There are words, phrases that you think will never enter mainstream usage. But every once in a while, I get shocked when a word or phrase suddenly goes legit.

Take “pussy.” I never thought “pussy” would become part of the larger world. Now even liberal TV comedians are dropping “pussy” like it’s nothing. “The Daily Show” dropped pussy more than once on Monday and Tuesday’s shows.There was the awesome joke about a straight–as opposed to McDonald’s–fast-food chain called something like “Fried Chicken and Pussy.” And Stewart himself seems to regularly call himself a “pussy.”

Now, Slate gives the world the “chubby” with this headline: “No Chubby For Old Men.” The story is on ED and whether or not it’s normal and why it’s perceived as normal. And maybe it shouldn’t be. But I only skimmed the piece. I’m still marveling at the fact that they brought “chubby” out in the open. I didn’t think getting a semi had become mainstream headline fodder. Wow.

I’m cool with it. Just surprised.

Oh, what’s next? Fisting?

A smart friend has been soliciting thoughts on this piece in Adbusters on the cultural vapidity of the hipster genus. Well, I’m about to head to the hipster Mecca of Portland, Ore., so I really don’t want to spoil the fun by reading the whole thing. But a quick skim convinces me that the writer never figured out the difference between “cool” and “interesting.” There have always been hipsters, cool kids, whatever, who don’t put much thought into saying something revolutionary, even though they look the part. Don’t romanticize the hippies or the beats or the jazz generation. Plenty of them were boring posers too. If you think I’m overreacting, read the article’s kicker:

We are a lost generation, desperately clinging to anything that feels real, but too afraid to become it ourselves. We are a defeated generation, resigned to the hypocrisy of those before us, who once sang songs of rebellion and now sell them back to us. We are the last generation, a culmination of all previous things, destroyed by the vapidity that surrounds us. The hipster represents the end of Western civilization – a culture so detached and disconnected that it has stopped giving birth to anything new.

Grow up! Have a Pabst and flirt with one of those girls in big fake glasses. I bet she tells funny fart jokes.

Radar on the etymology of douchebag as a slang insult: might have started with Henry Miller, but also, it’s really fun to say. And like S.O.B., it’s a insult for men that “gets its sting” by referring to women.

I know we’ve been warned, but I am an impossible klutz. I was wearing flip-flops (I know, I know) last night when I clipped the edge of a step on the Rosslyn escalator with my big toe. I went home and self-medicated with peroxide and Spaced. My doctor told me today I needed stitches, but it’s too late now. I think I can live with the scar. I just hope my toe doesn’t fall off.

Is it just me or do Metro escalators have bigger teeth than other city’s underground moving staircases? Compare the London Underground’s escalators with ours.  I have a picture of my toe, but no one wants to see that.

My hair has gotten to that point, folks. It’s time for a haircut.

I don’t know if this happens to anyone else, but there’s a point—an actual length—in the afterlife of my hair follicles when all hell breaks loose. In January 2007, I was so sick of it (and it was long enough, after the split ends) to donate the majority of my locks to Locks of Love. Yes, I did revert to looking like my sixth-grade self, but it was worth it just to get rid of the horrible tangles that kept me in the shower for 30-45 minutes shampooing, conditioning, pulling strands apart, and repeating.

I’m not willing to get a cut as drastic as before (I’ve realized that chin-length bobs make me look a little chunky above the neck). I just need to take a couple inches off.

Which brings me to my main problem: decision-making. Sometimes (and when it really counts), I’m able to go confidently in the direction of my dreams…ahem. But for everyday decisions, like, say, where to eat for lunch in a new area or a new place to get my hair cut, it takes me awhile.

I asked colleagues the other day and scoured Yelp! looking for a quality salon with moderate prices and near Adams Morgan. I did a new search online this morning (with, of course, the same results and reviews) and chose a couple of places to call. I thought today would be the day. Thursdays can be relatively slower in terms of content, so I figured I could leave for a long lunch, get my hair cut, and come back beautiful and ready for a date tonight. And then I came to work and promptly forgot about it until I ran my fingers through my hair.

I was thinking Trim (close but expensive), Blondie’s (a bit of a walk but moderate), Urban Escape (I could just tumble down the hill to get there), or Bang (more of a trek but moderate prices, I think). Any (helpful) suggestions?

Last week, we reported that D.C.’s Best Dance Night would be moving on up to Club Five this Saturday. Now, it looks like the event will by moving across the street to MCCXXIII, at 1223 Connecticut Ave. NW. Club Five had its license suspended earlier this month after a stabbing occured in the club. Five was set to open again June 18th; according to ABRA, that suspension has now been extended indefinitely.

Miami Horror and Gameboy/Gamegirl are still set to play on the Nouveau Riche bill, but the move to MCCXXIII brings some changes in the event’s time, cover charges, and dress code, says DJ Gavin Holland. The details: The show starts at 10 p.m. Entry begins at $10 and jumps to $20 at midnight. The dress code, while relaxed to include sneakers, does stipulate some no-no’s. Writes Holland:

They have relaxed their normal dress code for us, sneakers are okay. However, no shorts, no sandals, and sadly no totally wacky shit. Basically, dress well by your own standards, but you don’t need to wear fancy shoes or any of that silly ‘club’ attire. You should be lookin’ snazzy for Nouveau Riche anyway, so this should be no different. My heart goes out to Life Preserver Dude from the 9:30 Club, you will not be able to wear your life preserver.

Dear American Apparel,

Please accept my congratulations on your decision to stock the Hitachi Magic Wand Vibrator ($50) alongside your sarcastic bling ($48) and (earnest?) sustainable doggie tees ($17). I would also like to extend a long-overdue thanks for the continued excellence of your free fetish porn.

One query, however. Prithee, A.A., how might one best stimulate the clitoris ironically?

Awaiting your reply,

Amanda Hess

P.S.: I see you are calling the device a “massager.” Is this with the same wink-and-nudge that you refer to this as a skirt?

TheWashCycle puzzles over the Web site of a bike-rental business recently feted in The Washingtonian. Besides the usual services, the company says it also “provides confidential services to those in high-visibility professions” and that hotel concierges “suggest Better Bikes for their guests needing confidentiality.” WashCycle sagely notes that this sounds like an escort service. I dunno, though: considering the fashion Guernica that results whenever cyclists congregate, such as at the recent Bike to Work Day gathering (above), maybe a little discretion is what this sport needs.

Photo by Wayan Vota

Recently an acqaintance shared with me a theory that if you’ve had a good idea, most likely 100,000 other people have had the same idea. The trick, he said, was getting your good idea to market. He’s one of the co-founders of Audible, so I figure his theory is worth pondering.

A couple of months ago, my sister was diagnosed with celiac disease. People with it can’t process gluten and are thus condemned to order many T-shirts celebrating this fact. Our much-missed former art director Pete Morelewicz was similarly afflicted and was always strutting around the office in some shirt or another that alerted folks to his wonky digestive system. After my sister’s diagnosis, I thought about Pete’s shirts and thought it would be funny to make a shirt that said “WHEAT IS MURDER.” I have no idea how exactly many other people had the idea, but there are a few at least. Drat! I thought, and went back to pursuing personal agendas and covering up scandals.

ANYWAY, last night I was at Nationals Park, where at least the pretzels were interesting. Noah’s Pretzels, a local company that has a stand in Nationals Park, sells both gluten-free pretzels and gluten-free beer. Apparently one of the founders has a child with autism, and autistic kids are often sensitive to gluten. Who knew? And also, now I’m glad that my sister has an enticement to come out to the ballgame with me, though perhaps gluten-free pretzels might not be enough.

For the most part, niche blogs will stick around for a few months before slowly fading into the elusive world of google cachés. Not so for local fashion writer Morgan Hungerford’s pet project: This month, her two-year-old panda head blog has officially graduated to a panda head mag.

The 27-year-old Adams Morgan resident started panda head in 2006 with the intention of covering D.C. street style. Over time, though, photos of District fashionistas (they’re out there) gave way to Hungerford’s own fashion commentary, interviews, and photo spreads. “It got boring,” says Hungerford. “It made sense to stop it altogether rather than let it die a slow death.”

But it wasn’t D.C. style itself that bored Hungerford: It was Internet style. “With all the interviews I was doing, I began to push the text limits of a street style format,” she says. “I wanted to be doing more.” For Hungerford, who holds a B.A. in English from James Madison University, the longer magazine format made sense. She did, after all, learn from the verbose: “I was a Faulkner major in college,” she explains.

The inaugural issue of the online-only magazine was written, edited, and styled by Hungerford; design duties were assumed by pal and BrightestYoungThings designer Erik Loften. This edition of the sleekly designed flash site includes photo contributions from Liz Gorman, Hantim Lee and Ryan Wakeman, and interviews with Au Revoir Simone and locals the Multi V’s. The mag will be released quarterly.

I used to work with a libertarian. I mention his political philosophy only because he always wanted to talk about libertarianism—how if anyone looked inside of themselves, really looked inside of themselves, they’d find that they, too, were predisposed toward libertarianism. If you’ve worked with a libertarian, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.

One day he displayed his commitment to personal liberty by walking around Bryant Park without his shirt on. I’m sorry, it’s weird to see someone from your office shirtless, especially if you’re just trying to eat your lunch and he has unusually prominent nipples and every time you’re in a meeting with him afterward you can’t get the words “party hats…party hats” out of your brain.

So via the “Blog Log” in today’s Express, let me second this rant from B(ridge) and T(unnel) Crowd about men in D.C. jogging without shirts. I see this behavior a lot anytime it’s a nice day on the Rock Creek Park or Mount Vernon Trails. (Guys who run with their shirts off don’t run on days when weather would compel them to cover up.)

The post’s author is absolutely correct: Get something that wicks and spare us the sight of your heaving man-flesh. Oh, and while we’re on the topic, dude with his shirt off, sunglasses on his head, talking on his cell and walking slowly down the middle of the trail? Can’t you do that somewhere else?

Photo by kroo2u

Over at Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast as Thou Art, Julia steps on two landmines simultaneously, criticizing D.C. cyclists for: 1) their fashion sense; and 2) for wearing helmets.

Obviously, this is the kind of thing that can set off World War III in a comments section, especially since Julia keeps ducking in to zing dissenters.

The argument about cycling clothes vs. street clothes is an old one, and Julia’s in good company: legendary “retrogrouch” Grant Peterson, whose Rivendell bikes are especially lust-worthy, believes that seersucker is superior to spandex and that clipless pedals (which require special shoes that lock into them) are b.s. Me, I think you should ride in whatever makes you most comfortable, but I’m always happy to support efforts to raise D.C. residents’ consciousness about their appalling fashion choices, so Julia, this one’s a win for you.

Her helmet argument, though, is moronic. It doesn’t matter if you’re cycling “attentively and at a leisurely pace.” A couple weeks ago I got rear-ended at a stoplight wearing a (sorry, Julia) neon-yellow jacket and two rear blinking lights. Drivers. Just. Don’t. Care. Fortunately I was stopped and got nothing worse than a nasty jolt, but if I’d fallen my head would have almost certainly hit the curb. Julia, your taste in bikes is excellent, and you’ve obviously got a nice brain. It would be a pity to remove it from circulation. Strap up, mlle.

Photo by rubberpaw

You know the fifty-color fliers and postcards good neighbors leave on your windshield? The ones inviting you to those exclusive afterhours parties and special events? The ones that would make Luther Campbell nod in approval?

While I’m not sure who actually responds to this spam and goes to these things, I do know that they constitute an annoyance. How many of these cards have I tossed into the backseat of my car? Too many!

It’s not a shock that people have complained. Southwest residents have been up in arms over them for a while. They’ve started calling them “Booty Cards.” Kinda perfect.

And they got Councilmember Tommy Wells‘ attention. After months of effort, Wells—along with the D.C. attorney general’s office—has been able to at least banish one company from distributing them. Wells, in a press release, calls this a “partial victory” for Southwest residents—and D.C. citizens in general.

Although he considered them pornographic, Wells knew he couldn’t fight them on indecency issues. Instead, his office went after the company over the trash they produce. A smart move!

-”This is just one battle in a much larger effort,” explains Wells’ Chief of Staff Charles Allen.

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