It’s taken much trial and error, and about 30 bum photo CDs from Target, but I finally figured out a way to digitize the wedding photos and I’m posting about 35 of them here. I’ll try to post more when I have a chance, but it’s awfully time consuming to scan everything manually. If anyone out there has advice on how to do photo-negative scanning for cheap, please throw me a bone.

And let me just take this post to once again give props to my badass wedding photags, Eric and Kass Mencher–who, as of October 22, officially bumped Abe Lincoln and John Stewart off my Ten-Greatest-Americans list.

After seeing this sneak preview (pics after the jump), I know that most of you will be champing at the bit to see the rest of our 1,200+ photos. Or maybe you’re just waiting for me to post photos of Jason Ko puking into LOVE park’s fountain, or maybe Dan Wheeless streaking through Liberty Place. All I have to say is, stay tuned …

A friend at work sent me a link to The Sweater Project, one of the most bizarre showcases of mothballed clothing I’ve ever seen. Like My Cat Hates You, the value of the site isn’t so much in the pictures as it is in the brilliant captions that accompany them. One of my favorite sweater assessments: “What it really says: yarn basket clusterfuck.”

(Incidentally, since when did our country become so damn proficient at writing one-liners? Are Steven Wright’s cultural roots starting to finally bear fruit, or is this all the handiwork of The Onion?)

It took a walk through the entire weirdly narcissistic site before I realized what was really going on. When you combine self-effacing fashion commentary, self-parodying Bill Cosby sweaters, and a self-absorbed dude posing as if for People magazine’s paparazzi, what do you get? A male-seeking-male personal ad in the Advocate. At least, that’s my theory.

So, enjoy the ironic sweater come-ons while you can, Kevin. Eleven states and the Supreme Court have got your number, buddy. Clock’s a tickin’.

Over the weekend Ana and I drove up to visit our New Yawk friends, Matt, Gwynne, and Gabe, and to see The Royal We’s new show, “Be All That You Can Buy.” As always, we had a great time visiting Brooklyn, taking in some quality sketch comedy, and crashing with the Johnsons. Actually, let my qualify that last item — I enjoyed crashing with most of the Johnsons, but distinctly disliked sleeping with Ethel the cat. It wasn’t really sleeping so much as it was Ethel sitting atop my face, attempting to suffocate me with her furry bulk. Gwynne and Matt said that she does that all the time, and that she’s being affectionate, but I only needed to point to my cheek for contradictory evidence.

The night before, when I attempted to pick Ethel up, the wack-job carved two symmetrical lines in my face, from my jaw line to mid-cheek. (I’m sorry to be calling your cat a wack-job, Gwynne, but not as sorry as she would’ve been if I’d retaliated. Uh huh.) A few days later and I’m still brandishing my wounds, which, when coworkers ask, I’m alternately attributing to a knife fight and Ana’s bedroom hijinks. My bitterness towards Ethel (the ungrateful feline who I used to babysit!) still hasn’t subsided, and I’m starting to realize that, excluding my beloved Scout and Fuzzy, just about every cat out there hates me. (That includes you, Rizzo, biatch!) And it is with her in mind that I present MyCatHatesYou.com, a website devoted to darker side of the feline species.

From the site’s about page:

While I am allergic to cats, and do not actually own one myself (if owning a cat is even possible), I find them amusing, insightful, playful, somewhat endearing, and the list goes on.

But there is another side to Cat, is there not? A side that harbors deep-seated, almost primal, resentment toward us and our gangly, pseudo-intelligent, simian ways. And what creature wouldn’t? If someone treated YOU the way we treat THEM, you would hate too.

The premise behind this site is just that; your cat, though soft, cuddly and sweet, could really do without the likes of you, and me. To prove this point, MyCatHatesYou (MCHY) was born.

This seems like a pretty decent cartographic solution, but I have one minor quibble: Is there any way that Pennsylvania can trade locations with Nova Scotia?

To follow up on a post I made to Plugs, there’s another great article about expatriation that just came over Reuters:

“Unhappy Democrats Must Wait to Get Into Canada”

Canadian officials made clear on Wednesday that any U.S. citizens so fed up with Bush that they want to make a fresh start up north would have to stand in line like any other would-be immigrants — a wait that can take up to a year.

Damn! Tough call.