The Garab Chronicles

File Under: Fabulous Things I Only Wish I Could Do Too

I knew I should've stuck with those stupid piano lessons. Just wait, next I'll find something that makes me long for that violin I couldn't wait to put down as a kid so I could work on my trick pelvis.

Hope XI

In 2007, Parvin Ardalan was sentenced to 3 years in prison for threatening national security, when she attempted to gather 1 million signatures in a petition for women's rights in Iran.

The state's official line is that it holds no political prisoners.

Women have been at the forefront of the current struggle against the Ahmadinejad regime, leading protests, and defying the armed Basiji militiamen who continue to wage a campaign of fear and brutality against anyone who defies the current government.

For more on Iran's human rights activists, and the current post-election fallout there, check out The Daily Beast.

#neda #iranelection

Bea Arthur Died Today -

She was 86, and she was the very embodiment of fierce (yes, I brought that word back, just for her).

Remember her, kids. She was one of the very best.

It's Monday, Do You Know Where Your Musical Theatre Is?

I couldn't help myself. I heard Julie Andrews' voice and that was it.

T-Shirts! Get Yer T-Shirts!!

First, the disclaimer: I don't work for these people, and The Garab Chronicles ain't gettin' no kickbacks from anybody buying a shirt.

Now, on to the good stuff. If you've been to any of the anti-Prop 8 rallies here in California, you've probably seen the Shepard Fairey image on the spiffy t-shirt worn by the fetching model below.

Now, Shepard's teamed up with F.A.I.R., a community based organization working for marriage equality across California and beyond as we do really fun stuff, like fight for the fundamental civil rights that religious whack jobs keep trying to take away. 

Not only is Mr. Fairey an awesome tipper (as The Garab can personally attest to, having served him a few dozen lattes when I worked at his neighborhood coffee shop a few years back), but he's also the guy that created the ubiquitous Obama graphic that you probably wore on your chest right up until the last election...and that may well be clinging to your unshowered body right now.

 So go on, indulge. Put that extra small t-shirt on your maxed out credit card and wear it to the farmer's market with glee.

Hopefully, by the time this shirt becomes thread-bare and you're wearing it to the gym, Proposition 8 and all its evil brethren (I'm looking at you Florida, Arizona, and Arkansas) will be but a distant memory.

SAM SPARROW - 1 GRAMMY NOMINATION LATER, YA'LL!!!

Shameless friend promotion - Garab favorite and resident superstar SAM SPARROW just got nominated for a frakkedy-frakkin' Grammy! Like most of you out there, I could usually care less about such trifles.

But this is SAM - so I'll be Tivo'ing the shit. I might even go back to  iTunes and buy the album again...and again...and  again.

Just in Case You Missed It...

And then-

And Then...

A Lesson Before Shopping

Men,

   When you find yourselves in need of feminine hygiene products, where can you turn? Standing alone in the cold of aisle 6 at the all night pharmacy, Fleet enemas to your right and a stack of tampon pearl necklaces in a box to your left, how do you know which product to discreetly sneak into your shopping basket for sweet, elusive relief?  And once you’ve managed to get home with the plastic bag double wrapped and stuffed into the makeshift marsupial pouch you made by combining your undershirt with the top of your boxers, how on earth will you know what the hell to do with the contents?

   Well, gentlemen, if you reached for the pearly tampon thing with the parachute string hanging out, then there isn’t a damn thing I can do to help you. If, however, you seek to unlock the secrets of the female sanitary napkin, then you’re in luck, for this garab shall be your unhappy, now thoroughly experienced, guide.

   To begin, my fellow travelers, let us begin by examining what brought you to maxi pad land to begin with. Why are you here? What forces within and without your control conspired to bring you to isle 6? Perhaps you’re struggling with deep gender identity issues and woven cotton padding is part of the month your doctor prescribed before proceeding to a pre-op consultation. Maybe you’re lost; you were looking for the candy aisle where you could pick up king sized candy bars to smuggle into that really long movie at the multiplex down the road, but now you’re looking at that jumbo pack of Always with wings and thinking “Hey, I’m about to walk into a really long movie starring Scott Speedman and I won’t want to get up for a single minute to go to the bathroom.”  But, guys, if you’re like me, there’s only one thing that could have brought you to aisle 6 in broad daylight, and that, my friends, is a bleeding asshole – forgive me, I meant an uncontrollably excreting asshole.

   Now, boys, there are no two ways to say this: if your oozing sphincter is involuntarily unleashing anything other than a room clearing silent-but-deadly gas cloud– and who can really ever control those, anyway? – then you have a problem that could very well endanger that very expensive collection of designer porn star underwear that it’s taken six months and a whole lot of penny pinching to acquire. Drastic measures must be taken, and unless you have a portable suction device like that thing they have at the dentist’s office(not to mention a hygienist willing to travel with it), the only solution is this: padding.  Sweet, made in America, exported to Brazil, repurposed and then imported from China padding.

“But Moe, which adult diaper do I choose?”

   Whoa, whoa there my fellow testicle owner! A maxi pad is not an adult diaper; nothing could be further from the truth. A maxi pad is something that adults use to line their underwear so that they don’t leak all over the place, and to call it a diaper is inaccurate, and can be construed as an insult to the millions of adults the world over who maxi every day so that they don’t wet themselves.

   But now we come to it: once you’ve decided to maxi, which maxi do you choose? Who do you trust? Is it the blue box with the wavy graphics and the free beach towel with mail in rebate, or the pink box with the manufacturer’s guarantee that a single pad has the same absorbing power as an entire roll or paper towels? Or is today the day that your lucky color becomes lavender? The simple answer is this: you go for the box that’s clearly marked “UNSCENTED”! I don’ know who the fuck decided they knew what a summer rain smells like, but I’m pretty sure they’ve never stood out in a category 5 storm sniffing the wind. And if by some strange miracle that were the magical scent of water from the sky during the month of June , then the last thing I want to associate it with is the smell of used wetness between my legs.

   Rule #2: Wings are for birds and airplanes, so unless you plan on going skydiving and you just have to have that failsafe in case you need to break a 15,000 foot fall, leave that shit on the shelf and go with the regular. As for maximum cushioning comfort, avoid the “light days” brands at all cost. All that shit’s good for is a burning case of the chaffy chaffs, especially if you plan on walking more than 12 steps while wearing the things. I know the light pads, or “longs” as we old pros refer to them, are more discreet and won’t bulge through your jeans to announce to everyone walking behind you that you’re wearing Playtex; do the honorable thing and wear sweatpants. We’re talking about bung-hole healing here, people. There’s no such thing as too comfortable, or too inappropriate. Besides, when you sit down on that bus stop bench to flirt with the homeless guy napping under the “no trespassing” sign outside your office building, you’ll be extra grateful for that extra layer of pillowy goodness. “Like floating on a semi-moist cloud,” you’ll tell yourself.

   And all the while, you’ll keep reminding yourself that one day soon, this too shall pass. That gaping wound that’s caused you unspeakable pain will close up any day now, and all you’ll be left with are the fond memories – and the knowledge that one day you’ll get to look at your grand-children(or that puppy you adopt when no one else will have you) and tell them anything, and I do mean anything but this.

Ladies and Gentlemen, MR. SAM SPARROW!!!!!!

   Mark my words, people, if you're not already singing Black and Gold in the shower, you will be very soon. And then you'll catch yourself mouthing the words in your rear view mirror during rush hour traffic on the Cahuenga Pass, miss your left turn, and get screamed at by the old lady in the vintage Mustang who's been riding your bumper for three and a half blocks.
   And when she marches up to your driver's side and taps on the glass, you'll be able to roll down your window and say:
    "If you're not really here,
     Then I don't wanna be either.
     I wanna be next to you.
     Black and Gold,
     Black and Gold,
     Black and Gold!"
   And when her hips shimmy to the left, then the right, you'll be able to say "Rock on, Grandma!", as you watch her unattended car roll down the hill behind you...and crash into a group of Bike Out cyclists who've been holding  the motorists below hostage for 20 minutes.
   You and Grandma will look at each other, shrug, and laugh at the carnage before you run over her foot and flee the scene to avoid filling out that pesky police report. Just make sure that as you drive off, leaving gimpy Grandma in your dust, you remind her to buy the single(now available on iTunes and KCRW.com).