Chinatownchicken

Not to be racist, but...

2012-01-06T21:59:00.023-05:00

Back in '93 or '94, before we were married, Mr. Chan and I had a frank discussion about race relations. It was relevant to our relationship and future: When we have kids, what are the repercussions to a child that is half white, half Asian? He told me stories that made me sick; incidents when he suffered terrible racism. We even experienced it firsthand in Amarillo, Texas...a place I'll never really be able to forgive. He was so angry and I felt so helpless. That's the trick, isn't it? You are not a racist, but you live in a world filled with it. Do you apologize? How do you fight it? What can make this outrage stop?

It was during our discussions that I related my Theory of Progress. It's simple minded and idealistic...but I do believe in it still. What shores up my conviction? Evidence. First, the Theory: Change doesn't happen in an instant. It progresses through time when each generation is born into a world where things like race, gender, and homosexuality are less charged than they were before. As I approach my 40th birthday, I can absolutely stand by this conviction.

When I was 13 I had a massive, crushing love for a boy at my middle school: Quy Nguyen. One of my friends teased me mercilessly. She related a story from her neighborhood, when her sisters were making fun of the Vietnamese family next door: "You tell your yang yang to go inside and put on some clo!" This coming from a Mexican American girl...a perfect example that all races judge and hate. Not just Whitey.

Less than ten years later I was engaged to an Asian man. For the most part we were left alone. The Amarillo incident was the worst of it, but we did get looks from whites and Asians when we went out to eat. It was certainly nothing we couldn't get over. After all, my mother dated primarily African American men when I was growing up: I knew the stares, the whispers. Aside from some apocalyptic eruptions in the family, I don't recall any overt moments of racism from the outside world...and this was the Midwest, don't forget. My little teen friends would say things from time to time: "Doesn't it bother you that he's BLACK??" or "OMG, he's BLACK." No one threatened violence, no one was ever murdered.

This was not ideal. Nor was it ideal that my high school friends were terrorized for being "fey" or "gentle": Until one very unapologetic friend came out to me in the back of a pick up truck, it never occurred to me that "gay" even existed. She was sobbing uncontrollably and I was an ignorant hick ill prepared to console her. But I did. And it was still years later when I realized how many of my friends from high school were gay. This doesn't include my closest gay boyfriends. I am talking about the kids who were just girding themselves behind a shield of Dramatic Arts, waiting for the day when they could get the HELL out of North High and Wichita.

I love that things like "Shit White Girls Say...to Black Girls" exist. I even love that things like "Shit That Girls Say" exists. Reasons? Well, for the first: Finally! If you can post it on YouTube you know you are fearless about whether or not people can relate. I can relate. Like many a whitey before me, I have had many black friends. And I really have. And I think it is great that we can talk about this crap openly. My work pal told me once how much it irritated her when people asked to touch her hair. "Like, OMG, it is so soft!! I thought it would be like steel wool!!" We should be able to watch this video, see ourselves, laugh, and say OK, let's get on to the next level when were less than fascinated about how different we are.

"Shit That Girls Say"? YES, because for me there's no such thing as feminism. Outrageous! But the thing is: I never have been a feminist. Crazy? No. Think about it: I was raised by a militant single mother: There was never a question that women were equal. In my household, the idea of the submissive wifey was a hysterical fairy tale. While I understand and appreciate what the Women's Rights movement did for me, I was lucky enough to be raised in a house where it was a foregone conclusion. I don't get my panties in a twist about videos like "Shit That Girls Say" because they DO say those things, Women's Movement be damned. Also, I don't get my panties in a twist about "panties" being in a "twist." There's nothing to be reactive about. I do, as a fact, wear panties.

Race relations progress, women's rights progress, gay rights are coming along. And the last of that does bother me. The fact that "It Gets Better" became a major meme after the suicide of Tyler Clemente makes me both hopeful and terribly sad. I am angry that so many gay teens feel that the only way out is death. The idea of "It Gets Better" is phenomenal: I just hope that these teens understand. Like all teenagers, they do not understand that the microcosm they live in now will be blown apart by the progression of life. College is one thing, but life after that is entirely another: You can seek out places to be exactly who you are. You do not have to live in fear of bullying, scorn, or judgement. What is sad is that so many have chosen death as a way out long before now: Family and friends mean everything. They still can, God knows, but there's no reason to forfeit life just because you want someone of the same sex.

I believe my theory still holds true. Republicans now speak out against racism...this wasn't always the case. Gay marriage? Forget it. In 1990 such a thing was beyond unbelievable. Race relations...are they perfect? NO. But time progresses. And every generation grows up with a different perspective. One where race wars are an antiquated joke, gay rights are so yesterday, and women have never been anything but equal. You can't rush it. It will happen.

But It Wasn't a Dream, It Was a Place

2011-12-17T21:41:00.018-05:00

And you, and you, and you...and you were there.

Some lovely memories from my childhood include annual viewings of The Wizard of Oz. I distinctly remember my grandparents plopping my cousins and me in front of the television to watch it every year. Of course, there is an added level of importance due to the fact that Dorothy was from Kansas. Once you leave Kansas and identify yourself as "Kansan" people will inevitably quote or get jazzy with quotes to mock, charm, or make some sort of connection with you. One fine young man once said, "Dorothy, can you help me find my heart?" This was the only quote I enjoyed because it came from a man I would have happily nommed. The ridiculous number of quotes I've heard otherwise is nothing short of...stupid.

Oh ho ho! We're not in Kansas anymore, are we, Dorothy?
There's no place like home, ay Dorothy?
I'll get you my pretty and your little dog, too, baby.

Etc.

Stupid. But I get it. What else would anyone ever know of Kansas? The opening sequences of The Wizard of Oz are hopelessly depressing, not just because they are in sepia, but because they already look blighted by tornadoes. Friends! It just isn't true! There are trees and hills there. And the flat places are filled with crops...beautiful oceans of crops teeming with life. Just take a trip from KC to Wichita via I-35. You will see the flint hills. So beautiful! Not blighted. I will never forget driving home from visiting the KU campus in Lawrence my senior year of high school. The flint hills were on fire during the seasonal burn. We witnessed this near sundown and I have NO doubt that part of my decision process to go to KU was influenced by this magical sight.

Favorite quote? "What a world, what a world"...but you have love the follow up "who would have thought a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness?" The Wicked Witch of the West scared the living HELL out of me. And her flying monkeys? Terrifying! Even now, watching it just tonight, the sight of those grey, costumed freaks still sent a chill up my spine. It's funny how things from childhood can cast a hook in your mind forever. The Exorcist? Not scary. Monkeys flying? AAAAIIIIGGGHHHHH!!

But the thing that most haunted me as a child was the scene where the Wicked Witch of the West tries to take the ruby slippers from her dead sister's feet...the sight of those feet curling up scared me more than anything. I have no idea why. Though I do admit to a weird foot fear...but I do believe that started when a girl from Isley Elementary came back from spring break with a bandaged foot due to a horrible bike chain accident. That was years after I'd started watching The Wizard of Oz yearly, so maybe that exacerbated my complete freak out regarding foot injuries. Watch it yourself and tell me it doesn't freak you out, too:

A beautiful memory? My grandmother's favorite singer (aside from my mom) was Judy Garland. So whenever I hear "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" I think of my grandmother. We had a complicated relationship for many reasons, but in the end all I can say is that I loved her completely. She was the first person truly close to me that died and I was devastated.

On that note, another weirdly lovely memory linked to The Wizard of Oz is that of one of my grandfather's stories. My grandfather had beautiful hands, worker's hands, but well formed and strong. One oddity: one thumb was stick straight, smooth at the joint. I could make the thumb bend slightly myself, but my grandfather could not. Why? Because he worked at the Coca Cola factory back in 39 and had suffered a terrible accident that left his thumb almost completely severed. It hung by the skin alone. They sewed it back on and the thumb was saved, but there was obvious damage to the nerves that never healed. The story? It was just after this accident that he took his little sisters to see The Wizard of Oz. He was dedicated to those girls, loved them entirely, and would have done anything to make them happy. His memory of this event was of excruciating pain as he sat in the theater with his sisters.

While my grandfather's pain is not a "lovely" thing, the memory of him relating this memory to me most definitely qualifies. I will always associate The Wizard of Oz with my grandfather, both for his brotherly heroics and for the memory of him putting me and my cousins in front of the TV to enjoy the weird, wonderful spectacle of The Wizard of Oz.

The End

2011-12-04T22:31:00.008-05:00

I can't stop watching documentaries on the 2008 financial meltdown. I guess I just keep hoping to understand how such a stupid thing could have ever happened. This, in itself, is a stupid hope. Yet, when I think of all the people who knowingly promoted, invested, and benefited from the shockingly fraudulent and self-destructive financial voodoo that led to this downfall, I cannot conceive of how it could have ever happened. These CEOs, CFOs, and multitude of upper management assholes who made millions upon millions of dollars in salaries and bonuses based on a Flat Out Lie seemed to never even blink. They were rich, protected, and above it all.

For some reason...I don't know WHY...this made me think of Cormac McCarthy's The Road. The end of civilization begins with titanic booms in the distance. And we've always believed that it would be something physically violent that would end our civilization. Not "humanity," not that, but civilization.

If we were to be realistic, doesn't it seem more likely that society would end not with white hot nuclear blasts, or meteors plummeting from space, but our own greedy idiocy...when we refused to learn from the the most obvious financial missteps and instead allowed it to continue because we permitted our petty political differences to bring us to our collective knees. I could envision a nation of scattered, starving people walking the roads in search of some comfort. Not a home. Not even a safe haven. Just survival.

One guess as to who would own the homes with people imprisoned in the basement, missing limbs already consumed by these All-American homeowners? Your investment banker. Your CEO. After all, he already lacks common human decency. How much further would he have to go to cut off your leg and serve it to his upper-management posse?

No Country for Old Men

2011-11-27T21:50:00.012-05:00

Every time I have honor of seeing No Country for Old Men I can't believe what I am seeing. It is rare to see something so completely perfect. It is beyond bizarre that a movie such as this would evoke a response like this, but honestly, as I watched it this afternoon, I could not help but think what a delight it was. Lovely! Beautiful! Dear!

I admit this is sick and wrong. It is wrong! Yet, have you seen this movie? There is as much humor and homedown charm as there is blood, guts, and terror. The Coen brothers have well established themselves as weirdos with a fine sense of the macabre balanced against the endless hilarity of the human condition (see Raising Arizona, Fargo) but they took it to a new, completely sublime level with No Country for Old Men. It is impossible to gauge how fiercely I love this movie, despite whatever nihilistic, pessimistic, sadsack haters are out there in the reviewersphere. It IS a dark movie. More shocking, it is a movie set in 1980, in Texas. How could it be? Nihilism in Texas? This is certainly a new thing.

It isn't. Ask any movie buff, historian...or, let's face it, human, and you know that while grim, it's not a lie. It's what happens. Happened. Will happen. The obvious and sickening point is that this is the human condition, still braining each other with a mammoth bone. It is a bummer. But it is the truth. If you've gone to sleep to the sound of gunfire, you have to know this is just the way it goes. Duck.

I love that Texas patios. It is both authentic and prestinely conveyed in this small capsule of a movie. Having lived in Kansas for my formative years, even in Texas for one of them, I know the familiar chatter, asking where you're from, what you're hauling, who your fambly might be. This exchange bit me to the bone:

Everyone celebrates Javiar Badem, and I agree, but I truly believe Tommy Lee, Javier, and Josh Brolin should have won joint awards for best actor that year. I know there was a nomination for Tommy Lee Jones for another role he played during that Academy Award season, but GOD, did you see him?? Watch the gd movie again, please. PLEASE. His performance was beautiful, nuanced, and special. Even if he didn't walk away with the biggest honors, he surely must know what a fine job he did on that film. Perfection.

Nihilism. Sure. Whatever. Read The Road and I assure you that tops it on the scale of nihilism and negativity. You'll cry your heart out while wanting to stab yourself in the face. At least in the world of No Country for Old Men you can stand back, watch the backsplash, and hope you aren't one of the unfortunate few standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. At the very least, you have to learn that your life is worth more than 2 million dollars. Seems sweet in the short term, turns sour in the longterm. Have you found a satchel of cash? Leave it! Put a trip to Las Vegas on your Visa card and GO. Bet the minimum, drink the maximum, sun in the merciless light of the desert and be glad you got away with -$200 in the bank and a pink nose.

Ain't no Sugar casing your joint.

Cthulhu

2011-11-19T20:37:00.022-05:00

I first wanted to know more about this after seeing Hellboy...the only part of the movie that moved me in any real way was the sight of those tentacles descending out of the storm clouds. Because think about it: Is there anything more alien than an octopus? And a Sky Octopus Filled with Evil? Mein Gott.

It is rare that anything really gets to me in a movie...and certainly not a movie in the "action" genre (exceptions, see: Independence Day, President's speech). The entire scene made my skin crawl; I felt it down to my bones. Terrifying.

I know who H.P. Lovecraft is, but I never read him. I was too busy reading all of my Stephen King books 15, 20 times. Like you do. So it is now, in what I like to call "The Extreme" part of my adulthood (so almost 40, yyyyyeah extreme!!) the Cthulhu has become a part of our workspeak, whenever we can manage to work him (she? it?) into a conversation. Cthulhu orders you to use spell check in your work emails, muthatruckas. Big Boss Cthulhu only signs invoices on 11/11/11.

After a Facebook friend linked an article about octopuses (not octopi, it turns out, see word origins!) I knew I had to face my fears. I read the article and found myself completely charmed. I wanted to immediately go out and let one grab my finger with a tentacle. Just one finger, one tentacle. Because c'mon: Baby steps. Baby. Steps.

So of course I perused the YouTube for cool octopus videos. This is the best one of all (read the description):

Per the article, it turns out that octopuses are freaking brilliant. They are escape artists and unapologetic pigs, globulating around to find munchies wherever they can.

Ever wondered how you say "Cthulhu"? Here you go:

Ever wondered how you say "Cthulhu" awesomely? Here you go:

Feel free to enjoy more mispronunciations via Pronunciation Manual. So wrong, so right.

It is too bad that I'll never really get the chance to have a real encounter with a real, live octopus, primarily due to my complete terror of depths. However, if someone were to throw in the chance to encounter a blue whale...well, OK then. OK OK OK. I'll be vomiting nonstop and you'll have to pry me off the ceiling to jam me in the wetsuit and throw me in the ocean, screaming, but I will make myself available for that show.

Flashbax

2011-11-17T19:16:00.008-05:00

I was trying to remember some of the obscure songs I loved in the 80s. The first song below was the one I got hung up on...I remembered something about space, one clip of lyrics that contained none of the hook, and something with a "K." Amazing how the brain works as each piece of information brought on another weird bit. Of course, I needed to get home to the internets to hunt down the rest. All of my dorky clues somehow got me here!

And more...because it is time for a nice music montage to soothe the book fatigued brain. No moar bookz kay??? Btw these songs are so 80s!!!

Disclaimer: I realize some of these songs would not be considered "obscure" to some (or many), but in Wichita, Kansas, they all were. In 7th grade a girl asked me what my favorite song was and, having just watched a mind-blowing Mtv Video Music awards I said "Like a Virgin" by some chick named "Madonna." You'd have thought I'd just spit on a painting of the Holy Mother. Whorish sacrilege! But that Madonna woman finally did break through, even in Wichita. The songs above?...as far as I knew, I was the only lonely geek who liked them in all the state of Kansas.

PS. Isn't that performance phenomenal? I remember a sort of shocked pause before the applause. You could almost see the future unspooling for her to superstardom, no?

F*ck It, We Gettin Outta This Joint

2011-11-16T21:37:00.014-05:00

New favorite thing via Dlisted, a site only some can deal with because it is completely without shame. Whenever I judge myself for not being my true, evil self via the Internet or life, I look to Dlisted and laugh. Because A.) He's mean but he's funny and B.) he's just being truthful, y'all. Even if you didn't say it, you know you thought it about...all the things!

So this is the Hot Slut of the Day....

This is a deserving Hot Slut, let me tell you. Who hasn't muttered the same thing:

In a meeting
On a subway
At a birthday party
In an incubator
Ina club
At the Family Thanksgiving Dinner
Ina relationship
To Yo Mama

Kidding about the last one. Shall you slap yourself silly for even thinking it. Go ahead, ima wait. Slap yourself.

In unrelated related news, I had completely HORRIBLE dreams last night. One in particular was completely mundane. It was just life, at my apartment, doing dishes and cleaning house...yet at some point it seemed I had a flashback revelation. A really, really JACKED UP revelation. I remembered murdering someone.

Now, let's set this scene: It was total normal life, full of dull moments of nothingness: No one was chasing me, there were no bullets flying nor vampires swooping in to bite my face. It was daylight and boring. Yet I remembered killing a guy a few years ago in California. I chose him at random and shot him in a supermarket parking lot. Then I started to remember that I'd actually killed three to five men, all in the same way. And, as I remembered it, I remembered that I did it because I wanted to know what it felt like to kill someone. Apparently three to five times.

What was insane was the fact that I'm thinking about this and feeling sick to my stomach, not believing that I did such a thing, yet knowing for a fact that I did. I was torturing myself over whether or not to turn myself in (I done kilt someone!) but then peevishly whining that I DIDN'T MEAN IT and waaaaah can't I just feel real sorry about it and move on? It even got to the point of wondering if the families of the dead would never stop until they found me. It was very, very real.

WHAT. THE. HELL.

The Internet dream definers say this (via "Dream Moods Dictionary"): "To dream that you have committed a murder indicates that you are putting an end to an old habit and a former way of thinking. This could also refer to an end to an addiction. Alternatively, the dream indicates that you have some repressed aggression or rage at yourself or at someone. Note also that dreams of murder occur frequently during periods of depression."

Well, thank God it didn't say, Bitch, you crazay.

The most horrible part of the dream? In the first few moments of waking up, lurching to the alarm clock, asking myself, WAIT, did I? Did I? When was a last in California?? There were solid, too-long moments when I doubted everything I have ever known about myself. I did think it might have happened. Now, what the HELL does that mean, Dream Moods Dictionary??

F*ck it, we gettin outta this joint.

Whoa, is that me?

How You Doin'?

2011-11-10T22:24:00.006-05:00

Why do they say Oh Lemmy? I say, Was Yo Numbah, yo?

This reminds me--weirdly--of our Gentle Lamb of Romance, JHoward, linked forever at the right. Why are there not more romantic larpers clad in sweaty leather and raggedy pony tails, ay? When I see gents like the foxy Lemmy I think only of the original yearning cry of all lace-clad, white witch, femme fatales...I Need A Hero!!! Lemmy is your man, ladies.

I am transported back to college when I was briefly pursued by a real, live Wiccan. I remember a brief moment in a dingy, college apartment complex foyer where said Wiccan sniffed my neck and complimented me on my intoxicating scent, that being the perfume Colors by Benetton. Lllllame. For both of us. He was all like, here are my sessay runes, aren't you impressed? And I was all like, SATANNNNNNN! I was kind of scared of everything.

But now that I am old(er), I totally don't care! Bring on your runes, your warlock costumes, your intimate knowledge of Klingon. I love it! Lemmy, where you at?

What about the Chicken, Jack?

2011-11-06T18:54:00.003-05:00

I am not going to tell you how much time I spent watching David Letterman/Jack Hanna videos yesterday. A small empire could have been built in that time, no doubt, but which is more rewarding? Empire building or adorable baby animals? Duuuuhhhh.

The most wonderful one of course featured A CHICKEN, and one of those magical furry ones to boot. This makes me scrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee with happiness.

Did Anyone Else Notice...

2011-10-31T21:54:00.002-04:00

...that Ruth Madoff sounds quite a lot like Ma from Ma's Roadhouse?

Happy Halloweeeeeen!

2011-10-23T02:41:00.011-04:00

It's been awhile since I've been able to enjoy this holiday, primarily because the EX loved it so...so it belonged to him? Psychological manipulation? But NO, I smite thee, EX memory, because I enjoyed the hell out of this holiday my whole life.

Speaking of Halloween, don't you think the original Halloween was helliscary? Particularly that part where Jamie Lee Curtis flees from Michael Myers and it is race to get the front door open? I pee my pants just thinking about it. Of course, this particular movie holds a special place in my sick and twisted memoryheart because it is the first horror movie I ever saw. Scene: Me, seven years old, at my baby sitter's house, they are having a drunkityass party. I am surrounded by horny, half baked teens and they have no idea I am there; they only know it is time to turn up the Styx and try to score a home run with their prospective girl/boyfriends. I am sitting on a drooping couch, transfixed. I could CARE LESS about horny teens and their pathetic pettings all around me. All I can see is the TV screen. A man is checking out the kitchen, a man is being lifted up and pinned to the wall with a knife. Other freaky things ensue. I was traumatized.

Later when I saw Halloween for the first time (with older, wiser eyes) I really did enjoy this masterpiece. Beautiful! Terrifying! Jamie Lee Curtis was a vision in virginal awkwardness. "Don't Fear the Reaper"!! Wire hangers! So scary. By the time I saw this movie in full, I was completely devoted to the Stephen King library. I was fully anesthetized.

I am sure there are studies out there that can explain why such a fatherless, grown-up-in-turmoil girl like me would dig on horror books, but I've yet to hear an explanation as to why I latched onto the Stephen King books like a baby to milk. Look here now: I will defend my love of the SK library until the day I die. Is he my surrogate father? Maybe. Did I see his stories as something far worse than what I had known, thus offering me some comfort that my life was far less complicated than it could have been? Definitely. But honestly--and I do not think I am alone in this--I found SK's narrative voice both familiar and comforting. Even when he was scaring the shhhhheeeeit out of me, the storyteller behind the terrifying story held me close and let me know that, despite whatever horrible thing was about to happen, He would go on. And thus I would go on. Silly? Maybe. But it was true for me.

My favorite horror movie? Hands down, The Decent. You can't get more horrifying than getting trapped underground with no known options of escape. Ohnowait! You CAN get more horrifying. Like when you are trapped with no hope of escaping and you are being hunted by pale batpeople full of liberal cannibalistic tendencies. The moment when the women are on the edge of hysteria, disoriented, upset, and the one woman pans around the group to expose the monsters directly beside them? AAAAAIIIIIIGGGHHHHH! I screamed aloud many times during this movie. I ask you: Who would willingly spelunk, ever? EVER?

So, my terror recommend is The Decent. And to take the edge off, watch Halloween after. What a lovely, gentle segue to Halloween night sleepytimes.

Common Ground: Terror!

2011-10-10T21:50:00.009-04:00

I've been enjoying this all day. Click it!

Some of these photos seem like fakes, but a lot seem completely legit. Anyone who has ever visited a haunted house during Halloween knows what's up. You go with your friends, you get all revved up, and you walk through, hoping to scream and yell, hoping not to pee. But honestly, how scary could any Halloween haunted house be?

Maybe really scary. Maybe just a bunch of Gomers in goth makeup going RARRR. I'm completely capable of being startled and, with a group hyped up on sugars and mob mentality, I am capable of reaching full girly shriekiness. True terror? Nah. Because you have to believe in ghosts and demons, I think. And even the surreal specter of true murder and horror, i.e. Texas Chainsaw Screamfest Saw Hostel on Crack in Europe makes me think, ehhhh, probably won't happen to me. Even participants in The Human Centipede never thought it would happen to them, right? But then, I'm not renting any cars in backwoods Europe like some idiots.

But there are plenty of people who believe in that otherworldly threat: ghosts, demons, malevolent magicians. And I guess that's why the haunted mansion/hay ride/cousin Eddie's bathroom of Meth really works for them. I respect that. I remember when I encountered my first true incident of superstition: In the dark, I crawled up the stairs in pursuit of my boyfriend and spoke in a "devil" voice. It freaked him out so much that he called a MAJOR "Time Out" and proceeded to command me to never, ever pull that shit on him again. Heh. Catholics.

I saw The Exorcist sometime during my teens and I was completely horrified. NOT terrified, horrified. Because how could they let that little girl pretend to stab herself in the nethers and scream, well, what she screamed. Seeing her defiled face spitting pea soup was gross, not scary. And I do not mean to discredit the beliefs of others here...it is just that the faith I was raised in did not ever focus on demons, possession, etc. It just wasn't part of my belief system. So the one thing that really freaked me out was the sacrilege of what they'd filmed. It bothered me. It still does.

But I do get the fright of things that are genuinely scary. I have a recurring dream of a man and woman I know. They have a family. It is night and I am going to the house because I am worried. In some of the dreams I am outside in the dark, hearing the shots, and running. In others, I don't know what's happened and I enter the house to find them: the mother, the children. In others, I get to the door and he finds me and puts the gun to my face. In others, I somehow get away. Sometimes I am the woman, dead.

That is scary. A real thing that is scary. Demons may come to possess me, but it is far more likely to be running down an alley, shrieking for help to closed, dark windows, and cold streetlights.

This got dark, yo! Let me turn it around. My pleasure in finding these pictures is the following:

I love the groups, how mixed they are, how different. You can see many cultures here. I know it is Sick As Hell, but I find great comfort in knowing that we all crave these cheap thrills. It's not a We Are The World moment, but definitely in the Coke commercial range.
Scream Chains: Some of these groups are 7 and 8 people long. See how they cling to each other in uniform terror! I love it.
Shirt yanking and catching a feel: Many participants left with stretched-out shirts, some left with warm handprints on their boobies. Some warm boobies were male.
The Escape Artist: Priceless. I love the shots of people screaming in terror and the one guy leaping out of the frame. He's all like, "Fuck ya! I'ma live!"
Men Clutching Men (see Scream Chains) and also shrieking like peacocks in the rain. Self. Explanatory.

I encourage anyone who can to visit a haunted something this Halloween season. Revel in the shared humanity. And, PS., there are no ghosts. Or demons. Do we really need them in this world? C'mon.

Ima Bite You

2011-10-10T21:20:00.006-04:00

I am thoroughly enjoying the new show, Terra Nova. Who knows if it will last. At least it outlived The Playboy Club? The first episode was kind of MEH with a lot of glossing over important details, like if you force your way into Terra Nova you get a cursory spanking and then become an important member of the military force. Yeppers. That's how it would happen.

Some of the CGI is pretty hokey. It's not even to the level of Jurassic Park. But seeing that this is a TV show, we have to forgive them. And the show absolutely MUST rely on character development. It got off to a shaky start. Some of the characters--especially the male lead--were incredibly wooden. But things are loosening up. And we see that Stephen Lang has found his calling: muscle-bound, military badass.

I don't think he's a particularly good actor, but even you must admit you were impressed with his HOT ASS BOD in Avatar. His hot ass bod came a distant second to his Raging Asshole Interloper identity, but you get the drift.

The SHOCK of all shocks was when I figured out who this guy really was. For those of you lucky enough to know that Michael Mann's 1983 masterpiece Manhunter beats the living hell out of that shamefest, The Red Dragon (2002), you will also remember the mealy mouthed idgit reporter Freddie Lounds. That is the SAME GUY.

It really is true. The older some men get, the hotter they become. Phtht. Nevertheless, given the chance? Ima bite you.

Chicken Drivin'

2011-10-08T23:53:00.002-04:00

This is a most triumphant chicken.

New Simon's Cat Video!

2011-10-08T22:07:00.001-04:00

Mew!

We Are Snooki

2011-09-29T22:11:00.008-04:00

Anyone who watches The Jersey Shore (what, there are people) has seen the latest freakout mental breakdown of resident superstar, Snooki. She's tiny, she's drunk, she's flailing, she's funny. She has many, many "best of" quotes. She is also very young and trying to figure her life out.

So she's with this complete douche Jionni. She gets drunk at a club and does something exhibitionist and stupid. Like he didn't know who he was dating? Nevertheless, she did something stupid. And drunk.

It really doesn't matter. When I realized I recognized this girl was when I watched her screaming his name in the streets of whatever Italian town they are staying in. Watching her cry and scream and hyperventilate over this guy leaving her reminded me of something. What nailed it down was his crystal cool attitude during the whole thing. No tears. No real evidence of anger. What does he do? Threaten abandonment.

Man. Have I EVER seen this before? Yes.

I call it the 6-month Strategy of Intimacy. Perfect gentleman, completely devoted, full of caring and love. I had tonsillitis during this period. He brought me enough soup and food to feed a family for a week. He sent me cards and flowers. He pretended to be an open soul, open and dedicated only to me.

The first time the butcher pulled True Sociopathic shit on me I was caught completely unaware. Let me tell you how it feels: Sick, drained, black. You feel desperate and panicked.

The second time he pulled this shit on me, I went crazy. I was in my office, AT MY JOB, shrieking into my sleeve, sobbing. I was completely hysterical. I had to go home. I cut up the necklace he gave me and got blisteringly drunk. I went completely out of my mind insane.

When you are dealing with a sociopathic, sadistic charmer, you have no control. They are experts at building trust and dependence. Once that's established, it is all games of torture and reward. I am an educated, generally distrustful, allegedly wise person. I was completely steamrolled by the butcher. I had no game plan. I didn't know I needed one.

So, go easy on little Snooki. She's got problems aside, but on this whole Jionni mess, give her a pass.

Sell Me Something

2011-09-27T19:20:00.015-04:00

I watch plenty of television. Not by choice. I walk into my apartment and it turns itself on. It whispers goooood morning daaaave even when it is nighttime then proceeds to pick all the channels. It growls when I pick up the remote. I am not Dave.

So I end up watching a lot of commercials. First, let me say this: They've gotten so much better over the years. Cable has also contributed to this improvement: More competition, more incentive to get off your lazy ass and make some Majix. I do miss local commercials, especially the misguided "creative" ones, and it's been an age since I've seen a Monster Truck Rally ad. I mean, how am I going to know what to do on Sunday, Sunday, SUNDAY?!?

I've always had loves and hates and mostly mehhhhhs, my all-time favorite is probably that Sprite ad from the 90s. A perusal of my blog will tell you I have lots of blergs, mostly based on common sense rather than the quality of the commercial (see: seeing a child terrified into crying in a busy airport because he was all alone, not because his mom died of cancer, even though that's what they scared the crap out of him for). There are such things as best-worst commercials, one of which I saw when it was originally running in Chicago. I sat there, gape-mouthed, not believing that it actually happened. Over the years, it's aged like a fine wine...

Lately, my favorite commercial is this little gem, which is my humor to a T:

I'm also a fan of the Orbit cuss-out ad. What I am NOT a fan of is the following commercial, which upsets me on several different levels:

Bad, marketing people, BAD! I don't care if it was complicated to pull off. I don't care if it took talent. My first reaction was similar to Hyperbole and a Half's dog, NO HOORSE NO! Why?:

--It makes a creepy face. Creepy ass face. It reminds me too much of that Hobbit cartoon that I absolutely hated when I was a kid. NOHOORSENO.

--Look at the nose. Look at it. Look at the hands under the nose. Remember this is a family.

--There are children that come out of this pyramid face of horror. Where were the children?! Someone call social services.

It is creative. Creepy creative, but kudos to being memorable, terrible Toyota commercial!

I LIKE STAMPS

2011-09-25T02:03:00.012-04:00

I LIKE THEM.

I used to collect them. Somewhere in this apartment I have individually wrapped (in stamp-sized envelopes) STAMPS. Elvis and Warner Bros....and triangular shaped ones from the eighties, I think. I am OLD MAN IVY. Whatever. When I first got interested in the idea of stamps I was 13 or so.

We were living on Waco street and food stamps. I used to make grocery runs to Dillons on 13th with the hopes that my extreme crush, a high school guy named Patrick, would not be working. Of course, there was one time that he was working. Me. My food stamps. And Patrick. Imagine the shame. You can't. Just try.

I had a lot of goofy aspirations during this time. Of course I was going to be "found" by some famous humanitarian and I would be made famous, somehow. Academy awards abound...followed closely by Grammys and scandallllllll! It was going to be rich with drama. There was a moment, even, when I was absolutely sure that Steve Perry pulled up in my driveway on a Harley.

It. Happened.

Or at least I think it happened. I was, after all, thirteen. If you don't know this (if you are a parent, you should, and if you still claim you do not, SHAME on you): preteens are clinically insane. It is true. They are. And we should all feel terribly sad for and afraid of them. Incarceration! It is the only hope.

Yet. These people run free amongst us. As I once did. With my food stamps and weird dreams.

My personal dream was to one day see a stamp of Grace Jones. I don't know why. I can only imagine she was the most anti-Wichita thing that could ever exist, probably. Imagine 1985. Me and my groceries of shame. Writing in my journal of angst. Imagine! I spent hours obsessing over Stevie Nicks and stealing cigarette butts out of ashtrays when my mom wasn't looking. I spent hours imagining I was anywhere but there.

I really have to tip my hat to that girl. She would never have believed she would be living in New York City, working in publishing. That food stamp girl spent hours curled around her most precious things: scrapbooks, tapes, stolen scarves, dreams. It is possible--and it SHOULD BE--that the stamp she once imagines would come to light. How cool would that be? HOW COOL? Think about it!

A more likely happenstance is, of course, a chicken happenstance. This might make it to a stamp one day. And all hail the grand and opulent Chicken! Celebrate! There's still room enough in this vast world for a grand chicken stamp and something altogether different, magnificent, and magical.

This Week in Stupid

2011-09-20T22:23:00.010-04:00

For reasons I cannot explain, I've been Rickrolling myself all week. Why? Why? I don't know why. It just lives in my head to irritate and annoy, I guess. To be clear, I wasn't into this song when it came out. I'll trade it any day for a solid T'Pau or even a Toy Soldiers.

So a Good and Wondrous Editor responded to an email with "Free Bird" when I asked if she was available to a meeting, thus freeing me from this hot mess that was never gonna give me up, never gonna let me down, never gonna run around or desert me. UG, please desert me.

The other song that possessed my headspace was, for no reason I can explain, "Ya Mo Be There." WHY WHY WHY. It isn't even on my radar as a favorite. Not to say that I do not have Michael McDonald favorites because I doooo. Honestly I was kind of sads when The 40-Year-Old Virgin made fun of playing the Michael McDonald video on replay forever at the electronics store. Look. I love me some Michael McDonald. I even endure me some Doobie Brothers with one very extreme exception. I am not, however, into any kind of Ya Mo or Yo Mo Be There silliness. My favorite Michael McDonald? Obvious:

I'll take that on replay all day Wednesday, okaaaay?

The Oatmeal

2011-09-20T21:42:00.003-04:00

How did I not know of this little sliver of genius? I LOVE IT SO MUCH. Image above all credit to The Oatmeal, which you should subscribe to immediately.

Welsh Witch

2011-09-15T20:57:00.011-04:00

It is impossible to express the impact Stevie Nicks had on my young life and formative years. I remember being about 11 years old and finally understanding that the woman singing the beautiful songs I loved at that time, "Edge of Seventeen" and "Stand Back," was also the woman who sang the beautiful songs I loved as a child, "Dreams" and "Sara." So, as I slid precariously into those impressionable years, I reached out to learn more about this woman. What I discovered was far more than I'd bargained for.

Imagine a blank canvas of a mind waiting for inspiration. Mix that with the extreme confluence of ego and desire. Now imagine the first time I laid eyes on Stevie Nicks in all her Welsh witch glory, being a beautiful, magnificent, terrifying freak. The word "galvanizing" does not describe it.

Remember, this is the age before the Internet. Now I can Google her and find a zillion pictures, but then I was left with Circus magazine (she was more "rock," so Bop wasn't really where one would find her) and record stores (Musicland I remember the most). The more I accumulated, the more obsessed I became. So many stars one would choose to emulate were far more simple or mainstream--think Olivia Newton John--and Stevie Nicks was anything but that.

When we would go grocery shopping, Mom was off to purchase the sustenance, I was off to the magazine rack. My very favorite picture of her was Stevie crouching in the dark, reaching out with a terrifying claw of a hand. I cannot find this image now, so if you run across it, tell me immediately. It was both beautiful and scary. Remember, I was 11 or 12 at the time: my concept of witches was formed entirely by my Christian upbringing. They were from the devil. I even checked out the Witches handbook from the library to try to get a grasp on the thing. Thank Stevie Nicks for my early understanding of Wiccans and the true nature of that religion. Not. Devil. Worshippers.

However, I was still terribly scared of her. All while being completely fascinated and charmed. I wanted to be her daughter, best friend, back up singer. I wanted desperately to be a Sister of the Moon.

I will tell you honestly that it bothers me when people make fun of her. I love South Park, I don't love the sheep bit. I generally care about humans on this earth, I do NOT like it when they make fun of Stevie's voice, lyrics, appearance, anything. Imagine this woman in the world of rock, she's inducted into Fleetwood Mac as a couple, and her singularity and talent brought her to the forefront. It speaks volumes that she was able to go on and create a wildly successful solo career based on her truly unusual talent. I cannot think of anyone that was anything like her. Can you?

Anyway, here's one of my favorite performances. Why is the mic square? Why is it set for a 7 foot tall person? Who cares? She's magnificent. And continues to be.

There Just Stopped Being Gravity

2011-09-15T19:38:00.003-04:00

After spending the last two days going through 8 sets of proofs I was half-zombie, half-human, half-drooling or crying. No one will ever really know the true story. Aside from that it has been a really good week, mostly because my social anxiety event is finally over and I can Relaxxxxxx. Also other things that make me smile like a fool for minutes and hours on end (and who knew how dangerous one can suddenly seem on the streets of NYC, grinning whilst walking alone...YES).

This little treat made me laugh aloud today, thanks to my work friend Mr. Editor McBookypants (he gets a new name every time). Please enjoy The Monkeys You Ordered. The literal captions wipe the floor with the real ones. I guess it depends on your sense of humor, but this is definitely mine.

Wordle

2011-09-11T14:20:00.003-04:00

Is a fun distraction. I picked a momentous month from 2008 and created a word cloud using this website. I could do this all day, I think.

Thanks, Wordle!

9/11 10 Year Anniversary

2011-09-09T22:24:00.014-04:00

I've already written about the day...it covers everything I remember. There are details I left out for reasons of anonymity. It isn't that I believe it would be all that hard to ID me should anyone try to snoop doggy dog me from work--enough key words will lead you RIGHT HERE--but there was one notoriously callous moment I will never forget that I cannot get into too much detail for, if you think about it, obvious reasons. Let's just say that an anonymous someone said something to the effect of "it's been two weeks already. Aren't we ready to, you know, move on?"

Two weeks.

I can't remember when, exactly--maybe it was standing on 5th avenue, kicked out of my office, watching the smoke downtown...maybe it was the walk to Meg's apartment, or the walk across the Brooklyn Bridge--but I do remember thinking very concretely that nothing would ever be the same again. Ever. You can divide an American's world view very clearly between pre-9/11 and post-9/11. Our soft, safe world of hypothetical threats (Russians! Nukes! Aliens!) was shaken apart on that day. It was not hypothetical, it was the worst thing that no one had ever imagined before...not on that scale, for sure.

Remember when a plane crash was big news? The biggest? I remember being glued to the TV whenever a plane crash happened, it scared me so much. That morning, after the basic facts (drenched in hysterical theories) were established, I do remember saying something about this. One accidental plane crash was the height of horror for me. Now, in this new world, there are four plane crashes, all hijackings, all deliberate. It was too much to handle only this information for me. I believe wholeheartedly that this is why I shut down.

My editor friend posted a link to the just released audio recordings of that day and made a very insightful and intelligent comment about how people who say it was "like a movie" were wrong. He said it was a waking nightmare. It was. More for so many than for me. I remember Meg's boyfriend arriving home while we were watching the one and only channel they had and his shell shocked expression. He worked in that area and he'd seen first hand the people falling from the towers. If that had been me...I don't know what. I would not have been able to function.

The thing is, though, that for me it did turn into a movie. Because it HAD TO. When I went downstairs to see that the second tower had fallen I had a choice. My friend was on the ground screaming, people were milling, yelling, crying, and shocked. I was in this new, scary city 4 months. I had a choice. Those walls shot up and were lacquered in steel. Everything that happened was a cold dream, a movie playing out that only happened somewhere 10 feet away from me. Nothing to be scared of. Nothing to think about. Nothing.

My friend Chris has a huge heart. When I moved to NYC she basically forced me to be her friend. I am a homebody to the extreme; she would hear none of it. And this is a good person to have that particular quality because she is a wonderful person: positive, energetic, hilarious, sincere. When this happened, my friendship with her and with Julia was so new that I already felt exposed and scared. I am not good at making friends. So witnessing her unfiltered, completely real emotional reaction to what had happened made me feel all the more alien and cold. Their insistence that I come over that night, come with them the next day to the Brooklyn promenade, and join them for other events (the charity event at The Gate, watching the concert for the NYPD and FDNY) cemented our friendship in a wholly unique way. I saw Julia just the other night and I can say without reservation that her very presence is a comfort to me. She and Chris represent complete safety to me. I get calm at the center and ride a kind wave of mutual adoration.

And while I can identify with people who say it was "like a movie" there was one comment that struck me wrong. This goes back to the point that everything changed. I've heard this opinion before and I absolutely disagree with it. This time, the source was a History Channel special on the event. One of the commentators talked about the expressions on the faces of the people who were watching everything unfold on the scene...the scores of people with their hands to their mouths, crying, screaming, witnessing the people falling, the fire, the horror of it all. He said, "We're not used to seeing this happen in our lives, on a daily basis, where in other parts of the world it is a daily event."

Really? Really. Please tell me when this event has happened anywhere else in our modern times. You cannot compare this to bombings, other hijackings, NOTHING. You cannot. Or did he mean just seeing people senselessly die? That is the only parallel. No modern, first world country has seen 4 passenger planes full of people target 2 iconic landmarks full of living humans, and destroy that many people in one contemptuous, single-minded and misguided effort to make a simple, narrow-minded point.

Two weeks.

It's been 10 years and I still cannot allow what happened full access to my heart and mind. I see it with clinical eyes. I wait for it to wash over me and, finally, through me. To finally truly understand the weight of it. The bloody heft. I know so much of what protects me was there from the start; what I've known, what I've seen. Self protection is paramount. But I fear this protection is the same as a sociopathic tendency. I see the faces and I understand they are real, all of them, but when I try to see the event as a whole it spools out like a...movie. Not real. Never real.

Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Boxed

2011-09-08T23:51:00.011-04:00

I've said hateful things about Russell, Taylor's husband. These are "characters" from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. This Housewives show is by far my favorite. Or, it was.

The thing is, finally, we must come to terms with the fact that these are real people. Whatever reasons they have for signing up for this shitshow, we must always remember that they are flawed, fallible, and vulnerable.

Other people have committed suicide after partaking in a reality shows. Google it. It has happened more than you think. This is the most high profile death to date.

The sad thing is this: My feelings about Russell were completely formed by my viewing of the show. I found him controlling, hard hearted, and bland. Take a step back.

Way back.

Into...REALITY.

How many people have we known in real life that would fit that description? Let's be clear: I do not canonize him as a martyr to the cause of Just Realities. There are NO TRUE REALITIES in TELEVISION. It is a hateful lie of manipulation and exploitation. He's just a guy. A regular guy full of faults and annoying outward habits. He is the very definition of banal. No amount of money or faux monies will ever make this untrue.

However, can we say the truth?: A man killed himself. He hung himself in his mansion. He is rotting in his grave.

The decision of Bravo to continue to air the episodes for this season of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills is completely beyond me. Future episodes dedicated to bitchy comments about Lisa wearing a fur hat? Irrelevant. Future episodes dedicated to fashion, stature, riches, idiocy? WHO CARES? Because all people will really want to see is the episode when everyone reacts to Russell hanging himself in his mansion. That is it. Otherwise, the exercise of watching these vapid fools playing their irrelevant games isn't just fatuous...it is perverted and sick beyond compare.

I ask, finally: Who give a FUCK what happens to these real wives now? Why air the show at all? Bravo, are you not just sucking the last dry blood from Russell's body to gain even a smidge of ratings? How far is too far? We have to follow the simple rules of Cylon here: Box it.

This branch of the series is dead. Let it DIE. Along with Russell who died for his own reasons. The thing is: No one gives two flying shits about some rich bitch's furry hat when we know, in the end, that a real person is taking his life and rotting in his grave. Stop.

I-RENE!

2011-08-27T19:33:00.008-04:00

Ain't she a beaut? Like a furry, swirly bunny tail. It feels like it has been DAYS of talking about it--I guess it has--but I am surprised at how completely freaked out everything has gotten. The local ABC station has basically been non-stop news all day. There is quite a lot to report, so there's reason for it, but I'd be lying if I said it hasn't ramped up the anxiety about the approaching storm. Evacuation zones, stocking up for days without open grocery stores or restaurants, the MTA shutting down all service at noon today...and of course the semi-jubilant media anticipation for what might happen.

You know, when I was in middle school one of my frenemies never called me by my actual name. Guess what she called me??? I-REEEENE. And that's exactly how she'd say it. Considering the little shit I was at 13, it makes sense that this ahole hurricane is named Irene.

I've spent most of the day prepping for the storm. Probably over-prepping. Example:

I'm not even sure what duct taping windows will do, but I also duct taped around the air conditioner which should (I hope) keep most of the water out. I also made a big bag of ice and cooked up extra food to eat should the worst happen (flooding, electricity out, etc.). Tonight I'll make sure the phone and laptop are also charged up. I won't be able to access the internet via the laptop, but I will have phone access (I hope). Lots and lots of "I hopes."

Of course, people are having far too much fun with the prospect of a huge storm approaching:

The video will most certainly be taken down at some point, but let's enjoy the sight of a bouncing ding dong on the Weather Channel for as long as we can. The reporter's disgust with the infantile, fratty high jinks is similar to the shaming, scolding tones I've seen other reporters exhibit over the course of the day. After all, the only people who can gleefully anticipate this event are the media.

Now there are reports of tornadoes and tornado watches very close to NYC. We got cows.

Gothamist has some semi snarky reports on the day's events. Luckily for me, I just have to turn on a local station and the minute-by-minute coverage will be there for me. Finally:

This just made me laugh and laugh. I guess we're all feeling a bit infantile and fratty. Booyah.

Independence Day

2011-08-14T02:28:00.024-04:00

People (friends, family, acquaintances, haters) have wondered over the years why OH why Independence Day is my favorite movie. The new Star Trek movie definitely threatens that most awesome moniker of perfection, but for now let's just say that my favorite movie is Independence Day (1996).

Why is it my favorite? So many reasons (I shouldn't have to defend):

Evildoer aliens vs. the Planet pre-9/11. All things prior to 9/11 were somehow sweet and innocent. Remember Patriot Games? Irish militants? Now seems twee, doesn't it?

Jeff Goldblum. Nerd Muscle. Sex Geek. Checkmate.

Bill Pullman's speech. No President has ever given a speech that will match this one. It is beyond soaring. And the cheesy saluting airman only adds to the excellence. How often do we both laugh and cry?

Will Smith in his first role as American we'd all love to be and possibly slow kiss. I haven't seen all WS movies since his most righteous role in Independence Day ( 7 Pounds, Wild Wild West) but I've seen the ones that make me believe there is no greater pop American actor worthy of our dollars and adoration. That is, of course, if he can stay the course with aliens/disaster/general action genres.

Judd Hirsch. "You wanna borrow the car?"

The fact that our dumb asses could ever figure out how to kill their alien-evil-satellite abusing overlord ways. Do notice that our basic answers are always a "virus." Note that this is also the thing that will also probably kill us, too. Eventually.

Adam Baldwin being all military sexay. Brent Spiner being all science nerday? Vivica A. Fox being all juicy-strippy sassay?

The Moment. I'd never experienced an opening day movie before. Especially not one with that much advance excitement and expectation. What was better was the fact that we were in LA that week to celebrate my ex-husband's grandmother's birthday. We visited Universal Studios on July 4, 1996, and one of the highlights the day (and the trip) was the premier viewing of Independence Day at the theater on site. The audience was down like a clown for all the emotional highs and lows of the movie. They screamed, yelled, laughed, and applauded throughout the movie, and this forever imprinted on my tiny monkey mind. Independence Day = happy/joy spikes of feelings iced with sugar-spiked edges of glee.

I've viewed this movie countless times since it's been released on DVD. It remains one of my very favorites: most quotable, most memorable, most wonderful. My biggest wish, extraplanetary-wise, is that aliens who find us will be peaceful, kind, helpful, or just bored enough to pass us by. It would be nice if they understood our humor, or at least my humor (and that of this wedding party, God bless them for all eternity!) and love us for the monkey dweebs we are:

Chicken Rex

2011-08-13T22:10:00.003-04:00

Evidence. A Rex Foot:

A Chicken Foot:

Basically the same, save a few hundred pounds and a mouthful of teeth. But I bet if you ever pick up a chicken and try to snorgle it, that chicken will give you the Evil Eye of Carnage the entire time...if it doesn't peck your face off first. Warriors!!!

Monkay

2011-08-12T22:50:00.006-04:00

First, let's celebrate monkeys with my two favorite monkey videos...

Now let's talk about this new monkey movie, Rise of the Planet of the Apes. YEAH. Because bitches, you knew it would happen...not just the remakes, but the reality. Don't think those hairy bitches won't rise up one day and lay us all to rest. Violently. Just the testing alone should earn that for us, yes?

Side note: Now you are wondering about my thoughts on animal testing and our development/survival as homo sapiens. I have to honor all the animals who have died thus far for our advancement, but I don't agree with it. I am THANKFUL, but I would prefer we utilize our own genetic material to test everything henceforth. That includes stem cells. If it is HUMAN, it can be tested. I think the animals have done their share at this point.

Personally, I HATE the Planet of the Apes movies. ALL OF THEM. HATE HATE HATE. The originals upset me greatly. I was not developed enough to understand the layers of sociopolitical learnings they were surely meant to teach. I just knew that in one of the movies one of the monkey couples were harassed and one was shot. It meant...what? What? I don't even want to guess what it meant at the time. I don't like it now, hated it then. It was somehow gross and offensive. As I child, I didn't know why...as an adult I could guess...but feel upset and pissed off that it should ever force me to think about it at all. Let's be clear: for the times, this wasn't about monkeys. It wasn't. And that's mostly what pisses me off.

I hated the Marky Mark version, too, by the way. Stupid.

There were two things that made me think twice about this newest version. First, the CGI. Finally it wasn't that creepy makeup...no matter how masterful, completely oogy. Second, the music. WOW, great job! They could have used this for any number of end-of-world movies. It tells the story completely. I mean, just listen to it. Don't you feel panicked?

The only failing, of course, is not including the raptors in this uprising. The eagles, the hawks...the direct decedents of T. Rex: the Chicken. Imagine CGI Chicken giving the stink eye to the humans, sharpening the fighting claw. Yes, they have fighting claws.

Professionalizzm

2011-08-11T21:15:00.006-04:00

I sent this in an email to my peeps at the end of the day today.

It was at the end of a chummy, funny exchange, but still. ZOMG WTF wha happen? I can haz professionalzzezz. Ug.

Speaking of Isley

2011-07-01T19:08:00.011-04:00

While researching for the last post (memmmmories!) I found a folder that contained within it such treasures that I had to share, immediately.

First, let's talk about our bodies.

The first and last in-school sex talk happened at Isely. There was even a helpful calendar in the back to help me count down to my next ladies-time, month to month...

...back when I was born or, possibly, time traveling.

The materials were adorably old but hey, they tried. I do remember our teacher's patience being tested when, during Q&A, one of the girls raised her hand and asked "What is a 'blow job?'" Though, to be fair, I do believe she really didn't know...just like I didn't know what a certain phrase meant and, assuming it was an insult, screamed it at two teenaged boys while fighting over a raft at my grandfather's typographical union picnic. The look on my mother's face could be described as both "horrified" and "classic" when I screamed "Eat me, eat me RAW!" This happened. All I can say is: Thank God my mom was there and not my grandfather. I would still be humiliated to this day. Funny now, though.

Anyway, I obviously kept the booklets...I am not sure how they made it all the way to now as I've had many reckonings where countless knickknacks of memory and once-held, now-dead value were bagged and trashed to make way for new things, less sentimental, more adult.

I remember the image of this girl in particular tapped into my ever increasing sense of jealousy for all things I did not have and simply was NOT: athletic, shining, perky, preppy, and lovely. Imagine that, whilst the Tampax corporation was only trying to teach me about my body, myself, they instead gave me another--completely fabricated--visage to detest and idolize, an act so common and fraught during any girl's teen years.

Finally, related and unrelated, the Isely Contract. As I've mentioned, there were no grades at Isely...there were technically no grades on two levels: no letter grades and classes were mixed 4th, 5th, and 6th grades. Now, I hate to think I saved this particular contract out of some self-flagellating punishment for errors made so long ago, but I also hate the idea that I saved an average contract of mine showing my basic level of commitment. I will say there was a drawing on the back, I think of myself as Boy George, so that's probably why this, out of all the contracts I had, was the one that survived. So, here it is. Try (only try) not to judge.

To my credit, the "cave in" was very challenging. I admit the principal did have to come and talk to me about my performance--not just for this contract, but in general. I was not called to her office. Oh no. She came to my class and, while my classmates worked quietly (very quietly) around me, talked to me at my desk. They would hate to have to excuse me from Isely to attend another school because I could not complete the work. Isely made not have had grades, but you'd better do the work. That shamefest motivated me (the point, obviously) and they never kicked me out. Even so, I doubt I was ever the star, the runner up, or even high in the lower half of the class. Whatever the case, I got what I needed from Isely. Wonderful memories of a cutting edge school and knowledge of My Changing Body.

The Choice

2011-07-01T17:22:00.016-04:00

I was out running errands today in the hood and passed by by the bike shop en route to the pharmacy right next door. The door to the bike shop was open and the smell of fresh bike tires filled the air. I love the smell of fresh tires, by the way. I genuinely considered going in just so I could hyperventilate on that sweet, sweet, toxic perfume. But it also reminded me of a conversation I had with my peeps a couple of weeks ago about envy and material things.

Between 5th and 6th grades I was given a choice for my birthday: a new bike or $100 worth of new clothes. Before I begin, let me clarify: I had known jealousy before. One of my mother's favorite nicknames for me was "The Green-Eyed Monster" which worked out well for her because I have green eyes. Here is evidence of the green-eyed monster:

But it was near the end of 5th grade when I realized I had a terrible problem outside of the familiar realm of wanting my adored grandpa all to myself: There were things in the world that other people possessed that I did not or, worse, could not have. As I mentioned before, I went to a fantastic school, Isley, where all the kids now seem to me both charmed and certainly rose-colored through my memory, but a great number of them were very well off. It was in 5th grade that I became increasingly aware of Jordache jeans, Izod polos (now Lacoste), deck shoes, and a rolled, blue or red paisley bandanna used as a belt. I eventually procured some of these items at the time (the jeans via begging, and the bandanna raided from my mother's closet) but there were so many things I wanted and could not have. So many things. ALL the THINGS.

What was worse was the galvanizing influence Mtv began to have on my life during that summer. At the time, I had an old, lavender banana seat bike that seemed to weigh 50 pounds. It was my first and only bike, the one my grandfather taught me to ride. It was a tank and took a lot of energy to get rolling, but once I was off I could tear around my neighborhood (or my grandparents') with relative ease. It looked similar to this:

I was eleven going on twelve and I have no doubt in my mind that the purple tank kept me in fantastic shape. Being a child, I did not care about being "in shape" (ah the ease of lanky, long-legged youth when I was still taller than most of the boys in my class). All the year before I'd wanted what my cousin Neil had, which I believe was something like this:

A BMX bike. His was too small for me, but it moved like a mothertrucker and it cornered--you guessed it--like it was on rails. I wanted a bike like that and BAD. I imagined myself jetting everywhere, cornering excessively, and possibly seeing the curvature of the earth due to my a.) speed, and b.) awesomeness.

Then my friend Brett introduced me to Mtv and, worse, Duran Duran's video "Is There Something I Should Know." Something snapped. Or clicked, depending on how you want to see it, I guess. The growing weight of coveting all the shiny, preppy things crashed together with a new level of envy (desire, obsession, idolatry) mixed with a level of desperate urgency I could barely cope with. I'd never seen such pretty boys, such clean lines, and what I interpreted as the very height of class and exclusivity. They were musicians. They were gorgeous. They were BRITISH.

Suddenly, the idea of tearing around on a BMX bike seemed both juvenile and wasteful. I spent that $100 on all the fashion I could get. I still remember two of the outfits, mostly because there are pictures. Here's one:

Yes, that is a blousy matching top and shorts, pink with red lips all over and a damn bow tie. This is the tippy top of fashion! The other outfit I remember was lavender shorts and a white and purple top with horizontal, broken lines that I believed looked like a Duran Duran cover. The next year, I even tried to get a haircut just like Nick Rhodes, "my" Duran Duran band member and future husband, based off of this photo:

This was the result.

Spock.

Though at the time I thought I was quite deprived of all the coveted things, as I look back I know that I had more than I should have expected. Not as much as my classmates, but certainly enough to get by: Unfortunately, through hormones, circumstance, and timing I came to a crossroads where I had to decide between something smart and something superficial. I saw it then as something irrelevant and something vital to my survival as a preteen American female, but you get my drift. I should have picked the bike. For my social weakness only went in decline after that (and some shifts in fortune that complicated matters, but that’s a story for another day): Learn this parents! A choice of clothes over a bike leads to choosing friends over family, then smoking, then drinking, then, well, an education and career but no matter! The bike was a better choice.

Got Mah Hair Did

2011-06-24T22:06:00.009-04:00

I do it, like, never. So sad. I get it done, leave most of the length, then grow it like a nasty weed for many months before I break down and do it again. When I walked into the salon today, I looked like the Blair Witch with fried kinks of bird's nest flying every which way. There was a dead dog of hair shank hanging off the end, and spastic curls like when people grow their nails for the Guinness Book of World Records.

My new hairdresser is awesome. She's a tres cool chick and she's not afraid of doing what I ask. When I say make it blond, platinum, she's like "Yeah." When I say HACK IT OFF, she's like "Yeah." So she made a pony tail and hacked it right off. It was thrown to the floor and looked like this:

Which I immediately recognized as a Yorkie dog. It totally does look like a dog. See?

So after all the bleaching and further cutting, I went from looking like this:

To this:

Yes, all participants will be protected by the black bar of anonymity.

On an unrelated note, my work friend linked this website on Facebook and I honestly could watch it foreversssss. Animals Being Dicks! Because the scientists say that smart animals are somewhere around a 3-year-old's mental development, so it would figure, yes? I LOVE IT. This website made me so happy, I'm linking it for permanent to the right.

Healed

2011-06-12T00:29:00.011-04:00

YAY YAY YAY Internet! What did we do before the Internet? We wallowed. We propped a chair against the door, put on Tusk, and smoked our parent's 1/15th smoked menthol cigarettes. Or, well, you did that, not ME, not ME. Don't tell my mom.

Anyway, after watching that god damned Inside Job I just need a sweet, sweet intake of '85 "Dog & Butterfly" 5:30 am roach smokin,' under the pool table utopia. You know. How you do.

This will heal you, too. First, a blorp.

SCREEEEEEEECH, right? OMG, when I saw this I went half crazy. I had flashbacks to lunch just this past Thursday when I finally vocalized what I'd been feeling so long to my friend, Editor McWorkypants (alias). For so long I've harbored such guilt about the cats. I had them for four months and I sent them back to the org.crazy that I adopted them from. Let me be clear and unapologetic: I love cats. I love animals. I am still allowed to express this freely. It took me far too long to get here.

After too many months (year +) of hating myself for failing these cats, I came to a series of conclusions:

I sent them back to the service after spending hundreds of dollars on adoption fees and medical care. I could have paid less as a "foster" if I'd known what I was really in for.
I have only ever known tamed cats, born and raised in human homes. Don't think it makes a difference? Wait till a mostly-feral cat sinks it's teeth into you and ask that question again.
The whole adoption ideology guilts guilty people into adopting cats without really understanding what a "street cat" is. My particular agency had a MySpace page of cute animal mug shots with tags like "murdered," "burned," hung." And when we were on site, the place stank of urine and hopelessness. Despite every instinct inside me screaming NO, I took two cats. I meant well.
Never adopt cats when you are emotionally vulnerable. Like, after a breakup. Duh.

I hated myself for too long, but i forgive myself completely now. I believe that my "foster" cats have more appropriate homes with people who can handle them. I no longer believe I have to write off having cats--or any animal--forever. I believed that for so long. Not anymore. Guilt is a poisonous, destructive thing.

Let me just say this: I wish I could get updates on Jack and Snugglebug. I loved them and wanted to be strong/different/holy enough to keep them. Unfortunately, that was never in the cards. As a warning to anyone planning to adopt "rescue cats" please know this: Your agency (major quote unquote) will likely hold the failure to follow through completely against you. That's their right. Too bad, but I understand zeal. It is, for the most part, what these animals need. I will just believe my former cats are OK. Knowing the org involved, I can believe it.

Without further ado, more sugary sweet animals.

Because this is about happiness, I include other things, awesome things, things that will make this more devilhornsawesome. Did you KNOW Journey was on tour with two alternates to the Holy Trinity (Journey, Styx, REO)?? I saw the poster for it when I was out this week and nearly peed. For nonbelievers and other heretics, just know this: Foreigner was a very successful band. They had many number one hits and roller rink moments of majesty. And Night Ranger? Most under appreciated band of the 80s in my book. "Four in the Morning"? Perfection. And Journey? Don't even question. They are, above and beyond, transcendent.

Finally, signing out with one of the greatest songs of all time. It makes me lose my mind every time. This will heal all financial wounds...or not. Still cool tho.

Inside Job

2011-06-11T19:24:00.008-04:00

I know I only recommend movies when they are out on DVD--not a big fan of theaters, honestly--but if you haven't seen it yet, you absolutely must rent Inside Job, the documentary about the 2008 financial meltdown. It comes from the same director that created the fantastic No End in Sight.

Inside job does an excellent job explaining the counter intuitive and completely batshit policies and practices that lead to the crisis that began in 08 and still continues on today. There are a lot of shocking revelations in the film--one specifically having to do with leading business and finance professors is particularly upsetting--but the worst part of all is how cyclically corrupt the system of finance and government were, are, and will probably always will be. For a cold-eyed cynic, I found the revelation of never ending, self-serving fraud sickening, disheartening, infuriating.

As a larger issue, it made we wonder why it's never occurred to anyone to make financial intelligence a 4-year required course in high school. I'm not pessimistic enough to believe the US government prefers to keep the masses stupid enough to be led by the nose. That level of distrust would be...criminal? But I do believe that people should be forced to understand finance, from the basic to the complex. We should all understand how to balance our checkbooks, manage our 401ks, get a sensible loan, and ferret out a back-stabbing, government backed Ponzi scheme that makes the top 1% richer and everyone else poorer. At the very least we should all have to watch this movie.

It seems awfully stupid for a government to continue to spit-paste fixes to the financial system for nothing more than show when instability caused by this kind of financial fraud can bring down governments and the societies they are meant to protect. If someone could explain this logic to me, please do.

Game of Thrones!!!

2011-06-04T22:19:00.009-04:00

WOW. Wow wow wow. I ignored the hype. I ignored my friend (sorry, bun bun). I ignored the fact that it was an HBO production. Watch Game of Thrones, now.

Let me just say, first, that there is something to be said if a production is from HBO. Never, ever discount it. EVER. Sex and the City (pre-vapid movie stupidity and, erm, the last two seasons, probably), The Sopranos, Six Feet Under, and the EVER LOVIN wonderment of The Wire, the greatest TV series on the face of this earth, were all HBO productions. Yes, in my major nerdville, nyark nyark opinion, The Wire is the best. I love Lost. I love BSG. But The Wire is something transcendent and sweet. When you watch it, you feel lucky that they let you. It is that good.

SO. Game of Thrones! Dayumn. It's a medieval-type swords and (promise of) dragons drama filled with true characters and sneaking humor. Wow! I will admit that my friend's complete obsession coupled with my extreme laziness lead me to finally commit to watching this show. I literally didn't want to get up to find the DVD remote to resume my re-watching of BSG. So, because I have HBO on Demand, I was like, OH WHATEVER, I will play the first episode and fall asleep. And then I stayed up four more hours (til four in the morning) to watch more, more, MORE!!!

There's a grizzled hero, an evil queen, a little person with a cutting sense of humor, bastards, whores, muscled warriors, princesses with power, betrayal, intrigue, and sex sex SEX! Not a family show. Do NOT watch this with the little tykes around...unless you want them to see dirty humping of all kinds. There are...all...kinds. Yep.

So, this is my endorsement for Game of Thrones. Fantastic television. And, if you simply can't stand the genre, watch the intro at least. It is a thing of beauty and charm. Imagine the work that went into it! I can't. I have undying admiration for the nerdwinkles that created it. Beautiful! Same goes for the series.

Hall & Oates

2011-06-02T23:04:00.011-04:00

If you wondered, now you know...

I just realized why Hall & Oates were such a comfort to me during the stalking*: Isley Alternative School 1982-1984**. Contracts, lofts, Mrs. Terrill. Best place ever. I must have been subconsciously tapping into the peace and comfort (and happiness) that it meant to me after all of the tumultuous years afterward. This makes me terribly sad and grateful at once.

First, Hall & Oates, via wiki wiki wiki whaaat: Just read it.

Second: * the stalking. I won't go into it too deeply because it concerns my most beloveds: My mother and my sister. Let me just say that in the winter of 1991 my family was stalked by a bad man during my winter break from KU, Freshman year. This was not a stalking from afar. He cut our power, phones, and visited our home, beating on the outer walls and destroying our car. He chased me through the snow. It is impossible to convey the terror: Until you live it, you can't know it. I feared for my life. I feared more for my mother's life. It was a time of sleepless nights and exhausted days. I was, to be brief, fried.

Third: **Isley Alternative School: A beautiful dream. As a child of 10 and 11, I am sad to know that I could never have appreciated how special this school was. No school like it still exists. I guess, in my bitter adulthood, I can not imagine that any school could ever exist quite like this. There were no grades. We worked off of contracts that we had to accomplish every week. There were beautiful lofts. We could listen to our Walkmans. There were treats, always available during class and recess. All grades were mixed in one class: 4th through 6th. We had special, really special, retreats. We camped, played Capture the Flag, and bonded.

Imagine: The last day of school, 30 minutes before the end of day, all teachers released their kids to wander the halls together to say goodbye. Every year, girls would gather in the bathrooms to remove make up and hug...and in the halls? Insanity. We hugged, bawled hysterically, and promised to love each other for all time.

Did I? You bet your ass I did. I still remember my Isley co-students: Kelly Christian, Rhody Cauley, Stephanie White, Brett Barnhart, Mark Sischley, Jeff Ruby, so many more. I cried like an idiot and with no shame. What a wonderful world it was.

So, when the stalking horror happened, during the holiday break, I got Hall and Oates Greatest Hits Volumes 1 and 2 on cassette tape. During the days, when I tried to play video games and relax, I would listen to my new tape and try to escape from the immediate terror. It worked. And ever after, it was my Go-To whenever I needed to calm down and be chill. It works for me now, and will work for me forevermore.

So it makes sense, then, that the biggest album when I attended Isley was Hall & Oates, H2O, which featured the most recognizable song, "Maneater." While it might mean nothing more than fun 80s adorableness to you, it means EVERYTHING to me. It means SAFE. It means HAPPY. It means COMPLETE. God knows some people never get that in life, ever. I know that I did. I am so happy I knew such a sweet, protected world. I wish it on everyone, now and forever, because we should all be so lucky to know that kind of safety and happiness. And, let's be honest, that kind of education: Open, trusting, and thorough, is a rare and special opportunity in our world now. There really is nothing like it anymore.

Dear Hall & Oates, thank you for existing. You are awesome on your own. Thanks so much for being there for me in my most desperate time of need.

Black Metal Vegan Chef

2011-05-28T01:15:00.004-04:00

Um. YES.

My sister introduced this wonderment to me the other day. I shared it with my peeps the next day. And now. NOW. I share it with you. Because even tho I am not a vegan (and never will be) I am now, and forever, METALLLLL.

Tammeh

2011-05-26T23:06:00.003-04:00

I love Parks and Recreation. At first, I was full of dismissal: Whatever, Parks and Recreation! Why are you stealing all the characters and ideas from The Office? But it wasn't so. This show is special. It makes me insanely happy. One of the reasons? Ron Swanson. He literally makes me pee my pants. And all the ladies love him. We all wish we were named...Tammeh. Examples:

Black Swan

2011-05-14T23:02:00.006-04:00

I thought it was great! I do not agree with Entertainment Weekly's assessment of Natalie Portman's acting as "passive." I actually feel sorry for them...do they not know her work at all? She was truly amazing. Was she the best actress of the year? I couldn't possibly know. But she did a fantastic job and should be commended for it. Amazing.

I wanted to put forth an opinion because this movie has received more opinions than you'd imagine: some full of love, some full of MEH. I'm truly puzzled by the "meh" reactions since everyone in it did such a great job. And, even more so, the movie is a fantastic morsel of weirdness and truth. Note how lonely Nina is: even on the subway, she's completely alone. Her one one-on-one interaction is with an elderly perv making sick kissing noises at her and, eventually, adding in a nasty faux jackoff.

Her world is ballet and her freakshow of a mother. Barbara Hershey plays TOTALLY FUCKING SCARY AND UNSTABLE better than anyone, maybe. Think: The Natural (and shudder uncontrollably). It helps that she also looks like Mickey Rourke, no? Full of botox and bad fat implants. Scary!

So many of us will never understand Nina's terrifying need for perfection. We all know someone who lived that reality, though. Most of us, at least. And the journey is completely understandable, sadly predictable, and worthy of a moment's consideration. I'm glad they made this movie. I am doubly glad because people rarely understand the torture that ballerina's go through. If you get nothing else out of it, know this: They suffer horribly for this art. An art that many (INCLUDING ME!!!!) do not completely appreciate.

Meaning

2011-05-11T22:09:00.000-04:00

Thank you, Very Demotivational.

Hyperbole and a Half

2011-04-28T20:25:00.004-04:00

Hyperbole and a Half, my new obsession. I've been cackling off and on all day, whenever I could escape and read more. I'm surely late to the party, but now that I'm here I am shouting it to the rooftops: Read this blog! It is scary, scary, scary how much I have in common with this woman (See: "This Is Why I'll Never Be an Adult" and "Sneaky Hate Spiral").

Now linked forever on the right!

Royal Wedding

2011-04-24T01:18:00.005-04:00

Oh, did you think I was talking about the one happening in a week or whatever? Nah.

My neighbor and I had a moment in the elevator, laughing at the ridiculous hysteria over the royal wedding that is about to commence. I said, "When I was seven, I totally rolled out of bed to see princess Di get married." To which she said, "You were SEVEN."

Indeed.

When Diana died, there were a legion of girls, now women, who cried, if not outwardly, then within. It was a horrible moment. Of course, we did not know her. We would never know if we would have actually liked her. But that wasn't the point. What we did know was that we admired her, idolized her, not only because she was a princess, but because she was so close to us...at least as much as we could imagine. She loved Duran Duran and she loved Scottie Dog sweaters. Like us. And later when she broke away from that royal weirdo...we were on her side. Don't deny! Even when she bent her head and unleashed her venom in that strange and shameful tirade, you knew you had to side with her. NOT because she was a mother. Not because she was blond. HAHA. But because she was nineteen and foolish and swept up in a royal vortex.

In another world she might've been beheaded and remembered only for this. Instead, she was crushed in a Paris tunnel. So beneath her. So beneath anyone. And that is why we cried. Such a common death.

I am glad I remember rolling out of bed at 4 am to watch her wrinkled, billowing dress pile out of that carriage. And her sweet, young visage breaking out of those billows without haste. It is wonderful to know that she's part of this newest hysteria. It grounds the whole thing in reality and makes it all the more relevant and sublime. But forget this moment now. I'd rather remember Princess Di, dodging the press and braving the mass of media that awaited her, before the tunnel, before the end.

Jake Ryan is an ASSHOLE

2011-04-23T23:39:00.009-04:00

So shocking that I would ever write such a thing. If you only knew the Odyssey I went on to get the VHS tape of Sixteen Candles...you don't. Even. Know. Eighty fucking dollars and too. Much. Time.

Notwithstanding, I still love this movie. I forgive the racism...Long Duc Dong and Ooohhh Sexy Girrl Friend...and any other shortsightedness (no one ever mentions the greasy, let's guess "Italian" the good daughter marries). I don't care! It's a funny movie full of stupidity and things that are 80s adorablush. A black guy??? No, a pink guy! So funny! Ugh. But I forgive!

And I still forgive the central premise...that we all want Jake, the Frat-y, sexy, Porche driving mutha fucka with a giant, flaming cake and a hard on for nerdgirls. It is real! Real! Luckily I see him now for what he really is: A Thing. A Sexy Thing with no ass and pouty lips. YAY! Yay for Jake and yay for me.

But let's get real now. If we analyse the movie, we know he's nothing more than a hairy choad with mommy's bank account. Shiny, but shameful. Let's count it down:

Jake intercepts Sam's "who would you do" quiz then asks his musclehead friend what he thinks of her to an unsurprising result: She's a child. Jake says "She's not UGLY." Best. Compliment. Ever.

Jake dates Caroline, the most vapid idjit ever...yet she has the best lines in the movie (now we're both on birth control!). He dates her, obviously, for her tits.

When he tries to call Sam, he gets her Grandparents. What does he say to them, even accidentally? "Eat me."

The Best, Tops Thing that proves he's an ass? He befriends Farmer Ted...by giving him Caroline in his father's car. "She's wasted. Have fun." Nice.

Need we say more? Yes, he shows up to Sam's house, runs into Long Duc Dong (you grabbed my nuts), and retrieves her from her sister's ludes-saturated wedding, only to kiss her over a flaming birthday cake, thus showing that he cares that Sam turned sixteen and is, after all, his nerd of choice.

If you watch 16 Candles, you have to ignore a LOT, and I am not referring to the racism, classicism, or any other known isms you might ascribe to. You have to ignore, above all else, the Truth of Jake. He's a Choad. A hairy, poopy Choad. Sorry, girls.

I still love the movie, though. Urges and needs cannot be denied. The Donger. Need. FOOD!

Squeeee Times One Meeellion

2011-04-09T23:21:00.010-04:00

In honor of Easter, when baby animals are celebrated Christianity-worldwide, let's celebrate the giant dorks of the world: Animal Babies.

Aye Aye's are amazing and endangered. I've posted this dork on Facebook, but this little dude warrants repeating. Note that all of the baby traits are on display: trembling weirdness, yawning, scratching.

Emerson is a baby human. I love him because he is freaking out.

Teeny Kit. You cannot resist the teeny kit.

Puppies are chunkular and doofy. This is breeding by cruel overlords, Humans, but I'm down. What I love about this little poop is the yappy excitability.

Baby Bats are beyond darling. What makes it better? Swaddling.

Otters are like hairy, fat snakes...who knew such a concept would be so freaking squeeeeeeular??? Hearts extreme.

Oh, did you know? Otters are the squeaky toys of the Animal Kingdom?

Lambs are beyond cute. BEYOND.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures, and check out our Socially Awkward Penguin lolz!

And finally....

Missing Scene from Return of the Jedi in My Dreams

2011-04-09T23:15:00.002-04:00

For Girl

2011-04-05T21:31:00.001-04:00

Flashbacks.

see more Monday Through Friday

I LOVE, I LOOOOVVVE

2011-03-30T20:04:00.028-04:00

Disclaimer from hatefest: None of those hates apply to BABIES. I realized after the fact that many many babies have outies (eyeboogers, wet kisses, etc.) and I thought I better say something fast. Babies are immune from the hatelist. Obviously. I'm evil, but I'm not full on EEEEEVIL. C'mon.

To counter the hatefest I obviously have to do a lovefest. This doesn't include obvious stuff I've included in this blog before (duh, I love you family/friends; duh, I love you scifi) so don't get all het up. This is other stuff, or more nuanced, or just what I could think of. I love a disproportionate amount of things as opposed to hate. I'm a total fluffy bomb of loveness.

Aye Aye. I love him. This came up at work when we were trying to figure out what Spirit Animal Rebecca Black might have. It's a long story...let's just say we all know what our spirit animals are because of team building. Anyway, we soon realized that this little guy is endangered not only because of deforestation but because the indigenous population kills him on sight because he is thought of as "evil." Look at that face. That is the face of complete sweetness and light. Save him!

Cylons. LOVE THEM. Space robots out for vengeance against their creators. Yes. Also, still one of the best shows ever. I've even come to terms with the finale. You should, too!

Eyebrows. I love them all, even weird, hairy ones. Ask anyone with a baby I know: The first thing I tend to comment on is the majesty or wonderfulness of the eyebrows. I feel my eyebrows are rather weak...one is half bald, I shit you not...so it is no mystery as to why I'm obsessed. I love Sharon Stone's circa Basic Instinct the best. Look at those fearsome flags fly!

High Heels/High Boots. I can't wear them but I think they are sessy as HAIL. Jealous Jealous Jealous!

Optimus Prime. This is my dorkimatronic love of robots/space/future. I hope for heaven for the obvious reasons (seeing loved ones again, everlasting life), but I also want to know what happens next...and in other planets and solar systems. Of COURSE, there is some kind of life based on metals. Of course! Endless possibilities in an endless universe...more than meets the eye.

Stupid Human Tricks via Jackass. I'm a child. I terrible, terrible child. Not your child. The worst, Steve-O snorting wasabi. The funniest (partially because of the butcher, it is true), convenience store knight attack.

Things That Will Bite You If You Try to Kiss Them. There are a lot of animals that will do this, but two of my favorites are turtles and crows. Turtles seem sweet with their little shells and darling faces, but they will bite a bitch. They will also lead to Awful Downfalls via Karma when you keep them captive and, one summer day, carry them across the lawn only to step on a bee. YEAH! They will karma murder you! And crows? I would chase them down the streets of Wichita just to get one snuggle. And they would peck me half to death if I caught them So cute!

Cobalt Blue. This is a color best experienced in a near night sky. There is no better time of day than twilight...except of course for those really polluted sundown scenes, but we don't really get those here. Maybe it's an ocean thing. I don't know. All I can say is that our brief visit to inland Lillington, North Carolina treated us to one hell of a sundown scene and it was absolutely fantastic. However, no matter where you are, you know the cobalt near dark sky of almost-night. Love hearts extreme.

Deep Space. Thank you, NASA. Thank you, Hubble. Look at those blurry stars! Anything, anything could be out there.

Disney Characters, Mean. I happen to enjoy Maleficent because she turns into a dragon and her best friend is a crow (see above). The evil women tend to be way hotter than the Snow Whites, etc., though I guess it's not a perfect theory. Scar seemed terribly malnourished.

Unicorn. Is there anything left to say? O, I think the worst singers in in the world might have something to say...but then that's all they'll have to say. (Thank God.)

I Hate

2011-03-27T21:18:00.014-04:00

Not to revel in negativity with avarice and bile, but I can't be sunshine beams 24/7. I can manage it maybe 23/6. Whatever! Don't read this if you want to forever bask in the shininess of bs lies!You know you hate this crap, too. THINGS that are GROSS:

Outie belly buttons--Get. That Shit. Taken care of. I'd rather see yards of lard and cottage cheese than see even the slimmest person's outie belly button. Surgery NOW.

Knobby, gnarled, cankerous feet--Closed foot shoes, asshole. In honor of summer and hygene, put your bony horrors away. I don't care how hot your feet are.

People who talk “valley” always--like, how do you get, like, a JOB. Hel-LO?

Free flapping butt cheeks--wear actual underwear. Men probably like how your butt flaps wiggle in the wind, but it makes me want to kick you right in the crevasse.

Wet kisses--no one needs to hear/see that horror.

Gum smacking/popping--seriously, the wet, nastiness of it isn't what bothers me the most. It's the balls out selfishness. How do you NOT know everyone thinks you are disgusting??

Foot cheese--less public, more personal. Some amount of foot care is always a good idea.

Pit hair with deodorant balls attached--c'mon MAN. Sleeves. Sleeves, mother fucker.

Visible pit hair at all--it's natural, yes. But if it's jutting, maybe put it away, yeah?

Snorking snot--buy a kleenex. Blow it out. Stop eating it via your nasal cavity.

Eating with mouth open--I don't want to smack you for this indiscretion, I want to smack your mama. She's asking for it and you only have yourself to blame.

Wet, noisy eating--again, mama gets the open-handed welcome wagon. Don't cry, it's her fault.

Eye boogers--one mirror, no problems. I have issues with this myself. A sick obsession with facecare with help you with this.

Judge me! I don't care. I judge you all the time you wedgie-wearing, eyegoobering, snot snorking, french kissing outie mother humpers.

Things....HA

2011-03-23T21:48:00.002-04:00

Things that made me laugh recently. First, nerd cake.

Second, inappropriate song.

I wish he'd skip the AIDS-y, Gay-y BS, but my sister and I give him a pass because he's a.) cute, and b.) young. So, youngsters, now you have a bar to rise to.

Moar Beards Pleez

2011-03-18T21:03:00.006-04:00

There's an upcoming cover for a monograph that makes us laugh and laugh because of the disembodied head. I have only MS Paint and Powerpoint to help me, but I promised my peep that we'd reconfigure the disembodied head into a tea party. So, I did it. I.

Did it.

Beardy

2011-03-18T20:20:00.002-04:00

Ugh. I hate the train. It's pretty much established at this point. Panic attacks, germ warfare, smells, smells, odors. Ugh. I saw a guy on the train this evening that made me think "What. Is that still going on?" Maybe hipsters never die. They just become old hipsters. Then fade away in a sparkly dust cloud of contempt. But what really bugged me was the feral chinchilla affixed to this particular hipster's face. So, I felt really super inspired. Here's what that sight made me do:

I feel the same about feet. If you have talons, frog toes (with or without suckers), or extra knobs...LOCK IT UP, people! No one needs to see that bony horror.

Oscars, 2011

2011-02-28T20:47:00.013-05:00

There was a fair amount of hollering in the Twitterverse, Facebook updates, and blogosphere declaring that this was the worst Oscar broadcast ever. Being a dedicated Oscar viewer I have to say it was pretty standard; no better and no worse than any Oscar broadcast I've ever seen. Sure, there were few tears...but the saturation of awards preceding this holiest of holies is probably to blame for that. It was just as incoherent, stilted, and Oscar-y as any other broadcast we've seen. Maybe the expectations were higher because...Anne Hathaway and James Franco were hosting and therefore it was about the Youth? Oh, honeys. Come on. It was SOP, babes. No better, no worse.

Top 5 Lame Things from the Oscars

Melissa Leo, for the most over-the-top, fake, insulting reaction to a win as we haven't seen in many years. The F bomb was the only sufferable part. The rest was irritating. What's most confounding about her reaction and speech is not as much the fakery but the fact that this woman is actually a really talented actress. I guess she's more Hollywood, less Broadway.

The word "craft." Aka "Actiiiiiinnggg!" and other movie-related jobs. It's uppity and overcompensating. Not everyone can be an actor...but you can't build me a shed, either. One of these skills is more impressive. Our craft, the craft...o holy craft. The repetition of the word just made me think of that dumb movie, candlewax, and seances. I would respect your CRAFT a lot more if you weren't constantly defending it. You make a zillion dollars and live in shiny homes. Shut. Up.

Anne Hathaway yelling "wooooo!" for every performer, presenter, cut to commercials. It was like she was trying to rally the audience to get more excited about a 6th grade talent show. Which would have been more exciting. I did feel sorry for her, though, because she was dragging that dead piece of pretty meat through the whole thing. Don't deny you didn't share my own theory: he wants to do everything in life, so he said yes to this, too. Film Actor, college student, PhDs, General Hospital actor...Oscar host. Of course he said yes.

No surprises. Nah, not really. The winners were pretty well predicted prior to the show, so that made it especially boring. Melissa Leo was the only wild card and only because of her embarrassing ads in the Trades for votes. Even so, she was a favorite. So, no shockers. Honestly the worst win for me was The Social Network for best score...and I totally respected that score, don't get me wrong. I just wanted the dragon movie to win one. It deserved something.

Old gents with canes. I liked the old gents, but why is Oscar trying to kill grampa?? Where were their helpers??? Ugh. I had the terror sweats the whole time, thinking one of them would teeter over and shatter into a million pieces.

Top 5 Neato Burrito Things from the Oscars

"That's gross." Of all the things Cate Blanchett has done, this is the thing that makes me love her the most. Because it is true, funny, but also awesome. It's kind of the point of the award.

The clever speeches. David Seidler (another of the old gents) gave a great speech for best original screenplay for The King's Speech, as did Aaron Sorkin for best adapted screenplay for The Social Network. I thoroughly enjoyed the moment when Christian Bale forgot his wife's name. At least he remembered "wife" and "child."

I like it when they put themselves in the nominated movies at the beginning of the show. I just don't understand the Back to the Future finale. Am I not privy to some major remake news? Because they shouldn't, ever.

Celine singing "Smile" to the dead (except Corey Haim, which obviously means he's not dead). It was very cheesy and therefore very retro and NOT YOUNG. Which is what they kept joking about, and I think in a very sarcastic way because, come ON, the Oscars are always a bit stodgy and pent up. Were all of the pre-Oscar talking heads yapping about the show being younged-up because of Hathaway and Franco (whatevs) or was it just because The Social Network was nominated? Seriously? Nothing was younged up. It was the same stilted speeches, music playing them out, presenters reading jokes off the teleprompter, and montages no one cares about. The one thing missing, thank God...

Very little singing and dancing. I generally despise the song and dance parts of the the show. It seemed they scaled it back pretty well.

Sandra Bullock. We love her because of The Net. Also, Hope Floats. Also, Practical Magic. Whatever else she's done is just the cherry on top. What makes us love her is how very "whatever" she is about the pomp and circumstance. She seems like a person we'd like to know in real life (unlike Melissa Leo, who should continue to act, but can sit over there at the bar, thanks). I liked how she called out each actor like she maybe wanted to push them a little. Because we all kind of do, especially Jesse Eisenberg who looked like we were keeping him from a hot night of Call of Duty. Hearts doubled, girl. We love you best!

Truth

2011-02-27T19:28:00.004-05:00

G String Divas

2011-02-19T00:40:00.004-05:00

So, it is on HBO, pimpcentral for all things debaucherous. YAY. I won't lie. I watch the worst of the worst nonporns they have to offer. Oft times, my favorite game is grading the films on which ones fake the sex the worst...like when you can tell the guy is grinding on the bellybutton? Just to clarify for all the virgins: That's not where it goes. Uh OH!

So, watching the G String Divas made me think: What, exactly, is my problem? Do I hate strippers? No. I know at least one reformed stripper, and I love her to death. To death! There's nothing to hate about strippers. For the most part, they are working hard for the money. Do not doubt. They do NOT want to steal you flabby ass man. No! They want his fives. Yes ma'am.

So what bothers me about strip clubs? After tonight? Nothing. Because I finally, finally got it!

Life is about choice. I choose to not be with a man who thinks strip clubs are normal or expected. Is that wrong? NO. Because all men are free to choose to be with women who ARE Ok with it. And I am OK with that.

So, what if I found myself mid-relationship with someone who said, hey, baby, it is just a release...I always come home to you? Easy. The answer is NO. And, probably, bye bye. Because I've lived too much time in the midst of liars, and I know the game of oh baby I love you and only you. Etc. Borrrring.

This is a wonderful thing! If you want to have hot times with strippers go for it! YES! Just don't try to date me, too. What is the big deal? We all choose our partners based on certain rules: disease free, hairy (or hairless), smart (or not as smart as me), thin, chunky, funny, serious, religious, heathen, wild, conservative, truthful, flawed. I choose flawed, hair-optional, funny, self-deprecating, body-open, and not addicted or even interested in strip clubs. Unfair? Don't care.

Magical Negro

2011-02-05T01:26:00.003-05:00

I proofed and input Magistrale's Hollywood's Stephen King, and I read, proofed, and input The Films of Stephen King. I had a vested interest, obviously, and I have much, much more to say on the subject of the author, should I ever feel to do so. But because The Green Mile just happened to be playing on Bravo tonight, I felt the desire to talk about that instead.

O magical negro. I did NOT come up with that moniker by the way. If it makes you feel more comfortable, Magical African American. Nevertheless, much has been written on King's interest in this...is it on purpose? Or just a by-product of White Man's Guilt? I love SK, but I vote for the latter. No writer in is right mind would play that card so often so purposefully. I believe he was acting on the white man's guilt.

Gosh, how many can we cite? The most obvious? Mother Abigail from The Stand. After that, Michael Hanlon from It (he suffered the burden of remembering, Mr. King, don't even play), Hallorann from The Shining (magical with "the shining" and burdened with saving the white folks), and of course John Coffey of The Green Mile. However, I am not so much interested in indicting Mr. King in his use (overuse?) of the magical negro.

After seeing The Green Mile ONCE, ever, and crying my stupid eyes out over it, I do wonder one thing: Would we not cry as much over the magical white man? Do we care because John Coffey is black? Somewhat simple? All of these things? Were he a simple a white man, wouldn't we suffer the same? I don't know. But as I suffered through the (severely edited, yet vividly remembered) ending of The Green Mile, it did make me wonder.

Perhaps it is just a piece of manipulative tripe goading its audience to feel far too much because the protagonist is magical, miraculous, simple...and black. But GOD, don't I wish that we would fee the same no matter the race.

I forgive Mr. King for his shortcomings (perceived or charged) because I think he tells the stories as he lives it in his times. You can eviscerate him for glorifying (with all white guilt) the "magical negro" but he is no more guilty than other writers under the crossfire for writing in their times, like Twain, for example, and many more. I think instead of obsessing over his shortcomings (hello, all the years of idiot women characters!) it would be better to talk about what these culturally "questionable" characters mean to us now.

Housewives of Beverly Hills, Best Season Ever

2011-02-01T22:09:00.014-05:00

I loved this season more than the rest. What? Don't judge. Poor people like to watch rich people and their problems. This is not a revelation, folks.

This particular season meant more to me than most for reasons I've made clear in previous posts. I LOVE LOVE LOVE the show Medium. I was so happy that it got to live on longer on CBS. So, like others who have been addicted to this show, I was nothing short of outraged to discover (shock, I know, fool on me) that the person the show was based on was a complete and total psycho/sociopath. Lllllllllllaaammmme.

But I like the RHWoBH for more than that, actually, because there was SO MUCH 70s-80s-riffic stupidity associated. Like Lisa, the lost member of Dynasty/Lace. And the Richards sisters! OMG. Total crazytown/Hollywood sickness. How could you not like this show? Plus there was a drag queen married to a schlub. YAY!!!!

Lisa Vanderpump. She's like Alexis Carrington with +20 nasty intelligence and a side order of perviness. Love! She's beautiful and her dog is a fluffplume of Giggyness. Plus she had a manwhore who obviously did not earn her love and free food. He was pretty and stupid with a fancy accent. What a debacle!

Adrienne Maloof. WOW. This is a beautiful man. I love drag queens. She stays out of the drama. Until the end, of course. I totally believed she would be the wise Ghandi sage who brought world and Beverly Hills peace but in the end she was kind of a limp bizkit of a counselor in the sister on sister hatefest of the finale. Oh well. Her married life was the only thing that normal people could relate to. The bickering with her adorable/schlump husband was totally charming. So for me, she's all WIN WIN WIN. Cute.

Taylor Armstrong. Liverlips sexbomb cryfest. The perfect recipe for love! I honestly felt her fights with Kim were stupid and useless, because she's a person and Kim is a whirling snarl of insecurity. Taylor said some wrong things, maybe, but nothing unusual compared to what normal people have said (going "Oklahoma" on one's ass being #1) and her marriage problems were nothing short of terribly sad. OK, she did marry a cyborg (who is not even HOT, WTF) but you'd think even the most cold blooded bastard would appreciate a swollen lipped swan like Taylor. Straiten up and fly right, soldier!

Kyle Richards. Mocked recently as the Broke-ass Demi Moore. But I honestly identified with her the most. Not because we are the same, but because I felt like she was honest and right most of the time. I'm on her side in the Camille/Kyle fight. I do not believe she is a perfect or even great person. She's got mean girl tendencies all over the place. But I do believe she's right in the fight and I do believe she's endured too much mama/sister drama. Plus her husband is HOT as hail.

Kim Richards. Goooooooooooood Lord. This woman is the definition of Hot Mess. I think her fate was sealed in one of the first episodes when she related the story of the paparazzi & her niece Paris Hilton. "She was first...she's the icon." Ugh. Her pleasure in this story makes me absolutely ache. Because A.) who the hell are you? and B.) how sad is this scene? UGH UGH UGH. It's like watching a baby panda get skinned at a discotech. First come the Starsearch dancers, kick kick kick, then they yank out the panda. You just feel sick and betrayed at having watched the whole thing. And that was basically her whole role on the show. Because HEY I WAS ON WITCH MOUNTAIN and now I have a mealy mouth full of sweat and desperation does not really translate into...Icon. Ugh. Sad.

Best/Worst for Last: Camille Grammer. She sucks. Even after she seems kinda sane in the reunion shows...I still can't forgive her for the show itself. I mean, it's not like she WASN'T THERE. Because she was. She shrugged, she rolled her eyes, she claimed basically everyone was jealous of her...and she kissed her married friend on the lips repeatedly (more eyerolls). Kelsey Grammer could be the most raging Charlie Sheen Asshat on the planet and we still wouldn't sympathise. Because A.) everyone is jealous of her....B.) she made us see the Real Allison DuBois. HATE. HATE HATE HATE. Because Real Allison DuBois is a contemptible human being. Am I being too harsh? Hmm. Let's ask ourselves: Even if we found the most heinous Beverly Hills housewife the most horrendous person in the world, would we joke that we would NEVER help her find her abducted child? Seriously? Because Real Allison DuBois did. Smoking her fake cigarette and acting all a fool. THANK, Camille Grammer. You suck. I hope you get a $1.50.

Thanks, crazytown brilliance. Also, congrats Bravo, since this is all the TV cred you have left. Awesomeness. Also, sad. You're such an Icon.

O Space, O Frontier

2011-01-22T20:03:00.007-05:00

I went to the Kansas Cosmosphere during my last jaunt to Kansas, and I was nothing short of TWEEEEEEEEEEE! It was only just before when I realized that they held the most precious of preciousess. The Apollo 13 command module Odyssey. The REAL ONE. OMG. Here are the pix.

\

If you need something that solidifies this relevance, watch this:

I know what happens, but I watch it with the same amount of terror and glee every time I see it. COSMOSPHERRRRRREEEEE!!!!!

This Will Fix Everything

2011-01-12T20:57:00.003-05:00

It's, like, coded in their DNA. Seek and destroy the humans by Sugarsweetadorablishiousness.

Wrong

2011-01-09T22:56:00.006-05:00

It seems weird to have to say that.

No matter what Palin or O'Reilly or Beck say, I would not take a .45 and blow their heads off. Because that is INSANE. Or have we lost all sense of perspective now?

Isn't this what Jon Stewart's Rally to Restore Sanity was all about? Maybe we can blame that too? Was that just a rallying call to all psychopaths to reload? Or maybe that was the thoughtless rhetoric that has been virulently spreading and infecting all political "conversation" blaring out of the news outlets as late? Even the most annoying proponents of conservative speechifying were put down by their most reliable source...

Even so, I guess it wasn't enough.

I believe that crazy is just crazy. Who will rise up and kill them all? The Crazy. It's weird how the Crazy tends to be on a particular side, though, right? I mean, Right?

I appreciated this comment from Keith Obermann.

But what can be said about idealist ideologies? Stupid. Just stupid, I guess. If nothing, we are nothing but screeching apes, full of avarice and rage. So I guess I should not be sickened our surprised. It's just nature, fulfilling itself again. It would be foolish to believe that the Star Trek perfectionverse could ever really happen. We'll just kill and kill. Maybe it is what we deserve?

What? Too dark? Tell me then, what will you do to make sure this never happens again? If it makes you sick, enraged, moved...what will you do? What CAN we do?

Beloved

2011-01-04T21:51:00.002-05:00

Thanks, AwkwardFamilyPhotos for showing me the true light. The beeotch stoled by huzzband.

I will git him yet.

Pomp and Bullshit

2010-12-26T02:31:00.004-05:00

I'm a TV watcher, so I get to experience a plethora of commercials, both whorish and dear, so I feel kinda sorta justified in passing judgment on things that are both terrible and horrible. It's funny...I haven't been able to find the actual offending commercial, but the YouTube page of the actual band will give you a bit of a preview. Watch it.

So, does this trigger your memory of the actual commercial? If you feel a twitch, a slight, electric flick to the spine (NOT a nice one) followed by a cold shiver of revulsion, well you've seen it. I think it's the knowing eye-tips of the lead singer. I mean, you are NOT cute, bitch. Maybe [redacted] cute.

Ooooooooooooo, yeah, I said it.

Pick Up Lines, Kansas Edition

2010-12-18T02:39:00.004-05:00

Thank you, Rich, for this fine ass compilation. But you have to be jealous of the pick up lines I've heard since I've been here, in the Mean, Mean city.

"O Dorothy, have you seen my heart?"

"I've lost my mind over you, can you help me, Dorothy?"

And, best of all, "Where's Toto, Dorothy? Heh heh heh."

Major sexytimes, for reals. All of these lines TOTALLY WORK. Really.

7th Sign

2010-12-18T00:34:00.011-05:00

Remember that movie with Demi Moore????? OMG OMG. Remember the signs? It's soooo 80s now. Or Revelation-from-yesterdays what-EV-er. There are new signs.

New Sign? My sympathy for housewives of Beverly Hills. My sympathy...and those of many like me who witnessed last night's Shit Show of Housewives of Beverly Hills. What will become of us?

How did we get here? My sweet Jesus, how. Because there are people with real problems in this world. Yet, if you have too many spare moments to spend on tv times, I guess you might be a fan. I watch it, I admit it. I've watched a lot (not all) of the housewives shows spawned by Bravo. O Bravo, how far you've fallen. How far we all have fallen. Burning angel wings UNITE.

I have to admit that I love the Beverly Hills version of this series. There's Lisa, the Dynasty-like throw back from the 80s who totes could've co-starred on Lace and is probs BFFs with Jane Seymour with her hearts-ass collection. Love hearts! But there are other dominatrix hoes in this line up...for instance two trannies: One is passable, one is pushing it: the latter owns a basketball team and has the only husband who I would consider "H-U-M-A-N" but that hardly matters.

There are also two sisters. God help us all: Sisters. Worse yet: sisters related to Paris Hilton. Worstest yet? They both have sad, sad moments of glory when they were both childe stars...the blonde, egh. I never saw it. But the brunette? I do remember her bracing role as "annoying child" being watched by Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween. She didn't die. Of course not. She lived on to be a STAR of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. YES.

They are all total freakshow psychos, to one degree or another. The sisters Take the Cake. And the worst participant by far? Kelsey Grammer's last HO, She Who Will Not Be Named (Camille, there, I said it). First, because WHO CARES about her if Kelsey isn't here? Second, because she's the meanest mean girl you've ever met. WOW. Wow, wow, wow.

There's a whole lot that led up to the Dinner Party From Hell , but to burn it down to the simplest of cinders: Kyle allegedly said that no one would care if Camille Grammar was around unless Frasier Crane made the scene. Many fights as to whether or not this statement was made commenced. After watching the series to this point you would only have two thoughts: 1) Who WOULD care if Camille was around? and, 2) Why is Camille so insecure? It is sad to watch a normal human suffer so obviously on national TV. It is quite another to see someone so egotistically underserving suffer the same. We all know what happens to her even before it is all played out on Bravo. And after watching her desperate, vapid showboating, I guess we'd all feel sorry for...Frasier. Cheating, frumpety, cheating-ass Frasier. Wow. Wow.

So in previous episodes there is this whole tedious back and forth of "You said it" and "No I didn't" etc etc. then Camille decides to have a dinner party for "the girls" to bury the hatchet...so clearly right in Kyle's head. And if it wasn't curious before, the revelation that THE Allison DuBois of Medium fame would be attending would kind of suggest that Camille had a bitch slap up her sleeve. And while Kyle brought an OJ Ho, nothing could ever deflect attention from Camille's crazytown party guest, The Real Allison DuBois.

You just have to watch it to understand it.

What have we learned from this fuckerow? First, do NOT accept cocktail party invitations. Stupid hos! Second, reality is always worse than fantasy. THANK YOU, so much, really, Real Allison DuBois, for RUINING one of my favorite shows with the hideous, truly bankrupt reality of your existence. After your sick, petty statement that they will be sorry if one of their CHILDREN is missing because Real Allison DuBois won't help, all I can I just say: FUCK YOU evil bitch. Nice way to ruin so much for so many just by being your fake cigarette smoking hag self.

And thanks for making me feel sorry for Beverly Hills housewives. Only you could manage that. Nice job.

Kindness

2010-12-12T01:43:00.007-05:00

The rehash of the moment goes like this: I dipped my head and said "Oh Crap."

This is not a lie. I did. Not because I didn't appreciate it. But because I knew the whole company would be watching me with all of their EYES and OPINIONS. I know I heard clapping and wooing and other forms of support, but mostly I just heard my heart in my ears. Nevertheless, it is WONDERFUL to hear appreciation for work done, and done well, this year (and every year, yes, but this year was an unknowable level of bitchkitty) and of all the overtime and tears (youbetcha) spent over this job.

I got this lovely dish from Tiffany & Co. and--can I just say--no bitch has EVER given me anything from Tiffany & Co. so WHATEVER, it made me goddamned happy. HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY. I got recognized for my efforts AND I got that blue box that indicates True Love.

I realize the company may not have everlasting True Love for me (I'm not an idiot), but they can certainly buy my love this way...in crystal, blue boxes, and clapping. I mean, duh?

Wiki wiki wiki Whaaat

2010-12-12T00:42:00.005-05:00

So this Wikileaks thing reminds me of church. Oh wow, how, you ask. Let me tell you.

I think Julian Assange looks like a boy-child rapist. I'm actually surprised that he's under suspicion of raping women. There, I said it. But my opinions are warped because he looks just a little bit like my ex, the freakazoid who was a Scorpio and into S&M. So when I see him of course I think KILL KILL KILL. But not because I think he is "un-American" because, hey, why should he be? Because, well, he's not American. Wise up, pundits. It's not International Law to be "pro-American"...or did you just realize that? Sad!

Anyway. I see all of the Wikileaks that have come out so far and it does make me nervous. Of course I don't want anything to happen that will possibly put me, my family, or any other loved ones in danger. Extremists, hatists, and governments do not give a flying fuck about me, my family, or my loved ones. They'll drop a bomb on us because we are what we ARE. Dirty, dirty Americans. It hardly matters how nice we are. The same is true reversed. (Curious? Well, we've dropped plenty of bombs on innocent folk who were no more representative or responsible for their governments than me or mine are, so. So.)

So, why am I supportive of Wikileaks, at least in theory? Because it reminds me so much of church.

I grew up in the Quaker church. WOW, right? Such a lovely and idealistic--PERFECT--religion to grow up in. And I must say, I never, ever heard one word speaking against another religion or people, ever. In that, they were fine and upstanding. And the religion has definitely helped formed me into the person I am. I do not believe in railing against other religions in favor of my own. And I do not believe that war is ever the answer.

BUT. My church is like every other church: Organized...by humans. Devious, manipulative, selfish, cruel humans. It is a sad, sad thing. But every organized religion shares the same thing: humans. Desperate, scheming, clique-ish, mean-spirited humans.

Wouldn't it be nice if everyone's true selves were exposed to the light? The rapist (alleged) exposes governments, the Vatican, and other guilty parties to the Light. Why not my idealized church? Instead of believing that "Quakers" are pure of heart, how about seeing true moments of cruelty? Like when a poor child was shamed on Easter for not bringing the necessary funds to participate in the Easter Egg hunt, and at the ripe age of seven? Or when she had only the other outcast to chose as a friend after being blatantly rebuffed by the preacher's kids, even when she tried. And how about watching the nasty politics of inter-church fiscal decisions, the infighting, bitch slapping, and general petty power plays that permeated through that and any and everything that ever had to do with that church.

I would sit there, nails to palms, wanting to believe the message. All the while feeling sick, defiled, and cheated. Good job, organized religion.

And that was my only comfort! Knowing it was not just my church, but all the churches. The hatefest was universal; the petty sickness infects everyone. It's never the religion, folks. It's the people. The diseased, selfish, cruel heart of humanity.

Wikileaks is unsettling...even alarming. But I'd wish it upon every church in this land and every land. I am not perfect. But I'm not pretending to be, much unlike every church in existence. Golden rule, anyone?

Greatest Best Man Speech of All Time

2010-11-27T23:00:00.007-05:00

I know my marriage would survive the test of time if our best man gave this speech at the reception.

Why has no one thought of this before? People should be giving this speech at graduations, baptisms, grand openings, birthday parties, and seances.

Speaking of forever, can I just say that the love of Ellie and Carl in Up pretty much annihilates me every time I watch the movie. We should all be so lucky. If you haven't seen Up...well, what the hell is wrong with you? It's possibly the sweetest movie ever made. I've never experienced a movie that has me bawling like a mental patient after the first ten minutes. Think about that! What other movie have you seen that can take you to a place that completely raw and defenseless in ten minutes? And not just whimpering, or misty eyed, not a single tear NO. BAWLING. Near hysteria. Annihilated.

Of course the only movie that ever came close...or made me cry so many times throughout...was The Color Purple. And I only realized that The Color Purple got to me for very specific reasons. I saw it at a time when my best friend, who I loved so dearly and completely, had been ripped away from me for over a year at that point. So when Mister drives Nettie away from Celie, of course I lost my mind. And when they reunited? Jesus jumped a flaming car. Sheer mania, total breakdown.

So it makes sense that Up gets to me. Carl isn't much like my grandpa, but he's a grampa to me, still. And grampas who lose their livelong loves? I've seen it firsthand. After all, I was there when they turned off the machines. It's a terrible, terrible thing. But you want that grampa to go on. And I remember my own grampa driving me back to college after all of the sadness of this loss. At one point during the trip we put on the Andrews Sisters. When "Rum and Coca Cola" came on, I caught my grampa doing the cutest little shoulder shake along with the music. And it made me SO HAPPY, for once in that black time, because it gave me hope that he would be okay. My grampa didn't go on the wild adventures that Carl experienced, but he did move on, live his life, get remarried, and had more good times and laughs after.

So when Carl moves on? Joy! And more sobbing. Because it's life affirming...and, well, I'm unstable.

I am Thankful for...

2010-11-25T01:06:00.003-05:00

Cute Overload, for bringing posts like this.

Ug. Look. At. The. Tiny. Elbow.

How happy can one person be??

I Apologize

2010-11-20T23:17:00.005-05:00

Some years ago I got into a bit of a fray with a friend and coworker over pit bulls. I was on the side of banning and killing them due to their obvious evil and threat. She was on the side of "You are fucking crazy, calm down." This was not long after that story about the schoolteacher killed by dogs in California was going down, and I was completely and totally terrified by it. And, like all cases of fear, I was completely irrational and survivalist in thinking.

Years later, I saw the video below and thought, hm.

So I started looking at other videos on YouTube. Around this same time, Michael Vick was arrested for cruelty to animals (among other things) and, as you should expect, I finally saw the light. Pit bulls are DOGS. That seems obvious, doesn't it? And any dog can and will be a good dog...it just needs the right owner. How stupid and rigid I was. I am very ashamed of myself.

Here's the dog that flipped the Hateswitch in my head.

Could you not just DIE of squees??

So, to be clear, I am sorry. More than sorry. I hope that people come to their senses and realize it is NOT the dog, it is the HUMAN. These dogs should not be punished for the evil we create. That includes ignorance. The breed is blameless. In fact, the word "breed" should say it all. Given a chance in a good home, these dogs are the kindest and sweetest of them all.

Awkward Family Therapy

2010-10-31T18:56:00.010-04:00

I have always loved the website Awkward Family Photos, because honestly, anyone who ever spent a good amount of childhood hours at Olan Mills photography, with their standard gray mottled background or BETTER Fall Foliage background, has a whole lifetime of humiliation to relive in family photo albums--or better yet, framed and mounted for all to see in gramma's back hallway. We laugh because we understand. We all have photo evidence of the humiliation, the cross eyed, nose picking, snaggle-toothed horror that is The Family Photo.

But then I realized they had a sister site, Awkward Family Pets. Oh the shivering shame, the cruel cuts of molten memory, laced with acid spikes of fear and shock. I, too, have posed in an Olan Mills photo with a dog. A doberman. The dumbest, most cross eyed doberman to ever live. My mom holds my whole fabricated sense of identity in her wooden framed, slightly dusty clutches. She has the evidence and can take me down at any moment. Let's just say my expression in the alleged shameshow was never as proud as this:

BUT, can I just say, if my lot had been the same as this guy's (SEE BELOW!!!!!!) I would have been the proudest teen in the land.

HOT and Bothered

2010-10-31T02:14:00.002-04:00

Look Bieberites, I get it. You are both Hot. And. Bothered. I was like you once, too.

I am old. Old, old, old. Yet I still remember my own obsession's birthday: June 8, 1962. WHY do I remember it? Because at one point I thought it mattered quite a lot. Because I was quite sure we would be married. Because I was, to be blunt, an asshole. And so are you!

Do not fret. This is not a permanent affliction. Soon enough you will realize that the REAL boys in your life are far too hard to deal with...and, let's face it, real. Because no matter how NOT-Bieber they are, they are still, in fact, present. Which, I am afraid, will never be the fact about your beloved, be him Bieber or Rhodes.

Unsmileyface! But Rally! At least real guys can give you romance, heartbreak, herpes, and other assorted lovesores!

How to Snuggle a Chicken

2010-10-27T22:20:00.004-04:00

First, endure many stabs. Stab stab stab. The chicken is a velociraptor ready for the kill. Chickens are absolute weirdos. Read and weep. PS. They are actually the closest living relatives to the T. Rex. Their hearts are full of murrrderrrr!

But you know you have a warm and soft glow from watching that video. It's like watching that lion reuniting with his adoptive parents...at first you are like OH SHIT, that lion is going to eat that guy. Then you are like awwww, vicious lion. Who knew you could love?

This Is Work. Work Is This.

2010-10-27T22:10:00.000-04:00

You Can See Why I Was Confused

2010-10-27T21:44:00.004-04:00

This is the same guy, right?

Apperently not. Tho when I saw Law & Order: Los Angeles, I seriously couldn't tell if it was Jason Gedrick or Skeet Ulrich.

Lovely Sunset

2010-10-24T23:58:00.004-04:00

Out my kitchen window this evening.

The CIRCLE of LIIIIIIIFE

2010-10-23T23:09:00.006-04:00

First, where is my VHS tape of The Lion King? Do you know? Because I do not. I went to watch it and BLANK, no tape. So it's Gone with the Wind. Eff Bombs extreme.

I've been mulling over my own shocking transformation. I have this hot ASS image of myself that seems to suggest I will ALWAYS be the hottest thing ever (see below) but in less than 10 years...well, I don't look like that anymore. And hey! I am NOT just talking about weight. That would be too easy. Instead, there is a definite, living decomposition. EFF YOU aging! I am sure it is more than that, but whatever. Here is the hotness:

Bummer. I was young once. I really was. Ask anybody. Now I am an old Crank, waiting to eviscerate any young fool who dares to call me MOM. P.S. My lack of children should tell you I am probably not your MOM, or ready to be called MOM, and may actually hunt down and bitchslap your MOM if you call me MOM. FYI.

I think of Booby Goren in these times of tiredness and trouble. He's gone through a transformation, too. BUT, I have to say this with no reservation: I would give him long, hot footrubs in 2001 or 2010. Because his sensitive snubby nose, gangly tall bod, and overall testosterone injected reality will always--ALWAYS--earn him a well-deserved throne of Hotness to which many, many women will willingly bow and obey. Bobby! Thank your lucky stars. The common man/woman just deteriorates and decomposes. They wish they had the sweet coin of Sex Bomb Currency to cash in during the twilight of their waning attractive years.

2001

2010

(P.S. Don't cry. Everyone gets old. Not everyone has the opportunity, so think of them and say a little prayer. This caterwauling is slovenly earned, not justifiable, and completely drowned in narcissistic stupidity. This is my earned heritage...I am wearing glasses while I write this, so you know it must be true.)

DOUBLE RAINBOW ALL ACROSS THE SKYYYY

2010-10-23T00:34:00.001-04:00

My new peep sent me this:

It makes me happier than the smile of a child...even the smile of a kitten. That says a lot. It makes me double rainbow all across the skyyyyyy.

Fashion Show at Work!

2010-10-21T20:53:00.003-04:00

OK, it took TWO days to set this bit up, and it took all of 30 minutes to execute. We were expecting something far more grand and weird (Ocelot Catwalk, Carnage Finale!) but it was just an Express fashion show. We don't know why. But I have to admit that the insistent throb of house music really propels the mech request initiatives.

Acknowledgements

2010-10-10T00:23:00.009-04:00

I am happy to thank you for(four) being a friend. God knows I make it hard. You are the reason I get up in the morning. I am sick but lovable. Finally...

Clash of the Hotness

2010-10-05T22:34:00.003-04:00

Why didn't they just say: Classics-adjacent skinfest of hotty McHotness Greased Up and Full of Masculine Testosteronies. Because that would have gotten the point across, I think.

PS. I totally loved it. I think there was action...Zeus, possibly winged horses...but I do know for certain that the AGED HOTNESS was out of control! So, endorsement.

Things I Hope I Never Forget

2010-10-02T23:28:00.005-04:00

Sub&Stuff cheese fries
the kids door at Applegates Landing pizza
Gringo Charlie's
running through the sprinklers in the back yard
playing with bugs
beating my older cousins at Life and Monopoly
visiting my aunt in California, waking up from a nap with "How Deep is Your Love" playing and feeling so lucky to be in the most glamorous city I knew
kissing potion lip gloss (bubblegum)
wearing shoelaces in my hair and a bandanna as a belt.
my grandpa's hands
my grandma's hands
Malt-O-Meal made by Grandma with butter, sugar, and half and half on the side
riding in Grandpa's truck
listening to mom's stomach gurgle on Saturday morning
buying new furniture for the first time
loving the tiny apartment on Bluff because my room had a window seat
grandpa's radio that picked up AM, FM, and local television audio
KFDI storm watch
KFC and Crystal Lake and regretting that I never had the guts to jump off the top of the diving platform
grandma taking me out of school early to go see the St. Patrick's Day parade
delivering Meals On Wheels with Grandma
writing dirty song lyrics on the program during church
every crush, both big and small
the best dates, no matter how it all turned out
Christmas on Carlos street when I got Onkey the Monkey
Christmas on Bluff when I got my first boom box and cassette tapes ("Mickey," Toni Basil; Officer and a Gentleman, ONJ's greatest hits vol 2; John Cougar, American Fool)
Two days of Grease II and leftover anniversary cake (same as white wedding cake) just before my best friend left for Venezuela for "3 months" which turned into 3 terrible years.
the last day of school at Isley elementary when everyone went out to the hallways at the end of the day to cry and hug
Isley elementary and its singular perfection: The song-and-dance troupe, my acting gig as Maid Marion (and first job re-writing a script from the 70s to have a more 80s, "Valley Girl" flavor), the lofts, the contracts, track and field day, the vending machines, the commissary, the TRUST -- the teachers (Mrs. Chapman, Mrs. Terrill), the students, the FUN -- camp away weekend when I held hands with my "boyfriend" Jeff Ruby and played capture the flag...
Brownies. Selling Girl Scout cookies. That time we were supposed to draw and "image of ourselves" on a paper sack that we would then wear and Stephanie (?) drew a naked woman's body.

Tyler Clementi

2010-10-01T21:34:00.006-04:00

I had lunch with Yasmin yesterday and, as is usual for me, I had a hard time putting my arguments/feelings to coherent words. I'm the world's worst debater--it is a proven fact--and cannot be trusted to make a point "in the moment" if my life depended on it.

What I meant to say was: In this age where it seems boys & girls in general are more at ease with sexual orientation (more than they were when we were teens) I am shocked that kids are still killing themselves over being teased or outed.

And I do believe that things are better. I remember having a conversation with my ex before we were married, discussing how racism was slowly (slowly, slowly) working its way to eradication. We'd just been to Amarillo, Texas, and experienced a hateful moment of racism at the gas station, and his anger was complete and charged. Thanks, Amarillo, for forever being nothing but a RACIST hatefest in my memory, but this moment in time helped, at least for the moment, to stop and assess where we stood at that moment in time, race-relations speaking.

Let's get clear: Things are not perfect. Absolutely not. But we are progressing, and I do believe that. Kids today seem less impressed with gay. Certainly less so than when I was a teen. Don't misunderstand: there are still many, many kids out there torturing other kids for being different. I know that...I'm just saying that culturally it seems...less so.

This is not some justification for behaviours. NEVER. Honestly, this is my hope-filled dream. Because honestly, why the fuck are we still talking about this? I will never understand. If you are a man who loves a woman, a woman who loves a man, a man who loves a man, a woman who loves a woman...it's beyond me why this is still an issue. Love. Kiss. Fuck. Marry. Who fucking cares? This seems a stupid thing to keep judging and hating on.

This story is horrifying for two reasons: People are getting outed in worse and worse ways...people are still carrying burdens of identity that should be a benign and uninteresting as mint chocolate ice cream and city park planning. This is still a huge issue. This is still something that an individual must manage on his or her own. And apparently this is an aspect of identity that still causes so much misery and terror.

These two choads decided to out this kid via webcam for reasons...unknown. Was it just the sex? Probably not. It was most likely the kind of sex this kid was having. I'd like to believe that these choads did it because of the sex, just sex, but reality, and the ever evolving release of texts, tweets, and status updates, says it was the sex because it was GAY sex. Mark my words: There will come a day when Dateline or some other newswhore org will air an interview with the main roommate choad who will, no doubt, cry and claim he never, never meant to cause this kid's death. Because newsflash: he was an 18-year-old choad. He just DIDN'T UNDERSTAND.

I am heartened by the efforts made out there to make it clear that these claustrophobic worlds of junior high, high school, and even college are NOT what real life will be all about. I made the same point yesterday, awkwardly, to Yasmin, when we talked about how it would get better for everyone, not just the gay kids, weird kids, or generally unaccepted. It WILL be better for everyone! Sure, some of those old school jocks and cheerleaders will never learn (or care to) but if my reunion taught me anything, it is that people DO change. They live, have hardships, children, experiences, and they can get to a place where they understand where they are in the world, the galaxy, the universe. Human. In case you wondered.

Allow Me to Amaze Thee

2010-10-01T21:05:00.001-04:00

It's one of those nights...honestly, can you beat this beat? No, you cannot.

Lovevomit

2010-09-26T02:26:00.005-04:00

I don't revisit my YouTube site often because it rakes up all these heinous memories. It seems my goal in life is to video all the memories meant only to hurt me. And SAVE them! For all eternity! Because every person should shoulder that kind of pain, ya? Because we're all damned, we're all just deserving of a cup's full of hurt.

I've forgotten what my job gave this man for free...wanna relive it? I just did, so why not you?

Part One

Part Two

Let's get one thing clear: Minus the hateful night of Izod con Jus, where I lost my FAVORITE Lacoste shirt to a spilt gravy mishap and underwent a night of soul killing judgement from the One and Truly in the City of Love, I would never take back a minute of the trip. What's amazing to consider is the fact that this ASSHOLE got a free trip to London on ME, and my COMPANY. I hope he remembers it fondly. No doubt, he remembers it as the period of his life when he invested SO MUCH in that smart girl who could be SO STUPID for a smart girl sometimes.

What is the waste of effort? Wishing guys like this didn't harbor such hate for anyone, everyone, and you. Because they do. What is this guy thinking most of the time? How you've disappointed him. Deeply. Fundamentally. Because no matter what you give, it is never enough.

What an amazing epiphany this is. If ONLY it could get through to me. Because this ghost still rides on my back, forever saying how stupid I can be for such...a...smart girl. Fucker.

Lost Treasures

2010-09-19T00:36:00.006-04:00

It is amazing in this age of internets and availability all the things we once coveted so completely. I remember seeking high and low for the following two clips. I searched high and low. I bartered, I threatened, I stole. And here we are. I click a button and they are right here, easily accessible to any imbecile with a laptop. It makes me sick! I feel like Shelby's mom screaming WILL THEY EVERY KNOW!! They won't. They will never know.

In this age of whenever, whatever it is hard to remember what it was like to burn for something. To really, really knock the living shit out our yourself to procure something sweet and perfect. In high school I spent a SICK amount of time searching for the VHS of Sixteen Candles. At the time, it was something like $80 dollars. Can you conceive of such a thing?

NO. You cannot. Because you are a beeb. You have no sense of the darktimes. How could you ever know what we endured???

Finally, the beauty: I Need to Know, covered by Stevie Nicks, and Come Up and See Me, covered by Duran Duran. Let me lay out the latter experience for you...1983, before my best friend Lisa was absconded to Venezuela for NO REASON at all...watching this concert special on Mtv, but before that walking to Knolla's Pizza on Ridge Blvd and ordering two small cokes and one medium pepperoni pizza. Walking back to Lisa's apartment full of pizza and youthful stupidity...so alight with oxygen and fresh cells. Can I just say, enjoy this easy life, assholes. We came by it the hard way, seeking, bartering, threatening...and now, my childhood, in a YouTube glance...

Omnomnom

2010-09-19T00:08:00.002-04:00

Now you know my weakness. I will watch any shit movie he's in. Because...omnomnom.

Clarification: Bill O'Reilly

2010-09-18T22:33:00.002-04:00

He's a tool.

Just to be clear. He is a TOOL.

But the FUCK IT! WE'LL DO IT LIVE! remix speaks to me. In a big, big way. I don't talk about work here (because I am not looking to get fired, hello) but in case anyone ever questions why the "About Me" includes the clip of Bill O'Reilly, this is entirely and completely work related. Because lately this is my mantra, my religion, my FIST to the collective faces. So much has gone so wrong so fast that I've hardly had time to think about it. And, because of my reputation for excellence, I've been expected to live up to a completely unfair level of perfection. So, in the moments of complete breakdown, when my outside face is stone cold unshakable, my inside is screaming

FUCK IT! WE'LL DO IT LIVE! Fucking thing SUCKS!

And that is the story of my right here and now. I curtsy and spit on your shoe. The end.

SquaWeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

2010-09-18T22:14:00.004-04:00

Clearly, I love otters. I also love badgers (see right, Badgers!) but THIS is just getting redonk. I mean, badgers and otters living together?? It is madness! And beyond insanely cute! And I am not the only one...apparently I am not the only one under the spell of the badgersbadgersmushroommushroom spell. Look at all the YouTube explosions of the same vein of crazy.

Are we unhinged? Are we sick? Are we...cylons? Maybe. Maybe. I'd love to understand how so many people love this weird little clip so dearly. It doesn't make sense. Even as I watch it I think...why am I watching this? Why? It makes. No. Sense. Yet the love and devotion is extreme.

Any theories are welcome. I mean, badgers are cute, but so are kittens, puppies, and fat, rolly babies. WTF? Really?

M Night Shamalamadingdong

2010-09-14T22:48:00.008-04:00

Sexaaaayy? Jeebusaaaay?

LOOK. I've wanted to say that for so long, and so I have, so DEAL. This poor, poor asshat. He started off with such a great movie (the Sixth Sense), but he's jacked himself so thoroughly now that it is hard to respect him at all. I've just watched The Village again and I have to say, it is still a creepy freakshow even if you know the trick at the end. He CAN do it; he's capable.

Sidenote about The Village: I saw this in the theater and totally FREAKED OUT. The creatures were awesome...the spooky claws! UGH. The theaters were filled with screams! I really did enjoy it.

M Night's problem is himself. Someone in the room takes himself waaaaay too seriously. Sometimes he pulls it back enough to endure: Unbreakable only had a small cameo, same with The Village. Great! But M Night is a frustrated actor. Worse, he is a frustrated Jesus. He doesn't want to just be the writer, director, cinematographer, best boy, whathaveyou. NO. He wants to be the Pivotal Character. Worseworse? He wants to be the everlovin Jeebus.

Terrible Mistake 1? Signs. Good fun! Aliens! Coming to get you! Wheee! So why does he have to be the Conflicted Guy Who Kilt the Girl Who Tells the Secret of the Story? Why? Why M Night? He's desperate to play a Major Character with Dramatic Monologues. So, he did it. Llllllame.

Terrible Most Egregious Mistake 2? God, have you seen Lady in the Water? When you see it, you feel so sorry for everyone involved. There are some great ideas there, sure. But it's ham handed, for one. And let's get serious, the most horrid part is the fact that he assigned the part of the MLK JFK Jeebus Character to himself. The One Who Saves Humanity with His Words. Frustrated writer, anyone? As a former writer, I was deeply humiliated on behalf of Shamalamadingdong. Seriously, dude. Tell the truth: You think you are the writer who saves humanity, right? In real life? Ugh. Shame shame shame.

It makes me sad for him, honestly, because he's obviously talented. (PS. Not everything has to have a twist, fool.) It is too bad his blowhard ego had to overshadow his sense of vision. And, no. I will never see the Airbender of Excellence movie...whatever it is called...anymore than I'm watching that extremely soaring, highly silly Owl Hero movie. I LOVE OWLS. But the radiant grandeur is just as easy to swallow as M Night's Aw Shucks Am I the Savior two step. Shhhaaaame.

ScreamingandScreamingandScreamingggg

2010-09-09T22:53:00.002-04:00

I've decided that otters are the end all be all cutest mammal on earth. Watch, scream, and enjoy.

Wham! Bam! & People of Walmart

2010-09-05T00:36:00.003-04:00

Look, I'm going to NOT LIE and confess that this song pops up in my life soundtrack more than humanly justifiable...I don't know whyyyy. I only know that it does. Maybe it speaks to some "Enjoy watcha DO" part of my psyche that craves acceptance and congratulations. Because I do deserve both acceptance AND congratulations (so overdue!) but I digress...

Having perused the latest offerings from People of Walmart, it blasted straight into my psyche and all I could think was: WHY have I not posted this before??? Because A.) I am old so it was only a matter of time and B.) how much do you love George Michael I MEAN COME ON PEOPLE. I say for this video alone he gets a lifetime pass on being hiiiigh and passing out in cars. Come. On. Wham!

Bam!

I Love You, Brian Regan

2010-08-23T23:13:00.003-04:00

I watched the 2008 special tonight because he won my heart FOREVERMORE back when he did that skit in the 80s. I dunno. It is hard to explain. The first time he did the BIG YELLOW ONE IN THE MIDDLE IS THE SUN I basically just peed and peed. Laughing, of course.

Air Rage

2010-08-13T22:50:00.008-04:00

I rarely have it. I have LOADS and LOADS of road rage to share with people, but I rarely have air rage. I think to deal with what used to make me weep uncontrollably I had to make a deal with my brain. It went something like this: Gooo to sleeeep, brain. Shhhh, shhhh, shhh. You are many millions of miles in the air and yet it doesn't maaaaaaatter. Something like that.

So, this dude, an air steward, had a total shit fit last week.

Here's the story of my feelings on the subject, in a bulleted, numbered list:

The first I heard the story I thought, heh, funny. I think that's what MOST people thought. Because we saw it for what it was: A dude, in a job, lost his shit, said some swears, grabbed some beers, pulled a switch, rode a slide, rode off into the sunset to get it on with his boyfriend before getting arrested. The. End.
I thought: People like it because we can all relate: Dude has job, he says FUCK IT for whatever reason, then pulls a major cowboy move, pulls a slide in a dramatic fashion, and rides off into infamy.
Then I thought: Well, shit.
Because the Media, in all their self-satisfied supremacy, will turn it into some Guy-is-Hero then Guy-is-Buttshit, just you watch.
And they did. For the first two days, it was all fakey-fake exclamations about the "cult hero" who "struck a nerve." Mind you, I still beleive that the majority of folks just saw it as a Heh. Just a basic Cowboy Drama Move and certainly nothing so extravagant as "heroic."
For the past several days the Media has lived up to my basic expectations: Put the Boy Wonder up on that Pedestal, then spend the rest of the time finger wagging and making hay about how shame, shame, shamity it all is. SHAME ON HIM. And the ever so honorable Powers That Be back it up with their official finger wagging: Pulling that slide COULD HAVE KILLED SOMEONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You know what, Genius babies? So could I, with a Bic Pen. Or even a generic pen full of Chinese lead. But your smart asses aren't taking that away from me when I board the plane, are you?

My "Issue" with this present phenomenon? Let me explain:

First, the Media are WHORES. Trust none of them. Their whole imperative is to FUCK YOU UP. They churn the blood, churn the blood, fling the chum: Why? Because it is about sales, my folks. They do not care about the truth, they care less about perspective. They just pump it hard to get their pennies worth. They will shill for your tears (look at the armless orphan without a face!), play your fears (Obama hates your middle class life and is working hard to burn your retirement shekels), and blind your ears with worthless, grubby, monotonous fear-based mongering that tells you that while no one else is, they are on your side, getting the story, making the difference, all in HD! Fuck them with a pair of scissors, sideways, upways, all ways. They haven't understood their purpose since they were granted the first amendment and summarily shat on it.
Second, in the "effort" to "protect us" the powers that be have asked us to chuck our lighters and put all of our shampoos in Ziplock snackbags. YAY. Because the SHIV I call a PENCIL could certainly not do any kind of damage, ya? Was it not something as bland as a box cutter that lead to the 9/11 catastrophe? I appreciate the effort, I really do, and the more I travel the less I care about stupid shit like shampoo and lighters. I make do when I get there. It's more the PRETENSE. The bullshit facade, the GAME. Because only a drooling monkey would fall for that line of crap: That the "security measures" in place are really making us all safe. Lighters are EXPLOSIVE...but I guess also the source of fire, yeah? So every time I've flown with matches I guess that's just...harmless? And my lethal Bic pens and No. 2 pencils? I guess I could never really stab someone in the neck with that...like a box cutter? My point? The powers that be are out of control with their bs rhetoric. And the powers that back them up ramp it up. Imagine it: A flight attendant pulls a slide and runs away. What do you do? Overreact, of course? Not because it is really dangerous? I am too cynical to believe you really care about THAT anymore. I think the powers that be yearn to take a Tough Stand. And this poor fool, who probably just lost his shit and would probably take it back if he could, is going to do hard time because SOMEONE or SOMEBODIES want to appear Tough on Terror. Yay for everyone.
Third, he is NOT a hero. He's just a guy who lost his cool. I find it ironic that a culture that basks in the hideous red light of violence and corruption as entertainment would so easily turn on its newest Cult Hero. After all, don't we all cheer for Bruce Willis in all the Die Hards, Keanu Reeves in the Matrices, and all the many, many others who portrayed car chases, footraces, and other high octane violence ridden movie moments? I mean, all those innocent sillies who got smashed, crashed, shot, slapped, and generally kilt were all just...extras, right? It's weird, just weird, that we, as a society, might dig the idea of a guy blowing an explosive charge to activate a slide to freedom. That being a more tame version of the usual Stick It To The Man shit we usually worship.

So, my final thought? He fucked up, he was a good employee, he should be fired, he should get community service and probation, and he should be remembered, innocently, as the "guy who lost his shit and pulled the slide." Fin.

Bwahahahaha

2010-08-08T01:38:00.003-04:00

Not usually worth a repost, but this one made me cackle repeatedly so:

Via Very Demotivational, 'pon the Cheezeburger network. Icanhashawhaws.

Joyland 4ever

2010-08-07T21:34:00.008-04:00

Before I post my trip memories (and there are SO many) I wanted to give a shout out to the ghost in the room, who could not attend due to Wichita's lack of interest in its true, best history: So much has been torn down and forgotten. So much has been homogenized. I raise a tiny fist against replacement windows (in honor of my sis) and the Fake Old in Oldtown. I hate you! Mostly Wichita, I spit in your general direction (collectively) for not dedicating your whole heart to bringing the magic of Joyland Amusement Park back to life.

Joyland features one of the oldest working (?) wooden roller coasters in the country. See below.

Don't miss the special irony of this video being shot on my 18th birthday. Can you say sentimental value?? If you've ever ridden the Cyclone in Coney Island (a superior ride, but similar visceral experience), you have a sense of its awesomeness. What makes it special, however, is its general lack on maintenance, which makes the whole thing creak and sway as you ride it. Imagine the terror! It was a wonderful ride and it is a sad loss.

The Wacky Shack is hard to describe. Watch it here:

You have to really pay attention to the silences, I'm afraid. No video can really reproduce the freakyness of the Wacky Shack. It is weirdly quiet, with bursts of loud honks and mental instability that few haunted rides can boast. It is minutes of uncertainty in the dark.

Finally, LOUIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Here is Louie, hatless.

It is hard to describe how terrifying this clown is. People with fear of clowns no doubt have formative experiences such as this: entering your first amusement park, filled with wonder and some worry (what is an amusement park? will I be hurt? or amused?) and you see this sight, a capering animatronic clown playing an organ. And no matter how many fun rides you partake of (the roller coaster, the wacky shack, the train that rides past piles of forgotten litter) the memory of that herky jerky clown lingers. In your life as a Wichita youth, it is the one thing that binds you all, whether nerd or not, you all can share that one memory together: Remember the clown? Remember? *shiver shiver shiver*

Help Joyland come back to life! Louie awaits patiently, motionless but forever staring, packed away safely to be brought back to his post at the entrance of Joyland to greet and terrify new generations of Wichitans. The facebook page is here.

The Story of the Reunion, 2010

2010-08-07T01:17:00.022-04:00

Hello. I am back, and fully dedicated to my incarceration in this apartment. The last part of any good vacation is ME in this APARTMENT, living the DREAM. I am watching 2012 right now, which is some fine ass trash to imbibe in over a long, long weekend. The deets:

THE BEGINNING

I knew it was going to be a beautiful trip when, in the LaGuardia ladies room, a mother and daughter entered the stall next to me and the daughter, being somewhere around 6 years old, proclaimed: "Mom, this is GREAT!" When the mom indicated "what" the daughter made clear that she meant this trip, this airport, and hey, even this bathroom. It was uber cute, to be sure, but more importantly, I knew it was a SIGN.

LOVELY THINGS I ACQUIRED

First, my phone. I don't know what it's called. I don't care. It allows me access to Internet, email, and facebook. How could I complain. I did try to stay off of it while I was there, but the newness did intoxicate.

Second, my new sheets...I LOVE TARGET!!!!! Because it is full of wonder and sheets. They are dark plum and luxuriant. I slept on them last night and all I can say is zzzzzSNORTzzzzzdrool.

Third, lots of Gates barbecue sauce. I spoke with my shiny, Yasmin, a few months ago about what type of BBQ is best: She, being Canadian, preferred the "rub" since she's been brainwashed by her Texans, but I stay dedicated to the juicy succulence of BBQ sauce...meats both bbq'd in sauce and then slathered with it. Have you HAD Gates, my friends? It is the hottest, juiciest, most delicious sauce around. I've been marinating my mouth in it since I got back and can I just say: Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm!

Fourth, my tea tree shampoo and conditioner. I stormed JC Penney's hair salon to use the bathroom (using the universal WHERE IS IT in a heated, beady-eyed delivery to get my way) then reemerged to find they had the Paul Mitchell stuff I love so much. So I scored some sweet hair products. This isn't to say they can't be bought here, but as I've explained to those who simply do NOT understand: Malls. Are. Awesome. If you don't live in NYC without a CAR, you don't seem to understand what it takes to purchase multiple things in one day. I can buy a phone, new pants, a DVD, get my nails done, get an eye exam, and get new glasses in one day, in one location. If you have ever dragged your sorry ass all over Manhattan and Brooklyn to achieve these things--all with the added blessing of the shittiest customer service you've ever received--you will understand the appeal of the Midwestern mall.

THE REUNION

There's no way to express the joy that I experienced spending quality time with my prom dates and their respective hot men. I felt sandwiched between hard muscles and sweet, sweet man musk. Was it awesome? Do you have to ask, really? It was lovely getting predrinks and postdrinks with these fellas, mostly because after many years we've bonded like family. I would Rambo a fleet of Aliens for these boys and I'm sure they'd do the same for me.

It's weird to remember what a life bomb their lives would have been "perceived" to be back when we were 28, 30 or even 33. But these boys are fearless now. They came with their men, they brokered no compromises, and the class of 1990 accepted them, at least to my perception, with little or no drama. I'd be comforted to know that the times have made this situation a reality. I know what they went through in high school; it would be a sweet pleasure to know that their "alternative" lives are nothing more than a bland interest to our classmates. We all have loved ones, and there is nothing exciting about that, other than who they are and how they act when they are introduced to our alumni.

Ahem, Bill. Come on, now. You know you loved that reunion shit!

I spoke to many, made some memory connections, and felt that I got my money's worth. Of course I enjoyed my one on one time with my boys the most...listening to Bryan carefully explain the address to the taxi (denied!), feeling up Mark on the sly (hot guns!), getting some confirmation of love from my Tony (who hates me), and getting a wet willy from Bill, who reminded me graphically of why wet willies are so damned horrific.

THE FAMS

I GOT MY MR. T DRAWING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This was earned through some level of drama and angst. I understand that much churning and burning must go into every work of art, but even I have to call BS on the ONE YEAR it took to get this motherfucker. Sage, it is great. I love it so much! I am getting it framed.

In case you've never encountered one, this is a genuine Hambone in her natural habitat (i.e. with a captive audience):

Can I just tell you how much looking at these pictures again made me laugh? Which I think is the purpose of the Hambone. Always entertaining.

People in the Know know that the family situation is complicated right now at best. I managed to spend time with two warring factions, not without total uncomfortable self awareness. It was unavoidable, excruciating, and sad. But I got to see a good cross section of beebs, none of which ever asked to be in the middle of this horror. I think they've stood up to this the best that any kids their age could ever be asked to do. I'm only sad I didn't get to see Gabby, the little butterbean I held in my arms when she was only just born, still premie enough to still need to live in a protective chamber. Maybe she'll know one day how galvanizing that experience was for me and how it made me understand how fragile, perfect, and dear a baby is. Yes, for me, it takes a first hand experience to get the idea. But I did! And I'll never forget her translucent skin, little chirps and beeps, and the one miraculous moment when she opened her eyes and looked right into mine, all innocence and sweetness in one suspended moment. You can only dare to hope for something like it.

THE STORY OF ALEX

Here is the story of Alex, the surprising miracle of the trip: My best friend from childhood is only found consistently through her work. So, this is where I go to track her down. I went there a few days before I had to leave, but was told that she would not be on until the next week. So, one day before I left, I tried again, this time with Mom in tow. We approached the counter and asked for Lisa. We were told she was on break. We asked when she would be back. We were told it was uncertain, since she was pumping. I responded, NO, Lisa XXXX, to emphasize that they of course had the wrong person.

Nope. When my mother and I scooped our jaws off the floor we turned to see our Lisa returning. I basically tackled her, apologizing for being a bad friend and yelling my congratulations. It was a pile on of gooey love and tears. She showed us pictures from her phone and we made a date for the next day.

When I held Alex, I felt so happy. I'm usually totally uncomfortable with kids. I don't know what they want, what they are thinking, or how to make them happy. With him, I just had to get used to him rooting around, smacking his head into my shoulder, and basically being the Wiggle Worm to end all wiggle worms. Once he settled down, it was a series of grunts and muffled bleeps, coupled with shifts and squirms easily managed and quickly adored. OH MY GOD. This kid wiggled and squirmed right into my black coal of a heart. What a sugar beet! I love him completely!

Finally, to play us out (somewhere Bill O'Reilly is screaming fuck it! I hate this fucking thing!) I give you John Cougar Mellencamp, who I managed to experience WAY too many times via the radio during my trip (what the hell, Kansas?). Enjoy.

Take My Hand, We'll Make It I Swear

2010-07-25T04:05:00.007-04:00

On the eve of my 20th high school reunion, I honor both the reality and the legend that was, and wasn’t, when I was but a wee peep living on a prayer back in the late 80s and 1990. First, here’s the general skinny on the SCHOOL. In all of Wichita, no school can claim such a BADASS architectural awesomeness. All other Wichita High Schools tremble in terror, just trying to live up to the art deco craziness that is North.

When I was but a wee beeb, acting out the movie Xanadu in my babysitter’s living room, I dreamed of someday attending North. My legendary babysitter Debbie went there, along with her too cool for school friend, Tony, and her boyfriend, the aptly named Darren (or Daryl?) who was always at her side, showing up at Minisa pool or even crawling through her window late at night for some hot and heavy make out sessions. I can attest to this, since I pretended to be asleep, all the while listening to the soft tunes of 107.3, Air Supply, Styx, and Bette Midler (with, perhaps, the saddest song I’ve ever heard, even to this day). I also overheard awesome stories of high school initiations down by the river, by fire, whipped cream, shame. I was dying to live it.

By the time I got there, initiations were over. It was total squaresville. The worst part was starting school as the half breed Freshmen, since ours was the only school that fed into North, so we were wee, tiny, and fully disrespected. Our class was tiny compared to the rest since the rest of the junior high kids wouldn’t join us until Sophomore year. It was balls, balls, and more balls.

Later as our class grew I adopted new friends, learned new levels of angst, and loved high school all the more. My friends, known by some of the underclassmen as the I.Q. Crew, were unbearably brainy, nerdy, and altogether out of their minds ready for unadulterated sin. Luckily (or terribly?) we had places to go, drink, and be stupid. I forged undying friendships in this period that last to this day. We spent so many precious hours down by the riverrrrrr. My ultimate glee is attending this upcoming reunion with them.

I am also, ultimately, grateful for Facebook and its unintended exposure of goodness that has rocked my world and learnt me a thing or two in the past months. I’ve learned that the HS cheerleader who I knew back in Brownie days turned out to be a righteously hilarious grownup that I’m glad to know. I’ve seen friends find their true selves and grow happier in the process. I’ve seen other friends grow up, get married, and have some of the greatest kids ever to walk (or cartwheel) this earth.

I feel really lucky to see everyone again. Because in our tiny, tiny world, it is quite a thing to grow up, grow out, and learn in the process to value the people you spent those urgent, fraught, utterly wild years with. But never so much as to not enjoy a good paddling.

It's Nice to Know...

2010-07-23T20:22:00.008-04:00

...I'm not the only one that has massive amounts of passive-aggressive hate for grown-ass people who have not been potty-trained. Gas stations? Restaurants? Shopping malls? Whatever! I'm talking about a bona fide office situation here. When I worked custodial as a teen, I was horrified to find what kids would wipe on the walls...horrified at the actions of PRETEENS. Who knew it was something to cherish for a lifetime? Things I have seen/heard:

--piss on floors, toilet seat, walls.
--shit on toilet seat and walls.
--menstrual situations on toilet seat, floor, and walls.
--countless incidents of excreting without washing.

Really? REALLY? This isn't an inability to handle oneself on account of a nerve disability. Maybe some of it, but not all of it. The rest? Pure. Uncaged. Crazy.

The best game in the world is eyeballing your coworkers trying to figure out which one is a closeted psychotic.

Things I haven't seen first hand but were reported by trusted co-workers:

--a complete diarrheal blowout covering walls and toilet.
--a neat pile of clipped pubes on the stall floor.

I haven't seen boogers yet, but surely it will occur to someone to aspire to that eventually.

Wendy? Darling?

2010-07-18T02:58:00.007-04:00

Light of my life? Give me the bat.

UG. Being a life long Stephen King fan (well, if life begins at 12, when I first stumbled into my most beloved writer's work, The Shining, being my first "big girl" book, and being a time in my life that was definitely ripe for influence and permanent stamping of lifelong love) I am often confronted with the film adaptation of The Shining, and, to get to the point of it: how do I not adore the movie with wild abandon? Why...WHY am I such an evil bitch? Well. Two reasons: It doesn't follow the book; Wendy is not supposed to be an ugly wimp. What, no girl power??? WHAT, I am NOT, in fact, a SUPPORTER of all women??? (despite the fact that some deserve no support at all?)

Yes. That is me. Label me an Asshole. Whatever. I do not care. Because A.) parts of the movie do not even make sense without the book (dog costume man giving supposed head to 20s dapper man), and B.) most importantly, Wendy is NOT supposed to be some weak willed idiot wailing and flailing at Jack like some helpless half wit. King's tendency to make his women Lil' Helpless Squealers does not escape his heroine, don't get me wrong, but there are two crucial deviations from book to movie: First, Wendy is supposed to be attractive. I know it is superficial, but it is one of those things that, when you first notice it you think: What, they couldn't spring for someone with a pretty face? Too expensive? It doesn't help to learn that Kubrick mentally tortured Shelly Duvall during the filming of this movie...almost as if he knew she was completely wrong for the part and decided to punish her for it. (Side Note: I blame the casting director, James Liggat, who obviously had his head in a bucket of bourbon.)

And, second, Wendy fights like HELL on the stairs in the book. It is, in fact, a whole different scenario on the stairs. He surprises her, she fights like a demon. It is bloody and horrible, but she wins...not because she "luckily" smacks him with a bat (see below) but because she knows the stakes and beats the living shit out of him despite the injuries he subjects upon her in the process.

SO, what is my favorite part of The Shining, the movie? Well, it might be too easy to guess.

My only happy ending, of course, would have been the moment when Jack actually DID bash that idiot Olive Oyl's head in. Oh well. Maybe dreams come true in the sequel.