In Which Some Cool Comics, the Black Swan & Matt Groening Serve As a Mirror Inward

I like to sometimes to write about my weekend activities, in case you think I don't get out enough. Rest assured, I do try to make the most out of my days off. At least the first day - then, as is the case with this Sunday, twelve hours are set aside for delicious sleep.

So whether you want to hear it or not (forget the fact that it's easy enough to click off this page), I will happily recall my weekend experiences, in a neat listed form:

Black Swan
I was anxious to see this, and that anxiety followed me throughout it's viewing and into my dreams. As with Aranovsky's film "Requiem for a Dream," I would impart the following advice to any 1st time viewer: prepare to be unnerved.

And I was. I won't go into too much detail because a.) I trust you aren't reading this blog for a movie review (and if you are, I apologize, though it's a very good idea, come to think of it....), and b.) giving it away would be awfully rude.


I will say this: Winona Ryder is exquisitely scary, the music of "Swan Lake" is as haunting as the jaunty hand-held choreography, and the entire experience of watching this movie will make make your insides feel as dark and hollow as the cheekbones of a ballerina.
Hence, good stuff.

Brooklyn Comics & Graphics Festival
Conveniently located down the street from our apartment, the festival proved to be the perfect way to spend our Saturday (and our money). Crowded, yes; but filled to the brim with some awesome comic artists, which I feel compelled to share with you all, as I spent the entirety of last night adding their blogs to my Google reader and subsequently goggling at their art. And, as a bonus, may I remind you that they are all lovely ladies, which gives this sort of lovely lady hope.

• Junko Mizuno - bought a signed copy (!) of her first manga (now out of print), "Cinderella." Cute and deadly are the words that best describe her style.

• Jennifer Tong - alas, I could not bring myself to shell out the $50 for her beautiful neon lemonade silkscreens, but luckily I was able to see all her fruitallucinations on her site. (Yeah, that's right, I shoved that pun right in your face.)

 

• Marian Churchland - though she wasn't at the festival, I felt I had to bring her up in the company of my new fave female comickers. The main squeeze of Brandon Graham (also a great artist, and the brain behind "King City"), Marian lives in Canada and brings the cuteness as she she blogs about pie and jackets. I snagged a copy of "ELEPHANTMEN: Damaged Goods" last time I was at Bergen Street Comics. Good investment!

Fittingly, Marian's cover for Brandon's "King City."

• Aidan Koch - I passed by her table quickly, trying to keep myself from nabbing a copy of "The Whale," in all its water-colored poetic glory. Later on I find out it was actually the artist herself sitting quietly there, trying to sell her first comic ever. Now I really wished I'd bought it.

 

• Jungyeon Roh - again with the expensive silkscreens! So wonderful and yet so out of reach....I really wish she had been selling her book. I understand the reasoning for the price however; >sigh< if I only I were rich enough to buy art instead of getting angry at myself for not creating it.

 

• Lisa Hanawalt - I can't take complete credit for this find; for Ryan, it was love at first sight with the "Hats" sketch. I soon followed after he brought home #1 and 2 of her "I Want You" series. Not many women can get away with psycho sexual animals and subtle fart jokes...but Lisa can.  

Click to enlarge (believe me, it's worth it to see the Irritable Bowel Syndrome hat

Matt Groening
This is what really made the weekend - after 3 hours of festival goodness, Ryan and I make our way to the entrance. And who is standing at the Ad House Books booth, bag full of goodies, but the creator of "The Simpsons" himself, the first artist I ever learned the name of at the tender age of 7 - in short my hero - Matt Groening. Ryan urges me on, and I sheepishly creep up behind the unsuspecting victim guy and introduce myself. (Finally, knowing the real pronunciation of his name pays off!)

As is the case with most celebrity/hero sightings, I babble on about loving his work and seem to forget my confidence. Out pours my undying devotion for "The Simpsons" over the course of my lifetime (which coincided with the shows existence as well.) He chuckled at the image of me with a Bart doll in the crib, and I thanked him for bringing years of humorous dinner time TV to my family.

You'll be happy to know that Mr. Groening is a perfect gentleman and all-around nice guy, who seems genuinely pleased with meeting fans; and thank goodness, as dealing with a motor mouth like me can prove to be difficult. He even asked me what I did, after I professed that my love of film mainly stemmed from his Simpsons parodies. What proceeded was my usual explanation of "Well, I'm a producer...for test commercials, but that's not what I want to do.....I actually went to school for film directing and writing, and I also did animation, but I had to ultimately choose one, and I'm still paying it all off..." yada yada. The poor man.

And then the most insightful thing came out of his mouth: "Well, what do you want to do?"

Apart from being completely flabbergasted at his wanting to know in the first place, I also had to stop and think. Why would he ask me that question? And why was this happening today, of all days, at the comics festival of all places? Was there perhaps something serendipitous about this particular moment?

All I can say is that ever since he asked me, I've been wondering about the same question myself.

‽

RACSO is OSCAR Spelled Backwards

Last night was the 2nd annual Oscar party at Brian's place! (Brian has surround sound speakers, a Nintendo Wii, Super NES, hoards of food provided by his [Jewish] mother , and a wide screen TV with digital cable - in other words, opposite of my apartment. Hence, his domain is almost always the designated party location.)

Even though I lost the Oscar pool, we all had a great time getting all Mystery Science Theater on that shit. While my attitude towards the Oscars certainly has changed, as I've explained before, there were still many laughs to be had.

Here's a list of things you may have missed during the Oscars in between chip-dips:

• George Clooney could often be seen staring down Alec Baldwin with the evil eye, making odd faces for the annoying camera that seemed to show or humorously bobbing his head to the epic orchestral music. Extra points for opting towards a less serious and more goofball Oscar attitude.

• Anyone notice Samuel L. Jackson's little eye roll after Mo'nique's speech? Yeah, he knows. Girl has attitude. Even Sam Jack's like, "Damn woman."

• Music by Prudence producer pulls a Kanye. Here's why.

• I was never really a horror movie fan, but after being Ryan's main squeeze (and he is the horror master), I should be knowledgeable about these things at least by association. So, yeah that horror reel was pretty bad. If it can't make me flinch it must have failed.

• Is it just me, or does T-Bone Burnett look EXACTLY like James Cameron, circa 10 years ago? We were all convinced he was switching identities back and forth between commercial breaks to covet the Oscar. Why else would he be wearing sunglasses...eh? eh?

• Gaborney Sibide's mom joins her in the audience. This is blowing my mind, considering I pass by her every day in the subway station as she sings to Michael Jackson's greatest hits!

• There is a freakish looking man sitting behind Helen Mirren. In Ryan's words, "it looks like Jerry O'Connell's face exploded."

• I honestly don't understand how you can dance to orchestral soundtrack music. Nor do I understand how break-dancing and the robot are justifiable in this instance. I'd rather sit through Randy Newman singing two songs then watch this crap. Suddenly, we all collectively begin to imagine how Randy Newman would sing a narrative to the dancing action, sort of like this.

For a slightly more mature interpretation of Oscar night, visit my film blog.

Tales of a Drain Delver

Saturday was beautiful. The sun was out, the temperature was mild, and I felt free. Free from work, free from worry, and anxious for spring.

After taking a walk in Prospect Park, I begrudgingly returned to my messy apartment and realized, "I have no time to dilly-dally." My kitchen is covered in a graveyard of plastic Vitamin Water bottles, there's a sink full of encrusted oatmeal bowls, and my tub is covered in a layer of grime from the stagnant water refusing to go down the drain.

So much for a relaxing day off.

I left the kitchen for Ryan. I will handle any bodily liquid, excrement or foul animal substance. I do not fear blood. In fact, since I'm the only one in my family that can stomach such things. (We soon learned in my family that having dad change diapers and cleaning up puke usually resulted in more puke.) However, when it comes to handling soggy, smelly food, count me the fuck out.

I could never have been a waitress. Just the sight of other people's leftovers makes me gag. Anyone who chews with their mouth open, or uses their fingers to eat, deserves to have their face slammed down into their plate. Cleaning out the sink drain of its putrefied remains is equally appalling; which is why I opted for the tub drain instead.

Let me explain to you that this was an hour long ordeal. This was not pour some chemicals and watch your trouble drain away. This was a tie your hair up, get the bleach, get on your hands and knees, and perform surgery on this mofo.

First I scrubbed the grime off the bottom of the tub. Don't do this before you clean the drain. You will be pissed when you realize that this was all for naught. I found out the hard way.

I stuck on the rubber gloves, reached into the drain, and started pulling out what appeared to be a hairy mass of globular....something. It was not pretty. Think creepy girl from the The Ring.

Or this:
I thought for a moment of all the different substances that possibly made up this blob-like creature that was hanging from my clenched rubber hands. Head & shoulders? Feet grime? Snot rockets? Better not to question.

I managed to get most of it out and ran the water, expecting the waters to clear. But no! A grimy film still clang to the surface of the puddle, as I, dejected, slumped over the side of the tub.

That's when I got the hanger. Twisted it into two prongs for prying. Then dove in. I scraped and reached for whatever gobbilty-gook that remained. It was pitch dark; I couldn't see. All I got were glimpses of a slimy grey mass peaking through a watery abyss. It was like I was performing a fucking abortion on my tub drain for chrisssakes.

By the end of the evening, I had gotten nowhere with this drain debacle, and it was once again covered in a battleground of hair and grime. I left for dinner with hands smelling like mildewed rubber. You win this time, tub. But I'll be back. With the acidic vengeance of a bottle of Drano.

That night, Ryan and I had dinner at Zen Sushi on St. Mark's with co-workers Ben and Wen. (Sounds like an early reader verse....."Ben and Wen went out to Zen for some ra-men"....) We've gone to this place a couple of times before; they're always crowded, but they have half-priced sushi and some decent chicken dishes.

Afterward, upon reading the check, he realizes they've charged him full price. We explain this to the Asian waiter, who sort of rudely accuses Ben of sharing with Wen. This is a stupid assumption, since Wen had already eaten dinner at a table close-by nearly 4o minutes before; she hadn't touched his food. Yet the waiter still INSISTS she's shared, as her chopstick is lying in his soy sauce. (Blasphemy!)

You can't just slap on a sharing price without a warning. And even if we were lying (which we were not), the customer is always right.

He finally agreed to take down the price. But when he came back with the receipt, there was an extra service charge already added!

Ben proceeded to scribble the words "Bad Service" on the receipt, as well as an angry face for emphasis. This is more or less what he drew:
Ryan and I stared at it for a bit, then a look of muted horror passed between us both. Somehow even a rude waiter didn't deserve to be the victim of even an unintentional racial slur.

He crossed it out quickly. And drew a proper unhappy face; no stereotypes this time. I may be unkosher, but I have my boundaries. Except when it comes to comparing abortions to cleaning drains.

Damn You, Leap Year!

It came to my attention Sunday morning (or rather, that afternoon, as I woke up at 12pm), that it was already March. When the fuck did that happen??

I shouldn't really complain, since just last week I was convinced that the next month was actually April. Time goes fast enough these days that I don't really notice when months come and go...even when they're not going anywhere. Life is like one long, grueling day, lucid dreams mostly bridging the gap between days to make it seem like I've never really fallen asleep at all. I honestly can't tell the difference between what happens in reality, and what I imagine in my subconscious.

Anywho, my point being, the past couple of weeks have gone by in a blur and I should probably recap them for my own sake lest they disappear from my memory forever (Hel-lo senility at 24!)

I also like lists and making extra blog posts, as opposed to including them all in one hit. It makes it seem like there is less to read, so readers can't complain about being bored.

∆ Valentine's Day Weekend
This was Rybotz and I's 2nd year together. We decided to celebrate my giving eachother the gift of a sexy virus. I managed to get away with only two days of relative misery, but I was a much better giver. He was incapacitated whole weekend by a general mess of mucus induced coughing. Though it did give him an attractively deep Barry-White-esque baritone, this was usually accompanied by excessive hacking and the question, "Why does my life have to suck so much?" My gift was apparently not appreciated.

So, most of the weekend was spent sleeping profusely (which I am not opposed to), making trips to the pharmacy, and frantically trying to find food as we were too tired/lazy to cook. (Granted, our kitchen is covered in cockroach carcasses - not too appetizing.) At the checkout counter, the pharmacist rung up my Valentine's stash: Robitussin, Gatorade,Vick's Vapo-Rub, antibiotics, box of tissues and 24pk of Trojan Magnums. As I asked her if pseudophedrine would work on my boyfriend's mucus-filled lungs, I realized that I should have added "This is not what it looks like."

All that aside, Rybotz and I did become closer in our mutual sickness. And we did manage to have our moments. He braved cigarette smoke and factory mildew at Death by Audio so that we could see Class Actress live. They were awesome, the decor was sweet, and so was Rybotz. I could see the twinkle in his eyes as he leaned into me with the music. And then blew his nose.

Class Actress @ Death by Audio

Stay tuned for more posts that are a bit belated.

Weekend Enlightenments (or "It's About Damn Time Ya Blogged!")

Lots of things happened this weekend. And since I'm too far behind on my blog in general, (and I very much enjoy lists) I will quickly run through the highlights, in no particular order, and possibly provide an explanation when I deem it necessary:

∆ Amazing Mexican food at Taco Chulo in Williamsburg
Let it be known that I am not a taco fan: at least not a taco that has anything more than the stapled meat, cheese and tortilla ala powdered flavoring sauce. But my steak quesadilla combo, with Chihuahua cheese & onions ($14) came with an amazingly spicy tortilla soup (better than chicken noodle!) and a sweet, tomato salsa (I don't even like tomatoes!)
Of course, the Mexican hot chocolate aperitif won me over from the very start.

∆ The realization of two new great memoir title ideas:
- "Sorry for My Greasy Napkin"
- "I Opened My Mouth and My Teeth Got Cold"

∆ Pretty sure the movie "The Happening" is tongue-in-cheek.
I know Mark Walberg is a bad actor....but here is no way that he could be THAT bad without some purpose. (Either I over- or under-estimate his potential.) Those fishbowl perspective shots, the ridiculousness of the story, and the hilarity of the dialogue are very telling of an albeit forced parody, not just a "horrible movie."
Did that make it more more enjoyable, and hence good? Well I did laugh my ass off. (C'mon, that crazy woman at the end had so many good one liners, ie; "Why are you eyeing my lemon drink?").
I just wonder if Shyamalan really meant to pull our leg.

∆ NES Games had awesome music.
The game "NARC" let's you blow up drug dealers, limbs flying everywhere, whilst you listen to this awesome music. Other than that, I still maintain that after 15 minutes, I lose all interesting in playing any video game.

∆ John Goodman was in "C.H.U.D." ('84)!
(Presumed eaten by cannibalistic humanoid underground dwellers on Kenmare & Lafayette, which still has the same small diner marquee, now a Mexican food hotspot.) Daniel Stern and John Heard also acted alongside eachother, then were reunited in Home Alone. Great film to see the grimy evidence of SOHO before its fashion gentrification - I feel like this should be a double feature alongside Street Trash.
Another little nipplet of knowledge: (you'll understand my shitty pun in a second...) On the DVD Extras menu, click on the flashing cursors over the creature's eyes and you'll get to see the shower scene in all its topless glory. Don't judge; everyone enjoys boobs.

∆ Ft. Greene has KICK ASS apartments!
Slanted roofs! Turrets! Towers! Bay windows!
Williamsburg has lots of condos.......with no one in them.

∆ Something in the world of Chat 'n' Chew has cha-changed....
Their fries are no longer seasoned. They serve brunch (or did they always? I never do get outdoors by 12pm), and they have a new dessert fridge...not that I'm complaining that they have more room for cake. And the mac 'n' cheese is still delectable and gut-busting.
What will I miss most? The cute 50's-ish, retro diner paraphernalia decor. No more decrepit tin Coca-Cola signs or vintage toasters...where have they gone?! And more importantly, where can I buy them?

∆ John Carpenter's student film "Dark Star" is sort of boring.
Funny? Sometimes. The giant beach ball alien was the best part, but alas, deflated early on.
However, I bet as a student film it was pretty awesome, considering the special effects used to recreate the 2001-esque setting.

∆ They may have changed Domino's pizza sauce, but their cheesy bread still rocks.
And in case you're wondering this is the same day of the mac 'n' cheese. Hence, my weekend cheesy-carb diet.

∆ Isabella Rossellini is in "Death Becomes Her." And she is HOT.
Something I probably didn't quite get at age 10 while watching it on Channel 11's Sunday Night Movie.

∆ After cleaning my closet out for the first time in 5 years, I was able to stuff 6 large shopping bags full of unwanted/never worn/worn out/shrunken clothing away from my wardrobe forever.
Beacon's Closet credit price: $12.50.

>sigh<

The Low Points of the High Line

I know I'm going to get a lot of crap for this (as if anyone actually reads my blog), but the High Line is probably the biggest tourist trap I have ever seen. I can't knock it too much, since it is free. However, I don't think it's a coincidence that it's located at the center of the meatpacking district - home to some of the priciest and most commercial brands in yuppie Manhattan. Also, it's sponsored by Target - who also gives us Free 1st Saturdays at many museums. But what with their branded hats and t-shirt wearing minions directing traffic to the park, and the pamphlets crying out their alleged use of rainforest wood, one has to wonder about their true intentions...

And yes, there was traffic. Like, Disneyworld-cue-lines-in-the-hot-sun-traffic. Just for a chance to ascend the old elevated freight train platform for a 15 min stroll from 12th to 20th. Because when I go to parks, waiting on long lines amidst a crowd of Manhattan-ites yapping about their latest fashion purchases and brunch dates, and gasping profoundly at the decidedly "modern" artistic design of ugly, minimalistic Ikea-like wood paneling is exactly the kind of natural escape from daily life I need. Here are just some of the highlights, categorized by Pros & Cons, of the new High Line Park:**

~ PROS ~

The Dreamland band. Look familiar?

Balloons, fashioned into deep sea creatures.
Some with nice legs. (They were dancing, by the way. Just imagine seeing this from afar, and tell me what you would think.)

These guys.

Free lemonade!

I thought the most interesting was the scenery OUTSIDE of the park; the juxtaposition of old, decrepit New York and it's antiquated brick buildings, with the new, sleek, ultra-modern glass paneled metropolis (which, in my opinion, is infinitely boring and a mar on the entire classic skyline.) There were a few interesting ones, a mix of the two worlds, but I can definitely say that old New York had much more character.

You can't convince me that these buildings are NOT made of legos.
Straight out of middle-aged Europe, this is one of the most beautiful pieces of architecture I have laid eyes on. Wikipedia describes it as "The General Theological Seminary of the Episcopal Church and its college-like close, sometimes called "Chelsea Square", a city block of tree-shaded lawns between 9th and 10th Avenues and between West 20th and West 21st Streets. The campus is ringed by more than a dozen brick and brownstone buildings in Gothic Revival style."
And it shall be mine. One day.


Probably the only time worth visiting the High Line - at night.

~ CONS ~


Oh my, what beautiful.........weeds.
(Ryan didn't see how this was any different from Ohio, where railroad tracks, weeds, and others signs of deteriorated industry overgrown by vegetation are quite common. It seems most New Yorkers, however, have no sense of anything outside their perfect, metropolitan world, and thus, totally bought this rusty little piece of forgotten history as "a work of art." Go figure.)

Wow, I'm really glad we have such a great view from up here - of Armani ads.
(Cause I really need to see the grabbing of a crotch up close.)

Yuppies.
If alcohol weren't banned in public parks, you know they'd be drinking cosmopolitans.

Just some of the overheard sophisticated topics of interest:

- Shoes
- Wimbledon, and how many tickets one could score
- the Silver Ghost car, and how it is "obviously the most beautiful car ever"
- Antioxidant Gummy Bears (they're, like, SOO good!)

Look, I don't want to be a Scrooge here; anything that brings family and friends together, from all cultures and religions, to share in a relaxing day side-by-side with something close to a celebration of art and nature, is all good in my book. Perhaps I'm just being a whiny, middle class, ex-NYU student who's lifestyle isn't quite as metropolitan as most native New Yorkers'. Or maybe, just maybe, I'd like to see a little bit of integrity in this city for once. We're not stupid, after all.....or are we?

The best moment of the day is a short conversation we had with a little old woman. "It's amazing to see what's happened to this neighborhood over the years. I think it look much better in the old days."

I hear ya, sister.

Go here for some photos of the High Line the way it used to be....and as it should be.

**Alas, I was too underwhelmed to take my own pictures. (In the future, I should learn to use the energy of my angry aversion to events like these to fuel my desire to document such experiences. Much like I have in words.) The photos shows are from the Flickr account of "Friends of the High Line," a group I am obviously not a part of.

Saturday Shake Down

There are a few spur of the moment times in one's life that, thinking back on, seem so ridiculous and improbable in your daily routine, that you sort of wonder if it ever really happened at all.

Saturday, March 28th was one of those nights.

It all started the way it usually starts: we were bored and were trying to find something to do. Ryan had gotten an events email with this peculiar (yet enticing) blurb:

Shake(hands)(booty)(milk) Shake hands. Shake your booty. Enjoy a milkshake. I'll bet, if you're the least bit like me, you have always dreamed of these things ... These things all having to do with the magical word Shake, coming together into beautiful union, one place, one time: HiChristina. Well starlights, your wait is over. By visiting HiChristina tonight, you will behold the ultimate shake experience. .....Continuous film, improvisation and performances will be happening throughout this delightful Saturday evening. Come to learn, dance and make romance.

Who wouldn't be curious? Any place that gave free milkshakes was okay in my book. A $5 donation was cheaper than a $12 movie or a $10 bar bust, so onward we went to Grand St. Brooklyn!

When we found the small storefront with it's lonely projector screen and a glowing green torso manican, we walked on. Little creepy. We would wait it out until more victims came. And so we camped out in the cafe across the street, as Tory joined us.

By 9pm we got the courage to knock on their door as a cluster of people had gathered inside to watch a picture slideshow. A blonde girl in a leopard print frock and black leggings greeted us, welcoming us in and promptly asking for a donation. We gave her cash, tummies rumbling for milkshakes.

We were introduced to the small group: Christina, the blonde, had a dreamy look, and was sure she had seen me somewhere before.

Fritz was gangly and wearing loose leopard print pants which clearly showed his junk swinging as his body did the same.
Caroline was an older woman wearing a black beret and coat, of the beatnick type.
One girl had bright red short, scraggly hair, that only till later did we discover to be a wig.
Chris, our "handshake expert," seemed slightly out of place in a dapper blazer, velvet scarf, thick rimmed black Ray Bans & an [almost] pompadour.

We were giggly and felt a bit awkward, seeing as how we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into, but the hell with it anyway. Also, Tory took this time explain how she knew a girl who asked her boyfriend to get slap her with a fish during intercourse, and how they went shopping for fish together. She and Chris had a lengthy discussion about what fish she would choose, as not all fish are the same size. Salmon perhaps?

Meanwhile, Christina and Fritz began their warm up shake. There was a whole lot of shaking going on (including the aforementioned Fritz junk). It was almost an interpretive dance. Then all of us had to go up in pairs to do a "spur-of-the-moment" shake. Tory tried to show Ryan how to move his hips...it didn't work. Chris and I went up, and I randomly twirled on one foot while shaking my finger ala 1920..... I would.

This was followed by a decicion to go from milkshakes to frappes with root beer and then to ice cream sandwiches, as there were no ingredients for the latter two. Sad, but ice cream was yummy and a good, normal distraction from the craziness.

Sticky-fingered, we formulated our own secret handshakes with our partners, incorporating snaps, wiggles, flips, handstands and [my own invention] sassy scarf swipes. The finale was Christina and Fritz's bare butt-on-butt action.

We sat down. Looked at eachother, half laughing and half wondering what the fuck was going on. All we could do was smile and engrain this moment in our brains for all time.

Two Australians and some other random people joined from outside to see what the commotion was about. Some pimply, stubbled creepster approached me asking, "Are you from Eastern Europe? You look it. You look like all the girls I previously went out with, and every one of them was named Monica." The conversation ended there.

After doing some booty shaking, we all felt it was time to skidattle from the colorful crowd. Chris and Georgia (the Australian) suggested we grab a drink, which we all quite needed in fact. We said our goodbyes with Fritz and Christina nearly following us out the door and begging us to come again. Under Chris' gigantor umbrella, we walked to a crowded bar and found a nice velvet plush seat to sink into.

I grabbed Ryan a $3 PBR, and then tried to ask the bartender what mixed and well drinks they had. After waiting about 5 minutes for him to sluggishly find the man who had ordered a Stella, he looked at me dumbfounded.

"That is the stupidest questions I've ever heard. How do I know?"

Um, I dont know, maybe because you're the freakin' BARTENDER. I didn't need a drink anyway.

Mood almost ruined, if not for the good company. We all had a grand 'ol time relishing in the events of the night, and vowed to meet again.

Next night was the First Run Film Fest at NYU. See my other blog for all the juicy details.

All in all, what did we learn? That "foozle" is another for "fart."