As you've probably noticed, we're doing a little bit of redecorating around here at The Black Table, and we hope that it does not alarm you. We've pretty much looked and acted the same for almost three years now, so we suspect that a little tiny change wouldn't hurt anyone. Besides, some of our computers were starting to atrophy; they were actually creaking.

But it won't change what we do every (now) Wednesday at The Black List. Use the form at the right to add to our weekly list of 10 great.

-- BT

The Black Table needs your help! Every week, we need reviews of the latest media-related crud, new products from Capitalists and odd idea, concept or trend. All you need to have is a sharp opinion that you can distill down to one paragraph of 150 words and give a letter grade. To submit, please fill out the form below. Entries may edited for length, style and clarity. Hit us with your best shot. Fire away.

DIPPIN' DOTS AND MARCH OF THE PENGUINS: If you're looking for a date this week, pay attention. Your line is, "I'm thinking about getting some Dippin' Dots and catching March of the Penguins this weekend, are you interested?" It might seem like too much of a "church date," but it works. Dippin' Dots, which have an incredibly high nostalgia rating for many, are the super-cold pellets known as the ice cream of the future, which pairs nicely with the innocence of flightless birds mating in the Artic cold. You will seem adventurous because of your off the wall idea, but also wholesome because of its ageless appeal. And if, by some odd chance, that turns off the person you're trying to mack on, offer Plan B: Grabbing a joint and seeing The Devil's Rejects. A -- daniel goslee

CONSTIPATION NATION: If you are ever intrigued by world events enough to watch the evening news, you will be astounded to learn that most people in America do not have access to fruits and vegetables or have become too lazy to chew. EVERY SINGLE commercial is for a laxative! Maybe this is more about the usual demographic of people who watch news at 6 p.m., but at what age and level of boredom do you stop eating apples? Have we become so lazy, stuporous and slothful that we need to take medicine to be able to take a crap? This is not like inducing labor. You shouldn't need pharmaceuticals to do what the neighborhood dogs seem to have no problem with at all. Next we will be buying respirators to help us breathe while the talking heads tell us what is gong on outside our living rooms. Jeez people, eat a carrot and take a squat, all on your own. Not eating your fiber because it's just too hard and then subjecting me to disturbing commercials aimed, literally, at your fat ass, F -- Roy Felipe

A GOOD MAN WASTED: On the train home the other day, I spotted this nice-looking man and spent the rest of my commute sneaking glances at him. He had dark hair (not receding!), a well-kept beard, kindly brown eyes and strong hands. Looking good

so far. He was engrossed in a magazine and sitting down the car a bit; with bad vision, it was tough for me to see what he was reading. Checking out people's reading material is one of my favorite activities; I pretend that what people read can divulge all sorts of things about them. After some not-so-subtle gawking (though bearded guy never looked up to see me), I realized he was reading a magazine about stand-up comedy. This was a terrible discovery. There are few things worse than being introduced to stand-up comics. Struggling stand-up comedians are universally unfunny in person and only marginally funny onstage. They are like being trapped at a boring reading. But either way, it's a lonely life, and bearded guy looks like he might have some potential. Until he gets up and leaves the train, and I see the back of his head. His hair is scrunched up in several places in the back of his head and tied with rubber bands. While I might be able to get past the stand-up comedy thing, that coupled with the hair makes it impossible. Get a haircut. Wear a hat. Just don't do that. Especially not when you get my hopes up. F -- Aileen Gallagher

WOMEN ASKING MEN OUT ON FIRST DATES: So I'm instant messaging with a woman on this online dating service I use. She initiated the contact and after looking over her profile and determining that we had at least one thing in common and she wasn't ugly as sin, I was happy to reply. In the middle of conversation, she asks "So how's about we get together for a meal?" and I reply "Are you asking me out?" and she replies "I guess I am." In my mind, I was dancing with joy, because now even if the entire relationship doesn't work out, even if after the first date we decide that we have about as much in common as ice cream and horse manure and we part company to never see each other again, even if all that happens, I will have gotten a free meal. A -- Bob Dobbs

MY SUMMER VACATION: To the two most stressful months of my life: living in a summer sublet of hell, going to summer school, sleeping on the floor of a tiny room full of most of my earthly possessions, dealing with my cat's fleas and their found home on my makeshift "bed" on the floor, waiting for a month and a half for my summer loans to finally come through and incurring a carrying balance on my credit card, only to have it all topped by learning two days before the promised move-in date to my new home (the shining light I've been looking towards to getting out of hell), that I can't move in yet because it won't be ready in time. The past two months: D-. Writing this review at my parent's house because they came and rescued me and all of my stuff: A -- Riah Gouvea

ASS OGLYERS ANONYMOUS: Perhaps it's the ass. Maybe it's something in the water. But God knows every time my coworker bends over near the front register, by the windows, there is always some dirty old scuzzbag staring. So yesterday when she bent over and some ass and titties bozo had the gall to stop walking and even end his cell phone conversation, enough was enough. Justice for the ass ogling! I yelled to her, and she whipped her head around just in time to see said bozo's eyes widen, then quickly walk away like he had been caught taking a dump on the sidewalk. My coworker sprinted to the door with a finesse I never knew possible and chased down her ass accoster. Seeing a dirty old man getting caught in the act: C-. Having a fucking great laugh at his expense: A -- Andi

BEAUTIFUL APARTMENTS! TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE! MUST SEE TO BELIEVE! Is the FCC, Pat Robertson, or whoever polices such things aware of the mind-warping filth displayed in the windows of Manhattan's upscale real estate agencies? Clinical research has shown that children exposed to this particularly insidious brand of pornography tend to develop an unnatural predilection for high ceilings, period details and staff quarters. Lured by such wanton temptations, affected youth often succumb to a life of investment banking in order to sate their infernal desire for natural light. It is up to us, the enlightened humanities majors of the world, to convince our misguided brethren that while panoramic Central Park views may provide a brief, exhilarating rush, the path to lasting happiness is papered with undervalued diplomas, student loan statements, rejection letters and endless printouts of misleading craigslist apartment postings. Walking past a Corcoran office while in the midst of an increasingly desperate apartment search: D- -- Ryan Dodge

FLYING NINE HOURS WITH A TODDLER: Used to be that flying over the Atlantic Ocean was a lot of fun -- up until my two-year-old entered the traveling picture. Since my wife and I live and work overseas, we are legally obliged to take him with us, making that long-haul flight just not the same. Whether it's him puking on my lap, laughing at the top of his lungs, or making loud, funny grunts as he fills his diaper with shit, the dream of enjoying trans-continental transportation has all but disappeared. I guess if he were not so damned cute and hilarious while introducing himself to complete strangers across the aisle from Uzbekistan, I'd end up jumping out the plane. Dealing with a toddler screaming his head off at 35,000 feet: D -- Flemdog

GOLDENPALACE.COM PAINTED COWS: OH my GOD! Despicable! Disreputable! Disgraceful! Waaah! Spilt milk! Shut-up!!! Most of the people out there loudly mooing haven't been within 100 yards of a fucking live cow in their life. Painting your url on the sides of cows for promotion: Absolutely. Fucking. Brilliant. At the least, it's better than putting your name on the sides of dead ones, like, oh, Nike, Prada, Coach, et-fucking-cetera. I only wish Peta.org or Tolerance.org had thought of it first, because gambling -- now that's discreditable. A -- hillmarky

MY NEW HOMETOWN: It's so fucking huge, this town. It's big enough for the both of us. It's great. I could meet you in one of the many neighborhood bars and take you home and have sweet relations with you and lie to you about everything, like how I live with my mom: "Oh, her? She's just the live-in help. I hired her to y'know, keep things picked up and well dusted, cuz I uh, I've got really bad sinuses, and I uh, I get the sniffles if everything's not WELL dusted. And yeah, she also fixes me breakfast or whatever. But don't try to talk to her cuz she speaka no englisha," and the things that we have in common (I don't really like Coldplay, I mean c'mon. And your tattoo? You're not even Chinese), and the next morning not worry that I farted when I came because I will, in all likelihood, never, ever see you or any of your cake-faced, bitch friends again, thank the stars. The traffic here SUCKS though. B- -- edward fairchild

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