Jesus Christ Rick Sanchez

Why do I keep getting spammed with invites to Julia Allison and Randi Zuckerberg's Birthday Party on Facebook?

Let me start out by issuing a disclaimer: I'm not one of those people on the internet who hates Julia Allison. So there.

Now that that's out of the way, her birthday is apparently coming up-- as is that of her bestie Randi Zuckerberg, she of the Facebook Zuckerbergs (sister of Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg if that still doesn't ring a bell)-- and I keep getting invites to their joint birthday parties in my Facebook inbox, and I'm a little flummoxed as to how and why this is happening.

The first two invites, one to Julia and Randi's New York birthday party and one to their New York birthday party, came from Julia's assistant Emily Rose, who I don't know personally, nor am I "friends" with her on Facebook. I am also not "friends" on Facebook or in real life with Julia or Randi.

Anyway, here's a screengrab of the first invite, which I received yesterday morning, with the full text copied below it:



We hope you're coming to our birthday party on Friday (in NY) or on Saturday (in SF)!

Here's the NEW YORK invite! If you're interested in attending the San Francisco party on the 27th, that invite will be going out tomorrow.

Sorry that we kept the location secret for so long. The space is really lovely, but the list is limited, so PLEASE please RSVP to emily@nonsociety.com - it's crucial you get on the list, because the doorman won't let anyone in who isn't on it! (Again, we had a problem with crashers last time).

The party is open bar / open cupcake (ha) so think of your small donation to Susan G. Komen (http://tinyurl.com/birthdaydonation) as you buying Randi and me a round. THANK YOU!!

XO,
Julia and Randi

PS. And DON'T SHOW UP WITHOUT A COSTUME ON! ;)


The Party: Randi Zuckerberg & Julia Allison's 2nd Annual Bicoastal Birthday Bash!

The City: NEW YORK

The Date:
Friday, Feb 26th in New York - The Gates, 290 8th Avenue b/t 24th & 25th Streets

The Theme: PREPPY, PINK & WHITE
Get your outfits ready, because you know we take costumes seriously: Think polo shirts (popped!), ribbon belts, tennis skirts & Nantucket reds (or pinks, as the case may be). Headbands are strongly encouraged, as are small embroidered animals on one's corduroy pants. Also acceptable: 80s ski sweaters in pink & white, ray-bans ala Risky Business, argyle sweater vests, pearl necklaces (the real kind, perv) and anything emblazoned with a tiny alligator or pony.

The Cause: Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Fund - in lieu of gifts, please donate $20 (or more!) here: http://tinyurl.com/birthdaydonation

The Alcohol: OPEN BAR 9 TO 11 PM, party goes until 1 am and later. seriously.

The Generous Sponsors: Skyy Vodka & Gary Vaynerchuk Wines

The Food: Cupcakes by Melissa

The RSVP: Emily@NonSociety.com

The Extras: caricature artist, photo booth, and a few goodie bags for those with the best costumes ;)

Last night I received the second invite, the San Francisco party invite, also sent by Emily Rose, with the full text below it:



Hi, friends!

Here's the SAN FRANCISCO invite for the 27th! PLEASE please RSVP to emily@nonsociety.com - it's crucial you get on the list, because the doorman won't let anyone in who isn't on it! The party is open bar / open cupcake (ha) so think of your small donation to Susan G. Komen (http://tinyurl.com/birthdaydonation) as you buying Randi and me a round. THANK YOU!!

XO,
Julia and Randi

PS. And DON'T SHOW UP WITHOUT A COSTUME ON! ;)

The Party: Randi Zuckerberg & Julia Allison's 2nd Annual Bicoastal Birthday Bash!

The City: SAN FRANCISCO

The Date:
Friday, Feb 27th in SF - ROSEWOOD BAR on Broadway at Stockton St.

The Theme: 80S PREPPY, PINK & WHITE

The Cause: Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Fund - in lieu of gifts, please donate $20 (or more!) here: http://tinyurl.com/birthdaydonation

Time: 9 on, band plays at 10!

The RSVP: Emily@NonSociety.com

And then earlier tonight I received the third, which came from Randi Zuckerberg herself:



Just to clarify any confusion:

Friday night = NYC Party @ The Gates - 9pm
Cupcakes, Open Bar till 11pm, Balloons, Snacks, and more
**Come brave Snowmaggedon part II and join us!

Saturday night = San Francisco Party @ Rosewood Bar - 9pm
Open Skyy vodka bar (till it runs out), 80s band, cake, and more
**It's the Chinese New Years Parade that day and Rosewood Bar is in the heart of China Town, so plan to carpool if you can since parking might be tricky! Parade ends at 8pm.

We can't wait to see everyone!!!!!

Randi

Again, I have nothing against Julia or Randi, I'm just kinda scratching my head over why I'm getting these. I don't know either of them personally, though Julia and I do share some common friends. Is Randi Zuckerberg using her Facebook powers to send invites to her birthday party to EVERYONE on Facebook who lists New York or San Francisco as the place they live?

But hey, OPEN BAR!!! I have to admit, it's tempting.

The internet makes watching TV so much more fun

I remarked to a friend the other day that I've found myself watching things on television -- like ice dancing at the Winter Olympics-- that I normally would never watch because I enjoy engaging/watching the online conversations about the programs take place over Twitter. Brian Stelter of the New York Times made note of the same trend:

Remember when the Internet was supposed to kill off television?

That hasn’t been the case lately, judging by the record television ratings for big-ticket events. The Vancouver Olympics are shaping up to be the most-watched foreign Winter Games since 1994. This year’s Super Bowl was the most-watched program in United States history, beating out the final episode of “M*A*S*H” in 1983. Awards shows like the Grammys are attracting their biggest audiences in years.

Many television executives are crediting the Internet, in part, for the revival.

Blogs and social Web sites like Facebook and Twitter enable an online water-cooler conversation, encouraging people to split their time between the computer screen and the big-screen TV.

The Nielsen Company, which measures television viewership and Web traffic, noticed this month that one in seven people who were watching the Super Bowl and the Olympics opening ceremony were surfing the Web at the same time.

I do this ALL THE TIME.

I enjoyed this

Since I don't typically watch Jimmy Kimmel's show, I missed this when it aired last week. Nevertheless, it's funny...



via MDFSmash

NYCers put their own spin on Diesel's "Be Stupid" campaign

My friend Ben sent me this earlier tonight. Apparently some wiseass decided to put his own spin on Diesel's "Be Stupid" campaign.



Poor Sarah.

Quote of the day

When I was around ten or eleven, my parents informed me that we were moving to Kansas City—and it was a secret. I wasn’t to tell anyone I knew unless they were family. Months earlier, as my parents became privy to the internal workings of the company that managed the homes—(Stepfather) Glen had an informal promotion as a sort of all-around “computer guy”; my mother was an administrator—they had discovered that a considerable amount of embezzling had occurred.

Jack, the boss, had been funneling state money through the company into his own pocket. My parents, fearful of being implicated in the scheme, had gathered files and reports and presented them to the FBI. An investigation had begun, but because of Jack’s connections with local and state government officials, the typical Ozark network of good ol’ boys (a network of genial corruption that included distant members of my family, in fact), Glen and Mary Beth feared for their safety.

They were not crazy. Jack later drunkenly confessed to my mother at a health-industry conference that he had hired men to beat up Glen in Kansas City, although Glen had recognized the two burly men waiting at our house as thugs that afternoon and wisely stayed away.

My mother went ahead to Kansas City to start her new job as a nursing home administrator, leaving me in our Springfield duplex with Glen and my kid sister, Rachel.

I don’t recall if this was when the sexual abuse started, although I do remember it being the first time Glen had told me not to talk to my mother about something. That’s a funny thing about sexual abuse: for as much as I believe the furor over “repressed sexual abuse” is overblown, for the first several months I was molested I would not remember it in the morning, despite waking up with Glen in my bed, where he had taken to sleeping, instead of with my mother.

But if the sexual abuse hadn’t started by then, the duplicity had.

-Former Boing Boing and current Gizmodo editor Joel Johnson had a fucked up childhood.

Matt Taibbi is a thrower of coffee, horse semen pies to the face

Whenever anyone questions my adoration for Matt Taibbi in the future, I’m going to send them the link to this amazing Vanity Fair article on The Exile, a now-defunct English-language Moscow alt weekly.

Yet The Exile was too vitriolic to romanticize for long or to consult just its fans. And listening to the critics is too fun. They call (Mark) Ames and (Matt) Taibbi, singly or in combination, children, louts, misogynists, madmen, pigs, hypocrites, anarchists, fascists, racists, and fiends. According to Carol Williams, of the Los Angeles Times, “It seemed like a bunch of kids who’d somehow gotten funding for their own little newspaper.” A former New York Times Moscow-bureau chief, Michael Wines, offered a no-comment comment. “I think I’ll pass, thank you,” he e-mailed, “except to repeat what I said at the time, and what Shaw said a lot earlier: Never wrestle with a pig. You just get dirty, and besides, the pig likes it.”

Of course, a pig is probably not the farm animal that comes to Wines’s mind first when he’s reminded of The Exile. It was Wines, then the Times’s Moscow-bureau chief, who, having won The Exile’s coveted Worst Journalist in Russia March Madness contest in 2001, was typing in his office when Ames and Taibbi rushed in unannounced and, by way of congratulations, slammed a pie in his face. The pie was made with fresh vanilla cream, hand-puréed strawberry, and five ounces of horse semen.

‘That’s what he said?,” Ames asks when I relay Wines’s comment. “He said the same thing back then, the poor bastard."

Go read the whole thing. I did earlier and still feel like I need a cigarette.

A summary of "Generation Zero," the documentary Sean Hannity devoted his show to tonight

Earlier tonight Sarah Palin tweeted something about a Tea Party documentary being featured on Hannity tonight...



Thinking that since I was in the mood for some comedy tonight, I decided to set the ole DVR to record it. I just watched the whole show, a one hour infomercial for a film produced by Citizens United, a conservative activist group, called "Generation Zero." It's filled with dark storm clouds and expert analysis from the likes of Lou Dobbs and Newt Gingrich, and here's my one paragraph summary of the special:

The recent financial crisis or Wall St. meltdown or whatever you want to call it, is not really the fault of financial industry deregulation as much is it is the fault of the pervasiveness of the hippie culture, the culture of no responsibility, in America. The counter-culture movement of the 60s, where women and blacks shunned the peachy perfection that was the 50s to demand equal rights, laid the foundation for all of this. You see, its this sort of progressive culture, one in which there are few bad consequences to indecent behavior, that led Wall Street dudes to be greedy and do bad shit to get rich, because they didn't think there would be consequences to their actions. Yes, I'm totally serious. This is the central thesis of the film. Oh, and just for extra measure, the film goes to great lengths to explain that it was Democratic politicians, not Republicans, in bed with big business who helped to grease the wheels of the train headed off of a financial cliff.

So now you know why the country is going to shit! Hippies and Democrats!!! Below are the film's official trailer as well as a clip from tonight's Hannity show...

Hillary Duff gets engaged, shows appreciation

On Valentine's day I tweeted something about thinking about hanging out in a jewelry store to mess with guys in there making last minute purchases. In response to that tweet, a friend of mine replied to say, "Every blowjob begins with Kay."

The following photo essay documenting Hillary Duff's engagement proves that there's at least some truth to that...









(via WWTDD)

Dwayne Schintzius is not well

When I was a kid, in junior high I think, a friend of mine’s father took his son, me and few of our friends to watch Florida— where Dwayne Schintzius played college ball — play LSU in Baton Rouge. Our seats were close to the court, right behind the Florida bench, and we heckled Schintzius mercilessly, just as you’d probably expect a half dozen puberty-stricken, Florida-hating, LSU fans to do. At one point during a second half timeout, Schintzius, all 7’1” of him, had heard enough and threatened to charge into the stands to pummel me and my friends, to the point that he had to be restrained a bit by his teammates. It remains one of the proudest moments in my personal fandom history.

With that said, I was shocked and saddened to learn today that Dwayne Schintzius is near death. For some reason it’s hard for me to fathom cancer being able to bring down that monster, but it’s apparently got him in a really tough spot.

(Pic via Alex Blagg's Tumblr)

Quote of the day

Brett Favre wasn’t heroic. He was a hubristic fool. He wasn’t a warrior. He was an arrogant braggart who, whatever the homespun hokum of his Mississippi roots, perversely reveled in his pain to the point where his agent publicly disseminated pictures of his injuries like cheesecake photos—a deep-purple ankle lumpish and swollen, an equally deep-purple hamstring. The pictures did what Favre hoped they would: further reinforce his image as The Gladiator, The Samurai, The White Knight for whom guts in football, however stupid and wanton, is what counts.

The sportswriters should be partially excused. They were writing on deadline and searching for an angle, which Favre supplied: the removal of his uniform pants after the game like a slow striptease; the disclosure that, when he hurt his ankle, he could hear a crunching sound inside; the walk through the tunnel of the Superdome to meet his wife and children as if it were a tracking shot straight out of Scorsese. He has always been clinically grandiose beneath the “aw-shucks” country boy cover. He knows what sportswriters crave, not just the junk food of the noble warrior but the soul-aching confessional, which largely accounts for why he admitted to being a Vicodin addict in 1996. He knew that, when he decided to play a football game the night after his father died in 2003, it would not be perceived for the act of self-absorption it was, but as an act of courage after he carefully spun it as that’s what pappy would have wanted.

Favre has crafted his public persona as carefully as Tiger Woods, only more so. Unlike Tiger, Favre knew when to out himself, in his case, for drug use, before someone else did it for him. He relished the soap opera of whether he would come back last season after saying he had retired, acting like a general being begged to return to the field of battle.

-Buzz Bissinger in The New Republic, via the Big Lead.

Hitler is not pleased about the US beating Canada in hockey last night

Well you just knew this was coming...

Happy Mardi Gras Y'all!

I'm too sick with the death-crud to celebrate, so please do some celebrating for me today. And please enjoy this fantasic home video footage of Mardi Gras in New Orleans in 1956.



Also, here's a beautiful gallery from the same era.


via Boing Boing

Week in review 2/12/09

Some stuff happened this week. Here are some thoughts on that stuff:

-While watching Drew Brees on Oprah earlier today, I noticed that America's thuggish overlord appears to be spearheading some sort of campaign to get people to stop using their cellphones to text and talk while driving. My first thought upon seeing this was, "When the fuck's the last time Oprah drove her ass anywhere?" She's probably had drivers for the last 25 years or so, most definitely since before the inception of the cell phone age. Does Oprah refrain from using her celly when she's being chauffeured around town? I doubt it! And to those who say, "Well Oprah's not driving," you people can go shove it up your ass because if you're a hoity-toity asshole who gets driven around you shouldn't be leading campaigns to tell people how they should conduct themselves while driving.

Now I know some will say, "But Cajun Boy...texting and driving kills people." Well, yes, that's true, but the fact of the matter is that any activity that takes place inside a car while someone's on the open road can lead to an accident. Where's the campaign to get people to stop fiddling around with the radio/air conditioner/glove compartment while driving? Where's the campaign to end dudes getting blowjobs while driving? Don't these things also lead to accidents?

Eat my ass Oprah!

-Am I the only one hopelessly lost in the throes of post-Who Dat Super Bowl depression? I mean, the end of football season each year is a depression-inspiring event that generally takes me a few weeks to get over--something I've compared in the past to being dumped by someone you're madly in love with--but I think that normal depression is even worse when you're coming off a high of euphoria like we Saints fans are coming off of right now. I've only done cocaine a couple of times in my life, but the feeling of coming down from that kind of high is similar to the feeling of coming down from the high of the Saints winning the Super Bowl. So basically the way I feel right now is the way I would feel if I were dumped by someone I was in love with just as I was coming down from a coke binge. I know, I know, I shouldn't complain because the fans of every other NFL team would trade places with me in a second, but it doesn't take away from the fact that the feeling sucks.

And to top it all off, I think I have pneumonia AND pink eye. Yeah, this weekend's gonna be fucking awesome!

-Last night I watched a full episode of Survivor, the premiere of the Heroes vs. Villains special, for the first time since 2002. Why? Because Colby was brought back onto the show, of course. Love that guy. Team Colby!

Anyway, watching it reminded me of how much I loved it when it first came on television. I'm sort of pissed now that I ever stopped watching it in the first place.

-Earlier in the week I was watching Jennifer Garner promote her new film Valentine's Day on Letterman and I just knew it was a piece of shit. I've developed quite a talent for telling whether or not a movie is good by the stars' appearances on talk shows. I've become quite adept at picking up on the body language hints given off by the stars when they're talking about the movie, not to mention how the talk show hosts, specifically Letterman, talk about the film. Since they're typically sent screeners prior to the guest appearing on the show, the hosts know whether the film being promoted on their show is a steaming pile of dung or not, and Letterman doesn't even try to hide his lack of enthusiasm for many of them. Conversely, if he really likes something, he'll fawn all over it, whereas if he doesn't really give it any compliments, or if he just makes jokes about it, you know it sucks.

Poor Garner, who was made up like a clown no less, was virtually begging people to go see the film. "Please, PLEASE go see this...It's such an awesome date film...And guys don't worry because it's totally not a chick flick!" I could literally smell the desperation coming through my TV screen, which is another tell-tale sign of a horrendous flop. And, as expected, the reviews came out today and just about every reputable critic trashed it. However, I wouldn't be surprised if it still made 20-30 million bucks this weekend.

-Speaking of Valentine's day, the relentless loop of "He went to Jared" "I'm right here, and I always will be" jewelry store commercials will inspire me to stab myself in the cock before the end of the weekend. Bet on it.

-On Sunday night, HBO premieres a new show about young, ambitious artsy types living in NYC called "How To Make It In America." If you have HBO On Demand you can watch it now, which I did and...meh. Despite the fact that I wanted to like it--after all, the characters on the show all seem like people I know living and working in neighborhoods I live(ed) and work(ed) in, it just feel sort of cheesy and forced. I think it's supposed to be a comedy, but I never really laughed, which is sad because I really wanted to like it because I loved Brian Greenberg on Unscripted. Oh well. I will say this though...I did see a bit of myself in Greenberg's character, Ben, so maybe it'll grow on me.

-With all that happened with the Saints in the last week, it was kind of weird to run across this article that ran in the New York Times just prior to Drew Brees' first season with the Saints. When it originally ran, I remember it being the first time I'd seen or heard anything about Brittany Brees and I remember thinking a) that she was pretty and b) that she sounded like a great girl. The story centers around their decision to restore an old house in the Garden District as their home, rather than living in a newly built house in the suburbs. There were two quotes in the piece that stood out to me, the first by Brittany:

When the St. Charles Avenue streetcar line is repaired, Brees will be able to hear the trolleys from his front yard.

“This is what I think of when I think of New Orleans,” Brittany Brees said. “In San Diego, we had a really easy life. But the easy life isn’t always the best life.”

And the second was by former Saints receiver Joe Horn:

“The first time he had us in a huddle, he let the guys know: ‘I’m here to lead you to a Super Bowl and anything else is despicable,’ ” Saints receiver Joe Horn said. “He was scrappy. He sounded like a warrior.”

God bless Drew and Brittany Brees.

Have a great weekend y'all.

Drew Brees at Lucy's last night

Of all the video/images I've seen from last night's Saints victory celebration in New Orleans, this one of Drew Brees leading the crowd at Lucy's in a pregame-style chant is the absolute best...



And here's another that just popped up...



I'd run through a wall of fire for Drew Brees.

In case you're looking for a way to celebrate Mardi Gras in NYC: NOLAFUNK!

Each year around this time, I get a ton of email asking variations of the same question..."Cajun Boy...where should I go to celebrate Mardi Gras in New York?" And now, with Who Dat fever sweeping the nation, it seems like EVERYBODY wants to be in that number, so I feel obligated to make a couple of suggestions.

Now, normally, I don't really have any good recommendations because really, it's an event that's almost possible to replicate. But this year NolaFunk, a project to "bring the music and spirit of New Orleans to NYC," is putting on a couple of events that should be pretty damn fun. Basically they bring familiar bands and artists up from Louisiana that you typically find playing venues all over South Louisiana, and they're bringing up some of the big guns for Mardi Gras.

Anyway, on Saturday they're throwing a Mardi Gras ball featuring Bonerama (pictured above), Big Sam's Funky Nation and Tab Benoit. It's going down at Le Poisson Rouge on Bleecker street. And next Tuesday, Mardi Gras day, they're throwing another event at BB King's Blues Club on 42nd street featuring Leo Nocentelli and George Porter Jr. of the Meters with special guests Henry Butler and Adam Deitch with Brother Joscephus. Both events should be a blast.

For more info you can go to the Nolafunk website, the Facebook page and their Twitter page.

And be sure to go to Mara's Homemade on East 6th for dinner. Get the crawfish etoufee or the catfish New Orleans. Oh, and they have boiled crawfish every day right now.

You're welcome.

Finally...

A few notes about yesterday, the greatest day in the history of the universe:

-A number of people have emailed/texted/Twittered me today wanting to know how I feel. In doing that, perhaps it's best to share a moment I had earlier today.

This morning I woke up naked from the waist down, still wearing the booze-soaked Jonathan Vilma jersey I wore last night. I took the day off because I knew that, win or lose, I'd need the day to recover emotionally and physically, so after laying there for an hour or so reliving a few moments from last night in my head and, in doing so, bursting out into tears a few more times, I got up to go to the bathroom. When I did I noticed that every part of my body was sore and aching, which made me smile.

When I got to the bathroom, I decided that I should probably take something to help ease the pain a little, but when I went into the medicine cabinet I noticed that I was out of Advil and Excedrin, so I threw on some pants and walked down to the Duane Reade at the corner.

After standing in line for 5 minutes or so to make my purchases, I was headed toward the exit when the burly security man on duty said, "Man I want some of whatever it is you ate for breakfast." Sort of puzzled by his comment, I asked what he meant and he responded, "It's not often that I see people smiling and dancing when they're in line in here on a Monday morning." Apparently, I'd been bopping my head and gyrating a bit, without music mind you, while waiting to check out and hadn't even noticed it. After he brought it to my attention, I realized that I'd been doing the same sort of thing all day up to that point. I remembered dancing in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. I remembered that I did an impromptu version of the "Stanky Leg" in the shower after I brushed my teeth (If you don't know what the "Stanky Leg" is, here's a video of Bobby Hebert doing it in drag). I also recalled dancing while buying newspapers at the corner deli right before I went into Duane Reade. It's funny how not only did I not notice myself doing it, but how I didn't even notice other people watching me do it, undoubtably making judgments in their minds. I just didn't give a fuck. And that's how happy I am today.

-I think this photo may be my personal all-time favorite piece of photo journalism:



I'm not sure what I love about it more: the fact that Tracy Porter is pointing to the going-apeshit Who Dats in the endzone as he's running it in, or the fact that Peyton Manning is ON HIS ASS in the background. It's just beautiful. Also, as Bill Simmons noted today, a pick-six in a crucial moment of a football game is maybe the most exciting play in all of sports, and there was no more crucial moment in Saints football history than when Peyton Manning was driving his team down the field late in the fourth quarter to try to tie the game.

Speaking of this moment, Bar None came thisclose to spontaneously combusting when it happened and in the process there were many, ugh, liquid substances that went flying into the air, which caused the pocket of my pants that held my Blackberry to get soaked, which in turn caused my Blackberry to frizz out. It eventually un-fucked itself by 5am or so, just in time for me to drunkenly respond to the over 100 texts and emails I'd received after the game. A few of my friends told me that they woke up today with barely-readable messages from me, which I thought was kinda awesome.

-When asked by people not from the area to describe how much football means to Louisianians, one of the first things I mention is how back home even the girls and the gay men are obsessed with the sport. In fact, many of them out-knowledge and out-passion the “manly” football fans from other parts of the country.

My friend Tim is a perfect example of this. He’s a gay man from the St. Bernard Parish who’s the head of the LSU football fan gatherings in NYC. He also happens to be by far the loudest and most obnoxiously demonstrative fan at the LSU and Saints bars. And as is the case, stereotypically, with many gay men, Tim also has a keen eye for design and fashion. With that said, he put his considerable talents to use to make three of these second-line umbrellas, one of which he gave to me before the game with the thought that we’d break them out during the celebratory post-game second-line to “When the Saints Go Marching In.”



Unfortunately, someone appeared to make off with Tim’s umbrella later in the night, so I gave mine back to him because I thought he should have one, seeing as he was the guy who made them. But then later, after I’d finally packed up my stuff and was leaving Bar None at the end of the night (Yes, I was the last Saints fan to leave!), one of the bouncers handed me this umbrella, which he said one of the staffers had found it on the floor behind a booth. As you can probably imagine, I was elated. Recouping the lost second-line umbrella was the perfect ending to one of the greatest nights of my life. I’ll probably create some sort of ridiculously gaudy Saints Super Bowl shrine inside my apartment in the coming weeks, and this will surely be one of the centerpieces.

Thanks Tim. I love you man! :)

-Drew Brees and Sean Payton officially own the city of New Orleans. Like, if the area had a mountain, some drunk coonasses would have scaled it last night to carve the images of Payton and Brees into the side of it. They became local legends last night. Archie who?

Also, I've decided that I never want to meet Drew Brees because I would just embarrass myself if I did. I've met lots of famous people in my life and rarely does doing so faze me, but I'd probably drop to me knees in tears if I met Drew, kissing his feet and screaming "THANK YOU BRESSUS, THANK YOU FOR EVERYTHING YOU'VE DONE FOR MY HOMELAND." I'm not shitting you. I'd just lose it. Hell, I'm getting a lump in my throat just thinking about it.

-Dear New York Post...That's not how we spell it!



-Last night, as the final seconds ticked off the clock, I tweeted that the Saints winning the Super Bowl was the happiest moment of my life. As I wrote it, my whole body was shaking and my eyes were shedding the most tears they've shed since my dog got run over by a truck when I was 9, so it's understandable that I got caught up in the moment a bit. With that said, upon further contemplation, I've decided that there's another moment that might actually be the happiest of my life...the moment Garrett Hartley's kick sailed through the uprights in the Dome to beat the Vikings two weeks ago and send us to the Super Bowl for the first time ever. Either way, the New Orleans Saints have provided me and thousands of other life-long fans with a sense of joy that was unimaginable until recently. Thanks fellas, from the bottom of our bruised but resilient hearts, thank you.

I can die now. My life feels oddly complete today. Everything good that ever happens to me from here on out is just lagniappe. WHO DAT!!!



Oh, and one last thing...Eat my ass Maya Angelou!

Oh lordy I feel like I done died and went to heaven!

A half hour or so ago, I woke up and my first immediate thought was, "Today's the day the Saints play in the Super Bowl." Holy shit that felt awesome! And now, barely 30 minutes into the day, I've already burst into tears three times while dancing around my bedroom listening to Saints-themed music like "I Believe." This is going to be the longest and best day of my life, win or lose.

Anyway, I've received lots of well-wishes from internet strangers over the last couple of weeks, but one I got this morning is one of my favs...

I've joined the Who Dat bandwagon this season. I'm a baseball fan, I don't really care about the NFL until it gets to be the post-season, but man... I have never seen people who have unconditional love for their team like Saints fans. I'm a Syracuse native and some of my best friends are very passionate Giants fans... and man, they're ALWAYS angry. They're angry when they win, they're angry when they lose. They wish death on Jerry Jones and Michael Vick. They make fun of Wade Phillps for being a fat fuck. They wish horrible injury on Donovan McNabb (who is one of the two last great football players to come out of Syracuse) when they play him. Saints fans are just a happy fucking bunch. When you lose, they're your lovable losers. Maybe that's my inner Buddhist, but I like that.

Anyway, if I have kids someday and they start getting into football, I'm steering them towards the Saints. I like the fanbase and their unconditional love for their team. You guys are a good bunch.

If your team isn't playing today, won't you please accept my invitation to be an honorary member of the Who Dat nation for the day? Let's go get this. WHO DAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here's what you should get your significant other for Valentine's Day

Still looking for that perfect Valentine's Day gift for your Sweet Pea? Yeah, yeah, we know, Valentine's Day is a black hole of suck, a totally contrived holiday created solely for the benefit of good ole American capitalism, but still, if you're in a relationship, you sort of have to buy something, otherwise you just look like a dick. So why not get that special someone a Father Panik rosary, complete with brass knuckles and skull & crossbones center piece? And no, I'm not being paid to endorse this product, I just think it's exceedingly badass. Why don't you buy me one?

Hitler is not pleased that Jersey Shore won't be filming its second season in New Jersey

Yes, I'm addicted to these. They never cease to amuse me.



(Via Vulture's Twitter)

Quote of the day

Dear Miami,

The Saints are coming. And so are we, their loyal, long-suffering and slightly discombobulated Super Bowl-bound fans.

While there's still time to prepare -- although a few hard-core Who Dats will begin trickling in Monday, most of us won't arrive until Thursday or Friday -- we thought we'd give you a heads-up about what you should expect.

First things first: You need more beer.

Yeah, we know. You ordered extra. You think you have more than any group of humans could possibly consume in one week. Trust us. You don't.

New Orleans was a drinking town long before the Saints drove us to drink. But it turns out beer tastes better when you're winning. (Who knew?) So let's just say we're thirsty for more than a championship; adjust your stockpiles accordingly.

And look. When we ask you for a go-cup, be nice to us. We don't even know what "open container law" means. Is that anything like "last call"?

It's Carnival season in New Orleans (that's Mardi Gras to you), and we'll be taking the celebration on the road. So don't be startled if you walk past us and we throw stuff at you; that's just our way of saying hello.

Oh, and sorry in advance about those beads we leave dangling from your palm trees. We just can't help ourselves.

February is also crawfish season, and you can be sure that more than one enterprising tailgater will figure out a way to transport a couple sacks of live mudbugs and a boiling pot to Miami.

When the dude in the 'Who Dat' T-shirt asks if you want to suck da head and pinch da tail, resist the urge to punch him. He's not propositioning you. He's inviting you to dinner.

And if you see a big Cajun guy who looks exactly like an old Saints quarterback walking around town in a dress ... don't ask. It's a long story.

-Mark Lorando's letter to Miami residents is pure awesomeness.