If you die, then maybe the least the Washington Post can do is figure out how to write your name properly.

Dith Pran, the journalist and activist whose life inspired the movie The Killing Fields, passed away Sunday. He died from pancreatic cancer, which is very bad and which I have a personal vendetta against. Anyhow! Let's carry on: Poor guy, and you'd think the Washington Post could at least get his name right. I understand that those Cambodian names can be a doozy, but they had NO CLUE. Above, you can see that in the first story that appeared online, the paper was baffled about whether Dith or Pran was his first/last name. So they just decided to run his full name in every reference. Which looked really dumb, as you can see.

They even have a quote from someone calling the guy Pran, which would seem to suggest that it was his first name, and if you weren't sure, why not just ask your source? You could have even asked the NY Times, cause they had it right the first time. Just sayin'. I really respect the WaPo, but you'd think that they'd have someone there who would know these things. Even on a Sunday.

The story was fixed in a later edition. You can see that here.

Stuff I Never Thought Would Happen ('80s Edition)

1. I would watch someone play Super Mario Brothers for 23 minutes. From the comfort of my computer. And find it hilarious.
The Hardest Mario Bros. Level Ever

2. I would discover that Mr. T does indeed have magical healing powers.
Mr. T Brought Boy Out of Coma
Via LiveJamie

3. My favorite Website would make me even happier.
The Cocaine Photos
I think the best pic is the one with the guy giving the thumbs up. Also, note the framed poster of the DeLorean in the background, not to mention the dude posing next to the Duran Duran poster. I also think it's funny that in the last photo you can see there's no furniture in the room. Maybe someone just moved in? Maybe this was one of those help-me-move parties, where they give you pizza and beer for helping, except this time it was cocaine.

Fun Conversations With My Mom

Fun Conversations with My Mom is an occasional series on Lorem Ipsum. I love my mom more than anything, but sometimes she says funny things! Or insulting things! But she doesn't mean it. I don't think ...

This conversation took place in Florida around the holidays. My mom and I were driving to the flea market.

Mom: You wouldn't want to live out here.
Me (putting Fresh Sugar Blossom lotion on my hands): Yeah, it's kind of a weird neighborhood.
Mom: And it stinks! Do you smell that?
Me: I don't smell anything.
Mom: You can't smell that? It's awful!
Me (holding up my hand): Is it my lotion?
Mom: Oh, yeah, that's it.

Dear Clay Aiken

Dear Clay Aiken:

Don't do it. How come?

Oh, no particular reason.

Sincerely,

Lorem Ipsum

Things That Rick Astley Won't Do

Sorry to repost, but I just loved it too much. From Challenged Confessions—if you haven't checked it out, it's wonderful. Also highly recommended for similar reasons: The Triumph of Bullshit.

So I Was Just Watching The Bachelor

I know! OK, embarrassing moment over. Anyhow, here's something you should never say if you were just dumped on national TV (I paraphrase, forgive me). Consider it a public-service announcement:

"I miss my cat's purring. And how he sleeps on my legs. I'm looking forward to going home to him."

Update: OK, here's what Michelle P. really said: "I'm gonna see my cat and make sure she's OK and it'll be great to have her purr again and lay in my legs again and to be with her again 'cause she's the love of my life at the moment."
YouTube at 6:05

Why I Would Have Made a Crappy Banker / Investment Manager / Finance Whatever (Aside From the Fact That I Find Long Division Challenging)

Sometimes you have to come in at 3:30 a.m. for weeks at a time. Bill Gross, who people on Wall Street just love to death (he's a genius!), talked to the New York Times this weekend about the current financial crisis. You know, the recession, comparisons to the Great Depression, etc. (Side note: Maria Bartiromo had the head of the FDIC on her show this morning who was all like, "Big deal, everything's fine! You can trust banks!" Do not believe her! I am going to start storing my money under my mattress.)

Anyhow! Gross runs Pimco, which is one of the world's largest specialty fixed-income managers (please don't ask me to explain that), and he was asked how he and his company are managing the current recession. Aside from somehow managing to set aside $50 billion in cash in the event that trading partners came calling, he also noted that staff schedules had changed:

And every day for the last three weeks he has convened meetings in a war room in Pimco’s headquarters in Newport Beach, Calif., “to make sure the ark doesn’t have any leaks,” Mr. Gross said. “We come in every day at 3:30 a.m. and leave at 6 p.m. I’m not used to setting my alarm for 2:45 a.m., but these are extraordinary times.”

Math + Insanely Early Alarm = Deal Breaker for This Girl.

The Most Hilarious E-Mail Exchange Ever Between An Editor and A Would-Be Poet

At the risk of being cruel, I will give you three reasons why our poetry editors passed on publishing your latest submission: First and foremost, as stated in our submission guidelines, TRR only considers previous unpublished material (though, I must confess, we are unfamiliar with the publication, Bitch Factor); secondly, "New Beginnings" suffers from the similar simple rhyming scheme that our editors did not care for in your earlier submission; and lastly, we here at TRR have an unwritten in-house style rule that eliminates poems that employ either the word "panty / panties" or utilize the image of a leaf falling from a tree ...

You can find the whole thing here. Really, it's hilarious in its entirety.

If you're looking for some more light Sunday reading, I also recommend:

Enough Said at failbetter
Gordon Ramsey Has a Nice Quiet Family Dinner at Home at Yankee Pot Roast

Meet My Heroes: The Gentlemen of the Typo Eradication Advancement League

These two guys are currently on a cross-country tour to wipe out spelling mistakes, grammatical errors, and any other typos. For example, they added an "R" to this sign from a bookstore in Galveston, Texas. They are headed west and expect to finish the tour back east in May.

Whew, I was really paranoid about typos while typing that paragraph.

P.S. Hi, TEAL guys! If you read this, just a little tip! There used to be a corner deli in my old neighborhood in Chicago at Montrose and Clark and it said something like "Vegetales" on its sign instead of vegetables. It used to drive me nuts. So, if you're in the Windy City, maybe you could check out that corner?

Husky.

Children's department store, downtown Brooklyn.

There are kinder, gentler ways to advertise clothing for large children, no? I'm sure they were strained to come up with a euphemism for fat, but if I'd been a big kid, I think I would rather have been called just fat instead of husky. Husky implies a rough nature, gruff voice, and (if a woman) manliness. I have not been into this store, but I imagine the "husky" section to be a wonderland of XXL camouflage pants, gun or animal-themed T-shirts that fall to one's knees, and oversize sweats with stretchy elastic. Poor kids.

Way to Ruin Paris for Everyone

This guy Rosencrans Baldwin wrote an essay for the Morning News called "Paris, I Love You, But You're Bringing Me Down." No offense, man, but I think that you're the one bringing people down. Or maybe your friends are bringing you down. I mean, you can feel the weight of this essay just pushing down on the guy's shoulders. First his wife has the flu, a cold, vertigo; then he's hanging around with some French guy who doesn't understand American humor (but he fails to see the humor in the French guy's snooty response!); then he invites someone to dinner who suggests that cheap real estate can be had near nuclear facilities. Get new friends; you'll enjoy France more!

I think he's trying to assign the qualities of his small group to all Parisians, and that can be frustrating for the reader when we're given generalities and expected to eat them up as truth. I mean, here's a guy who ends up standing next to Karl Lagerfeld during one point in his essay. Yeah, if I based my perception of New Yorkers on people I met at Fashion Week, then I'd say that a good 50 to 60 percent of NYers are dickheads—though that's not even true, it's just a perception that one might have of them at that point in time. To be fair, Baldwin acknowledges that his malaise is misunderstood by people like me and, well, everyone:

No one hears you when you say you’re sick of Paris. Sick of Paris: three words that make sense to people separately, but not in sequence. And they’re right—what am I talking about?

Don't know why this essay bothered me so much. It's very well-written and I certainly enjoyed it, but such generalities and it just sheathed Paris in this gray, gauzy cloth for me, making the city of lights drab and depressing. Which it isn't! Well, I don't think moreso than anywhere else. I think maybe there's a certain way we have of looking at cities when we're mad at them. I've certainly felt that way about NY, but only in rare moments. Maybe Baldwin is just frustrated and angry with Paris right now, maybe he really loves it, who knows. I think of Joan Didion dissing NY in "Goodbye to All That," it's a city for the very young or the very rich, she knew when it was her time to exit—but she still came back.

Update: Elaine Sciolino is stepping down as Paris bureau chief for the New York Times and offers some really astute and funny observations about France here.

Happy Easter, Peeps

Peep Show from the Washington Post
Via the L Magazine

Gross.

Spotted this ad at the gym today. An eggy martini with specks of god-knows-what suspended in its gooey mixture. That's the kind of shit you pay some dumb kid five bucks to drink when you're like eight years old. Yuck.

I think it is a safe bet to say that if you wear shoes made from reindeer skin, you won't get any Christmas presents.

If you wanted to experiment and see, you could order them here, but I don't recommend it.

Via Stylephile

I'm fascinated by this hotel room's walls.

Hotel Particulier, Montmartre
Via Oh Joy!

Shock and Awe: Total Assholes Hang Out in Midtown on Friday Nights

Friday evening I'm leaving work around 8 p.m., headed to the subway to go downtown and meet some friends. I'm walking west on 40th Street, but the sidewalk is totally blocked by about eight people who are in some little friend circle/huddle. Some are smoking, some are just yakking. Whatever. Not wanting to interrupt, I notice a sliver of free space—between a man with a cigarette and the scaffolding rail—and decide to pass there. As I pass by him, he swings his hand out with his cigarette (I suppose he was gesturing to make the point of a story). Out of shock at nearly having someone's cigarette land in my eye, I simply said, "Hey, watch it" and walked on by.

To be honest, I used to be the kind of person who would have said, "Hey, fuck you, what was that?" But I've learned that's not exactly the best coping method (Hey, Maturity!) and I just feel like it's better to try and be positive and make the world a nicer place as opposed to being mean. Anyhow. I say something like "Hey, watch it" and keep walking and I'm about five feet away when I hear, "Get out of here, you stupid bitch."

Well! Without thinking, I spin around and just stare at this guy. I mean, after all, what was his problem? He almost burned my eye out and I'm the one in the wrong? So, being my new nice self, I think I say something like: "Why would you say that? I was just trying to get by and..."

This is when he runs over to me with his lit cigarette and starts jabbing it in my face, back and forth, just millimeters away from my nose, cheeks, eyes. He is screaming: "Oh, you think I did that on purpose?! Now I'm doing it on purpose!" He's too close for me to turn around and run; he's right up on me. All I can do is take steps back, but with each one I take back, he takes one closer and jabs his cigarette in a new place. This probably went on for all of five seconds, but it seemed to be more like a minute, at least. To be honest, it was terrifying and I was really worried he was going to burn me.

Finally, one of this guy's friends had the decency to say: "C'mon, leave her alone." Still, he said it rather lackadaisically, I thought. Cigarette guy dropped his cigarette and walked away, back to his friends. I think I was shocked cause I just stood there for a second. I said: "My god, what's wrong with you?" One of his girl friends said to me: "Just leave him alone!"

Whaa? Me leave him alone? Then the cigarette man turned back around to me and said, "Yeah, get out of here with your fake Louis Vuitton bag." And at that point, I know that I REALLY should have started walking, but I was just really bothered that this dude apparently doesn't know what a Louis Vuitton bag looks like. They're brown and have those little gold emblems (I'm not really a fan), and my bag is this freaking huge, white, slouchy thing that I got at Urban Outfitters for like $50. It might be cheap, but it isn't a fake. So I said: "This isn't fake Louis Vuitton. It's cheap Urban Outfitters."

Which I realize might have been kind of annoying, but I have this thing with accuracy. And then I left.

I have a friend who claims that the fake Louis Vuitton line is a Jay-Z lyric. I don't know it.

I know I should have just walked away in the first place, but I just don't get people like that. Like if he had said sorry in the first place, and then I would have said, no problem, have a good night! And wouldn't everyone have been happier?

Wednesday Afternoon in an Elevator: A Play in One Short Act

I get into the elevator in my office building. There is already another gal in there. She is pretty, petite, well-dressed.

Her: Oh, do you work on 13?
Me: Yeah, I'm in research. Freelance.
Her: I'm K, the fashion editor.
Me: Oh, good to meet you!
Her: You, too. I never meet people on the other side of the room.
Me: Me, neither.
Her: So I should have some fashion stuff for you soon!

Please keep in mind that there are always free books and DVDs and such at magazines, and I sit right next to the "free" pile, so I somehow thought that she meant FREE FASHION STUFF! Woo hoo! That's why I said:

Me: No way, are you serious?!

She probably never heard anyone so excited about work.

Her: Yeah, it's totally late.

This is when I realize that she's totally talking about COPY not free stuff.

Me: Oh, no, I don't think it's late, I think it's ... (you know how you start to babble when you're embarrassed and trying to cover your tracks? Oh ...)

London Has a Williamsburg

OK, really it's a Bushwick! It's called Hackney.

Artists, designers and young bohemians in ever-skinnier jeans are getting priced out of nearby Shoreditch, and opening bars, clubs and galleries in this gritty immigrant enclave.

The funny thing is that this article was written by Joshua David Stein, yeah, that guy, who used to write for Gawker, and this article really seems the kind of thing that Gawker would have said Ha! about. And then made fun of the Times for picking up on a trend like five years late.

I mean, maybe not—maybe Hackney really is hoppin', hell if I know. But I do know that this is about the lamest, sappiest story ending ever:

During a recent Sunday night jam session, nearly 25 musicians crowded into the space. A dreadlocked African man played the djembe, an African drum, accompanied by a tall, bearded Englishman on trumpet. And they were in perfect harmony.

New Home for Arts Refugees

I look like hell today.

Last night I witnessed someone take four pregnancy tests (all negative!), drank way too much Champagne, formed a human pyramid with five other people, and ended up at a bar table next to the Olsen twins and that dude from Superbad who looks like Seth Rogen but isn't.

Intro to Nature & Its Positive Emotional Benefits

I had the best Sunday afternoon wandering around the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. I went to see Daffodil Hill, which supposedly blooms in March. Well, that was a crock. But! The rest of the grounds were lovely, practically deserted, and a quite peaceful way to spend one's Sunday. My favorite spot was the wooden deck by the Japanese garden. If you sit on the bench and glance down at the water, you'll see dozens of huge fish, all orange, silver, white. My brother once told me that when he had a large aquarium, he found fish-watching relaxing; I dismissed his comment at the time, but he's right: It's oddly calming. There were also lots of interesting trees, if you're into that sort of thing. In the conservatory, I was excited to find red mangrove trees, which I first discovered on a dolphin-watching excursion in the Gulf of Mexico. They're beautiful in the way that they rise from the water, without any land to support them. Lots of weeping trees, too: A willow (pictured) and a beech that looked so battered with dozens of initials and hearts carved into its trunk. And one that was just plain crazy crooked. Not to mention happy squirrels with nuts!

BBG Pics on Picasa

When Children (Try To) Attack

I have always considered Fort Greene Park to be just about the safest place in the world on any given day around 2 p.m., so the story of an attempted robbery (by children!) in the middle of the day last month is sort of unexpected.

Attempted Robbery in Fort Greene Park Yesterday

Wyoming Town, Pop. 1, Gets 10 New Residents; Price of Omelets Increases

Bill, Wyoming used to have "one, two, or three residents, depending on if you counted pets," says the New York Times. Now the small town—which Google maps identifies as being at the center of Interstate 59 and Dull Center Road—has at least 11 people. Why the influx? Freight trains constantly pass through Bill and their drivers are required to stop often. So, developers decided to build a hotel and 24-hour restaurant in the small town that got its name when some goddess of literalness noted that "several area men were all called Bill." How do the freight workers/town transients feel about the new hotel and adjacent diner?

Some complain about stuffy rules at the new hotel (like having to remove one's cleats before entering!). What else? The diner prices.

Jarod Lessert, 35, a train engineer and one of Bill’s longtime transients ... adds that some of the hotel’s rules are plainly ridiculous. He also expresses shock at the prices in the diner: “Nine dollars for an omelet?”

What is this, New York?! Read on:

Actually, an omelet costs $7.99, plus tax, with meat, hash browns, toast and drink. But at least now you can have an omelet here.

Hmm, eight bucks does seem a bit pricey for the middle of nowhere in Wyoming. That almost seems what one might pay for a diner brunch in New York, perhaps sans the meat and drink. Below, a price comparison between Penny's and some NYC diners.

Penny's Diner, Bill, Wyoming: $7.99 for omelet with meat, hash browns, toast, and drink.
The New St. Clair Restaurant, Boerum Hill, Brooklyn: $5.50 for cheese omelet, home fries, toast, and drink.
New Apollo Restaurant, downtown Brooklyn: $6.10 for cheese omelet with one side (add meat for $1.50).
Diner, meatpacking district: $8.95 for omelet with fries and toast.
Tick Tock Diner, west midtown: $5.95 for cheese omelet with potatoes and toast.

Interesting, especially when, according to my sources, I could take a nearly 50 percent decrease in salary if I moved to Wyoming and still keep up the same lifestyle (ie, the barely scraping by kind ...).

Above: Photo of Bill from the Times.

These Shoes Are Not Cute At All, Ms. Portman, Not Cute At All!

As an animal lover and vegetarian (except for fish, I know, I'm so ashamed), I'm really glad that Natalie Portman came out with a vegan line of shoes. Usually vegan lines are super ugly because the designers assume that they're for crunchy girls who enjoy pigtails, granola, and long hikes in Vermont woods. God bless people like the wonderful Stella McCartney who realize that you can be animal-friendly and extremely stylish!

So, yeah, way to go, Natalie! Except: These shoes are not cute! Seriously, they look like you designed them for 23-year-olds who wear Ann Taylor suits and work administrative office jobs in Omaha. Even though the Paloma style (not the one pictured here) is sorta OK, it still has an ankle strap which makes short girls (I am raising my hand here) look even shorter! No good!

Here's hoping that Natalie's designs will continue to evolve and become more inventive, cause she's doing a good thing. And, with any luck, more designers—like Stella!—will choose to use animal-friendly materials.