I love the simplicity in people’s absurd sense of humor.

Sitting at other people’s desks. from Andrea Allen on Vimeo.

December 9th

Real quick–I didn’t mean to be a dick. I absolutely misspoke. I wouldn’t have said what I said had I realized what was happening, who you were, who you are, and what you’re going through right now. My foot. Was in. My mouth. And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m sorry for not only accidentally saying something thoughtless and tacky, but I’m sorry for whatever pain you are going through and will be going through for years to come. We didn’t choose to be born. And are parents are only human–something we don’t realize until later, or something we forget or choose to ignore. They’re flawed at times. We’re all flawed. And as you grow older, your parents are less of your parents and are more…just human. (So 14 years from now, when you are in your late 20′s, you will have this perspective. Hell, you probably have more of an adult perspective at age 10 than I did, but I’m sorry your dad made those choices and I’m sorry how his choices affect you.)

Let me back up.

I was biking home from work, passing the PAWS animal shelter and I saw a media swarm consisting of five news trucks. Lights from TV cameras were flooding the sidewalk as two young girls clutched two adorable puppies. My imagination gave the the puppies bows around their necks, I don’t know if that was actually the case, but in my mind it was just a slow fucking news night and these girls rescuing holiday puppies was what NBC 5 qualified as a newsworthy.

I pulled over on my bike, stopping to rubberneck. I wanted to get a picture of this desperate spectacle. Five news trucks for holiday puppies? Did these kids have cancer or something? I am superior and will make judgments on the situation! I pulled out my phone to snap a picture as the girls passed.

“You all are superstars,” I say to them, thinking this was a cute thing to say to young girls getting their first taste of the limelight. Holiday puppies! Fluff piece!

Then I saw a familiar face. Hair, actually. Of course I noticed the hair first. It was Rod Blagojevich. The man who had just been sentenced several days prior to 14 years in prison.

Blagojevich was convicted of strong-arming hospital and racetrack executives for $125,000 in campaign contributions and offering the U.S. Senate seat vacated by President Obama to Democratic Rep. Jesse Jackson Jr. in exchange for $1.5 million in fundraising help.

A man who I just don’t understand as a politician, but I completely understand as a person who does things to get attention. Read this article »

Stop whatever it is you’re doing and go to this site now: Pets Are Superheroes. Realize what is important in your life: Your pets and supporting local artists. If you don’t have a pet, consider your parents’ cat or your best friend’s man’s best friend. Their love for these four-leggers clutters your social media feed and you can picture them in your dreams.

This is my cat, Nina. I’ve grown more in love with this picture over the last six hours than I ever thought possible. We’re in a world of post-irony. I embrace it.

Dear Ribcage,

Hey, what’s up? I know we’re close and all and we’ve known each other for a really long time, so I don’t know why this talk is so hard to have with you. Okay, I admit I’d be a little freaked out if my torso developed a mouth or jaw, so I’ll have to live with this one-sided conversation.

I mean, I try to leave my self-deprecation at the door. Self-deprecation should be done by people without a sense of self or those who like the Jonas Brothers without irony. I know I can’t change the way I look other than “lowering my whiskey-based caloric intake” as my meetings reiterate.

But we have to work together sometimes, you know? You have to give me something every now and then. Every single time I try on a feminine dress you have to make me feel like a linebacker. Every time I want to wear a belt you make it very apparent that I have a shooting chance to be on “What Not to Wear.” I know there are urban legends about dudes who remove a rib or two to…uh, you know. But I don’t have a wang. And even if I did, I’m pretty sure you could suck your own dick with like, an extra yoga class or something; people are just embarrassed to do those stretches in class.

All I’m saying is, just let me have this one cute dress. Just once. I don’t want to use the adjective “boxy” or the verb “jut” when describing you. Let me be pretty. Let me zip up a dress without having to enlist the help of an industrial-strength bone-crushing corset, or without having to harness gravity and jump in order to release myself from a dress’s clutches, or join a professional hockey team and hope for a body-frame altering third period.

No?

Fine, I’ll go with this cute skirt.

When the brain doesn’t come up with anything of its own, when there’s writer’s block, one is compelled to post an octopus video. Passed on to me via Remaining Eye, via Pharyngula, via FREAKIN’ MOTHER NATURE!

Octopus crawls up on land, leaves dead crab, departs. Just another day at Innsmouth State Beach. Via Pharyngula.

Deer loosened his tie and removed his Halloween costume from his gym bag. This year’s creation was subtle and probably wouldn’t win any awards, but he was proud of it. He couldn’t come close to competing with Owl’s, who had gone as far as to bravely commute to work in full-blown Ziggy Stardust apparel.

He smoothed the wrinkles out of his tee-shirt that read “I ❤ CEILINGS” in bold letters and started dressing for the office party.

Just then Moose wandered into Deer’s office decked out in a fake beard and a medieval vest. Vinyl flaps attached loosely with elastic covered his hooves and gave the illusion of buckled boots. He looked slightly haggard, pieced together, as if the costume had been waiting for him all year folded up in his closet. It had been, actually. Moose had been “Moose the Viking” at the office Halloween party for six consecutive years. Deer looked up and sighed.

“It’s like you’re not even trying anymore,” he said, sizing up his companion’s mangled blond facial hair.

“What? I dressed up!” Moose said defensively.

“In the same outfit you always wear.”

Moose inspected his costume. He wasn’t much of a partygoer, so he never really felt much of a need to drop half his paycheck on a new getup every year. Why did Deer even care? He didn’t look bad; he was a team player and wore a costume. It wasn’t like he was being a wet blanket like Badger in accounting, not even bothering to dress up.

Read this article »

I had the opportunity to be interviewed by the wonderful Mark Colomb for the Poor Choices Podcast recently. It’s a good crash course in “Thea Lux 101″ and we cover all the bases. Without sounding too self-centered, OH MY GOSH LISTEN TO MEEEE TALK ABOUT MEEEE.

If you’ve ever wanted to hear me talk for an hour about myself, my art, and how I manage not to sleep, this will give you the basic understanding of how I put on blinders and just keep creating regardless of what the universe tells me otherwise.

I’ve been working on some longer pieces as of late. Stories about a Moose or rants about jerks talking during a screening of Ghostbusters which warrant more space. So until I get things edited to my liking, I’ll shamefully plug my Twitter account, because Twitter is IMPORTANT, and share this slightly rude computer error message:

Shut up, computer. Your mom’s input contains some malicious data.

With the upcoming release of She & Him’s new Christmas album, Feist’s new warbled melodies dropping into eardrums just a few weeks ago, and Pomplamoose continuing to DIY do what they DIY do, I coined a character for the The Paper Machete to celebrate all the breathy starlets gracing the airwaves as of late. Nadine Valentine can be seen in every indie flick and NBC show, while simultaneously touring with every Pitchfork artist this side of Lollapalooza. She sounds like the love child of Aaron Neville and the Dormouse from “Alice in Wonderland” with a splash of Michael McDonald. She’s equipped with a ukulele, bangs, and tunes that will be repeatedly played in every Apple store and Starbucks until your ears bleed.

You can listen to Nadine plugging her album “Death Takes a Christmas Holiday” here:

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Common characteristics of such females like Nadine Valentine are listed below. (Please ignore the fact that I do fall into some of these categories. I’m well aware of the hypocrisy and have even attempted to sound like these ladies on a few recordings in the hopes of riding on their Anthropolie-purchased coattails. But I don’t have a major label courting my asshole or shoving my songs down people’s throats, so I’m keeping my soapbox close at hand.)

• Nadine is the girl whose essence is fueled by her bangs.
• She knows how to play the ukulele – In fact, it is an extension of her hand a la Evil Dead II.
• Lyrics will cite interchangeable things such as “stars/tears/dreams/moonbeams/heartbreak in your eyes/heart/soul/bones.”
• She is fucking cute…and talented…dammit.
• A rainbow strangled her when she was young.
• She has heard of breath support but chooses not to use it.
• Nadine’s musical idol is a weeping willow tree forlornly whispering its regrets in the wind.
• Her philosophy behind her breathy delivery: “If people like your music enough, they will move closer to hear you sing it.”
• Her last album did so well in sales that she got to take 2-5 years off to recharge. During that time she lived in under a barn in Vermont with a family of foxes.
• She probably has an Etsy page.
• Even though she is stunningly beautiful, the media labels her as “quirky,” thereby completely resetting the standards for any actual quirky girls.
• Vegan gnomes raised her as a child.
• Her porcelain skin secret: She washes her face with unicorn tears.

Sometimes in my day job I have to remove spam from my company’s Facebook page. This Kveta person speaks of a fort unlike any fort I’ve participated in building.

I’m sorry that I have to take your message down, Ma’am, but this battle cry shall live on in the hearts of minds of inspired individuals.