Snoop Dogg and Chrissy D.: BFFs in Vegas

That's right. Our old friend Chrissy D., once a bastion of modesty and restraint in the wardrobe department, tarted herself up so fiercely that she garnered the attention of Snizzle Dizzle at a Vegas Craps table last weekend.

"He actually said to me, 'What's crack-a-lackin', baby?' said Chrissy who is now going by Chrisiggity. Unfortunately, the grainy cell photos do not capture the sheer magic of the moment. I'd end this post with "you go girl" but I do not want to send WMD into a rage.

Breaking News: It's a Boy!

Congratulations to Auntie & Bags on the arrival of Jack Raymond. Born at 12:45 p.m. today, he weighed in at 6 lbs, 15 oz and 20 inches long. He has hair but "not as much as I expected," said the proud Papa. The Bags and Baguette are all doing well.

Besotted Brownguy

***artwork courtesy of T.Haley

Renegades Light Up Boston Common...Again

(photo: Oh hello there little Brownie. Congratulations on "Besotted Bison 2006")

A 7th inning grand slam by Bags and one Besotted Brownie led the Renegades to their fourth championship in five years.



MVP Bags is "another Jamie Jackson find." As if Jimmy needed more gloating ammo.)



Congratulations, guys! That gigantic trophy is welcome to visit any time but it cannot stay here. For a full season recap, complete with photos and commentary, visit Al Miller's diligently maintained site.

High Fidelity: A Travesty

I am convinced that the producer of this new show must have drugged Nick Horby, thrown a potato sack over his head and is currently hiding him in his basement. Otherwise, I cannot imagine how Hornby could have allowed this travesty to occur. "High Fidelity," his fantastic book and movie, have been turned into a gooey Broadway musical. This is even more rancid because the show doesn't include any of the songs mentioned in the book but a warped original score of twangy, country-fried tunes. A snippet of the song "Desert Island Top Five" is currently featured in the show's radio ad -- that snippet alone will likely repel Hornby's audience. But I suppose the musical will appeal to a whole nutha genre -- which may be the point. Soon, a whole new generation of suckers will be organizing their mp3s chronologically and compartmentalizing their sad little lives into top fives -- just as we did so many years ago. "High Fidelity" opens at the Colonial Theatre in Boston tomorrow night and runs through October 22nd before making its Broadway debut in December. Confession: I kind of want to see it -- purely out of curiousity -- but I don't think I could live with myself.

Hostile Pumpkin Patch

For our latest Griswald family outing, we summoned some apple picking suggestions, searching for an orchard or farm that was within an acceptable meltdown radius. Our babysitter suggested C.N. & Smith Farm in East Bridgewater which not only has an apple orchard but a pumpkin patch, and --the deal closer -- a small petting zoo. We decided to go on a weekday to avoid the crowds and local riff raff but our plan backfired as the place was overrun with buses of elementary school children on apple outings. Turns out, the grubby public can only pick apples on weekends so we were ousted from the orchard -- quite rudely -- not by any farm employees but by the bossy, presumptuous signage that popped up at every turn. In addition to shutting us out of the pick, the signs said:

"No Running!" * "You break it, you buy it!" * "Don't pick up the pumpkins by their stems!" * "Don't touch! * "Pay for what you pick!"* "No food or drinks!"* "Don't try to reach this, ask a C.N. Smith employee!"* "Keep out! Employees only!" * The exclamation points were abundant and since Carrie and Paul can't read yet, we pretty much spent the morning barking all of these scribbled sentiments at them. I can understand how these crotchety signs must have accumulated over time but seeing them in their entirety gave the place a hostile vibe.

Thankfully, we weren't the renegade apple-picking, pumpkin stem-holding thieves that this place is accustomed to. We petted a few goats and sheep, purchased some pumpkins and mums, and headed home -- nothing too crazy. However, when Paulie started chasing a couple of chickens on the way out, the disciplinarian tone of the farm suddenly took possession of Caroline: "Don't chase the chickens, Paulie! They'll peck you!" I'm sure there will be a sign for that next time.




(photo: Caroline says, "Can I pick up a freakin' pumpkin or what!?" Paulie says, "This is bullshit. I'm going back to hang with the goats."

MIJ FEST

Some Booties, a little Splish Splash and a pair of footless tights were the necessary ingredients for an evening out with Ms. Ofelia Cox (aka Mij)...and LP and I delivered. We joined Ms. Ofelia and her sparkly entourage at the cabaret show at Jacques where we found ourselves surrounded by a steady stream of "kinda big" queens; none were immune to Mij's tractor beam of radiance.





(photo (left): Finding it impossible to stray from the fray, LP and I enthusiastically stuffed some cash-money down some shored up bosoms.


(photo (right): Mij is in awe of LP's chiseled calves.





At the end of the show, Mij acquired a keg-shaped stalker who couldn't take the hint so we had to flee the premises.

We hailed a cab to Machine where we were hoping to meet up with Ernie and the boys for some dancing. I could not and cannot stop calling the place "La Machine" which is not a nightclub at all but a food processor with a walnut chopping feature.


We hopped into a van-sized cab where an Armenian cabbie swiveled behind the wheel to Egyptian techno music. He tried to involve us in his little chair dance. "Ladies! Clap your hands. One-two-three," clap-clap-clap. "Again!" clap-clap-clap. We realized he was so busy clapping and looking over his shoulder at us that he forgot about driving. We almost crashed. Miraculously, we arrived at Machine in tact but it was very late, we'd missed Ernie and the vibe was off.



So, after an impromptu photo shoot in the club's purely decorative "ladies' room," we headed back to K Street for a nightcap that rolled on until 4 a.m. Luckily, I had the privilege of "sleeping in" until 9:30 a.m. in the Dell'Olio guest room. Good times. Until next time, Ofelia.

12 Things that Annoy WMD

(photo: "Those dicks.")

Guest blogger WMD lets loose in a Ferrigno-esque rant today after "idiots around him" stirred his annoyance and awoke the tiny curmudgeon that lives in his soul.



Warning: If the word "dick" offends you, you may want to stop reading now.

Ordinarily, I consider myself a pretty calm person. LP may disagree a bit, being half I-ti and half Irish doesn't help me but for the most part, I don't fly-off-the-handle (as my old man would say) too easily. (What the hell does that mean anyway?).

There are however certain things that range from pet peeve's to annoying the shit out of me. Being in a slightly annoyed mood this morning because of idiots around me, I've decided to list some. I don't care that you didn't ask, here they are:

1) When a-hole ad execs decide to take a TV commercial and change it to a radio commercial by describing everything that's happening in the TV commercial. Yourcommercial wasn't funny to begin with now it completely sucks.

2) Saying "Prom" instead of "The Prom." Nice work, Grog. "Me go prom now. Me get ass first time"

3) Guys that tuck their t-shirts into their underwear. See it in the gym locker room far more often than you might think. Who does this?? The Social Darwin lifecycle of this is 1) you do this in kindergarten 2)you get caught, beat up and nicknamed "Melvin" 3) You stop doing it. Not sure how this group of "The Others" survived.

3) Guys in the gym locker room shaving naked. What the fuck, dude? I don't shave naked at home why would you want to be naked in a gross locker room? It's not what you might be thinking, it's not jacked gay guys here advertising the goods, it's gross old straight dudes that I don't want anywhere near a sink I have to use. The trifecta of punchface is when they're (and I'm not making this up) shaving in the locker room with a t-shirt on and nothing else.

4) Girls who don't care or follow sports talking about them incessantly during playoffs. If you like and follow them, this is not about you, you're entitled. But for the others, any guy will tell you there's nothing cuter than a girl who doesn't give a rat's ass about sports. You can make us feel smart and that is a very small window for us. It's a far better conversation than having to listen to some numbnut who after following the Sox for 2 weeks recites channel
7's editorial on how Pedro should have been pulled.

5) People seriously referring to themselves in the third person. I thought this only happened in Seinfeld?? Recently witnessed it, amazing.

6) Guys who completely fabricate their single life of hookups. I've got a friend that tells stories like he was Wilt F'ing Chamberlain. (I assure you, he was not). We are in awe when he gets going because we're like, "Uhh, I was with you that night and other than you shoving late night Chinese food in your face an passing out with piss running down your leg, I don't quite remember the blond twins of which you speak."

7) Girls who think they're badass because they've taken tae-bo or some karate aerobiboxing or some crap like that. I'm not knocking the class, I'm sure it's a super difficult workout and you get in great shape. But before you think you're J-Lo and can beat up bad men, try taking just one punch in the face, I'll pay for the icepack. I've taken one and I don't care who you are, unless you are a trained boxer, you are not prepared. Kick in the balls, ladies, that's all you need to know, kick...in...the...balls.

8) Jimmy (the dick) Fallon fake laughing in every skit so people think, isn't it funny he's laughing, now I'll laugh at him laughing.

9) Celebs spouting political opinions. I don't care if I agree with you, shut the f@%& up and entertain me.

10) Ticketmaster!!!! and any other entity that rapes you for purchasing a $22 ticket that ends up at $40 because of fees and shipping. (the latest is a $7.50 fee for an email ticket!! Where the F' is the expense in that? my adobe acrobat, my paper and my toner (you dicks)

11) People who still say "don't go there" or "you go girl". Way to keep up. Newsflash nitwit, Nixon's dead too and there's a new guy running the show.

12) Any movie with Kevin Costner in it. Which now includes Field of Dreams and No Way Out. I used to exclude those but he's such a dick that he even ruined a Hackman movie for me and Hackman rules... dick

There are probably a lot more, sadly this only took 20 minutes which is scary. Maybe I'm not as calm as I thought. But I'm sure the rest of you have some pet
peeves as well...

Shower Bags 2006

Just two weeks shy of the due date and Auntie's belly hanging mighty low, we gathered together to shower the Beaudins we love with loot. We also consumed an unsettling amount of lasagna. We sent them off with a fierce pile of babyware and a solemn vow to never never tell Baby Beaudin where her/his parents got the nickname "Bags." T-minus 14 days and counting...

(photo: Caroline and Auntie tear one up as the dude from the Men's Wearhouse looks on. "You're gonna like the way you look.")

SEPTEMBER 11th

Five years ago, James and I had just arrived in Positano, Italy after bombing down the Amalfi Coast in the custody of a bipolar Italian cabbie named Guiseppe. We'd opened a bottle of champagne and planned to sit on our balcony and stare at the ocean before walking down to dinner at one of the restaurants on the beach. But first, James wanted to see if he could find some football highlights on TV. I'll always remember those moments -- the cab ride and champagne on the balcony -- as the final ones in the "old world" -- before we saw the CNN "breaking news" headline and picture of the burning twin towers. From then on, we became frantic. We couldn't get a phone line back home. We didn't know if there would be more attacks or if any of our friends had flown out of Boston on business that morning. We spent the rest of the vacation with people from New York, Idaho, and Connecticut in an Internet cafe that broadcast CNN on a giant screen TV. We all know how the story ends and all of the details in between but part of me still can't believe it actually happened. Perhaps because I was lucky enough not to lose anyone close to me that day. In the weeks and months following 9/11, it's all you could think about. But now five years later, the collective emotion has subsided and it's business as usual...albeit business as usual while constantly looking over your shoulder. So today, I'm going to watch it all...the footage, the documentaries (not the fictionalized ones..does 9/11 really need to be "dramatized?"). I want to see the faces and hear the voices again and really remember, and be solemn and be sad.

Random Quizzilla

1) When was the last time you laughed out loud?
Earlier, I was interviewing a woman about Fantasy Fashion Leagues and she told me one of her teams' names was "Ricky Linderman Shot his Bro" --- a tribute to Adam Baldwin's character in the 1980 movie "My Bodyguard.

2) When was the last time you cried?
I teared up fiercely last night during a retrospective on the Crocodile Hunter. I'll miss that crazy Australian spaz.

3) What is the scariest weather situation you've ever been in?
Stranded on Nantucket "accidentally on purpose" with Jen during Hurricane Edouard in Sept 1996. We were attending a hurricane party at the Muse when we were abruptly evacuated by the fire department because they were afraid the roof was going to collapse or blow off. That was scary enough but matters only worsened when we headed back to the India House where we were staying. Upon returning -- soaking wet and a little drunk -- we were forced to socialize with the unstable innkeeper, Charles -- a wild-coiffed combo of Andy Warhol and Donald Sutherland. We had one drink with him in the candle-lit dining room (there was no electricity) but returned to our room when it became apparent Charles was a lunatic. When we left, he got angry; he called the police, saying we had stolen some bottles of wine from his wine cellar/laundry room. Thankfully, before the police could arrive, we were rescued by a couple on their honeymoon. A guy --barefoot and in his pajama bottoms -- knocked on our door: "Girls, get your bags, jump in our Jeep. Let's get the hell OUT of here." Apparently, Charles had filed a false report about them too when they tried to leave the candlelit dining room. We escaped in the middle of the night -- and the hurricane -- to the Points Breeze Inn.

4) Name something you can't stand:
The phone. I am convinced that were it not for the advent of email, I'd have no friends left.

5) Name something you're looking forward to:
Going out dancing with Ms. Ofelia Cox a.k.a Mij and the girls on the 15th.

First Day of School

Caroline started preschool yesterday. She has a backpack. It's meant to hold extra clothing in case of accidents but inside I found a spatula, two of Paulie's Matchbox cars and a tube of my self tanner. Things learned on first day: "Favorite number: "12" Favorite color: "green" Favorite animal: "dog" What I want to be when I grow up: "writer." I loved that but I think I'll have to nudge her toward investment banking so she doesn't starve in a basement apartment. Poor Paulie felt like he got the shit end of the stick all day long. He couldn't play in the preschool's playground or hang out with Zippy the bunny when we dropped his sister off. He was woken up from his nap when we had to go pick her up. Again, he couldn't play in the playground or hang out with Zippy. "You go. I stay with Miss Piggy." He meant "Miss Vicky," the school's head teacher. We're so going to get kicked out.

Cruise's Pee Wee Herman Apology

Tom Cruise issued a "heartfelt" apology to Brooke Shields for publicly ripping her for taking anti-depressants for post-partum depression last year. He immediately issued a statement via his publicist to say that while he is sorry for bringing Brooke into the fray, he's still adamant that vitamins and exercise are the only ethical treatments for depression. Heartfelt? It sounds more like a Pee Wee Herman apology to me. "I'm sorry. I'm NOT sorry." Maybe jumping jacks and Flintstones are cures on the planet on which he was born but it's not quite as simple for most women born on earth.

Condor Feet

(Can you do this?)

On Saturday mornings, I aspire to sleep until at least 7:30 a.m. Today, James got up with crack-of-dawn Paulie who began his morning shout outs for juice around 5:30. I was trying to get back to sleep when I heard Caroline's distinctive shuffle coming down the hallway. She's been known to appear bedside in the middle of the night for any and all reasons, whether it's to sing "Old MacDonald had a Farm" at 1 a.m. or to ask if she can phone her friend Isabella at 2:30. One time, she woke me up at 4 a.m. to ask me why Vito doesn't like riding in the car. This morning, it was: "Mama, can you do this?" I opened my eyes and saw the hazy outline of her 'fro and her hands contorted into a strange shape. "Do what, sweetie," I asked. "Condor feet." I made condor feet with my hands and Caroline, satisfied for now, headed downstairs. I, however, was unable to get back to sleep.