One-Hit Wonders: November 2009

this month's search terms inexplicably pulling up my blog have a distinctively instructional feel to them, as though people are using The Milla Times in the same way they would use wikipedia, though in my case they are looking for erotic stories on nipple touchers.

• erotic stories of nipple toucher


• how do you pronounce raidis


• an introduction of an argumentative eassy on sweets,crips and fizzy drinks


• how to kill a chinese elm stump


• is as happy as a retard in a crayon factory. what does this mean


• mo's bouillabaisse recipe


• does redwood smell like pine


• what means "year older none the wiser"


• joan didion calm the fuck down


• the +countdown to the meteor hits earth


• when did duran duran john taylor lose his virginity


• peace corps wild orgies

Thankful for Taco Sauce

in case you haven’t heard, thanksgiving is fast approaching and bringing with it a chance to reflect on all the blessings i normally take for granted in addition to an opportunity to eat until i burst. the latter i already accomplished during an early thanksgiving meal held at my parents’ place, who decided to ditch the family and spend the upcoming four-day weekend relaxing poolside in palm springs.

this frees up the thursday holiday for Mo and i to spend watching bad television and eating tacos, which will basically turn it into any other thursday for us, but perhaps we’ll mark the occasion with a turkey taco. the friday after thanksgiving i have to go to work because the stock market is open for business, which means my company is too. aside from mall employees, this makes me the only person who has to work the friday after thanksgiving.

but i’m actually looking forward to working that day as it will give me some time to reflect on all the wonderful blessings i am thankful for this holiday. hahahaha! actually, i’m looking forward to it because it’s sure to be a mellow day and i can wear jeans to work, which is a blessing unto itself.

as for the other blessings, they don’t really change from year to year. i’m still thankful for the wonderful people in my life, chiefly among them my Mo, my family and my friends who are like family. beyond that, i really love my dogs and my house and the smoky hot sauce that my favorite taco truck puts on its tacos. and in a year during which i saw both my parents and countless friends get laid off, in addition to 15% of my coworkers, i am especially thankful to be employed.

i’m also thankful for you, dear reader, wherever and whoever you are, for you are the wind beneath my wings helping me soar to new heights! i know most of you are my California friends and family checking in to see whether i’m talking smack about you here, but if my blog analytics are to be believed, i also have readers in such exotic places as Lincoln, Nebraska, and Bloomington, Indiana, readers who are surely dashing and effortlessly beautiful and not only because they have superior taste in blogs.

have i buttered you up enough? ok, here comes the pitch: if you, like me, plan to avoid malls and do all of your holiday shopping online this year, please shop Amazon.com via THIS SPECIAL LINK, which will direct a few dimes my way at no additional cost to you. please make your purchase within 24 hours of clicking the link. all proceeds will be used to keep The Milla Times up and running by keeping the collection agencies at bay. donations will be repaid with endless gratitude on my part and maybe a pic of me topless.

this concludes the shameless whoring out of the amazon ads on my website (which all of you seem to be ignoring anyway). thanks for reading, with double thanks for shopping. have i mentioned that your hair looks great today?

Dish-Interested: Why I Love Sarah Palin

Courtesy of Osmosis Online

There are plenty of reasons to hate Sarah Palin: She’s hokey, inarticulate, whiny, incurious and provincial — a quitter who’s prone to blaming others for her own missteps. Hating Sarah has become a national pastime akin to any other sport that keeps score and revels in recounting the bad plays of the game.

We’ve seen these plays televised in perfectly packaged soundbytes we’ve all learned by heart — from “I can see Russia from my house” to “I read all of them” to “you betchya!” — Sarah was a bumbling trainwreck loathed by many, revered by some and loved especially by me.

And if there’s one thing I love more than train wrecks...

Roadtrip: Oregon Border to Portland (Part 1 of 2)

we made it: it took 1,500 miles, but the long and winding road finally led Mo and i to the state line, which we plowed through absented-mindedly until Mo noticed the change in pavement that indicated our entry into Oregon. we turned back to get this shot and if you look closely, you can see that i’m saying, “hurry up and take the picture already. i’m lying in the fucking road.” thankfully, it was a scenic road that few cars were driving on, which explains the low-tech signage.


light and space: prior to arriving in Portland, we made a quick stop in Eugene, Oregon, to visit the Wayne Morse Courthouse, designed by LA-based firm Morphosis, architects of the federal building we visited in San Francisco. like the rest of Morphosis’ work, this building was stunning from every angle. let’s just say that if i ever had to stand trial for bank robbery, i would prefer to do it here.


the mispucha: we arrived in Portland on the night of my cousin-in-law’s (Roman) birthday. he is considerably older than the five candles on his cake suggest, and he is the husband of my first cousin Gitella. together, they are parents to the adorable 2-year-old Edie (pictured) and 9-year-old Jack (not pictured). they were incredible hosts to Mo and me, allowing us to eat their food, sleep in their house and play with their kids for the four days we were in town, a favor i hope to repay by thanking them on my blog. so THANK YOU, guys!


the magic is in the hole: that is the tagline of Voodoo Doughnut, one of the first Portland landmarks we visited. the doughnuts here are legendary, housed in cute pink buildings and driven around town in cute pink trucks (one of which is reflected in the glass).


hello, cavities: i can confirm that the doughnuts here are, in fact, delicious. they are smothered in all sorts of sugary goodness, most of which emerged from cereal boxes, in addition to some salty delights like bacon (bottom left). my selection was the Oreo doughnut, which is a cookie i generally never eat on its own, but add it to ice cream or explode it over a doughnut and it’s the first thing i reach for. it came with a food face of ecstasy that had my eyes rolling to the back of my head — and a sugar crash.


rice crispies for Mo: sugar crash also included. on a different day Mo sampled the bacon doughnut. he does not recommend it.


reading is fundamental: not that we did much of that on this trip, but we did stop off at Woodstock Library to look at books or, more accurately, the building that housed them, which was designed by THA Architecture. not only did the building look mighty cool, but the fact that hula-hooping pedestrians regularly walk by it made it badass to the bone.


cocktail hour: after visiting the library — and the Portland Art Museum to see the M.C. Escher exhibit — we had become saturated with enough culture to justify a pub crawl. first stop was the Pearl District for a visit to Rogue Brewery, whose logo, bottles and beers i can appreciate. i had a yummy amber ale.


nazdarovya: not sure what Gitella and Roman had, but it appeared to be working for them. two beers on an empty stomach is usually enough to work for me, but we still had daylight and more pubs to hit so we trudged onward on wobbly feet.


i love this word: Deschutes! say it with me now: DESCHUTES! it’s a word to blow your house down — a word that fits the brewery’s big, bold beers perfectly. we had a great time here and consumed some much needed food, most of it beer battered and washed down with ales of every stripe.


kid in a candy store: if that Black Butte XXI grew some legs and boobs, i think Mo would marry it. to be honest, i was getting a little jealous of the way he was fondling the bottle and praising its perfection. personally, i wasn’t a fan — not only because that bitch tasted bitter, but at 11% ABV she came on a little too strong for me. slut.


because we hadn’t had enough beer: we stumbled through the door of Hopworks Urban Brewery, our final destination on the Drink Until You’re Falling Down Pub Crawl Through Portland. i know that we only hit three breweries, but when you’re a thirtysomething who can barely stay up past 11pm on most nights, it feels like 60 breweries. and when you’re me, it feels like even more.


punch drunk love: as the alcohol flowed, so did the love. Roman and Gitella, who recently celebrated 10 years of marriage, got particularly kissy-face to a chorus of “awww” from a peanut gallery that included their friends Dave and Lauren in addition to Mo and me. in between sips and hiccups, the rest of us also managed to engage in a little verbal orgy that had us professing our undying love for each other and declaring that hanging out together was the most fun EVER. and by everyone, i mean me.


lean on me: at that point, Mo’s shoulder was the only thing keeping me upright (as it does most other days as well). we had a few of our own “awww” moments and i managed to forgive the earlier Black Butte XXI fondling incident before collapsing in his arms and slurring, “i ready for beddy time.”

and so concluded our first full day in Portland. more photos follow in the slideshow:

Dish-Interested Double Feature

since returning from the big roadtrip i’ve been a sorry sack of shit about serving as your humble Celebrity Gossip Analyst, but that is about to change with the publication of the last TWO Dish-Interested columns i wrote for Osmosis Online, a very good website that you should be reading daily. my editor asked that i publish only the first few paragraphs of my columns here, with links to the Osmosis site to help drive traffic so please click over to get the full dish.

first up we have a critical analysis of how watching “America’s Next Top Model” can improve your self-esteem. it’s written for the ladies and highlights my own personal neuroses in addition to bashing my favorite egomaniac, Tyra Banks. please read the column while wearing sweats and eating a box of Bon Bons.

Deconstructing ‘America’s Next Top Model’s’ Skinny Bitches, Zit by Zit

Now in its 13th “cycle” (“seasons,” evidently, are so last season), ANTM follows a dozen girls aspiring for the Top Model crown, which comes complete with a Cover Girl contract and a spread in Seventeen magazine.

Winners have included a plus-sized girl and one who overcame a nearly crippling struggle with the skin disorder psoriasis. As a 5' 7" plus-sized girl who’s no stranger to weird skin conditions (turns out they were food allergies), I would like to thank Tyra for giving me a reason to feel beautiful, something I never had before I began to watch the show. Just kidding!

That’s not why I watch it. Sure, it makes me feel good, but not because of its pandering to the “excluded girl,” which is too transparent to be truly effective — especially when one’s jaded and in her thirties. No, I like “America’s Next Top Model” for more deliciously sinister reasons...

next we’re going to talk about an emerging trend in hollywood identified by my acute powers of perception. no, not skinny jeans and ankle boots, but if you guessed star fuckers and meal-ticket babies, award yourself five points. yes, dear readers, it’s true that celebrity DNA is the most sought-after accessory this season. don’t see your lawyer without it.

Meal-Ticket Baby Mania!

Much ink has already been spilled over such women as Kate Gosselin and Octomom Nadya Suleman, the multiple-birth wonders who have dominated the celebrity gossip pages in 2009 with their fertile wombs and questionable appearances. Theirs has been a Jerry Springer-esque story of national proportions, at the root of which is a gaggle of cute kids whose primary function is to serve as paychecks for their mommies.

But less attention has been given to the Star F*cker, the unsung hero of baby mamas who quietly toils at her craft, looking to screw the right star at the right time of the month to produce the ultimate in sex souvenirs: a baby! And not just any baby — a meal-ticket baby who will translate into monthly child support payments and, with the right lawyer, something extra for the mama.

They are the post-modern groupies who understand that the real value in sleeping with celebrities lies not in bragging rights but in DNA...

if you have suggestions for my next column, please suggest. and, as always, thanks for reading. tell your book publisher friends.

Roadtrip: SF to Oregon Border

let’s go drinking! after crossing the Golden Gate Bridge, our next stop was in Novato, California, about 30 miles north of SF, for a little beer tasting at Moylan’s Brewery (because beer makes me a better driver). honestly, Moylans is not my favorite brewery and i’m not sure if that’s because i hate its logo so much — which looks like it was drawn by a Dungeons & Dragons fanatic — or if the beer truly sucks.


what’s on tap? it’s not that it sucks, it’s just that i’ve tasted better beer, which is no fault of Moylan’s. it’s more the result of living with a microbrew aficionado who knows where the best stuff is. still, Mo is partial to their Dragoons Dry Irish Stout, so we stopped to enjoy a beer sampler and a few finger foods before heading toward Tomales Bay.


braving the oyster: you may recall in the last installment of the roadtrip chronicles that Mo and i had an unpleasant encounter with a few unsavory raw oysters that decided to decimate our intestines and leave us bed-ridden for 24 hours. as sucky as that experience was — very, truly, unbelievable sucky — we decided to conquer our fear and continue with the original plan of having oysters for dinner, oysters that would be drenched in flour and DEEP FRIED, so we stopped at Tomales Bay Oyster Company on PCH to pick up a bag of 50 oysters for $48.


coolest guy in Tomales Bay: the oysters were heavy as hell, thrown together in a netted bag, and handed over to us by Mr. Cool with a few packages of ice, which were promptly triple bagged and thrown into the trunk of the car. then Mo, JD, Cesar and i proceeded to play the always fun “who wants to shuck first” game while driving to our next destination in Russian River.


shameless plug: we stayed at my friend Sharon’s incredible Russian River Hideaway, which sleeps six comfortably, has a full kitchen and features other great amenities, including wifi. you should stay there too! see site to make reservations.


JD loses bet, shucks first: shucking oysters can actually be fun, especially once you get into a rhythm, but shucking 50? not so much. plus, there’s that pesky perpetual risk of slicing your hand open, which i’ve done before. also not fun, especially when your palm starts shooting blood all over your dinner and leaves you with a four-inch gash that renders your hand useless until it heals. but that’s a story for another time.


two hours later: behold the delicious Peacemaker Sandwich! this is actually an Emeril recipe taken from one of Mo’s mom’s cookbooks and it’s fucking delicious, especially with tartar sauce. a thousand thank yous to Mo who made dinner for us that night and put all 50 oysters to good use in four satisfied bellies, none of which imploded the next day.


this land was made for you and me: i’m convinced that Russian River has more redwood trees than people — epic redwoods that block out the sky and remind you how powerless humans are in the natural order of Things in the Universe. throughout our one-night stay at the hideaway, i caught myself staring at them more times than i can count, with mouth ajar and head upturned, awestruck in the same way i was when i saw the San Andreas fault, compelled to give them hugs like a bonafide tree hugger. instead, i gave my hugs to Cesar and JD, who headed back to the city while Mo and i continued north.


fast forward four hours: i find myself reunited with The Nature again, this time at Van Damme State Park in Mendocino County, which had the most stunning fern canyon. there were plenty of “oohs” and “aahs” here, too, enough to make me question my self-proclaimed status as an urban snob — or at least make me consider buying a vacation home in Lake Arrowhead.


i will eat your children: the park was filled with signs warning hikers of mountain lions, signs that looked like THIS and read, “keep children close, as mountain lions seem to be especially drawn to them.”


ESB for me: as Mo and i are especially drawn to beer, we made it a point to stop at Anderson Valley Brewing Company in Boonville, a podunk town with a population of 1,370 people. the brewery is truly in the middle of nowhere and near nothing of interest, a predicament that gives its brewers ample time to craft near perfect brews, because what else is there to do in such a small town besides drink? i prefer the ESB, Mo the oatmeal stout.


fast forward again: the third brewery in two days, Lost Coast is in lovely Eureka, California, about 100 miles south of the Oregon border. it’s where we spent our final night in California, with dinner at the brewery, where i had a decent red ale. like Moylans, Lost Coast has a crappy logo and substandard beer — and their chicken salad was mediocre, too.


doesn’t he look like Che Guevara here? i did, however, really like Eureka, which was much bigger and more diverse than i expected it to be. plus, it’s situated in my beloved Nature, amid an expansive redwood forest, which makes the entire city smell like pine, or maybe it was weed as Humboldt State is nearby.