MARC D’AVIGNON. BLOG.

What child hasn’t lost a father or a husband to a 19th century whaling accident?  Is there a young man in this day and age who hasn’t gotten roughed up by an Irish tough in the Old Bowery?  Can you say – with a straight face – that your mother didn’t die of consumption in an asylum for the infirmed and hysterical?  Saying you don’t enjoy the Decemberists, is like saying you don’t enjoy a bright bouquet of asteraceaes, or the feel of an ivory mustachio comb, or a mournful dirge about a twin brother who died (or was murdered?) on an unnamed Civil War battlefield.

I don’t think I understand you.  Maybe you should try harder to like music.

January 1st, 2009       1 Comment

Experience the supple feel and unbridled comfort that wearing three cows can provide. Enjoy the near-total body coverage of the garment John Wayne affectionately referred to as his “bathrobe.” Thrill to finally having enough pockets to organize your gaming die based on the number of sides.

Starring in a Kevin Costner-penned period piece for TNT with Hal Holbrook? Need to take your Neo/Agent Smith sexual role-play to the next level? Looking to impress and intimidate that girl who works the Arby’s counter near the arcade? Want to tell everyone you don’t enjoy the touch of humans? Or just planning a workaday office or school massacre?

A leather duster is the right choice for everything for a Ron Paul-style apocalypse to hiding this morning’s breakfast burrito droppings. So, visit your local Internet, purchase a leather duster and declare to the world that you’re either a self-aggrandizing dork or a dangerous sociopath. In a leather duster they won’t be able to tell.

August 1st, 2008       No Comments

Contrary to Hasbro’s original intent, the acquisition of a “My Buddy” is fraught with fun and hilarious psychological meaning:

First, your child has no friends.

Second, your child has no imagination.

Third, you have given up on your child.

This is of course, the purchase they will point back to when health and human services pull your lumbering, dullard son out from under  soiled stacks of the Fresno Bee at his rent-by-the-week efficiency.

Note: the purchase of a “Kid Sister” besides being marginally creepier, sends a fourth message: mommy is now, by choice or accident, barren.

July 13th, 2008       No Comments

“So it’s basically Scooby Doo, but instead of a dog we’ve got a shark.”

“Didn’t we just greenlight this?”

“That was Josie and the Pussycats Mr. Barbera sir.”

“Ok so this one has a shark. Are sharks big?”

“Jaws did very well at the box office last year.”

“Yes it did. Ok, so what does this shark do?”

“Well, the shark and his human friends solve mysteries in an underwater city. He also plays drums in a band called the Neptunes.”

“So, this shark, he can breath air?”

“Sure. And he can walk and talk.”

“A shark that walks, talks and breaths air. Who also plays in a band. I’m not sure I buy that, Rudy.”

More…

June 19th, 2008       1 Comment

Mr. Coleman was in the booth next to us eating a steak at Dan Tana’s. He has a cut named after him there. I really hoped he was eating the Dabney Coleman. I pictured him saying to the waiter “I’ll have me, medium rare.” But I knew that didn’t happen. He was older, his salt and pepper hair turned completely white, and he was dining alone. But he was drunk in a good, jovial way and he enjoyed hitting on my producer. I could tell he was happy. And if Dabney Coleman was happy, then everything must be all right.

June 15th, 2008       1 Comment

There is no truth to be found in these words. Every post and every picture is a baldfaced lie. The depth and breadth of the lies is both complete and shameless: there is everything from smudgy white lies, to great big whopper lies to lies that will burn the eyes of your soul just to glance at them. Facts are shunned, dates are changed willy-nilly, persons are invented from whole cloth and and the truth is turned out and tricking under the overpass

Who am I? I am a large-breasted media girl looking forward to blaming it on the chardonnay. I am a call center in Bangalore. I am a smooth jazz impresario named Abdul. I am an associate marketing director who really appreciates a perfectly trimmed goatee. I am a jaundiced shut-in whose stacks and stacks of the Sacramento Bee (June 1, 1968 – current) are slowly closing in. I am the only one in the whole world who gets me and am pinning a Subhumans patch to my duster. I am Officer Mike and I have decided on a name for my new catamaran (Sea-nanigans II). I am a Model Railroader subscriber who hopes his lawn is as green and lush as last year. I am the god of hell-fire. I am experiencing painful chafing. I am here for the free buffet.

I am probably lying right now.

June 8th, 2008       No Comments