Fat Asian Baby

A pie through the mail slot, Fruit steals a Lexus, man dressed in green shitting on the floor, unlicensed massage escort sting, and my personal favorite crime of the week:

On Mayson Turner Road, a man and his male roommate fought over the quality of orange juice. During the spat, the roommate raised his fist and said he hated old people. When police showed up, the roommate, age 31, didn't deny this. He was taken to jail for acting violent.

Check out the crime blotter at Creative Loafing.

If anybody was wondering what that maniacal red blur was racing through Terminal C of Charlotte Douglas International Airport this evening, felling young children left and right with a rolling suitcase, that surely wasn't the Fat Asian Baby. The FAB daddy emailed me to make sure I made my connection to Atlanta since my flight out had been delayed: "I checked the computer until 1119 said "arrived" and 203 "in flight" with a 14-minute gap. I said to Mom, 'If the gates were close, she made it!'" Well folks, the gates were right across from each other. But thanks to the useless USAirways gate greeter, I was erroneously directed to a gate at the complete other end of the terminal and thus forced to double back in a mad and apparently rather violent dash.
Some of the things we learned over the weekend:
1. Do not go home for Thanksgiving if this is going to entail air travel. You've had turkey before and you'll likely have it again in the future.
2. If you do choose to go home, do not bother packing up a heavy bag of books and downloading datasets onto your computer and lugging your computer up the eastern seaboard. You will never even remove any of the books or computer from their respective bags.
3. Though you've long suspected it, those folks at the New York Times have finally completely lost their marbles in some misguided attempt to connect with the masses. Or something. Exhibit A: William Safire's On Language column featuring former roommate D.'s personal favorite pronouncement about "dropping the kids off at the pool." I can only hope this expression will be included in their next edition of "Elements of Style." Exhibit B: That article in the Sunday Styles section about the apparent new craze of genital plastic surgery whose appearance in the New York Times, a journal read by both of my parents, was even more disturbing than an informative web page advert on that very theme that I saw a few weeks ago featuring all manner of misshapen labia and hooha eccentricities that horrified me for days after. I did, however, enjoy the article about quasi-recreational psychopharmaceutical use.
4. The week after Thanksgiving is also the last week of classes, marking the due dates of a cornucopia of assignments and projects you've been avoiding all semester, to make no mention of finals next week. If you do not even remove your computer from its bag or make any progress on said projects over the Thanksgiving weekend, you will be completely, utterly, and profoundly screwed. And to this end, it's probably not a good idea for you to go to the raucous gay dance party that will be the Scissor Sisters concert at the Roxy tomorrow night. Really. It's a totally bad idea.

Yesterday, when I mentioned the Poetry Society of America's poetry reading next week at the New School what I really meant to say is that the Poetry Society of America is having a reading next week at NYU's Hemmerdinger (yeah, Hemmerdinger) Hall, 100 Washington Square East, NYC.

Some asshole vandalized 237 wheels of cheese. That's 237 wheels of cheese that will never be consumed by some happy cheese eater like me.

Apparently I am such a smug little elitist that I would so totally laugh and point if I saw this, and not simply because it's Paris. God, what a bitch! And as the jaded folks over at Defamer pointed out, the whole Paris as hussy thing is so boring I'm not even going to go into the whole Hustler lesbian kiss thing because I can't even be made to give a shit anymore. How sad.

If crazy artists are your thing or, like the Fat Asian Baby, you just want to drink booze and eat Krispy Kreme donuts while appearing artsy, check out Van Gogh Night at the High Museum all night Friday night.

Reading Gawker's poetry review/poetry breeds insanity post reminded FAB to tell you all to go see way more talented friend, Justin Goldberg, at the Poetry Society of America Chapbook Fellowship program poetry reading next Thursday (as in, not the turkey holiday) at the New School (66 W. 12th Street). The Fat Asian Baby still does not actually get poetry and lives in the Dirty South anyway, but for all you New Yorkers, check it out.

Another recently discovered blog of note, ijc, a blog devoted to interactions with and observations of the interchangeable jappy chick:

Welcome to the world of the IJC.
These girls are called IJC's for the simple reason that both on the surface and underneath they are all more or less exactly the same Interchangeable Jappy Chick.
Common characteristics of IJC's include but are not limited to:
-full breasted
-straight dark hair
-well tanned
-slightly overweight
-over-educated and underemployed
-teeth a little too white and straight (daddy is a dentist after all)

IJC pretty much describes the Fat Asian Baby to a T let us not forget that we hail from Scarsdale, New York, after all. However, while FAB will freely admit to being a complete and utter JAP, I insist it be clear that I did not attend UPenn or live in Murray Hill, I cheat on God with bacon, and well, I'm Korean (though this strangely makes me more eligible for Jappiness). Perhaps if you did not grow up in Westchetser or Long Island or have never spent a reasonable amount of time studying the island culture of Manhattan, IJC may seem foreign or unfunny, but for the rest of us, it's quite oustanding.

I particularly enjoyed the part where Ta-Nehisi Coates, who supposedly has street cred because he's black and on loan from the Village Voice, patiently explains the dynamics and strategies behind "battle rapping" to the NYTimes' readership:

"An adept battle rapper uses his voice, timing, rhythm and wit to humiliate the opposition and win over the crowd."

I guess now my parents won't have to rent 8mile to parse their way through the magazine section.

Since the Fat Asian Baby has spent the better part of most Sundays for the last ten or so years perusing the New York Times Weddings announcements in the Sunday Styles section (which I believe Carmela Soprano once referred to as the Ladies' Sports Section) for no apparent reason other than to sate a passing desire to gawk and drool at lives so blatantly more fantastic than my own will ever be, I was delighted to be the second to last person to discover Veiled Conceit. From now on, when I read the Weddings section, I vow to start being less crabby about my own life and start talking way more shit about other people's.

If you can't check out SF girl rockers The Donnas tonight at The Masquerade, Swedish boy rockers The Hives will be there on Tuesday night.

Anal Massage 10% off at Target.

Apparently these rumors ebb and flow, but right now they seem to be flowing quite freely. Is the veritable Atlanta institution, the Clermont Lounge, really closing?

Sinister Fat Asian Baby eyes another's french fries while hunched over own sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich.  

Ok so I guess I'm an even bigger asshole than I thought because no matter how hard I try, I simply cannot figure out what the big deal is about a new R. Kelly sex tape surfacing. I mean, this sort of thing happens all the time. Aren't we used to it by now? Must we get our panties all in a bunch with every new tape? Really, this is getting somewhat tiring (though Mr. Kelly doesn't seem to be showing signs of fatigue). At any rate, I guess this one is exciting because it stars the wife of a MLB player and some unidentified woman, but c'mon, folks. What is the big fucking deal about this one? I admit, the whole sex with underage girls thing not cool, but the man likes sex. And then he likes to watch himself having sex after the sex itself is over. Ok, I admit the whole wife-of-a-famous-baseball-player thing puts an interesting twist on the scandal, but at least they are finding comfort in Jesus. Speaking of which, don't you think the big JC must be relieved that at least R. Kelly's having sex with grown women this time?

Apparently children's nutrition no longer the responsibility of the parents. Denver schools to offer combined social studies/weight-loss classes. And apparently this time NOT cleaning your plate will actually help that starving child in Ethiopia your mom was always so obsessed with.

Jared Leto sends text message while making out with new flame Scarlett Johanson (via Star via Socialite's Life). As the Fat Asian Baby previously mentioned, I'd be more than happy to put down my damn cell phone and make out with either of them, but nobody asked me.

More episodes from the crime blotter selected from Creative Loafing...

At a gas station on Peachtree Street, a drunk man was harassing customers as they walked into the store. Then, the drunk man went into the store bathroom. When police arrived, the drunk man was washing up in the toilet bowl.

At 10 p.m., an officer saw a man urinating on Delevan Street. When the man spotted the officer, he quickly walked away. The officer stopped the man and asked why he was urinating on the road. "I started to piss but when I saw you, I put my dick back in my pants and started pouring my liquor out," the man said.

A 25-year-old woman went to a house on Margaret Place to meet a man who said he could get her a job with Comcast. She gave him a resume, and he offered to help her fill out the paperwork. After the interview, the man wanted to play a card game with her. (The card game was on white index cards.) The cards listed several prizes that she could win. One prize was eight hours of comp time (when she got the job). Another prize was a one-minute back massage.
Every time the woman played the card game, she won the one-minute massage. She went into a back room with the man, and he gave her the massage. During the massage, he put his penis on her lower back. She told him to stop and ended the massage.

Lindsay Lohan temper tantrum at Jane photo shoot because she is under something called "stress." Sadly, she does not pop a boob in the process.

photo by BR Perri 

Jewish Hey Ya

Jason Mulgrew pretty much sums up my feelings about Sprint and the fact that their cell reception in Manhattan fucking sucks (commercial number 2). The Fat Asian Baby was a loyal customer to that stupid company for like 5 years or something. When I got back from France, I called them and told them I was considering switching to Verizon and what was the best deal they could offer to convince me to stay? They had nothing except the stupid plan they've been using cowboys to advertise. So now FAB is a slightly less disgruntled Verizon customer. To be perfectly honest, my reception isn't really that much better with Verizon, but I live in the South now so I'm going to blame it on that.

A big thank you to the internet for almost making it okay that I still only get three channels. And a bigger thank you to Anna Nicole for making me feel much better about my life even though you're significantly hotter than I am. I particularly enjoy the part where you stare at your boobs as they jiggle whilst you clap your hands above your head like a retarded child on Vicodin. HOT! And by the way, I don't think we call it drunk. Percocet perhaps?

Big Dick Cheney, via Wonkette. I myself feel more comfortable with the overfilled colostomy bag theory. Actually, I don't feel that great about that either, but you be the judge.

Britney goes to college "in an effort to line up a career when her pop fame fades." (snicker).

On Wednesday, various dignitaries and US army personnel not otherwise occupied with more important stuff will gather at Fort Benning to honor the memory of German POWs from World War II that were buried there.

"The minimum you can do is honor these soldiers who sacrificed," said Lt. Col. Herbert R. Sladek, the German liaison officer. "They were educated in another time period, with another political guideline."

Yeah, it's called Nazism, assholes.

This weekend, the Fat Asian Baby heard Southern Californian Latin hip-hop fusion band Ozomatli play at the Variety in Little Five Points. At the end of the concert, the band jammed on as they jumped off stage into the audience and paraded out the theater and into the street where they hung out with fans. Now there's something that never happens in New York. Of course, the Fat Asian Baby was too much of a pussy to break through the hoardes of adoring females and actually talk to any of the band members. But what else is new? 

 

Ol' Dirty Bastard dies after collapsing at a recording studio two days shy of his 36th birthday. But not before siring thirteen children.

Ten year old grilled cheese sandwich with burn marks in the shape of the Virgin Mary* currently going for $2,000 on eBay. Apparently she "NEEDS TO BE OUT THERE IN THE PUBLIC SO SHE CAN BLESS AND TOUCHES EVERYONE" though the discerning bidder may notice how she failed to bless the seller and divine grilled cheese chef with normal spelling and grammar, but who am I to judge the powers of the Grilled Cheese Virgin?
*actually, even if the picture is to be believed, I'm not really sure how the reader concluded that the woman on the grilled cheese is actually God's Baby Mama, but whatever.

For the love of everything sacred, stop being a tease, and show us the fucking belly! How else are interested parties supposed to discern whether the apparent bulge is the remains of a Whopper Jr. or the makings of another?

Heath Ledger naked via stereogum. Not sure what to say about this either, so I won't say anything except that Jake Gyllenhaal is a total pussy.

The Fellowship Baptist Creation Science Fair.
First place: "'My Uncle Is A Man Named Steve (Not A Monkey).' Cassidy Turnbull (grade 5) presented her uncle, Steve. She also showed photographs of monkeys and invited fairgoers to note the differences between her uncle and the monkeys. She tried to feed her uncle bananas, but he declined to eat them. Cassidy has conclusively shown that her uncle is no monkey And while this is only the first place winner for the elementary school level, I strongly suggest you check out the high school division to learn more about the amazing scientific research their doing with bacteria and prayer these days. Seriously.

In other not very amusing news, Arafat Officially Announced Dead. And I don't think they're kidding this time. I'm not really sure what to say about this, so I just won't say anything.
Read his obituary here.

The heart crumbles and breaks.
Must regroup; back in a day or so.

Sex-deprived Japanese women find help in squad of volunteers "Despite Japan's image as a promiscuous country awash with open pornography, the Japanese are among the world's least sexually active people, according to a recent survey by condom manufacturer Durex. The Japanese have only 46 sexual encounters on average each year..." Sweet Mary, mother of God! I certainly hope they're including potential outliers such as, uh, small children and the hopelessly infirm in that statistic. Otherwise that's just absurd.

So things are spinning out of control over here at FAB Central. This weekend I had planned to study for this massive exam I have on Wednesday. Yes ma'am, I said Wednesday. Let the record show that the Fat Asian Baby has NEVER even feigned studying for any exam more than 1.5 days in advance, and this includes SATs, GREs, college finals, and so on. Clearly, this intention to study so early should be an indication of my awesome fear of the impending exam. And lo, is it awesome.
So what did I do this weekend in light of afforementioned intentions? I explored a couple of Buckhead bars that I had heard horrible horrible things about. (Actually, I've heard horrible horrible things about Buckhead in general). And I made spinach lasagne. And I read the entire Sunday Times. All in all it was a rather productive weekend, save for the actual stated purpose of the weekend which was to STUDY. Last night I successfully completed my usual three to four hours of staring blankly at the television which incidentally was considerably more stimulating that it has been in the past since I finally went to Circuit City and purchased some Bunny Ears or Dog Ears or whatever you call them to help me tune into channels other than NBC. So now I can watch NBC, Fox, and ABC. I have not been able to locate CBS at this time. Which brings us to today. Today I decided to cut most of my classes to STUDY for the dreaded exam. I have been up since 7:15am (horrifying I know). In this time I have: attended one class, been grocery shopping, washed a pile of dishes that had been soaking in the sink, made soup, made a fancy sandwich, ate soup, ate fancy sandwich, taken a nap, read the New York Times, read the New York Post, read Creative Loafing, contemplated doing the laundry, sorted laundry into lights and darks and delicates, thrown laundry back into laundry basket, and walked five circles around a certain notebook that lays forlornly on my floor.

The Page Sixers are trying to create an uproar with a ridiculous story about the Beastie Boys' blown "street cred" because it turns out that they (gasp!) come from money or something. Come again? First of all, this is a really boring allegation. Can't you people come up with anything sexier? Second, uhh, the Bestie Boys' street cred? It's not like they've spent the last 20 years they rose from the viciousness of ghetto of life or something. And third and perhaps most important, would the fact that they came from well-to-do backgrounds even be that big of a revelation? I mean, they're a bunch of Jewish guys from New York. What were you expecting?

Tara dear, as a fellow alcoholic who has many a time had that same lovely expression on my face, I must say, this is just in poor form. I know it may simply run in the family, but we really need to work on keeping the breast inside the dress where it's warm.

(must make mental note to invite Tara next time I have a party involving open bar).
Thank you fleshbot.

In the future it would be preferred if you would not schedule registration for the next semester at the wee hours of the morning and then warn of high competition in the registration process. Please bear in mind that the Fat Asian Baby is still a student, and as such, does not enjoy greeting the day at hours beginning with the number 6 (or even 7, 8, or 9, if avoidable) unless this can properly be considered part of the previous evening (ie: continuous with the previous evening's activities). As a rule of thumb, it's best to stay away from those hours beginning with single digits if we want the process of to proceed in an orderly and ungrumpy fashion.
Thank you for your understanding.

PA Chairman Yasser Arafat maybe dead. Or maybe not. Nobody knows. The Fat Asian Baby thinks it's highly likely that Arafat is in a deep coma from which he'll never awaken...which leaves many questions about the future of the Palestinian struggle and Middle Eastern (in)stability hanging in the balance. Regardless of whether he's clinically dead yet or not (a line that is becoming less and less clear with medical advances), interested people on all sides of the struggle better get ready to move forward, onward and upward because we can be pretty sure Yasser's not coming back.

Some Asian dude (nope, not Southern this time) jumps into lions den at the zoo because he was apparently "trying to convert lions to Christianity."

Matthew Yglesias on the United States of Canada. (yeah. Canada. chuckle).

When you can't even summon up the appropriate level of excitement/horror at the prospect of impending Spears/Federline offspring. I was so distracted and distraught yesterday I forgot to point my fingers at this totally unsuprising yet still disturbing tidbit. Gotta get it together over here.

Click the Administration change button, or try again later.

Viagina and I have been wondering why everything seems so wrong and whether the answer is that we just need to embrace the Jesus as the answer to all, like the rest of the country. Evangelical Christianity seems to have taken a sticky grip on the nation, and liberal minded folk like us are being pushed to the wayside. Characterized by the New York Times: "the election seemed to reverse the perspective of the famous Saul Steinberg cartoon, with much of the land mass of America now in the foreground and New York a tiny, distant and irrelevant dot." Are we the problem? Maybe we need to take a page out of the Evangelical Christian playbook and launch a new PR campaign hailing the new religion of tolerance and compassion, reality and reason. How do we bring the gospel of, as one New Yorker puts it, "our way of life...honoring diversity and having compassion for people with different lifestyles, on a trip around the country?"

Tonight hear New York rocksters Interpol (who according to one Atlanta radio station are really about to hit it big, whatever that means. I thought they did that like a year or two ago, but whatever) tonight at the Roxy Theater.

I had awful nightmares all night long, but somehow, life has continued...though in a state of true depression. At any rate, I have had enough of this utter foolishness (read: absolute bullshit) and am looking into starting over on my own private island where I can drink myself to death on pina coladas made with real coconuts. Please let me know if you have any leads.
And in other news, in case you were worried about legally recognized homosexual couples corrupting your otherwise upstanding moral landscape, the gay marriage ban amendment received over 70% support in Georgia. So relax.

More tales from the police blotter via Creative Loafing, selected for you by FAB:

At Peachtree Place and Spring Street, two officers saw a 33-year-old man grabbing his crotch and flagging down cars. The officers stopped the man and told him he was under arrest for "pedestrian soliciting rides." They handcuffed the man. The man cussed and said he would put his 11 inches of cock in the officers' asses. The man also said he would sodomize one officer and make him braid his hair. The man appeared to be extremely drunk. He went to jail.

Around 1:30 in the afternoon, two officers were patrolling Dearwood Avenue in an unmarked car. They saw a bearded man having sex with a woman on the front of a Ford Explorer. The man had "his pants down to just above his knees behind (the woman), who had her pants down to just above her knees and was bent over at the waist." The man, age 40, said the Ford Explorer belonged to him. Police searched the Explorer and found a bag of cocaine and a knife. Both the man and woman went to jail.

On Ponce de Leon Place, a "he said/she said" story unfolded. The girlfriend's story: She came home and caught her boyfriend receiving oral sex from another woman. So she demanded that her boyfriend give her the money he owes her. She said she refused to leave without the money, so the boyfriend slapped her across the face and threw her onto a couch. (The girlfriend is 48 years old with missing teeth.) The boyfriend's story: He admitted that his girlfriend caught him getting a blowjob from another woman. Then, he says, the girlfriend got mad when he suggested that she join in on the sexual acts. The girlfriend pushed and hit him, so he pushed her onto a couch.

On Bolton Road, a 42-year-old man said his live-in girlfriend caught him having sex with another woman in their bedroom. So the girlfriend picked up a metal cross and hit him in the back of the head. When police arrived, the live-in girlfriend had fled and the boyfriend was bleeding profusely. He went to Grady Memorial Hospital.

The leader of the free world cracks himself up giving the "one fingered victory salute" to a cameraman.

Hilton cousin Conrad gets so drunk and debaucherous that he gets himself kicked out of the New York Hilton. And I thought I had a drinking problem.

There is something seriously wrong with me. After watching Morgan Spurlock nearly kill himself chowing down on Quarter Pounders with cheese and McGriddles in Supersized, his documentary about the evils of McDonalds, I could not get Big Macs off of my mind. So last night I finally caved and treated myself to a hearty dinner of a Big Mac Value Meal. And now I can't seem to get Whoppers off my mind. Will Supersized be the beginning of my downward spiral into greasy self-destruction?