did we not heed your warning?"

Both girls look at each other and realize that they make no sense. They return to the last item on their business agenda: Cha-Quack Amex small business card.


So this got me to thinking about the choices that we have: The Choice we all have to look up or down when speaking to dead relatives: Shouldn't we do both just to cover our bases? Up and Down.... you know, just in case?

Or if you're a Dante-ist (not a Catholic), you can look directly forward into nothing, and address those dead relations stuck in Purgatory.

What's with getting rid of Purgatory anyway? It completely changed the Catholic dogma.

Now's it's catma.

A sufficient number of reasons why we need Purgatory, and so it should be reinstated:

1) 80-year old sluts.

2) Afterlife housing for the refugees who were displaced after Purgatory was gotten rid of.

3) The DULL. The ones who aren't good or bad, but just making the world suffer with their mediocrity.

4) Baby-killers (before the third trimester... I mean, really... it's not that bad, but it's BAD.)

I think those are good causes for the Cause.

In nomine Patris et fillii et Spiritus Sancti.

-Leah, wife of Jacob

-Keren, rhymes w/ Heron

Love's Labour's Lost: it's not love, it's masturbation.

If y'all haven't heard yet: the Swine Flu (or if you are currently in Israel reading DWTD: the Mexican Flu) has come to GW. The girls were moved from Thurston Hall to City Hall because GW can get more money out of Freshman than Juniors, who have already paid so it doesn't matter if their parents complain and threaten to withdraw their sons and daughters (quothe the cynic Steve R.)

Well, I don't know about all y'all cowards and hypochondriacs, but I'm not going to give up a good time just because of the SWINE FLU. Puh-lease. Pshaw.

During my good time last night, I came across this guy named Roddy Doyle who I have had my eye on for a while. We were flirting and having a good time. He held my hand. We drove around the city. It was all whirlwind, heat, and flash. We killed my parents and were on the road before we knew what we were doing.

And then Roddy Doyle turned to me and said, "You know, you can tell when a woman is in love with you because they come during sex, and they come quickly."

I proceeded to laugh: "HAHAHA!"

Thought he was joking. Thought this was funny. Turns out, this kid was serious. He really thinks that when women finish quickly it means that they are in love with their partners. I have news for him and for the other men out there who may think the same: It's not LOVE, it's self stimulation when you're not looking.

If it's not self stimulation on the sly, then our partner just happens to be one of the following: 1) very experienced or 2) making us feel very comfortable or 3) we're drunk enough to be comfortable even if you're not that great in bed.

I let him drop me off around the corner from my building, and laughed all the way to my door. Then laughed some more when I crossed my apt's threshold.

So, Roddy Doyle: you're a great flirt, but the love-logic part of the brain seemed faulty for a minute or two.


-Leah, wife of Jacob

Wednesday, April 29, 2009



Tuesday, April 28, 2009


T-Shirt Thursday is ACTUALLY T-Shirt Tuesday, SO that makes T-SHIRT TUESDAY TODAY!!!!

Sheesh, Dr. Cohen, can't you just get it right the first time?

Monday, April 27, 2009

Reminder: Much Ado About T-Shirts

Just a reminder: if you bought your high-end, tailor-made, black leather studded Florida State University English Department T-Shirt, do not wear **it tomorrow**, because **tomorrow** is GW English Dept T-Shirt Thursday. Yes, Tuesday is T-Shirt Thursday. [The previous information is now correct, although yesterday it was not.]

It's kind of like GW Monday, which is actually a Wednesday.

Oh my god! It's Hamlet! Everything's backwards!

Which reminds me of an anecdote:

Two BFF Girls walk into a hipster party. Guys are macking on Girls. Guys are macking on Guys. Girls are macking on Girls. Girls who may be guys are macking on guys who may be girls.

And each mack is assisted by the brilliant and creative moleskine owned by the hit-on-er. The hit-on-ee laughs (or doesn't laugh) as they fall in hipster artsy love.

The BFF girls eat some pretzels and drink PBR as they observe the party.

The first girl turns to her second girl and says, "Oh my god, it's Much Ado About Nothing!" But she pronounces the title in Middle English, so the pun is clear. The second girl laughs and laughs, and then they leave and go to 51st State where they get picked up by pretending they know nothing about anything and everything about 'Nothing.'***


***Notes, Vagina, but not a dirty link, I promise.

This may or may not ruin the photo if I tell, but I'm just so damned proud of my skills: I totes photoshopped those Moleskines into the picture. Ha!

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Post Draft #69 (and the beach is preeetty.)

So I was looking through all the posts I've written in a fit of self-absorption. As I was patting myself on the back for being wildly intelligent and insightful, esp on such posts as "Nonsensical Opposites" where I compare an African Elephant to a Pear, I came across a few posts that I hadn't published. They were just saved as Drafts.

One was one liner: "Un-disaffected Youth." And that was the entire post. I'm sure I meant it to be longer, but I was probably a bit drunk and fell asleep before completing the thought.

Another post was the following: "Queer Theory: humans are biologically created to receive pleasure from the same sex, i.e. the prostrate [sic] and positioning of the (whisper the next word) clitoris. Ew ew." Apparently I couldn't continue writing the post... hmmm I wonder what that says about me. Hopefully not a lot.

Then, I struck gold. The following was Draft Post #69 (for real, actually) and was given the wickedly pithy title: "Mai Thai"

Mai Thai

1oz Jamaican rum (Appleton Estate is good)
1oz Martinique rum (Rhum St. James is good)
1/2 oz orange curacao (not the blue stuff)
1/4 oz Orgeat syrup (not creme de almond)
1/4 oz sugar syrup (and Vic puts a little vanilla in his)
the juice of one small lime (3/4 oz approx.)

I couldn't let DWTD readers miss out on this recipe which is totes fab fab.

Enjooooy. Don't get too liquored up.

"Oh my is that Ducks Reader in the bag!? Well goodness gracious!"

Peace, Love, and Joy,


P.S. Woooo the beach!!

Capote Support Group

The talented, caring, and hilarious GW professor H.G. Carrillo showed me this video the other day. I wanted to share it with DWTD Readers!

It's.... well, it is interesting.



Thursday, April 23, 2009

The Artistically Sensitive Caveman (and others).

The Artistically Sensitive Caveman: Wakes up in the morning. Light shines into the cave just enough for him to see the artwork he made on the walls the night before in the dark. The self portrait he drew is accidentally on top of the drawing of the buffalo in the field. He curses the era into which he was born.

The 22-year-old Who Is Retired, but Not a Millionaire: He walks around and asks people around him, "What day is it? Friday? Ever since I retired, I can't keep track of the days." He also oft' makes references to projects he completed in high school, i.e. the book report he got an A on in honors English on the Harry Potter series Years I, II, III.

The Woman Who Believes That When People Ask Her For Analgesics or Band-Aids That She is The One Who Caused the Pain and Suffering, and She Takes Personal Offense:
Friend: "Do you have any advil or tylenol? My head kinda hurts."
Sensitive-to-Analgesic Woman: "Is it something I did? It's my perfume isn't it? I can sponge bathe it off!"

Emo Animals.
Brief example: Lion: "King of the Jungle, but... whatever..."

Prison homosexual sex [sic] as a polite gesture or rehab group led by a nice woman who speaks in platitudes. "So, we're all here. Might as well make the best of a sad situation. When you've got lemons, make lemonade. Buddy Sytem!"

Peace, Love, and Joy,

Leah wife of Jacob and Keren Rhymes w/ Heron

"Under there!"--"Under where?"--"Hahaha..underwear!"

Last night I took one of the most necessary and most un-fun showers ever. Since I only take showers when I do laundry and I don't do laundry very often, you can imagine the manifold ways in which the shower was necessary.

So here is how this experience went down:

Ten long hours in the library in my special place that I always go to. That place, however, was hotter than ever. There was a maintenance guy brought in toward the end of my stay in the reading room who fixed the vent.

I trudged home, hanging my head. I passed one of my best friends and grumbled as I continued to walk by. (I felt bad when I hit the end of the block and realized I just blew her off.)

Upon returning home, I saw the shirts pants panties bras belts sweaters skirts dresses socks gloves hats mittens shorts and other sundry articles of clothing drooping around my room. I decided to get nude and do all my laundry (in one load, because I couldn't find any more than six quarters, and I only had $1.61 on my GWorld.)

So there I stood: Nude. Well, nude is relative.**

I hauled my laundry downstairs to the laundry room, and shoved it in the washer. Then I came back upstairs, showered for 30 of the 38 minutes laundry takes to wash.

Then, still Relatively Nude, I went back downstairs to put my wash in the dryer.

I then proceeded to go crazy for all 60 of the 60 minutes it takes to dry clothes, during which Keren and I discussed Granny Panties, pronouncing it "Granny Pannies." And then I picked up my laundry, and brought it back. (I guess I also folded it and put it away.)


** So this post is really about what it means to be Relatively Nude:

Why, dear friends--dear women, do we keep those panties that we hate? The panties that are HUGE. The panties that are possibly holey and non-elastic where they used to be elastic? These panties are possibly flowered, or just plain cotton white, or some shade of white, or some have dots on them, or holiday print!

These panties are the ugliest panties that we own, and we never wear them unless we are washing ALL of our other underwear. Sometimes we even go commando when these panties are the only ones left in the bureau. A friend of mine sometimes even digs out not-so-dirty underwear and wears those panties when the "Granny Pannies" are alone next to our multitudes of unworn socks.

It's not like we MUST bring everything we own to college with us? We have an entirely good place to keep panties like these in our parents' homes, such as our dressers there. But we DO bring them. We CAN'T throw them out. I can't throw them out. Why????

O-curse the Immortality of the Granny Pannies!

Outtie, boo!

Leah, wife of Jacob

Keren, Rhymes w/ Heron


Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Tentative Correlations

A brief study in the humanity of Keren --

(Please visualize me writing this after having devoured a side of french fries but before having opened my bag of recently purchased Dark Chocolate Peanut M&M's, I am also in sweats and two-day oiled hair)

Times when Keren gains weight: Finals week, Winter hibernation, Stressful scenarios, holidays (any and all, including Memorial Day, all of Black History Month, The Day of the Dead and Septemeber 20th, National Punch Day)

Times when Keren loses weight: In the 48 hours preceeding a date, Summer, When she sees a joyous elderly couple and then imagines being lonely forever, After a breakup, During a moment of fitness actualization when she tries to prove weight loss infomercials wrong, Immediately after being informed of a death in the family (but not during the funeral/shiva...that's a weight gain), When existing in any room that has a full length mirror for over an hour.

Times when Keren maintains weight: Nullset.

What is college really but a time when students should grow and expand their waist and waste?

Continually broadening my pants size and literary horizons,

Keren, Rhymes w/ Heron

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Pulitzer Prize Winner at GW Tomorrow!

Edward P. Jones, author of The Known World, is reading tomorrow Wednesday, April 22 at 5pm on GW's campus in Philips Hall Room 411.

The Chair of the English Dept Dr. Jeffrey Cohen requested that Ducks attend. Well, Doctor, we accept! And we are inviting whomever reads this post in time and is in the area to come and join Ducks to sit and enjoy Magister's clean, deep voice as he reads from his collection of short stories All Aunt Hagar's Children.

(magister=latin for teacher)

Mr. Jones is a good man, and I have benefitted from his instruction these past few months.

He is also, like most great writers, a bit of an oddball. And I say this with respect, for how could a writer create such complete worlds and plots and feelings without occasionally leaving this world for a moment or two. I am always telling Keren that I believe I black out when I write sometimes. The next day, when I read my writing again, I can hardly remember writing what's written before me. Even these blog posts... I wake up after writing them, and then proceed to edit all the bad stuff out. For instance, one time I was going to write a blog post about how my friend can tell a lot about a person's life just by knowing what their poop looks like, and I was going to give myself as a model for his great skill. That post turned into a post about poop in general, and thank god for that... my mother reads this blog. Phew!

Anyway, so if you come to the reading tomorrow night, you will get the chance to meet a great person and an amazing writer! And also, you can get my autograph if you wish. I'm sure Dr. Cohen will also be signing autographs.

Peace, Love, and Joy,

Leah, wife of Jacob

Sunday, April 19, 2009


Moe, the Flaming Lips, and about ten screaming tweens in green tees were part of the entertainment for Earth Day 2009 on the Mall today. The stage was set up by the 9:30 Club, and it was set up perfectly so that directly behind the performers and speakers was the Capitol building. The day began beautifully, and even though it drizzled a bit toward the end, everyone still seemed happy to be there, smoking jays and drinking beers.

There were also these cool stands set up that highlighted people's research and findings in "green" engineering.

So... among great feats of engineering, well-hidden jays, and chill music were a lot of other things Ducks noticed. Here's a list of things we saw and/or learned:

1. Dude with dreads playing with a Kermit (the Frog) hand puppet, wearing all green and dancing with the puppet when the Lips came on.

2. Irish guy with BRIGHT orange shorts on, and you could see that he had a little peen.

3. Woman in tie dye who can't control her dog. It was sniffing everyone and was on its hind legs, standing up like a human, dancing with people when Moe was on stage.

4. Girl who was first standing up in a sleeping bag dancing, and then I guess she got too warm and then took off the sleeping bag to reveal that she was wearing Billabong swim trunks. And she also reminded Ducks why white girls shouldn't dance.

5. Dude with no shirt on, but using his shirt as a bag (he tied the sleeves) to hold beer. He was also wearing red heart-shaped sunglasses and was definitely under 21. He still had peach fuzz on his chin. Awwww, boy puberty! (actually, it's not really that cute)

6. POT SMOKE TALLY (as in # of times we smelled a jay like whoa): IIII IIII

7. Question: When did They coin the term the Green Generation???

8. The Congressman Markey forgot what the United States of America was called and said, "the United States of the Americas..."

9. Hippycritical Girl (term coined by Keren) offered to expose her breasts to people for $100

10. HOW TO MAKE YOUR OWN WATER FILTER, in case you find yourself dying of thirst near a muddy river and happen to have all the things you need to do this:

Things you will need: a funnel, a bottle with top neck cut off, napkins, cotton balls, pebbles

a. Put the funnel on top of the bottle. Layer cotton balls, napkins, pebbles, cotton balls.

b. Pour dirty water over top of the layers through the funnel. Filtered water will drip into the bottle.

c. Repeat as many times as necessary to get clear water!!

d. LIVE!

11. Guys who looked like they could very well be serial killers, including John Wayne Gacy look-a-likes. After I asked if it was just me or do lots of men here look like serial killers, Keren said "Imagine a world where serial killers only killed other serial killers. John Wayne Gacy killing all other potential John Wayne Gacys."

12. SWAMPY! A man dressed up as a swamp with frogs on him.

Anecdote of Romance and Love, starring Keren and Swampy:

"I'm getting my hydrology all over you," says Swampy.

"Well, you know, life is all about fluid exchange," says Keren.

They embrace.



Leah, Wife of Jacob and Keren, Rhymes with Heron


Thursday, April 16, 2009

Pity and Fear

These [pity and fear] are the two most universally relatable* emotions, which is why many of Shakespeare's comedies failed in the movies, i.e. Paul Czinner's As You Like It. Not only do earlier films have shitty sound, but isms such as racism, sexism, domesticabuseism are subjects in Shakespeare's comedies. Those subjects, for a great portion of modern viewers, are no longer considered humorous. So... today's movie-goer fails to relate to Shakespearean comedy.

Jessica Rabbit introduced to me today the term The Boomerang Generation. I'll copy and paste what the Wiki article says about this generation:

Boomerang Generation is one of several terms applied to the current generation of young adults in Western culture, born approximately between 1975 and 1986.[citation needed] They are so named for the frequency with which they choose to cohabitate with their parents after a brief period of living alone - thus boomeranging back to their place of origin. This cohabitation can take many forms, ranging from situations that mirror the high dependency of pre-adulthood to highly independent, separate-household arrangements. The term can also be used to indicate only those members of this age-set that actually do return home, not the whole generation.

As I was contemplating the relatability of tragedies, comedies, and histories to my generation, I thought about my two friends and how the universality of emotions fits right in with the Boomerang Theory:

I used to Pity my older friend (four years older) for coming back home after he graduated with an important degree from a good university, and now I just Fear that I will end up doing the same.

My younger friend (three years younger) is ending her freshman year of college this semester, and I can't relate at all to her all-smiles, excited-to-come-home-for-the-summer attitude. I've totally forgotten those feelings...

So there. It's all true.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Wordie Dacrygelosis

I recently had a friend break up. It doesn't happen very often. Usually a mini break up happens when both my friend and I happen to have horrible PMS simultaneously and a week later we are crying into each other's arms that we were stupid and we can't live without each other. Then everything pretty much goes back to normal.

This break up was of a more permanent kind... there were consequences to this person's actions and lies and also insults that cannot be repaired without honesty and sincerity. (although there is always hope for repair).

In my time off from our friendship, I began talking to another friend and he told me I should write a blog post about the rice site that gives children grains of rice if you know vocab. It was weird that he mentioned this because that site is actually one the of the many distractions that I have been engaging in during the past few weeks to cope with the overwhelming sense of Doom, Failure, Depression and Anxiety that has been looming. I find burrowing my mind in small tasks like the Rice for Third World Children calming, and I suppose helpful to the world (although I've never been one for charity in general).

All of the above got me thinking about this rice-vocab. And friendship. And doom and gloom.

Here's a little anecdote:

A girl walks down the street and thinks about her future. She smokes a cigarette.

Another girl walks down the street and thinks about her future. She bums a cigarette from the first girl.

Both girls, who were very lachrymose, recognize the weepy looks and burst out crying together. Then they laugh together.

A friend-commiseration-ship blossoms.


I feel like this has happened to me at least once if not thrice in the past few weeks. I'm not really sure what this post is about except that maybe Words and Rice for Children are the answer to this dacrygelosis I (and one or three other people) are feeling.

Monday, April 6, 2009



Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Hey! Menotron, it's snowing!

While kids like me and you slowly reach the age of Disaffected Young Adulthood, moms like you choose Jiff! Actually, Moms like ours go through this thing called menopause. So, if we break down the Latin/Greek root words, we understand this word to mean, literally, the stop of the month. We all know it is just a euphemism for what it really means (covers mouth a giggles).

Just in case you don't know what it really means, I'll tell you in the form of a teeny story:

So this guy I know is talking to his best girl and he says, "Did your mom ever go through that crazy phase? You know, that menopause whatever?"

His best girl laughs and throws her head back--when she's nervous she often laughs too hard and this guy and this girl may or may not be hooking up in an hour or two-- and says, "Yeees! I know! It's just craazy."

"Ya, right. I came home from being out somewhere with my friends, and it's in the middle of winter, right? And I come into the front living room and she's got the windows open. The air's just blowin' right in. I said to her, 'Ma! Why you got the windows open? It's snowing into the house!'" The guys says.

The girl laughs.

Menopause is the reason that this woman left the windows open. This woman is what is known now as a Menotron. That is, a menopausal woman who, like a robot from the 80s, only acts on one program at a time. That program called Menopause may last for a year to eight years. The Planned Obsolescence of this programming is arbitrary and hits like a tornado. Unfortunately Bill Paxton and Helen Hunt aren't here to throw Dorothy into the 'suck zone' to figure out how we can warn people before it destroys homes.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Take N Train North to 49th Street and 7th Ave station for.... TKTS booth. Or the 4,5,6,7 Train North to Grand Central for Michele's place.

First, I apologize for not having posted in a few days... or couple weeks... I had blog block real bad. I know how so many of you need Ducks for their news source, so I am sincerely apologetic.

That all being said, I was standing around the other day outside New Hall. My raven black bangs were greased into the side sweep, and I had my back to the wall with one foot on the ground and the other resting on the wall. I decided I needed a cigarette to complete my look, that of the Disaffected Youth. As I lit my cigarette,

my hands were older.

They were drier, redder, and just older. I realized that I wasn't a Disaffected Youth anymore, but instead a Disaffected Young Adult. The next morning Keren and I packed up our young adult shit and went to New York City to find men and show off our bods. Yea, it was a great idea.

The Chinatown bus being as great as it is, we completely forgot we were in the bus and thought we were flying Jet Blue. I impossibly all of a sudden was wearing a gold bead necklace and plucked an olive out of Keren's martini glass. Keren was impossibly wearing a coral colored silk blouse and slurped her extra dirty martini--bombay gin of course.

Keren said that I was impossibly the calmest alcoholic ever... impossibly because we were still really on the Chinatown bus.

Later that day:

I can't remember how this one went down, except it had something to do with the beginning of this post, and we came up with New York's Naked Disaffected Youth in Times Square Who Doesn't Care about the Naked Cowboy.

The Point:

Sporatically the rest of our mini-holiday with boys and bars and sluts, we had many o' conversations when we stepped into the shoes of the Serene Alcoholic and the Naked Disaffected Youth in Times Square Who Doesn't Care about the Naked Cowboy. These New York conversations between us usually ended with the NDYTSqWDCANC (I left out some articles, unimportant!) saying "whatever."

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Split Infinitive

Keren was talking to her friend online, and that friend--we'll call him/her Aubrey--asked Keren about a split infinitive.

I said. "A wha wha wha infinitive?"

Keren said, "A Split Infinitive! Aubrey wants to know. Isn't it so weird that Aubrey and I are such good friends and you still haven't met him/her!?"

I said, "Naw, it's not that weird."

Then the omniscient narrator of our lives--we'll call him/her Pat--wanted to add to the narrative and said, "And then quite simultaneously the two girls each in their own head thought about how a lot of her friends do not know grammar. Leah thought that Keren should look up the definition of a split infinitive at the same time that Keren said to her, 'I'm going to look it up.'"

That is what happened according to Pat, and I believe Pat because he is a creation of my and our minds. What?

Split Infinitive: or cleft infinitive is an English language grammatical construction in which a word or phrase, usually an adverb or other adverbial, comes between the marker to and the bare infinitive (uninflected) form of a verb. For example: To boldly go where no man has gone before.

In the Peter Pan movie from 2003, Captain Hook exclaims, "Split my infinitives!"

It's kind of cool, right?



Monday, March 9, 2009

Ducks Went to the Spa (and ended as Aliens)

Almost self explanatory. (Deep conditioning hair masque; hair steaming under CVS bags)

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Fruit and Veggie

About three weeks ago (maybe four... I can't remember) Ducks went to the emergency room on a weekend because GW's Health Services isn't actually for college students (because it keeps real doctor's office hours, yet doesn't take insurance like a real doctor's office). Anyway, so Keren and I were in the ER forever; apparently some nursey-poo was having a birthday, and they were all gathered around the desk instead of attending to us.

We waited in one of those closed off "rooms" that have curtains for walls. We could hear everything and see nothing (except the nurses' station cuz we pulled back the front curtain a bit). The guy next to us was saying the same thing over and over again--his mantra began as a mutter and ended as a shout: "Fucking idiots, those mother fucking idiots tryin' to keep me here. I'm just gonna fuckin' leave, fucking idiots!" And then a couple seconds later he'd say the same thing again.

The guy on the other side of us kept burping. He'd burp a little one and then a big one. I've never heard anyone burp so much in my life, and I assumed after ten minutes of hearing him burp that that was the reason he was in the ER, for burping!

Eventually Keren and I began making noises ourselves. We groaned and grunted, acting for each other: holding our backs and letting out a long loud groan. Might as well make ourselves feel comfortable.

I'll skip over the part where I basically had a silent panic attack and sweat myself to death thinking about all the disease that had at some point been festering in the same chair I was sitting on and room we were touching all over. I think I swabbed my hands and feet and phone with alcohol more times than is necessary, but nothing was clean enough. And there was sweat literally running off my hands.

The point of all this is: I have a terrible terrible immune system and now I'm sick. I've been sick since a couple days after the ER experience. I've already taken an antibiotic, which didn't help. But now!!! I have found the cure for all sickness!!!!!!!!!!!

Behold: l'il Critters FRUIT & VEGGIE Gummy Bears
Packed with Antioxidants

It's AMAZING what science can do!!!!!!

These lil critters have definitely improved my condition, and I am guessing that if the burper in the ER had known about lil critters he would have been home with his sig fig makin' loooove instead of creeping me and my friend out.

I bought them at Trader Joe's in the Vitamin Aisle. Please, take Ducks advice, and git yerself healthy!!

Thursday, February 26, 2009

1/2 Carafe (or 1/2 C'rafe!)

Set the setting:

Keren and Leah having crazy episodes after dealing with Abbie W from the CCAS Fake Umbrella Advising System about graduation. They are at Bertucci's during Children's Literature on a Thursday, drinking many half carafes and making plans to open a wine bar called "The Half C'rafe Cafe". The billboard for The Half C'rafe Cafe would be Keren and Leah with their heads cocked almost parallel with the floor (to give the effect of being totally serious) with speech bubbles: one, from Keren, saying "Half" and the other, from Leah, saying "C'rafe!".

Sitch the Situation:

We ended up talking about Quitting Things for Fashion.


When women were young and thin and could drape their bodies in anything and look 'oops, sexy' they went spelunking all the time. But now, with the matronly figure having set in, the gear for spelunking (the light on the head and ropes and clips hanging off and squeezing body parts) just isn't fashionable. So, women quit spelunking for fashion.

The Presidency:

The suits just weren't the president's style. Too drab. Too boring. Can't believe the three buttons! Akhh! When were the one or two button suits de-vogued? So, the president resigns for fashion.

I guess... the idea posed in this post is: What would be a good job to quit for fashion?


Leah, wife of Jacob
Keren, rhymes w/ Heron


Monday, February 23, 2009

The Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda Inventor

Pop Quiz: Who is not rich? The answer: Me.

Why is this? I ask myself this question daily when I am trying to afford expensive eau de toilettes, black truffles and Basmati rice!

(it's the most expensive long grain rice, you know, you have to be rich to even consider cooking a whole bag in one sitting. 3.00 dollars a bag! Steep!)

There are many reasons I am not opulent, affluent, moneyed or "rolling with it". These reasons might include my propensity for never acting on my ideas, or is may include my realization that every epiphany I have ever had has been "pre-epiphanied" years before. Simple objects. Simple inanimate gold mines.

For example, I did not invent the paperclip. I also did not invent the thumb tack. I did not invent sliced bread or even the wheel (I still believe cave drawings are remnants of the Stone-Age patent office ). I never even thought of inventing an aerosol can or an airbag. I cannot even fathom inventing Kool-Aid, nor can I explain how mirrors or bar codes work. But mainly, I am not rich because I did not invent velcro or the zipper.

I remember being more creative as a child. Has education stolen the power of innovation from my finger tips? I used to make 14 things out of a cardboard box, daily, in a homemade fort.

Let us brain storm and harness the power of the solar winds!

How about
something that lets me record exactly what my five senses are experiencing at any moment, and then save it? A REAL LIFE CAMERA. Oh wait, that's my brain. Maybe a a battery powered battery installer? But how do you get the batteries in it? Maybe my invention would have to be some sort of implant, because I'm already too lazy and bulky to carry more things around. How about something like reduced calorie peanut butter, it's ridiculous that someone hasn't been able to figure that out yet! Come on! We've sent men to the moon!

(I should invent something that stops me from using so many interjections and exclamation points)

Aha! By golly! Ye Gads! An Invention Machine. Guaranteed to invent successful inventions. It also produces irony!

Love, the failed inventor of our time, and still poor,

"Anything that won't sell, I don't want to invent. Its sale is proof of utility, and utility is success." - Thomas Alva Edison (who thinks I am not a utility)

Friday, February 20, 2009

Ducks Wake Up to Daryl and Jon

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

People who are walking contradictions:

A Joycean Ramble;
Keren's version of Jerry Seinfeld's "WHAT'S THE DEAL WITH..." :

It might just be the heightened level of estrogen I am experiencing this week or maybe it is the fact that everyone in my life is carrying some sort of winter plague, whatever the case may be, I am feeling AWFULLY judgmental.

While walking down the street, I cannot but help to have a bad case of "hate at first sight".

This afternoon, on my rain laden walk to work, a woman was carrying the most offensively large umbrella I have ever seen. It must have been blocking half of her body, the sidewalk and obscuring the view of the road and some of her neighbors. I am almost surprised she was able to see the "42 seconds" to cross, walking man. (Secretly, I was wishing she could not). In fact, the thing looked like something The Wicked Witch of the West would wear in order to keep herself from getting hit with even a speck of dew, as she disintegrates upon the touch of water.

But here's the kicker. This is the part that's rich. THE WOMAN WAS WEARING SANDALS.

I don't get it! Do you want to get wet? Do you not want to get wet?! Is your upper half more important than your lower half? Did you need to wash your feet?

Moral: A giant umbrella and open-toed sandals does not a complete, sensical person make.

Please start making sense! This lovely society that we belong to, entitled HUMANITY, is truly not that selective but, if you insist on being a contradiction, I will insist on retesting you for entrance examinations into HUMANITY. I ALSO INSIST ON USING RUN-ON SENTENCES.

Filled with Malice,

POSTSCRIPT: Next week's episode: People who leave those "100% Wool Tags" on their jackets. Idiots. If this were the Dark Ages and wool was only reserved for dedicated monks and the aristocracy, maybe then, one would gloat and let the world see this tag. Otherwise, you're saying "I am lazy, forgetful, and pathetic".

In the animal world, every physical and social act has an implication. Example, a cat yawning is a sign that he trusts his company. Showy feathers on a peacock is a sign of health and mating prowess.

Lest we forget, we too, are animals. Leaving this tag on is a sign that you are NOT ready to least not with me.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Do names determine profession?

If not for the fact that K and I keep our room generally very clean, I would have been ashamed to admit this: We have cockroaches in our apartment. We do! There, I said it.

Last semester was worse than this semester. We had hardly seen ten in all of January. Lately, however, they came back for another feeding. So I called the exterminator and he promptly came with his half keg of death hooked to a rubber tube for precision.

He is a hefty guy with white hair. Don't let the white hair fool you, he could lift you and your friend and spin you around like car tires just for show before throwing you like a discus. Although he has been here many times, I always feel really awkward when service men come in to the room. I don't know exactly why I feel like that, but I do. All the other times he has been here, I've coincidentally been ready to leave the room and let my roommate deal with it...sorry, Keren.

This time, having strep throat, I was hardly prepared for the knock--hid the candles in my room in case it was health and safety inspection-- and opened the door to Mr. Exterminator.

I awkwardly shuffled my feet around until he took his can of death out the room. But he left his card, and his name was George Clemons. I said as much aloud to Keren, who promptly responded:

"If there is a name appropriate for an exterminator, it's George Clemons."

That got me to thinking about Shakespeare's Richard III... he is rudely stamped and determined to be the villain. Is naming a child the modern day version of stamping them with their fate (as opposed to the olden day version which was left to God, but, you know, God is dead or something)? Can a name prove to be the thing! the it!, the thing that determines the child's future?

Of course not!

Bah! Nonsense.

But I say, if an African Elephant is the opposite of a Pear, then giving a child a name that sounds like the name of an exterminator, determines his path in life.

That just means that I'll have to name my first born son "King Edward" and my second child "Duchess Fergie" (that one could go either way... royalty or glamorous pop star).

Rotating Desserts, and some other good advice.

The best desserts are desserts that spend the day before you eat them rotating in a glass case.
Grouper always tastes like cardboard.
Unless you know the person is a newb, never make fun of someone for being a newb. My friend and I once had the following conversation in a diner on Columbia Avenue:
Her: Get me some camel lights. There's a Hess.
Me: No.
I then handed her one of mine so I wouldn't have to get her some at the Hess. And then lit my own.
Her: You burned your cigarette.
Me: Yea?
Her: Newb.
Me: What the hell do you do with your cigarettes? Newbie?
Her: No. Newb. Only Newbs say Newbie.

A fox always represents the devil, never a fox.
No artificial flowers allowed March 1st thru Nov 1st except holidays (in general for cemetaries).
When a ring that was given to you as a gift dissolves in your palm, it is a bad omen. Never see that person again alone. 
Always visit a graveyard on Christmas.
A friendly reminder is never really intended to be all that friendly. It's really just a reminder.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Nonsensical Opposites, Synonyms, and then at the end an Analogy or Two

Running<-->Smoking (weed)

Literacy<-->Being in a Relationship

Baldness<-->Having a Green Thumb

African Elephant<-->A Pear

Vegetarianism<-->Test Tube Babies

Egyptian Sexual Prowess<-->A Line of Executive Desk Toys

Getting the Goosebumps<-->A 60 Watt Light Bulb

Lumberjacks<-->Prize Winning Orchids

Facial Hair<-->All Saints (in radiating flames of glory)

A Deficiency<-syn.->Constipation

Brown vs. the Board of Education<-syn.->The Colossus of Rhodes

Craving Chocolate<-->Flesh Eating Bacteria

Judith Plotz volunteered these three:

JP1. Reaching Puberty<-syn.->Marriage
JP2. Jealousy<-syn.->Incestuousness
JP3. Mother<-syn.->Magical Tree

Feminine Hands<-->Penis

Masculine Hands<-->The Aristocracy


Going to Prom<-->Being Loved (verily)

Judith Plotz is to Mother Goose as Peaches is to Sex Goose
(the defining sentence being JP teaches as a MG as P teaches as a SG)

Just a Note: We love love love Judith Plotz. She may or may not know we exist though... at least, she probably knows Keren, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't know me. We love her though.

-LWoJ and KRwH

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Neolojism: The feeling of erotic joy resulting from exposure to a new word.

Leah and I have been really into inventing new words, as of late. We really dig nomenclature and vernacular! Sometimes we even dig colloquialisms and slang. Mostly, though, we love Onomatopoeia! Sha-Bam! Clank! Whoosh! Buzz!

We understand that some words are created and ultimately fail. For example, Yahoo's word of the day yesterday was :


A million and seven points go to you if you know that word without googling it, also 34 DollHairs (which, when one says it quickly sounds like dollars, and can be used to trick unsuspecting children into giving back rubs...worked for my uncle). Weird.

Anyway, I consider it a failed word. Here are other failed words, that at the time, probably seemed really necessary (which when one reads some of the definitions below, is actually surprising, pathetic, and terrifying). Clickity Clank!

Before we begin, an ironic side-note, even the word that by definition means, an obsession with words is failed! Logolepsy! Transitively speaking, this post is antiquated. Sigh!

In No Particular Order -
  • gabelle - n. - tax on salt
  • wappenshaw - n. - muster of men with their weapons formerly held in certain areas of Scotland.
  • balaniferous - adj. - bearing acorns.
  • zoanthropy - n. - delusion of a person who believes himself changed into an animal.
  • macromastic - adj. - pertaining to large breasts
  • isohyet - n. - line on map passing through all places with same rainfall.
    • isohyetal, adj.
  • squatinid - adj.,n. - pertaining to an angelfish.
  • omnilegent- adj. - reading or having read everything; having encyclopedic curiosity and knowledge
      • Question: Was there a time when someone was truly able to be omnilegent?
  • rosmarine - n. - walrus; mythical walrus-like sea animal believed to feed on dew; sea dew.
  • xystus - n. - indoor exercise area.
  • postmundane - adj. - after the end of the world.
  • prelapsarian - adj. - pertaining to the time before Man's fall.
    • Gosh, these "P" words are scary. What happened to words like Petunia and Pretty and Pleasant?! Boink! Whizz!
  • noyade - n. - drowning, especially of many persons together as form of execution.
  • dacrygelosis - n. - condition of alternating laughing and crying
    • This one seems WHOLLY NECESSARY. I do this all the time. Finally! I can articulate how I am feeling! So happy, so sad. So confused, so elated. So embarrassed, so proud! These are the emotions I experience every time I am in the bathroom. Dacrygelosis.

Enough. What I am really asking here, through all the subterfuge is this, if you could create a new word, what would it be? We (being Leah and myself) shall look up Latin roots and come up with something so snazzy for you it'll put you into a state of dacrygelosis.



P.S. I personally want to invent a word for the smell/taste of when you forget to brush your teeth and then have coffee. YOWZAS! SHWING!

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

I just whispered to myself: "Just Lasagna"

My Lasagna Body

a poem by Leah

Instead of bones:
Cooked lasagna pasta
slippery noodle hooked 
to my toe.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Ducks was published on Urban Dictionary!

Click THIS link or copy and paste this URL

to see Ducks, the Blog's first entry on Urban Dictionary!

We finally made it!


LWoJ and KRwH