Slow Adventures in Slothville

March 4, 2008

Separated at Birth: Hunk Edition

Filed under: Boys, Celebrity Whoredom — shhville @ 9:17 pm

I think we’ve discovered our theme for the week. Boys, boys, boys. Let’s continue with the latest Separated at Birth post: Brad Pitt and Robert Redford.

Brad Pitt has been morphing into Robert Redford for some time now, but every time I brought it up people said I was crazy. But THEY were crazy. CAN YOU NOT SEE WITH YOUR EYES, NAYSAYERS?

Then, last May, The Daily Mail published a tidbit that totally backed me up, complete with photo comparison:

So I was vindicated and that was that. Yay! But THEN, Angie and Brad showed up at the Independent Spirit Awards last week looking like a very hot time warp:

Oh, sorry, wrong photo.

All the goss rags were saying that Brad looked like a 70’s porn star, but all I saw was Robert Redford. I mean look at him:

All he needs is a ‘stache and a dirt shower and he’s the Sundance Kid.

So that’s that. I’m right (as always) and PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE backs me up. In other (hysterical) Robert Redford news, remember back when he made a movie with Cruise and Streep that no one went to see including you? Well, the goss at the time was that Streep and Redford were bailing on most of their promotional obligations because they were both so turned off and creeped out and fed up with His Majesty Tom Cruise that they refused to even be in the same room with him. Totally plausible, right? Then today, in my Redford image hunt, I came across this photo that totally confirmed it for me:

HAHAHAHAHAHA………these two could not look more irritated.

Streep: “Stop touching me, micro man, before I shove this giant corsage down your  throat.”

Cruise: “You guys are so awesome! Thanks for sitting down so I could look taller.”

Redford: “If I sit very very still, maybe he’ll forget I’m here.”

Later, cats!


March 13, 2007

Cooking for the Single Sloth

Filed under: Boys, Slothyness — shhville @ 4:48 pm

You know how difficult it is to muster up the motivation to cook for yourself? Some of you don’t have this problem, but I bet most of you do. There is something sad and unfulfilling about cooking meals that require a lot of effort just so you can eat them alone. If I’m cooking for myself I want it to be simple, healthy, and something I can bang out in 20 minutes or less. Ideally, it will yield leftovers. Upon learning that The Retropolitan ate tater tots for dinner last night, I promptly sent him all of my easiest, most bachelor-friendly recipes that are good and good for you. I post them here for all of you as well.

If you have any quick, yummy recipes for busy people that you’d like to share, please leave them in the comments section. I will cook them, photograph them, eat them and review them. Maybe we can make a new page of recipes…..??

You participation is much appreciated!


1 filet of salmon
BBQ sauce

Smother salmon in BBQ sauce and bake at 350 for 30 minutes.

You can replace BBQ sauce with any other sauce or marinade.


Cherry tomatoes
Gorgonzola cheese
Pine nuts



Toss and serve.

Your own shepherd’s salad:
1 cucumber
1 ripe tomato
1 sweet white onion (red onion is also ok)
rice vinegar/olive oil

Chop veggies and mix them all together. Add everything else to taste. Toss.

My favorite summer salad:

2 cucumbers
2 vidalia onions
1 bunch fresh parsley
rice vinegar
olive oil

Dice cucumber. Slice onions verrrrrrrrry thin. Like, paper thin. Pick parsley leaves. Throw them all together, add everything else to taste, toss.

These last two salads are always best if you let them sit over night.

Enhanced pasta sauce:
1 Sweet onion
Handful mushrooms
1 Red or green pepper or half of each
1 Clove garlic
1 Jar marinara sauce

Chop onions, mushrooms, peppers, garlic any which way. Stir fry in saucepan with olive oil until onions start to look clear. Pour in marinara sauce (1/2 the jar if you like very chunky sauce). Simmer for 10 or 15 minutes.

White wine pasta sauce:
3 Stalks celery
2 Stalks fennel
1 Sweet onion
Olive Oil/Butter
White wine (Vermouth is also ok)

Chop the vegetables fine, toss in a pan with olive oil and butter, sautee for a few minutes, add salt/pepper/oregano to taste, pour in three big glops of white wine, let simmer for a few minutes while stirring, pour over a bowl of pasta.

January 11, 2007

Say Fromage!!

Filed under: Boston, Boys, School — shhville @ 3:36 pm

Guess what I did last night? No, guess. No, you have to guess. GUESS!!! Fine, I went to a cheese tasting class. It was soooooooo fun, but I can still taste the cheese in my mouth a little. Some of that shit is potent! It scared me! I shall now share my new wealth of knowledge with you. (Keep in mind that I’m talking about raw milk cheeses here – un-fucking-pasteurized, people.)

1. Ricotta al Forno* – cow milk, Sicily, Italy: Ricotta baked in a bread mold. Vaguely sweet, almost bread pudding texture. Combines well with sweet or bitter (jam or bitter greens).

2. Tetoun – goat milk, Provence, France: available June-November, aged in moldy caves. Bitter, peppery, silky rind (mold), creamy texture, almost a pine flavor. Intense and delicious. Best with a sweet condiment. Wow, that’s really bitter. Wow.

3. Robiola di Serole – goat milk, Asti, Italy: means “to turn red” but dude, this cheese isn’t red. Ok, he says you have to dump it in old rusty brine to make it that way. Mmmmmm. Tart, but mild, creamy texture, mold all over the fucking thing. Chomp!

4. Couserans – goat milk, Ariege, France: holy shit, this smells like a urinal cake. Teacher says “earthy flavor.” Comes from “sandy milk.” Ok, this is wicked yummy but there’s no getting around the fact that it smells like old piss. I feel conflicted.

5. Weston Wheel – sheep milk, Weston, Vermont: nutty, smooth, rich, mmmmmmmmsogood. Teacher says rind edible. I’ve eaten all the rinds so far and now expect to die shortly. Ack!! Ack!! Ptoo!! Ptoo!! Rind tastes like dingleberries!! Dingle!! Berries!! Make it stop!!

6. Bergkase Bio Berghoff – cow milk, Appenzel, Switzerland: how the hell do you pronounce that? Ooh, it’s tickly! Tickles my tongue. Aged 6 months. Creamy, nutty, perfect. Mmm! This is my favorite so far. Or maybe the wine is making me friendlier. Either way, it’s cool.

7. Pecorino Ginepro – sheep milk, Emilia Romagna, Italy: Holy salt lick!! Where’s a deer when you need one? Best pecorino I’ve ever tasted, bar none.

8. Veenweidekaas – cow milk, Zoeterwoude, Netherlands: mmmmyummah… These cheeses really need to stop getting better. I’m almost full.

9. Montgomery Farmhouse Cheedar – cow milk, Somerset, England: Oh my god, cheesegasm.

10. Senne Flada – cow milk, Western, Switzerland: not sweet, but considered a dessert cheese for boldness of flavor. Whoa!! Smells like diapers, tastes like Heaven. And….sort of like coffee too.

11. Ubriaco Durello – cow milk, Verona, Italy: also a dessert cheese. Another mouth tickler. That’s probably the bacteria spazzing out because they have a new home.

12. Persille du Beaujolais – cow milk, Auvergne, France: mmmmmmm……..silky, gorgeous bleu. Drizzle with honey and it’s perfection. Wish teacher was not wearing wedding ring, muy caliente!! I’d totally hit that.

And that’s what I learned! Happy Thursday!!

*This was the only cheese I tried that didn’t scare the crap out of me.

December 1, 2006

The Slothbel Awards

Filed under: Boys, Slothyness, Whateverall — shhville @ 5:01 pm

Today I would like to announce the winners of this hullabaloo’s Slothbel Awards.

The hullabaloo’s Slothbel Award for Putting Things in Perspective goes to Dan Tobin for his work on two succinct emails that instantly snapped me out of floundering self-hatred.

The hullabaloo’s Slothbel Award for Soulful Commiseration has two recipients: Foundme and The Retropolitan for their perspectives on their own crappy break ups.

The Slothbel Award for Terrifying Indignant Rage (TIR) goes to Bunsen for this:

oh PLEASE. you are going to have ALL KINDS of revenge fantasies. each one sicker than the last.

My favorite is the burning building with the ex and the kitten…and you can only save one…and you pick up the kitten and just GLARE at the ex…and he KNOWS…and he BEGS because he is so sorry…HEHEHE SUCK IT, ASSHOLE! c’mon kitty, let’s get out of here.

see? sick. it’s part of the healing process. and the CIIIIRCLE OF LIIIIIIIFE!!!

and this:

his cuntassbag matches his taintstain.

fucking tool



The Slothbel Award for Finding Humor in a Crisis goes to Julie for this comment:

Wow, it’s gotta suck to be emotionally and mentally blind like Warrior Steve. Perhaps even more so than physical blindness, since emotional and mental blindness is just stupidity in disguise. Oh well, be glad you don’t have to be the fucking Miracle Worker and spend the best years of your life trying to teach that sorry motherfucker to sign the word “water.”

The Slothbel Award for Unconditional Support goes to Aimee, not just for this hullabaloo but for pretty much all the time.

And finally, the Slothbel Award for Lethal Seething on Behalf of a Friend goes to Tot, whose quiet, yet profound indignation at Weener Steve I can feel all the way from fucking Winnipeg.

All of you (including all the people not mentioned) have done all of these things and more to help your local Sloth get through a shitty time. Thanks to the Slothville community, I went from suicidal to philosophical in one single day. You guys are the best.

November 21, 2006

Giving Thanks

Filed under: Boys, Shoes, Slothyness — shhville @ 4:09 pm

I looked at Slothville this morning and thought, “If I’m done writing about my heartache, what now? It’s the only thing I have anymore!” And then I realized I was being melodramatic and, duh!, a shoe post was in order.

In keeping with the season, today’s shoe post is all about things I am thankful for. (i.e. Shedding the manchild I’ve been dating before we moved in together.)

Regardless of what the Republicans would like people to believe, my fellow Democrats and I are grateful for our armed forces. We wish they weren’t dying in Iraq for no particular reason and we worry about the waning of soldier prestige because, um, we need them, but we are thankful for their sacrifices and their honor and their courage. That being said, we’re also glad no one in the military has to wear these fuckin’ things. Wait, back when Rumsfeld had a job it would have been funny to see him in these boots so I sort of take it back, but really, the only place these boots belong is wrapped around a roadside bomb.

On an equally stherious note, I’m soooper glad that everyone in the whole world understands that creepy, bondage-type straps and anything remotely paisleyish should never ever ever be anywhere near each other under any circumstances, amen.  Wait…GAH!!

This year I am very grateful to have learned Lesson in Love #10. Trying to be someone you’re not in order to meet someone else’s unfair expectations is generally a disaster (see above).

I am (for real!) thankful for those dogs that you can put a treat on their noses and they just sit there, all mournful and expectant at the same time, waiting for you to say, “Good job!!” so they can chomp the shit outta that shit.

Bunsen, doesn’t Sadie do that?

As you can see here, this poor fellow is in the midst of a sex-change operation. The surgeon has removed the weener and is now folding back the skin to form the labia. It is a complex and traumatic surgery that has come a long way in terms of success in the past decade. I am over-the-moon grateful to have been born the correct gender. For people whose souls and bodies don’t match up in that way, life can be pretty tortuous until (hopefully) they are able to have the gender reassignment. But, no matter how much I respect the long and difficult road that transgender people must travel, I don’t ever want to wear half a fake labia on my foot. I’m just saying.

And finally for today (you know what I’m going to say, right?), I’m just so thankful to not suck in every way imaginable. And that none of you do either.

November 15, 2006

Hello, Timing!!

Filed under: Boys — shhville @ 7:15 pm

Holy shit, you guys! You will not believe what just happened to me!

I came out of a store, paused to fiddle with my iPod, and this wine buyer who had been in the store while I was in there came right out after me and, my hand to God, said, “If I may? You are stunning. Absolutely stunning.”

I swear, I actually gaped at him and said, “You know what? I was just broken up with last week. Do you know how much that means to me, that you said that?”

He got all rueful grin-like, pointed to his ring finger, and said, “I’m a married man, I’ve got no designs on you, but I just had to let you know: you take the breath away.”

I thanked him and he walked off! Can you even imagine that?? You all know that I don’t believe in fate or destiny or any of that, but I sure as hell believe in good timing.

June 13, 2006

Special Needs Sloth

Filed under: Boys, Slothyness — shhville @ 5:11 pm

Overheard on Harvard quad:

Warrior Steve: "I wonder how old Westminster Abbey is."

Sloth: "Durrrrrr…..I dunno."

Warrior Steve: "Like, a thousand years, maybe? I bet."

Sloth: "HAHAHA….as old as Jesus? I don't THINK so!!"


Sometimes I think I should just stick a chopstick in my ear and be done with it. 

May 17, 2006

Montreal part Duh.

Filed under: Boys, Photography, Slothyness — shhville @ 3:30 pm

Continuing with our story….

Since the alien eating its way through my stomach thwarted our plans to attend church services at the basilica on Sunday morning (just to hear the choir, don't worry, I still think "God" is a big joke, I haven't changed a bit) we decided to drive to the Biodome in our (huge, brand new, plush, swanks) rental car, spend a few hours there and drive home. And here you are – concrete proof that no stomach alien will keep me from being a giant nature geek:

The Biodome is way cool (obvs). The first thing you walk into is the indoor version of the South American rainforest. It's hot and steamy and you have to take some layers off to get comfortable.

NO, that is not what I meant. Suh!

It's hot and steamy like THIS:


The very first cool thing we saw was a capybara. Two, actually. I'd never seen one alive (they have a stuffed one at the Museum of Comparative Zoology here) and it was wild to see them snuffling around with their pointy hair and snubby noses. 


It's the size of a large dog, yet it's a rodent. Much chin-scratching ensued.

A bit further along a bright orange monkey landed on a tree trunk about two feet from my face but was gone again before I could even get my camera to eye level. Little shit. A gigantic catfish cheered me up though.


We then walked through a fish tank tunnel. There were many sturgeon.


Steve snuck up on me with his micro camera. I believe this is a picture of me taking the picture above.


Note that I do not usually use the big screen thing on the back of my camera, but stomach-alien gave me permission to do everything the easy way that day. 


Above the fish were a bunch of little duck feet paddling around. Every once in a while one of them would dive which was such fun to watch from below. Our next stop was to look at them from above.

But they weren't terribly cooperative.  Busy looking at their fake horizon, perhaps.


We watched them and the gulls with them for a while and then smoke started coming out of the ceiling. We decided were all going to die and moved on to the next exhibit….


Which had tidal pools! I really wanted to reach in and the starfish were within reach, but there was a sign that mentioned in an absurdly casual way that a bunch of the stuff in there was poisonous. WhatEV.


I love sea cucumbers even if they do look like giant poop loaves.


And Warrior Steve with the sneakiness again…


Everywhere we went there was a different sort of ecosystem to look at.


And different animals to ogle. Like porcupines!  



And owls!


The penguin tank was our last stop at the Biodome. None of my pictures came out, but Steve got one that shows just how ridiculously close we could get to them.


We then walked across the park to the Insectarium.  When you first walk into it, all you see are panels and panels and panels of impossible insects. How can these things exist on this planet??




At first we thought the whole place was like this but quickly noticed the live exhibits.




And its ideal specimen:


Yes, this spider is as big as my hand and no, I'm not actually touching the glass. As IF.


After the Insectarium we headed on home. Steve drove through the pouring rain like a champ while I dozed and complained about my maladies. And that, my friends, was our trip to Montreal. I hope you enjoyed the pictures and that you all have a lurvely Wednesday. Adieu!!

May 16, 2006

Home Again, Chiggety

Filed under: Boys, Photography, Slothyness — shhville @ 4:44 pm

Well, here I am. Back in Boston. In the rain. The thing about Boston rain is that it rarely just RAINS. It's always spittling down in a half-assed, can't-be-bothered kind of sky pee drizzle which is especially depressing on a Tuesday.

Our trip to Montreal was vunderbar. (Except for the part where I threw up in the shower, but I'll get to that.)

On Thursday night we stayed at my parents' house in Portland. My dad met us at the door playing the accordion and my mom cooked a fantastic dinner. They gave us maps and advice and many hugs. They're huggy people. (And mappy…and…whatever…) Since I am a sloth and Warrior Steve has the sleeping strength of ten men, we necessarily got a late start. We meant to be on the road around ten o'clock in the morning, but didn't actually pile into the (huge, plush, brand-new, swanks) rental car until one-ish. Then we meandered and shmeandered and pointed at old houses and went, "Ooh! Cows!!" a lot. I think the cows made us late.

When we got into Montreal proper we discovered that driving in that city sucks the mighty schlong of Satan because everysinglestreet is fucking one-way. We could SEE our B&B, we just couldn't GET to it. So that was a fun fifteen hours of driving in a circle. Look kids, Parliament! Big Ben! Elusive bed and breakfast! We finally made our way into the inner sanctum of Saint Louis Square and Steve power-parked and bags were unpacked and my high heels were ON and off to dinner we went. Oh, but before that, when we first walked into our room, we noticed a certain tribal motif. The table was actually a big drum and there were, like, beaded thingbobs everywhere, and a bunch of weird-looking whatnots hanging from one end of the towel rack. Steve took one look at them and said, "Those are penis gourds" thereby permanently winning the looped game of Jeopardy! that is my life.

Dinner! Sorrel soup! Foi gras! Cornichons! Duck confit! Salad! Steak! Shallot butter! WineWineWine!! Gastronomic goodness!
In search of an after-dinner drink, we found ourselves in what seemed to be a club district. Lots and lots and lots of cologne. And cigarettes. Cologne and cigarettes.

A very nice bartender told us that if we wanted wine we didn't want to be in that neighborhood and she drew us a map to a wine bar a few blocks away. We got there around 1 a.m. and they claimed to be closed but let us in anyway. There were enough people inside to make us feel that we weren't imposing and the wine was delectable enough that we didn't really care. We tried this, that, the other, and then………it was 4 in the morning.


We passed out sideways on the bed in our clothes, like proper drunks. I woke up around 6:30 a.m. and thought, "I could get up and wash my face and brush my teeth…………or I could roll up into the comforter like a shitfaced sloth burrito and burrow into my boyfriend's neck…ohhhhhhhhh yeah."

Breakfast was served at 8:30 and it was a beautiful thing. In some kind of backwards logic, I donned pajamas for breakfast. The proprietor, Dominique, made waffles with fresh fruit and yogurt and maple syrup. She said, "You would like some coffEE? Yes? Weet meelk?" I mumbled a yes-please around the arm-sized piece of waffle hanging out of my mouth and then she went away. There was some "zzzzzzhhtt!" and "pppffffsssssssst!!" action and she returned with a huge BOWL of foamy latte that I had to use two hands to drink. It was at that moment that I fell deeply and irreversibly in love with Dominique.

Then it was out on the town and lots of riveting action! Just kidding, we went back to bed. We intended to go out mid-morning, but accidentally wasted a lot of time having sex in the penis-gourd room and by the time we got ourselves out the door and into the world it was pretty late. And we were staaaarving. And thus begins my tale of woe.

We went to a random Italian BYOB place that just. wasn't. a good idea. I should have known when the dude sat us right next to the bathroom that doom was in store, but I ignored my instincts, insisted on another table, and lived to regret it. A long lunch ensued with yummy pastas and wine and a Caesar salad. Remember the salad, it comes up later.

Ok! On to the subway! Gotta get to the biodome! The subway was cool and easy to navigate and the biodome was……….closed. Fuck. Apparently it's no problem to stay up until 4 a.m. in Montreal but for some reason all the cool shit closes at 5 p.m. What? If bars close later then everything should close later! It's COMMON SENSE. How can we be expected to be anywhere in a timely manner when we've been up all night? GodDAMNit.

Bitchslapped by the biodome, Warrior Steve and I felt strangely deflated. Our exciting destination was no more. All the museums and things were closed. It was time to start eating and drinking but we had just done that. And it was raining. We ventured into some neighborhood that had been advertised as "historic" and "quaint" but which was, in fact, "touristy" and "hell." A minty ice cream cone went awry with vicious dripping and we were wandering aimlessly past frat boys in white baseball hats saying things like, "Fuckit!! Let's just find a bar and start drinking!!" We looked down our noses at them but secretly wondered if they didn't have the right idea.

It was Steve who had the inspired idea to visit the Notre-Dame Basilica. Finally! A destination! We made our way there over cobbled streets, with many near-inside-out-umbrella scares. When we got there they invited us to view a show that had just begun inside. Since it was the only way to get in, we bought tickets and they gave us headphones with English coming out of them and we settled into a pew to watch the weirdest fucking thing I have ever ever seen. I wish I had a way to describe this show to you. It was like a combination of Star Trek, South Park, and a Mexican soap opera. The acting was so INSANELY bad that Steve and I were gaping in disbelief. And there was this whole disembodied voice thing and a light show and the dialogue was just unforgivable. I wish I could do it justice, but, alas, I am unable to adequately describe whatever it was we saw.

Anyway, they let us wander around the church for a minute after the show and I got my first (and best) Montreal picture.

And then it was off to dinner! Mmmmm….arugula with bleu cheese, balsamic vinegar and carmelized pears. It was so good I had to eat the whole thing even though I was starting to feel….a little…..nauseous….. Mmmmmmmm… with lentils and haricots verts….but…..I just couldn't quite……make myself…….eat. I felt hot and exhausted. Going to bed had never seemed like such a good idea before. I needed to sleep immediately! I was sure I would get a long night's sleep and wake up in TOP FORM.

Instead, I woke up with a fist clenched around my stomach and a GI tract that was screaming, "Everybody out! This is not a drill!! Get the hell out of here, NOW!" Let us flash back now to the Caesar salad I had ingested 12-18 hours before experiencing symptoms, shall we? It was delicious and cheesy. The dressing was homemade. There was raw egg in it.


So, anyway, I spent much of the morning in the bathroom and just when I thought it was safe to wash up I threw up in the shower. This was not a good Slothy moment. I felt like I had an alien in my stomach, we were late checking out, it was finally nice outside and I was thiiiiiiiiiiis close to letting Warrior Steve take me to the hospital. Luckily, I am a huge nature freak and also a dork. NOTHING was going to keep me from that fucking biodome again. If I had to vomit in the penguin tank, SO BE IT.

Tomorow: photo essay of the Montreal Biodome and Insectarium and updates on last night's FOUND event in Boston with the one and only (totally shitfaced) Davy Rothbart.

April 10, 2006

Answer Day (Belated)

Filed under: Boys, Photography, Shoes, Slothyness — shhville @ 5:05 pm

The Retropolitan asked: How tall is a Sloth? and Does Warrior Steve read this blog?

Answer: Exactly 5 feet, 2 and ½ inches tall. And anyone who thinks it’s funny that I have to climb up on the kitchen counter to reach the salad spinner can SUCK IT. And you know why it’s such a pain? Because I have to change my pantz first if they’re the pantz I wore on the bus or to a movie or a restaurant or basically anywhere and have not washed yet because those pantz have COOTIES on them so I have to have special, clean, counter-clamoring pantz for reaching high-up things in my kitchen.

Answer: Yes.

Kate the Peon asked: I would like to know your first name, if at all possible.

Answer: I’m sorry but it is not at all possible. As I may have mentioned before I have a very unique name. People can google it and find me in a nano. Between my first name and Harvard, anyone would have my phone number and address with minimal effort. And I know you are all like, “Who cares? You are not so awesome and important that anyone is going to even care who you are, dumbshit!” And, um, you’re right. But I still don’t want you freaks knowing who I am.

Cybele asked: When will you post some more of your delicious photographs?

Answer: Well…………..soon. The thing is, spring in Boston is not so much pretty as it is muddy. The end of winter is dirty and gray. The beginning of spring is wet and dirty. Then, like three minutes later, it’s 85 degrees and muggy. So it will be soon, dear readers, that things will pick up around here in the having-things-to-take-pictures-of department. Farmers markets spring up, gardens bloom, spiders come back………I know how you all love the spider pictures.

Be careful what you ask for! Mmmmmm……..delicious!!

Big Pinz asked: Who is John Galt?

Answer: According to Wikipedia, John Galt was a Scottish author who was also a friend of Lord Byron which, if you ask me, makes him automatically suspect.

According to me, he was this really quiet, shy dude who lived next door to me in Northampton back in the day and ended up being a pity fuck. What?? He was cute!! And a virgin!! Poor man had a penis the size of a kumquat, though. What can you do?


Aimee asked: Of all your shoes, which are you favorites and why? and Sloth–where the heck are ya, girlfriend?!

Answer: My favorite walking around shoes are my blue Pumas:

They look alllllmost like this except the leather is eggshell blue and the stripe is burgundy.

Favorite dressy sandals are my Manolo Blahniks:

Except I also love my blue sparkly Franco Sartos:

And my patent orange slingbacks:

And my snakeskin multis:

And this question officially became too difficult.

Answer: I meant to get to your questions on Friday, but spent the whole day planning a long weekend in May. Montreal? Cape Cod? Texas? We still haven’t figured out where we’re going, just that we’re going somewhere.

Vince asked: What’s a Sloth doing in Boston? I thought they traveled (in their slothy like fashion) in warmer climes. Also, what kind of outfits does Slothy favor now that spring has sprung and summer approacheth?

Answer: This particular sloth grew up in Maine and loves it there, but needs to not live in the same place as her parents. Ok, I’ll stop talking about myself in the third person. I love my parents. They are supercool. But in order to be all grown up and happy and making my way in the world, I need to live in a bigger city that is not the one they live in. And New York is exhausting (for a sloth) so Boston it is. Only two hours away from the parental unit and I don’t need a car here and, of course, the lumbering behemoth that is Harvard.

Answer: I prefer to be clothed in air conditioning. Global Whatevering, I don’t care.

Greg asked: Are you working on an m.a., or phd?

Answer: Sorry, please don’t take offense, but I hate that question.

Bunsen asked: Do Sloths ever travel to Pittsburgh, for ANY reason, especially if they were asked nicely? and What kind of underwear is Sloth wearing RIGHT NOW???

Answer: Give me a reason and Duh! Furry ones!!

Dan Tobin asked: What do you miss most about having your blogs unprotected? (Blogging bareback, as some would call it.)

Answer: The possibility of random traffic and people just sort of stumbling along and finding Slothville. A lot of the email I got with password requests was like, “I just happened upon your blog one day, can’t remember…..” and they started reading and decided to stay. It would take a lot more for that to happen now. If I stumbled upon a blog that was password protected I would never bother to browse the archives and see if I wanted in. Hell, it took me like a year to ask Jeanette for a password. I just think that the readership I have is the readership I’m going to keep, but who new would make the effort to get into a closed community like this?

Kim asked: Did you ever meet/go out with the guy from the found book?

Answer: No. But I will in one month. Last time Davy Rothbart and his Found Magazine co-horts were here on tour I was on the Outer Banks fishing and getting a wicked tan. This time around, I’ll be here and I’ll get to say “OHMYGODHI!!” and give him my found stuff. Warrior Steve will be with me trying not to care that I (maybe) have a little crush on someone who isn’t him.

Jamie asked: So, about Scuba… I mean Warrior Steve…Measurements? And not the waistline, ah hem!

Answer: OH DEAR GOD, WOMAN. He’s 6 foot 2 inches tall and YOU KNOW ME BETTER THAN THAT.

Shut out!

Nicole asked: Why are you still in school? (not meaning that in a snarky way, but more as in “what is your ultimate goal from being in school?”)…AND… when/where/who was your first kiss? (just cause it’s a stupid-fun question)

Answer: Ok, honestly, I’m still in school because I’m kicking tires while I figure out what to do next. I don’t usually admit that.

Answer: Ryan Anderson, kindergarten. We watched each other go pee one day, too, so I can tell you that Ryan Anderson is uncircumcised. I didn’t see another wing-wang for many years so I forever thought they all looked like pointy, wrinkly pencils.

E-lo asked: What do you wanna be when you grow up?

Answer: Never ever bored.

Seth asked: Jesus Christ, dude. Way too many questions!

How tall is DanTobinDanTobin? Answer: No idea, but way taller than me.

Do Sloths like monkeys? Answer: Yes, but spending time with the bonobos can get a bit awkward.

When did you lose your virginity? Answer: 14 years old.

How old is too old? Answer: If we’re talking about dating, I’ve actually thought about this. I have a wide range. I would say, mid-fifties.

How young is too young? Answer: Up until I turned 30 and met Warrior Steve, I would have said anyone younger than me. Guess that’s out.

Where would you rather live than Boston? Answer: Lots of places! All over the place! Greece, Spain, Italy, the south of France – how about Tibet for a while? If the question only includes the Unites States……..I’m stumped.

When did you realize that you LOVED shoes? Answer: In the womb.

Varla asked: What do you think the monkeys are up to? I mean, really? and Do you think these pants make my ass look fat? and What about these shoes – fat ankles?

Answer: If they’re bonobos, they’re up to a whole lotta fucking. Like I was saying: awwwwwwkward……….

Answer: If you don’t spell pantz right, I can’t help you. And if you have what Chris Rock refers to as “pump fat,” you’re probably better off being a black woman. According to him. And I hear you can do that now – there’s some kind of tv show or something.

Inanna asked: Tell us about a person you admire and why you admire them.

Answer: Although I am an atheist, I greatly admire Archbishop Desmond Tutu, winner of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1984. Here is one of the reasons: an excerpt from a sermon of his that I nicked off Wikipedia:

“Jesus did not say, ‘I if I be lifted up I will draw some’,” Tutu said, preaching in two morning festival services in Pasadena, California. “Jesus said, ‘If I be lifted up I will draw all, all, all, all, all. Black, white, yellow, rich, poor, clever, not so clever, beautiful, not so beautiful. It’s one of the most radical things. All, all, all, all, all, all, all, all. All belong. Gay, lesbian, so-called straight. All, all are meant to be held in this incredible embrace that will not let us go. All.”
He continued: “Isn’t it sad, that in a time when we face so many devastating problems – poverty, HIV/AIDS, war and conflict – that in our Communion we should be investing so much time and energy on disagreement about sexual orientation?”

There is so much to admire about this man, that I won’t even start here. Even a cursory look at his life will give you an idea. I will just say that I saw his appearance on “The Daily Show” last year and after hearing him speak to Jon Stewart, and feeling all this immense love that could not even be contained in him, I cried for a long time and then stayed up until 1 a.m. to watch the show again. Desmond Tutu makes you feel as though forgiveness is your right. As though love is your right. And the way he smiles and offers his own praise to the world, he makes you feel as though all that forgiveness and love is already in you. As a person he has incredible power and he uses it exclusively to make the world a better place.

Uh! This post was exhausting! And decidedly not-vaginal. Shoe post sometime this week…

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