Homestarloween

Halloween, one of the best holidays of the year (except for maybe Take Your Daughter to Work Day) is quickly approaching! Some of you dear readers may already be in the midst of your costume parties. I do love a good Masquerade- I always wanted to be invited to Martha Stewart's house for Halloween, 'cause it always looked so glamorously home-made spooky. Other people at this time of year might even take a moment to remember the dead, or tell some ghost stories, or cook a harvest feast. Maybe there will also be hot cider and dunking your head in a tub of icy-cold apples. How wonderfully quaint. But for the kiddies among us who grew up in a generation of video games, Halloween means carving an internet character onto a pumpkin (in this picture we see HomeStarRunner at the Pumpkinfest in Boston), and getting a two-pound block of chocolate in your trick-or-treat bag. Gone are the olden days of checking for razorblades in your caramel apple (flirtation with danger! death by sugary weapon!), and receiving one tiny piece of candy at each house. "What, only one KitKat?"
Wear reflective clothing, children, and be home by 8.

Dance Parties of Olde

I was a witness to this woman at a vintage-outfit-wearing dance party a couple months ago, and boy, did she have the Lord of the Dance in her. This is a very accurate caricature, by the way, not a gross overinterpretation. Notice her strangely contorted right leg, as if it were not attached to her hips the normal way, and the hair which seems to project horizontally from her scalp. (Can anybody but quasi-Asian people pull this off? I don't think so.) She was a diva, perfectionist in her attitude, ensemble, and energetic struttin'. I also added a major visual aspect of the party, the construction/automechanic lightbulb, which was used to light our boppin' feet on the dancefloor. Sure, the music wasn't as cool as I would have picked, but if I picked the music, I don't think anybody could find the beats ("What is this music? Tin cans and Cat Meows? Rad.") And the lighting left a bit to be desired, but aren't most good things in life craptastic?
I'm aware that Pittsburgh is not the city for crazy asymmetrical haircuts (that's Reykjavik) or disco lighting and one-piece glittery black bodysuits (that's Xanadu), but I'm hoping that I can bring a little glamour to this Mid-Atlantic town. Point being: if you see me in my black bodysuit underneath one lonely exposed lightbulb, don't stare, join in on some sweet beats.

Full Time Crackheads

I thought I might let you viewers in on a little historic landmark in Pittsburgh, the Smithfield Street bridge. Very historic, I'm sure lots of celebs have passed by this very spot. Why, it's practically the red carpet of Pittsburgh. I just saw Peter, Maggie, and New Baby Saarsgard there the other day being photographed in front of these three commemorative plaques. (I hope I got a good shot of them- I tried to get a view of the Incline in the background, too. Send me a copy, m'kay?)
I'm so glad that someone had the ingenuity to add an additional plaque for the real people who surround this bridge when the celebs aren't around. Frankly, there wasn't any more room on the pillar to add more text, so they had to make do with the very bottom. Crackheads of the world, unite! You work hard for your honey.
I'm off to write something involving a vibraphone, two bassoons, and percussion (what that something is, I have no idea right now). But perhaps I'll call it 'Crackhead Bridge'.

Steve Irwin Tribute

Even though I never got any cable stations, I still managed to see Mr. Steve 'Crocodile Hunter' Irwin on many a talk show. He usually brought with him some rabid animal (who is deathly afraid of talk-show audiences, of course) in the name of promoting awareness about, say, lemurs. The lemur then sits on Rosie O'Donnell's head, pees on her, goes crazy and eats some paper, or maybe a microphone, and is raced off the stage by a helping cameraguy. I feel bad for everyone involved. Here is me (or a Harry Potter version of me, I guess) interviewing one of the many crocogators that Steve has touched (in so many ways). Thankfully this croc was too emotionally overwhelmed to snack on my arm, but I have a mace in hand. If only Steve would have carried one of those babies when he took his last scuba dive. Goes to show you, if you're going to have a jostle with stingrays, always carry your medieval defense weaponry! Practical advice for everyone, really. I'll miss you, man.