Default Face

      Sometimes when I meet a new person, I instantly get the feeling that she hates me. A friend introduces us, we exchange name, shake hands, I make some funnies, and yet she stares at me like I’m gum on her shoe. We’ll meet several more times and these feelings only seem to persist. By the fifth meeting, however, we’re the bestest of friends. “Hey, how’ve you been?” Handshakes are now hugs. We might even have an inside joke. Looking back, it’s hard to fathom how this person (or any person, for that matter) could’ve disliked such a charming young gentleman as me. As it turns out, she never once hated me, I only though she did – because of her default face.

     Default face is the expression one subconsciously wears when not in any particular mood. It’s the look of a stranger on a train. A man in line for the ATM. A woman watching the nightly news. Everyone has one, whether or not he/she is fully aware of it. Some people have very neutral default faces, while others look like they’re always smiling, or smirking, or scowling. It’s not an expression of their current mood; it’s just how their faces naturally settles. I believe it’s called faceometrics.

     Now back to my new best friend. She never really disliked me. My jokes were witty and tasteful. My demeanor debonair. I only thought she wanted to throw me of a cliff because of her default face. In this case, bitch face. Sorry to say, but there are certain individuals, and we’ve all met them, who have the bitch face. It’s unfortunate that they are unknowingly sending the world a “I’m so better than you” vibe, but that’s exactly what is happening. Once you get to know a Bitch Face, you may realize that he/she is a genuinely nice person. All of a sudden, the bitch face disappears and you just see Heather.

     The takeaway here: be aware of your default face, as well as the ones of those you meet. That smiley guy on your morning train could be a Neo-Nazi who takes great pleasure in drowning puppies. That Bitch Face in line at Safeway could your future wife. Below is a highly scientific illustration, identifying some of the most common default faces.

Live from 1407!

What you see below is not another piece of amazingly original crayon art, but an actual photo taken today in 1407. 

     Things have gotten a bit steamy in the District over the past few days, and nowhere more so than here in 1407.  Why, you ask?  Because we're going green!  Who cares if it's 95 degrees and 112% humidity out there?  The Earth doesn't get a break, and so why should we?!  Shaulleen has sworn of air conditioning for the summer and things have never been better.  Hair is bigger and curlier.  Shirts no longer require ironing.  And there is a LOT more exposed skin.

     So come over soon and come over often, because until our crazy Russian landlord figures out how to fix this (or, preferably just hires someone who actually can), we are running a full-time sauna &/or Bikram studio.  (Be on the lookout for our upcoming LivingSocial deal!) 

     Sweaty is SO the new sexy.

 

Shaulleen Solves The Energy Crisis While Simultaneously Fixing America's Growing Social Security Problem

Shaun versus Animals Part II: Reptilia

First off, welcome back us!  We've spent the last month damaging various bodily organs, healing them, and then damaging them all over again.  Somewhere in between that mayhem, we successfully replicated Mandalay's world famous Pork Mango dish, and built a patio!  But we're back now, with semi-fresh material!  Fyodor, our one loyal Russian subscriber, can breathe a sigh of relief.  We're sorry comrade.  We'll never leave you like that again.  

And now for the fun stuff:

With this second installment, "Shaun versus Animals" is officially a recurring column.  One more and we got ourselves a saga. 

Today's match:

The breakdown:

Shaun:  

     Having previously defeated an ornery swarm of bees, I am feeling confident about my ability to take on nature's most ferocious beasts in mortal combat.  The past few weeks were spent bathing in calamine lotion, studying the Swayze-dog's moves in Roadhouse (paint don't hurt), and working religiously on my CORE.  So much of one's strength is derived from the CORE.  I become a Romanesque statue of a man.  I am more powerful that ever!

     With 25 hours of energy (and a bag of pork rinds) coursing through my veins, I stride confidently onto the battlefield, ready to take on whatever creatures Intelligent Design can thrown at me.  There is a low rustling sound in the nearby brush.  Something is approaching.  What could it be?  Aardvark?  Alligator?  Anaconda?  I keel over laughing - three lowly snapping turtles.  Is that the best you got?  I bend down to give one a patronizing pat on the shell, when it suddenly leaps up and latches it's boney beak onto my middle finger.  As hard I try, I can't shake him.  A second turtle snaps right through the tough leather of my Rockports, taking a pinkie, ring and all, with it. 
     As the shelled reptiles chomp at my phalanges, I quickly realize the err of my ways.  I spent so much time perfecting my core, I neglected to study up on my potential enemies.  Otherwise, I'd have known that common snappers are noted for their belligerent disposition, their powerful beak-like jaws, and their highly mobile head and neck.  Sun Tzu is rolling over in his grave.

     I'm in serious trouble; I'm bleeding like a New York Ranger (this was relevant when I first wrote it).  Don't freak out.  Breathe.  Amidst the pain and panic, I reach a Bodhi-esque state of clarity.  What do I know about turtles?  Their tough shell is too hard to penetrate with punches and kicks.  I could wring their necks, but it puts my hands far too close to their dangerous jaws.  Then I remember that annoying kid from high school who would always make this stupid hand gesture during uncomfortable social interactions.

      That's it!  Awkward turtle!  If I can just get these hell-beasts on their backs, there might be a chance for victory.  Like a less angular Adam Levine, I shake the the turtles off with moves like Jagger.  After a few well placed kicks, I've got them on their backs.  As they helplessly flail their wrinkled limbs, I deliver death stomps to their soft underbellies.  It's finally over.  I pick up one of my felled opponents and place his ooze filled shell upon my head like a battle helmet.  With slightly less digits than when I started, I stagger home to nurse my wounds and watch the latest episode of New Girl on DVR.  She's just so adorkable. 

Winner:  Shaun (and the good people at Fox Network).

Colleen:     

     When we last left our hero, weak and swollen from innumerable bee stings all over his body, he had found sanctuary in the depths of a forest pond.  The relief he felt, both from the soothing, cool water on his stings and from escaping the relentless swarm trailing him, was immense.  He was overcome with joy and appreciation for life.  Or he would've been, had he not been still mentally reeling from the effects of the stings.  Shaun lay back in the water, injured but alive, and thanked the gods that he had kept up with his running over the years.

     As he gazed up languidly from the water, filled with a sense of pride from having outsmarted Nature, he all of the sudden felt a little nip on his shoulder.  Assuming it was a passing minnow, Shaun didn't worry about it, but started to tread away so as to not disturb the creature.  BIG.  MISTAKE.  He swam right into a group of snarling, snapping turtles!  Having already sensed a disturbance in their territory, the turtles were on high alert.  They took no time at all to commence ferociously biting at Shaun's appendages, crunching down hard onto fingers, toes, and elbows alike.

     Not quite sure how to defend himself against these armored animals, he frantically grabbed two turtles by the tails and swung their shells together in comic book-esque fashion.  He could almost see the *CLUNK!* that would be pictured above their heads in bold, jaggedly outlined lettering.  The action paid off, however, as the turtles were rendered unconscious immediately.  "Victory!"  Shaun thought, though he fully recognized that he was still under massive turtle-assault.  He continued to slam the shelled beasts together, while still kicking at more by his feet.  POW!  SLAM!  KER-PLUNK!  Shells were cracked, and turtles were flying.  Shaun was down a pinkie toe, but remained resilient in the fight for his life and limbs.  Slowly but surely, one by one (and two by two), the mass of turtles dissipated.  Shaun felt weak from the onslaught, but high on adrenaline he persisted in defending himself to the last reptile.  Shaun, awash with fatigue, collapsed on the reedy banks, victorious.

     When he was finally able to wrest himself out of the mud and limp back toward civilization, he couldn't help but smile to himself and think, "Tonight I will feast on turtle soup."

Winner:  Shaun.

Shaulleen Gets Political

A Bar Chart on Bars

The FACE!

Happy Monday, everyone!

Shaulleen got a taste of Americana this weekend, spending Friday night at Nationals Park!  The night was warmish, the aroma of hot dogs was in the air, and the Nats pulled off a 2-1, 13th inning WIN (that we did not see because we left at the end of the 12th....)!  Many thanks go to Erica, who scored the awesome last minute tickets, and who is pretty rad, all around.     

Pictured:  Ryan Zimmerman, the Face of the Franchise (sinister mustache added in artist's rendering).  Word is that he loves it when he comes up to bat and hears the crowd chanting, "FACE!  FACE!  FACE!"  So make sure to shout it loud and shout it proud.  With little to no knowledge of the game, I can say with 100% certainty that this is going to be a HUGE season for the Face & the rest of the Washington Nationals -- LET'S GO NATS! 

Comments! Make them!

See?  Commenting is fun.  Look how easily I got the author of a Washington Post article to get all snarky with me. Luckily, manatt was there to back me up.  Thank you, kind stranger.  Bonnie B, you need to adjust your attitude.

But I digress.  Apparently people are reading this blog (we're huuuuuge in Russia), and we'd like to know what you think. Express yourself.  Like an article?  Let us know.  Take umbrage at something?  Fight back!  Litter the comments box with racial epithets.  Don't like my hair?  WELL KEEP IT TO YOUR GOD DAMNED SELF!  There's just some things we don't talk about.  

So go ahead, click on "Comments".  We bet you have all sorts of interesting things to say.

Also, keeping with the newly adopted Running theme of this blog, I ran 2 miles yesterday!  On a treadmill!  By mile 1.3, I started to tire, but the unique soulful blues rock stylings of the Black Keys helped me power through it.  This was my first run in almost 2 months and it felt great to get back on the human conveyer belt.  

Next week's goal: Pi Run (3.14159265 miles).

Lace up!  Run on! 

BOOMSHAKALAKA!!

This little gem was inspired by our 2nd favorite* competitor from the much overlooked Food Network reality show Rachael vs. Guy: Celebrity Cook-Off.  Coolio's unconventional cooking methods may have rendered professional chefs speechless, but it was his equally as unconventional catch-phrases & headwear that won over American hearts. 

If you didn't catch the first season (it's to be assumed that at least 5 more will follow), here's what you missed:

• "OMG.  Did he just use corn starch?"  RE: Coolio's unconventional methods. 
• Taylor Dayne's existence.  Apparently she has had eighteen individual hit songs reach the top ten in Billboard magazine.  Where was I?  Oh yeah... a fetus.
• Joey Fatone - still relevant.
• What we can only assume are custom made, pre-holed hats (to maintain the integrity of Coolio's signature 'do).
• Guy Fieri's unrequited love of bowling shirts and gratuitous hand gestures everything.   
• Summer Sanders' arms.  Wasn't she the villain from Over the Top? 

*We're team Lou Diamond Phillips, aka LDP, aka La Bamba, aka one of the Young Guns (who's not a Sheen).  You could even say that we are LDP's #1 fans.  You could say that, but you'd be WRONG!  LDP's #1 fan remains LDP himself.

Spoiler Alert:  LDP crushed the competition.  Not even Aaron Carter could compete with LDP's culinary (pronounced Q-linary) arsenal.   

Turbo Ribs!

Easter: WTF?

Easter f*cking freaks me out.


I want it to be known that I am not taking a stand against the bastardization of holidays in general.  Come December, I love stringing lights on any/everything, slapping a Coca-cola Classic in Santa's hand, and demanding gifts from my loved ones under the pretense of celebrating Jesus' birth just as much as the next modern American.  An ardent fan of civil rights, Martin Luther King, Jr Day is my favorite day to remember to judge people not by the color of their skin, but by who they are dating and how much money they make.  And along with than that celebration of equality, it means I get a Monday off of work in January, which is awesome because long weekends are the best.  I admire Thomas Jefferson not simply because he played such a major role in America's independence from the Brits, but because he had the foresight to initiate the coup in early July, thereby ensuring poolside BBQs and firework-laden rooftop celebrations for centuries to come.  (Imagine the 4th of July falling in February.  The vibe would be completely different, and America would be lesser for it.) 

I think all of these arbitrary traditions are wonderful.  Most of them have nothing to do with their origins at all and it's completely fine!  (Largely because they result in a federally observed day off, which is the true mark of a good holiday, in my book.)

Friends, Easter is an exception to this.  Not only does Easter NOT warrant a government mandated day off of work, it celebrates a man's horrific murder, his zombification (not a word, just go with it), and in more recent years has come to be represented by a giant, egg-laying rabbit.  Despite the pretty pastel M&M's and the trying-to-look-lovable bunny, in no way is this a family-friendly holiday. 

A devout* Catholic, I am aware that Jesus' death upon the cross and subsequent resurrection form the entire foundation of the Christian faith.  I'm not going to disqualify that storyline or make statements for or against anyone's beliefs.  I AM going to say that Easter is celebrating a zombie.  It is science-fact** that a zombie is "an animated corpse, brought back to life by mystical means."  I quote the Apostle's Creed, a prayer every Catholic schoolgirl/boy knows backwards and forwards by the 7th month of gestation:

[He] was crucified, died, and was buried;

he descended to the dead.

On the third day he rose again;

Etc.  The prayer goes on to talk about Jesus taking a seat next to his pops and the reciters go on to pledge their faith to the church.  It's lovely.  It is also clearly advocating zombie worship.  If that well-known prayer doesn't outline the recipe for becoming a zombie, then I don't know what does.  I know zombies have not always been the pop-culture fixture they are today, so I'll admit that the original authors of this credo probably didn't have a face-off at Herschel's farm and Shane's post-stabbing zombie resurrection*** in mind when they wrote it.  But it is clearly stated that Jesus was dead for three days and then rose, re-animated, and hungry for brains.  (The bit about brains didn't make it into the prayer, despite what I can only assume was a heated debate among the apostles.)  That is well and good, sometimes bad things happen to good people, but I'm not kneeling down in front of Zombie Jesus anytime soon.  I like my brain inside my head, thank you very much.    

Looking beyond the religious meaning of Easter, we come to the rabbit.  Nearly everyone in my age demographic has seen the romantic comedy/action-adventure hit, The Princess Bride.  It's a movie that has something for everyone -- a love story, sword fighting, vengeance, and Billy Crystal.  It's awesome.  One of the many memorable scenes in the film is when the hero, Westley, is leading his love, Buttercup, through the dangerous Fire Swamp and they encounter the Rodents of Unusual Size.  They are rats the size of large dogs; vicious creatures that dwell in the swamps and wait for passers-by to lunch upon.  They are terrifying.  And they are a quarter the size of the Easter Bunny!  I don't care if he wears a bow-tie and a vest and doles out candy to youngsters (which we would all consider a predatory move if he were doing so from the comfort of his van, by the way.)  This thing has teeth bigger than my iPhone and would be able to out-run, out-jump, and easily murder any human living today.  I appreciate proper grooming and dapper dress (and candy) as much as the next girl, but that giant rabbit has a glint of blood lust in his eye that I just can't get past. 

Also, not to be one of those annoying, "well, technically...." people, but facts are facts and rabbits don't lay eggs.  How and why this bespectacled beast came to be handing out candy-filled eggs is something I don't even want to understand.  The only mammal I condone laying eggs is the duck-billed platypus, and that's mostly because that thing has so much going on that WHY NOT?  Maybe if Easter was represented by a monocled platypus I would be more inclined to support the holiday.  (Can we make some kind of push for that??)

You all can celebrate the rise of Zombie Jesus and take your kids to sit on the lap of the freakish Easter Bunny and swathe yourselves in spring-toned casual wear all you want, but until Easter gives me a day off work and the pope starts funding zombie rehabilitation programs, my loyalties lie with tiny, baby Christmas Jesus and the fat, jolly dude that brings me gifts every year.  & MLK, Jr., that guy seemed pretty cool.   




Cuddle up, kiddies.



 
*I'm not religious (sorry, Grandma)  <---- Just kidding, there's no chance my grandma is reading this.

**If it's on the Internet, it must be true.

***The Walking Dead is awesome and I recommend you watch it.  

Cherry Blossom 10 Miler

Check it out folks.  Despite a severe quadriceps contusion, and repeating warnings by my doctor not to run, I completed the Cherry Blossom 10 Miler!  In your face, medical science!

Pictures don't lie (but people do).  Just ask House.

For those who doubt, check the bib numbers.  They match.

So I've been thinking about changing the direction of this blog.  Sure, crudely drawn crayon art and half thought out rants garner some cheap laughs, but is that really what the public wants?  We can offer so much more.  From this moment on, http://1407burnbook.blogspot.com/ will be a runner's blog.  Each week, look forward to entertaining yarns on how far I've run, where I've run, and why I run (fear of commitment), along with tips for aspiring runners.  

Tip of the week:  Mix things up a bit.  Instead of the typical right, left, right, left, try left, right, left, right.  

Next week's topics:

- Shoes?  Pros and Cons.

- Are runners better than normal  people?

- Trees.  I ran by some.

Colleen - thoughts?

Safety Tidbit:  Don't text while running!  It will lead to disastrous falls over roots/loose bricks in the sidewalk/your shadow.   If you have to text while on the go, get behind the wheel of a car or something, but for the love of all that is holy DON'T TEXT WHILE YOU RUN. 

Also, RE: the upcoming topic, "Shoes" -- the guy I went on a date with last night was wearing Vibrams.  On our date. 

Was I supposed to publish that last part?  Oh well.    

I just saved you save you two syllables.

  
You're welcome.

Shaun versus Animals

Although there is no official postmark or notary public to confirm this, I can assure you that this piece of original Crayon Art, and concept in general, were conceived before this blog's creators caught the Hunger Games fever.  That is not to say that the riveting series had no part in inspiring us to finally post this.  That would be a lie. 

"Shaun versus Animals" is intended to be a recurring post in which we address an age old question:  what animals could Shaun take on in a "fight to the death" situation?  20 geese?  6 woodchucks?  1 emu?

Today's match:

The breakdown:

Shaun:  "Although my firearms are useless in this situation, I have one clear advantage - bee dies after they sting.  I'd remove that classy purple sweater and use it to protect my million dollar face.  Let the bees work my midsection.  Judging by the size of the hive, I think I can withstand enough stings that the bees will eventually just die off.  Remember, these are bees, not Tracker Jackers.  Though swollen up and red like Mario Batali, I will emerge victorious, and live to fight more of nature's majestic creatures. 
Winner:  Shaun.

Colleen:  "Thinking he finally had finally stumbled into the perfect opportunity to put his sharp-shooter training into practice, Shaun assumed he would easily be able to pick off the majority of the suddenly swarming, obviously angry bees.  He managed to snipe a few of the insects, but it became quickly clear that he would have to employ another strategy if he wanted to make it out alive.  With each sting, Shaun grew more inflamed and more disheartened.  In a last grasp for survival, Shaun pushed aside the grim visions of My Girl reeling through his brain and remembered a nearby pond.  If he could just outrun the beasts and make it to the safety of the water, he knew could outlast the swarm.  Swollen, half-mad from the stings, and growing increasingly frantic, he took off for the water.  Not that easily outsmarted, the bees followed closely behind, buzzing at his heels.  Upon reaching the banks Shaun jumped into the water, elated.  He made it!  Lesser men might have become trapped in their panic, they could have been frozen with fear and succumbed to a swollen, mangled death.  Not Shaun.  Not today.  Though his face might never fully recover, Shaun will live to see another day."
Winner:  Shaun.

 

Unanimous victor: Shaun!

Shaun 1.  Animals 0.

Randos and Jobbers*

*Jobber derives it origin from wrestling, referring to the guy who always loses to make the more popular wrestlers look better.    

The jobber who waits for the elevator by standing directly in front of the doors:  As the they slide open, this simple minded simpleton acts shocked that the elevator actually contains people.  PEEEEEEEEOPLE!!!!!!!  Sorry my presence is an inconvenience for you.  Now get out of the way and let me out!

The same genius who does this in front of Metro Car doors:  The doors are clear - you can actually see the people whose exit you’re blocking.

Rando Asian lady with umbrella… when it’s clear and sunny outside:  Just saying, if a white guy did this, you’d freak out and activate the Bat Signal.

Questionably blind persons:  I know that there are varying degrees of visual impairments, but I definitely saw a guy with a white “blind cane” standing on a corner checking his iPhone.  Got any good e-brailles there?

Super sweaty guy:  Often this is me.  Suit + temperatures above 70 + any physical exertion = splotchy-town.  Undershirts are powerless and often exacerbate the situation. 

Non-sweating hipster:  My polar opposite and sworn nemesis.  100 degree day, 200% humidity - This non-conforming non-conformist rides around on his fixie, sporting super skinny jeans, ironic beard, and a flannel shirt, yet mysteriously remains drier than British humour.

Blelvis:  Black Elvis.  DC semi-celebrity who knows the words to every song ever sung by Elvis Presley.  Can be spotted in the late night hours, typically on the U-Street or 14^th Street corridors.  Give him any letter, and he’ll sing you an Elvis song that begins with it.  Amazing!

Blelvis

Blelvis Impersonator:  Do not be fooled.  He sticks to the obvious Elvis songs. Throw him a request for “Queenie Wahine's Papaya” and watch him back down faster than a Frenchman in a fistfight.   

Not Blelvis

MRGB (aka Mr. GB):  Man riding girl’s bike.  “Hey dude, nice pink basket and handlebar streamers.”  I’m sure there’s a perfectly legal explanation for this.

Jumbo Slice Drunk Girl:  After a handful of drinks, this pint sized wonder wolfs pieces of pizza larger than her mini skirt.  47% chance they stay down.        

Jukebox Jokester:  This character takes a certain sick pleasure in playing songs that have no place in a bar, often looping them several times in a row.  The fourth run of Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car” is sure to empty even the trendiest bar on a Saturday night.
Trend alert:  "Ni**as In Paris-ing" a bar.  10 times in a row is appropriate.  

The Foot Racers:  Perched eagerly 2 feet off the curb, eyes fixed on the perpendicular traffic light, they are ready to leap across the street at the first hint of yellow.  Their unwarranted haste makes life hell for city drivers, especially those trying to turn right without bloodying up the front bumper.