Friday, June 30, 2006

World Cup Calling--as Much as It Pains Me--

I've gotta say England over Portugal.

Being a Scotland fan is hard. It's like being a Red Sox fan pre-World Series 2004: endless heartbreak coupled with eternal hope. It also means, of course, the understanding that no matter which other teams make the finals, you never, ever support the Yankees. Which is why I feel a little dirty making the above prediction, but there you go. It had to be said.

Oh--and Brasil over France. Because, as a corollary to the above "never England" rule, one must never wish for a world in which France wins le coupe du monde.


Thursday, June 29, 2006

Gitmo's Gotta Go

5-3 against Bush. A surprising ruling from a Bush-leaning court, but one that might finally help put an end to the shame of Gitmo. That "shame" being the fact that the US long ago lost its moral high ground in the fight against terrorism. If these prisoners are POWs then let's treat them as such. If they aren't, what are they? Because if we don't answer that question, some other nation is going to do so with American prisoners, and we'll have not a leg to stand on to demand their release.

America is better than this. And that is not a bleeding heart liberal point of view. It's an American point of view. We're the good guys, so why are we running a camp like Gitmo? Like Iraq, how do we honorably extricate ourselves from this mess that we have created?

From the AP - The Supreme Court ruled Thursday that President Bush overstepped his authority in ordering military war crimes trials for Guantanamo Bay detainees. The ruling, a rebuke to the administration and its aggressive anti-terror policies, was written by Justice John Paul Stevens, who said the proposed trials were illegal under U.S. law and international Geneva conventions.

...The case focused on Salim Ahmed Hamdan, a Yemeni who worked as a bodyguard and driver for Osama bin Laden in Afghanistan. Hamdan, 36, has spent four years in the U.S. prison in Cuba. He faces a single count of conspiring against U.S. citizens from 1996 to November 2001. The ruling raises major questions about the legal status of about 450 men still being held at Guantanamo and exactly how, when and where the administration might pursue the charges against them.

It also seems likely to further fuel international criticism of the administration, including by many U.S. allies, for its handling of the terror war detainees at Guantanamo in Cuba, Abu Ghraib in Iraq and elsewhere.

Handled more humorously than I could muster this evening:

Proudly Presenting My A**

Do you know that classic anxiety dream you sometimes have where you walk into a room or get on the school bus, you look down, and you're not wearing pants? I lived that dream yesterday. If you define "not wearing pants" as "unknowingly wearing pants with a huge rip in the butt that clearly displayed not only copious a** cheek but thong as well." Seriously. Full-on butt viewage. An entire a** cheek with small quantity of thong.

Worst part? Didn't notice till 9pm when I was taking the pants off to put on my jammies. (Yeah, I put on my jammies at 9pm; what's it to ya?! No point watching Hell's Kitchen in full outerwear, is there?) So I then had the task of mentally retracing my steps to figure out a)what could have caused such a massive rip in the pants (not at the seam, mind you; just a big ol' tear like I sat on a nail or something), and b) how long had my a** cheek been going public?

When I mentioned it to the BD, he asked, "Well, did you get any really superlative service at any stores today? Were people honking horns at you as you walked down the sidewalk? That'll tell you pretty precisely when you were dealin' the crack."

Unfortunately, I received no such service, perhaps because people were thinking not, "oh yeah! a woman's naked butt!" but rather, "oh dear god, someone wash that seat! A naked butt cheek has been on it!" The BD assures me that if men were involved, the former rather than the latter would have been the reaction. Which leads me to hope that I ripped it in the privacy and comfort of my own home around 8pm. Otherwise, I'd have to assume it was like that all day, and it would be such a shame that I can't go back to that auto shop where the mechanics were so friendly.

Moral of the story: if it's 90 degrees and you're feeling quite comfortable actually, check that your a** cheeks are actually in your pants. You can thank me later.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

BTBNL Update

So there it is. Paperwork finished and on its way to China by July. Here endeth the paperchase for The Baby To Be Named Later, and not a moment too freakin soon, I tell you. Adopting internationally is a joyous undertaking, a labor of love, and also a monumental pain in the a**. And the hardest part of it is not The People's Republic of China. No, no. Their affairs are quite in order, thank you very much. The major laggard is Homeland Security which now houses the former INS, which seems overly concerned with ensuring that I am not spending hours of my life filling out ridiculous quantities of paperwork in a covert effort to transport Baby Osama into these United States. Yes indeed, we'd best make sure that all the i's are dotted and all the t's crossed, adding months to the process, because we wouldn't want any Chinese-born 9-month old babies taking flight lessons in Arizona, now would we?

But I digress into crankiness when the day is actually a fantastically good one. Blame it on carpal tunnel syndrome, eye strain, and fatigue from doing the paperwork self-exposure equivalent of putting my feet in gyno-stirrups on a seemingly weekly basis for the past 4 months. And, as I have joked before, I will not tell my daughter that old chestnut about how "I loved you so much I traveled all the way to China to meet you;" I will tell her that I loved her so much I drove on the Beltway all the way to the FBI office in exurbian West Burkettvillapolis and ate lunch at a TGIFriday's just to get fingerprinted to go to China to meet her. Now, THAT, my friends, from a city girl like me, is some genuine motherly lovin'.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do


I was watching an episode of Entourage** on DVD the other night, wherein the main character is a new Hollywood star played by Adrian Grenier, whose agent is Ari Gold, played unbelievably skeevily and yet smoothly by Jeremy Piven. Grenier's character Vince is talking with his buddies from back East about old girlfriends when he says, "I have never broken up with a girl." They challenge him on the statement but then determine that he is right; he has never broken up with a girl. He either just never calls her back or he just starts sleeping with someone else so that Girl #1 has to break up with him. I was joking with a couple of girlfriends about it when we realized simultaneously that we all have dated that guy!

I'm not sure what your take on old relationships is, but mine has always been one of "no regrets." You learn something from every relationship, whether good or bad, and it makes you who you are today. And if you happen to like who you are today, as I do, then you don't wish anything in your past away. True dat. But there is always that one relationship, isn't there? (Don't lie. You are already getting clammy thinking about him/her). That one where you look back and think, "Oh dear god, who WAS that girl dating that guy? What was she THINKING??!!! Did I have a shred of self respect AT ALL???!!" As my friends and I had this same conversation, we concluded that the only relationships we look back on with any kind of embarrassment are the ones in which we dated The Guy Who Wouldn't Break Up With Us. I mean, how embarrassing is that? We dated men who secretly wanted to not be with us but didn't know how to say it! Sah-weet!

It's apparently a whole valid school of thought among men in our cohort: don't "hurt" the girl by telling her it's over. Just sleep with someone else, engineer a way for her to "find out," and she'll get the message. That way you've done the humane thing and avoided an emotional scene. Only problem is, my friends and I all made the mistake of thinking that the "I'm Sorry" after the fact also included the subheading, "And It Won't Happen Again Because I Love You and Never Want to Hurt You." Cue 2 subsequent breakups, by which I mean "him sleeping with 2 other women," and you have yourself the hat trick of heartache with only yourself to blame, suckah!

Sah-weet. In his jokingly inflammatory way, my father would have found this to be the perfect moment to say, "And THAT is why it is a waste of money to educate women: $100,000 of college and she'd still sleep with a man who just yesterday was poking his pecker elsewhere..."

He keeds! He keeds! But he's right that we gotta smarten up. I mean, I'm a grown woman finding relationship insights from Season One of a potty-mouthed TV show. And it's not that I'm happy doing it, it's just that I'd rather avoid the drama of telling Netflix that I no longer want to receive additional episodes, and the episodes are funny and cool and all, but am I in love with them? Probably not, but god, how do you say that to the writers and actors, huh, without looking like a jerk? I guess I'll just keep on receiving the DVDs but I'll secretly watch The Shield in between deliveries. If I'm caught I'll just say, "Let's hug it out, b*tch!"

**Entourage is everything viewers have come to expect from an HBO series: smart, hilarious, and highly addictive, especially when taken in full-season, DVD form. As implied in the title, the show follows Vincent Chase, a rising Hollywood star with bedroom eyes and an over-active libido, along with his three childhood companions-turned-hangers-on. Kevin Dillon plays Johnny Drama, Vincent's less-attractive, B-list actor of a brother (he is Matt Dillon's less-attractive, B-list actor of a brother in real life). Jerry Ferrara plays Turtle, the weasel, and Kevin Connolly appears as Eric, the Everyman hero who hopes to parlay his friendship with Vincent (plus two years of community college) into a career in talent management. Along the way Eric contends with the predictable self-doubt, romantic indecision, etc. The cast is rounded out by Jeremy a foul-mouthed agent reminiscent of Jay Mohr's short-lived Peter Dragon character. Finally, it's produced by Marky Mark himself--and you've got to believe that guy knows something about the star-entourage relationship... --Leah Weathersby

Dialing While Drunk

Messages received on a good friend's voice mail today from an obviously inebriated person:

Call One:
Hey how are you? It was great sex. Great blowout sex, and you know, I miss it sometimes, I might have the wrong number I don't know but call me alright? bye bye.

Call Two:
Don't bother. It seems like you're not the right person. So..don't worry. bye bye.

I love that she called back to set the record straight, ie, that my friend would indeed NOT be welcome to come over and have blowout sex with her. That's awesome. I mean, if I had left a blue message on someone's voice mail, you can be d*mn sure I wouldn't be calling back! I'd just hope their caller ID was broken that day. It's a special and unique--oh yeah, and DRUNK or HIGH---woman who calls back just to make sure you don't actually think that a wrong number entitles you to intercourse.

RIP Moose

Moose, the Jack Russell terrier who played Eddie for over a decade on the Emmy-winning TV series Frasier, has died. He was 16-and-a-half (115 in dog years). Moose died on Thursday night of old age at his home near Los Angeles, according to his trainer Mathilde Halberg. She tells American People magazine, "He just had an incredible charisma and was such a free spirit." Halberg rescued Moose from a dog pound in the early 1990s and soon discovered he was a natural actor.

Moose rocked. He was a better actor than Daphne and Roz put together.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Yes, The Future IS That Scary

I'm reading a book called "Revolutionary Wealth" by Alvin and Heidi Toffler. It sounds like one of those Joel Osteen or Norman Vincent Peale books promising "literally tens of thousands of dollars in additional income" if only I find my passion and move confidently toward it while winning the love and support of others.

Quite the contrary. It's all about our society and our economy and how the future of both will be different from anything we have known in the past; how it is inevitable, and how we need to begin restructuring our societal institutions to deal with the changes upon us.

The quick summary that will hopefully encourage you to read more of this book is this:
The Tofflers--that wacky couple of "Futureshock" fame--cover both visible and invisible wealth, they discuss "prosuming," which is the unpaid work we all do that assists the money economy, such as volunteering, parenting, caring for aging or ill family members. They discuss our economy in three waves:

The first was Agrarian; back in the day when our economic system was founded upon growing things. The second was Industrial, when our economic system was founded upon making things. The new wave we are entering is Knowledge, which is founded upon knowing things, intangible functions like designing, financing, planning, researching, managing. This new wave will place more value on knowledge that on tangible commodities, and nations whose schools do not prepare their students for that economic system will find themselves left behind.

The Tofflers also touch upon the societal upheaval that occurs as one economic wave ends and another begins (using China and India as examples of countries where all three waves are occurring simultaneously in different regions, and the US as a country whose "industrial era bureaucracies" are slowing the move toward more advanced, knowledge-based systems for creating wealth and responding to disasters such as 9/11 and Katrina).

One very telling example involves terrorism and our response to it. Terrorist organizations are structured in a Third Wave way: they are tiny, loosely-networked cells capable of making quick decisions and trained to hit, run and vanish. The US government, by contrast, created a "solution" to the terrorist problem by creating an industrial-age answer to al-Qaeda: an agency that pulled "22 pre-existing pyramidal bureaucracies into a single mega-pyramid..." that is "masive, vertical and hierarchical." In short, we are still unprepared to deal with terrorism in a real and effective way, simply because "attempts to change or replace an industrial-era agency spark resistance from its traditional beneficiaries and their allies."

Perhaps the best element of this book is the tremendous depression you will feel after reading it as you realize, painfully and substantively, that the US education, defense, and other systems are broken beyond repair; that we are preparing students to fill jobs that won't exist, creating a military that can't fight wars as they will be fought in the future, developing bureaucracies that can't help citizens in times of massive national emergencies...all at a cost of trillions and trillions of dollars.

In short, we're screwed. Unless...well, you gotta read the book to find out.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Gone Fishin'

More posts after the weekend, y'all.
In the meantime, stay in school, eat your greens and don't do drugs.

It's Take Your Dog to Work Day!

(Not recommended for people in the food service or direct health care service industries...)

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Spruce Up, Bruce! We Need a Hottie Coach

As a supplement to this hilarious post on DubiousQuality for those of you who don't necessarily get all lathered up for socccer,


I am proposing that our team--although hangin' in there--is not expected to win or really even be taken seriously by the other teams. My theory on why?

Our coach is a mess.

I give you Mr. Bruce Arena, US coach (who doesn't appear to have played a full 45-minute half in quite some time):

I now give you Sven-Goran Eriksson, England's coach:

And Signore Lippi, Italy's coach:

Clearly, we need a little hotness of the Eminence Grise variety, if you know what I'm sayin'. A little older hotness. Someone with a little silver on top, a little bit of sixpack remnant in the middle, and a lot of fly footwork on the ground.

Bring me that man and I guarantee you a winning World Cup appearance. (Especially if that man is a former coach of England, Italy, Argentina.....)

Give Up

I am burning precious work time reading this new blog that I love. It's political and sarcastic and funny and insightful, methinks:


I especially recommend the Coulter vs. Hitler quiz that asks you to identify the originator of each particular statement. It's a wee bit scary how some are hard to nail down...

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Thank You, Daily Mail

At least one newspaper on the planet ( finally got it right in reporting a story about someone whose children were adopted. And I quote:

"Kidman's children from her 10-year marriage to Cruise, Isabella, 13, and Conor, 11, are expected to arrive in Sydney later this week."

I had to reread that sentence 4 times to convince myself that they hadn't actually used the adjective "adopted" in front of her kids' names. Awesome. Yeah yeah, they say "10 year marriage" and the kids are obviously older than that, but who cares?! Finally the Cruise children get a column inch that doesn't highlight the what-should-now-be-irrelevant-to-random-people fact of how they came to be Cruise children more than a decade ago.


Top of the Pops: End of an Era

For those of us raised for even a short time in Britain, today's news that the BBC is cancelling Top of the Pops is simply gutting. It was MTV before the concept of MTV had ever been considered; it was Soul Train for British people, American Bandstand for British people. Any act that was anyone HAD to appear on TOTP to be considered worthwhile. Before the ubiquity of music videos, TOTP was often the only opportunity someone had to see their music idols "in person." Yeah, much of it was lip-synched, as I recall it was tres cheesy in the extreme. But it was the axis around which all of my childhood viewing rotated; I never wanted to miss a single show, especially when Blondie or Chic were going to be on. It was awesome. And now it is but one more facet of my childhood that will reside only in my memory and in the dustbin of time. Damn you, MTV!!! I'd give anything to see a young Debbie Harry on stage surrounded by fake fog, singing into a big, green puffy microphone the size of an old-school bicycle pump. Good times, good times.

The British Broadcasting Corp. announced Tuesday that it is canceling "Top of the Pops," its flagship music chart show, after more than four decades on the air. BBC director of television Jana Bennett said the show, which first appeared in 1964, would air for the last time on July 30. "We're very proud of a show which has survived 42 years in the U.K. and gone on to become a worldwide brand, but the time has come to bring the show to its natural conclusion," she said. "Top of the Pops" has featured everyone from The Beatles and The Rolling Stones to Nirvana and the Spice Girls. At its peak, the weekly rundown of Britain's best-selling acts attracted more than 15 million viewers. The show has suffered flagging ratings in recent years as it faced competition from cable and satellite music channels and the Internet. Last year it was moved from the main BBC1 channel to BBC2, which attracts a smaller audience. In a statement, the BBC said that "in a rapidly changing musical landscape 'Top of the Pops' no longer occupies the central role it once did."

Monday, June 19, 2006

Judgmental Housewives

So what is it with me and my fellow women? Why can't we all just get along? It's not like we fight, because my god that would be rude and unacceptable social behavior. We want to be seen as "nice" so we don't punch each other in the face. Instead, we judge each other so harshly, compete with each other on really personal levels, and find ostensibly socially-acceptable ways to just cut each other down to size. That book from a year or so ago about "Queen Bees and Wannabes" in junior high and high school captured the battle zone from the perspective of adolescents. But here we are, in our 20s and 30s, and we're still doing it, and it is so freakin sad.

Where is this coming from? I'm on a listserv of mothers who live in our metro area neighborhood. It's designed to provide social opportunities for us and our kids, to provide ways for self-employed moms to advertise their services to other moms and families, and in general serve as a bulletin board for helping each other out, ie. "I have a crib I no longer use; does anyone need it?" On its best days, the listserv is fabulous because you don't have to do a ton of research into good pediatricians or find ways to market your business or buy a new crib; you meet other moms who can help you out and vice versa. Awesome idea. Lately, however, whenever I get a chance to read the posts (which means I end up reading about 75 at a time), I can tell that the atmosphere, while all "helpful" and "aren't kids great?!", is also one of caution and oversensitivity because a flame war always lies dormant, waiting to cut you down to size if you violate the perceived values of the group (which always means, "the values of those who are the loudest").

For example, if I were to post "Does anyone know how to get a peanut out of my kid's nose?" I would immediately be provided helpful information on how to do it, along with the beginning of a days-long diatribe on "what kind of mother would give her child peanuts anyway?" Same with breast feeding or not breast feeding. Oh dear god, you have not seen venom like the breastfeeding wars. And then it's about drinking milk, as in, "My child doesn't like milk, what else can I give him?" Count to three then watch the messages come flying in with, "What kind of mother doesn't make her child drink milk?! Your child will be underdeveloped and behind in school if you don't do the right things!"

It seems like the mothers who post have somehow transferred their competitiveness from work onto their role as mothers, and it creates a miserable environment for everyone else who is just doing their best to raise healthy, happy, productive kids. And god forbid you ever--EVER--give voice to the idea that being a mom is not the sole and solitary rapture of your life. It's like expressing the feeling that, "Gee, you know, some days having a clean house and a clean kid who can count to 12 is just not enough to make me feel like a fully-actualized human being with a brain and a life," is the one heresy that must never be uttered lest everyone's carefully-crafted Bree Van de Kamp veneers incinerate leaving only the real, true Lynette Scavos visible.

THAT is a flame war I keep wanting to start just for sport, but don't because I want to be able to go to the park and have people like me. It's insane, because the truth is, I'm pretty proud to be Lynette Scavo. Some days I look like hell covered in mac and cheese and paint with a kid running around the house naked, other days I can go to a client and rock their world in my suit. Most days I feel like I'm doing neither to my best level, but I just keep at it because both make me, ME. And that is the person I want taking care of my daughter: someone who faithfully and conscientiously does her best, which means sometimes having to "phone it in" and let the kid eat McDonalds and watch Springer.

Rev. Moon and The Bushes: Best Friends Forever!

An excellent article discussing the fact that "Over the past quarter century, South Korean theocrat Sun Myung Moon has been one of the Bush family’s major benefactors – both politically and financially – while enjoying what appears to be protection against federal investigations into evidence that his cult-like organization has functioned as a criminal enterprise."

And we're getting all wee-wee'd up about the Scientologists?

From ConsortiumNews

0riginally lifted from

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Things to know about fatherhood

A few selections from the long list in Esquire Magazine (© Tom & Dee Ann McCarthy/Corbis) in honor of Father's Day:

1. Don't worry, your dad didn't know what he was doing, either.

2. No, no--not that Spock!

3. Second thought, maybe you should worry.

6. Do not name your baby after cities, geographical points of interest, features of the solar system, seasons, plants, animals, or current television stars.

7. Your child, at birth, already has a deeply complicated relationship with his mother, and, for the first year, you are only a curiosity. For a couple of years after that, an amusement-park ride. Then, a referee. And finally, a bank.

12. You know how they say you'll get used to diapers? You won't. Unless you wear them a lot.

13. Forcing children to use toilets will make them dislike toilets. Children begin using toilets when they tire of that not-so-fresh feeling. Of course, this is long, way long, after you tire of it.

16. Reason boys are better: They cannot get pregnant.

17. Reason girls are better: They're less likely to get arrested.

18. The threat of an unknown punishment is always more effective than a stated one.

20. Teach by example.

21. Your kids can develop an independent sense of good taste only if they're allowed to make their own mistakes in judgment.

22. Relax: Lots of little boys want a Barbie and a dollhouse.

23. The first time you change your son's diaper and he pees all over you is not an accident. It's foreshadowing.

24. Children of too-strict parents are more likely to develop tics.

25. Let them take reasonable risks: A few scrapes in the long run are nothing compared with the scars left by hovering parents. Or tics. In preparation for risks: a Red Cross first-aid course.

30. Never disclose to other parents that you have found a good baby-sitter.

34. At a certain point, your child will appear to survive exclusively on peanut butter, french fries, Cheerios, and hot dogs.

38. Children's hobbies to nip quickly in the bud: drums, archery, matchbook collecting.

39. Beware your child's uncles, who will teach your kid dirty words, introduce him to liquor, and give him gifts of drums, archery sets, and possibly matches.

40. It is, of course, your natural right to exert the above negative influences on your siblings' offspring.

41. You are under no obligation to tell children the truth. Lying to children is, in fact, half the fun: "Oh, that tree? That's a yellow-spotted spickle-gruber, of course." On the other hand, they do remember everything.

47. Unfortunately, those books that say motherhood makes women desire more sex are referring to women who are not your wife.

51. If the real response to his question is no, try this instead: "Go ask your mom."

55. The twos aren't always terrible. Even if they are, take heart, as kids aged three to six generally believe their parents are the most amazing beings alive and wish to be exactly like them. How scary is that?

58. It's never too early to begin reading to children.

59. Let them read what they enjoy.

61. Acceptable reading material: Dr. Seuss, Where the Wild Things Are, Harold and the Purple Crayon, Curious George, and any of the following by Roald Dahl -- James and the Giant Peach, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and Danny the Champion of the World. Neither of the following by Roald Dahl: Kiss, kiss or Switch Bitch.

62. Know that by the time your kids are teens, those enormous baggy pants will be long gone, as will tattoos, piercing, and Marilyn Manson. Of course, by 2015, kids might very well sever arms and legs as fashion statements.

63. Some parents walk around naked in front of their children. These parents should stop it.

64. Nearly all psychological problems result from feelings of worthlessness, which is to say, every now and then make sure that you tell your kid he's pretty great.

65. And never raise a hand to him. But being a good guy, you probably knew that.

66. The harder they play, the earlier they sleep.

67. Never turn down an invitation to play.

68. No toys that require batteries.

69. They never really outgrow the claw. "No, Dad, no! Not the claw!" means "Apply the claw, please."

70. All in all, fatherhood is pretty terrific -- filled with joy and triumph, promise and miracles -- particularly other people's fatherhood.

71. You might think you know a lot about fatherhood, but not as much as you will when you're a grandfather.

72. If you're thinking that fatherhood means the end of life as you've known it, you, sir, are, of course, absolutely correct.

Brokeback Nuthin'

For a movie that supposedly proved that Hollywood had finally come of age in its positive and touching representation of a gay love story, I have only one thing to say about Brokeback Mountain, which I saw last night:

Where the naked men at?

Hellooo?! If Brokeback supposedly proved that Hollywood is now so au courant as to treat male and female/hetero and homo relationships seriously and equitably, how come the only people who get naked in Brokeback Mountain are the two FEMALE costars?!!?

Think of how ridiculous it is: "A beautifully-crafted movie about two cowboys falling in love and their multiple, passionate and tender meetings over the course of twenty years atop Brokeback Mountain. Contains Nudity." To which characters would you imagine the "nudity" would refer? OBVIOUSLY it refers to their WIVES! Of course!

Other than that irritant, the movie was fine. Not necessarily Best Picture fine, but certainly Heath Ledger Best Actor fine. {Neither of which won in real life anyway.) All I'm sayin' is: if you're going to do a movie about a love story spanning 20 years and you're going to have naked people, it really ought to be Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal doing the nakedness. One woman's opinion.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

I'm a Non-Gagatarian

Y'all. I almost ate a tuna vein the other night. At least it looked like a vein. Maybe it was tuna fat. Either way, it was the last bite of tuna or meat I've eaten since then. I've developed a MAD food aversion to, as Paul McCartney put it, "anything with a face." And when I even mentally conjure the image of what I almost ate (vein or fat or godknowswhat) I get that little gaggy feeling in my throat and have to start acting like a 15 year old boy with a h*rd on to make the images go away: "Baseball! Baseball! Wicker baskets! Bonnie Franklin from One Day at a Time!"

I can't figure out how to get past the aversion--or whether I even want to--now that I've been overthinking the whole vein thing. I also unintentionally exercised the nuclear option: I went to the PETA website to see if tuna really do have veins after they are cooked. Well, g_d almighty, if I wasn't completely off the meat before, I sure am now. All I wanted was a bit of vein information, but I left with even more "gagginess" than I arrived with. They even have a whole hidden camera expose of a "kosher" slaughterhouse leaving 25% of the supposedly halachically-killed animals alive for more than 30 seconds as they stumble around with their tracheas hanging out...

So now I don't know what I am. Am I a vegetarian again? (I was a veg throughout college and for a couple of years after until a friend introduced me to Memphis BBQ). Am I just a foodie vegetarian (most likely) or am I a holier-than-thou-save-the-animals vegetarian (doubt it)? Do I want to throw paint on Beyonce for wearing fur? (Not really. At least not for the fur thing...). Am I vegan even though I harbor an overwhelming love of cheese and yogurt? (Clearly not).

So what am I? Well, you saw the title; I think I've boiled it down to being a Non-Gagatarian: If it makes me want to hurl, I can't eat it. Seems pretty straightforward, and not meat-exclusive if you consider my ongoing gag-reflexes for orange mac-and-cheese, tomato soup and guacamole. Oy vay, but so many changes in the space of three days. And all for want of a google image of a tuna vein...

Incidentally, one of the funniest sites I found in my quest for tuna vein information was this one, wherein the writer's food philosophy is summed up as "don't eat anything cute:"

Thursday, June 15, 2006

I Link, Therefore I Am

Got some new links for your clicky enjoyment over there on the right-hand column. Enjoy! If you have any I should add to the list, lemme know.


Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Flag Day: Take Two

A really great post that sums up my far-less-articulate thoughts in the last post about Flag Day:


Happy Flag Day!

For your personal edification, here is a little history of how the day came to be, from My only disclaimer about this post is my fear that Flag Day, as opposed to July 4th or Memorial Day, fetishizes the flag rather than commemorates what it represents.

The Fourth of July was traditionally celebrated as America's birthday, but the idea of an annual day specifically celebrating the Flag is believed to have first originated in 1885. BJ Cigrand, a schoolteacher, arranged for the pupils in the Fredonia, Wisconsin Public School, District 6, to observe June 14 (the 108th anniversary of the official adoption of The Stars and Stripes) as 'Flag Birthday'. In numerous magazines and newspaper articles and public addresses over the following years, Cigrand continued to enthusiastically advocate the observance of June 14 as 'Flag Birthday', or 'Flag Day'.

On June 14, 1889, George Balch, a kindergarten teacher in New York City, planned appropriate ceremonies for the children of his school, and his idea of observing Flag Day was later adopted by the State Board of Education of New York. On June 14, 1891, the Betsy Ross House in Philadelphia held a Flag Day celebration, and on June 14 of the following year, the New York Society of the Sons of the Revolution, celebrated Flag Day.

Following the suggestion of Colonel J Granville Leach (at the time historian of the Pennsylvania Society of the Sons of the Revolution), the Pennsylvania Society of Colonial Dames of America on April 25, 1893 adopted a resolution requesting the mayor of Philadelphia and all others in authority and all private citizens to display the Flag on June 14th. Leach went on to recommend that thereafter the day be known as 'Flag Day', and on that day, school children be assembled for appropriate exercises, with each child being given a small Flag...

Inspired by...three decades of state and local celebrations, Flag Day - the anniversary of the Flag Resolution of 1777 - was officially established by the Proclamation of President Woodrow Wilson on May 30th, 1916. While Flag Day was celebrated in various communities for years after Wilson's proclamation, it was not until August 3rd, 1949, that President Truman signed an Act of Congress designating June 14th of each year as National Flag Day.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Haiku Mama

I was given a book called "Haiku Mama" for Mother's Day and of course am only getting around to reading it now that it's almost Father's Day... The book is by Kari Anne Roy, and it is a hilarious collection of haiku about motherhood:

Screaming, crying, puke;
Yelling, threats, then just chaos.
Great birthday party.

When she was my mom
she said no sweets before lunch.
Hypocrite grandma.

Yay! The perfect time
to strip down naked and scream--
when Mommy's on phone.

Dueling Polls--Or Just Dueling Headlines?

From USAToday:
Poll sees a boost for Bush, Iraq war

From CBS:
Poll: Most still think Iraq war a mistake

Curious, is it not, that two polls in the wake of al-Zarqawi's death could seemingly reach such different conclusions? One finds a majority still saying it was "a mistake" while another sees a boost for the war's support? How does that happen?

Well, it happens because of the headline chosen, which is my own personal beef with "polls." They are rhorshach tests, allowing people to see almost anything in their results (a practice in which I will now engage). For example, USAToday led with the fact that their poll found that 47% believe things are going well in Iraq, up from 38% in March. The survey also showed Bush's approval rating going up to 38% from 36% earlier this month and an all-time low of 31% in May.

CNN headlined the fact that their poll showed 55 percent of respondents believing the U.S.-led invasion of Iraq in 2003 was an error -- a figure unchanged from an April survey.

The fact that Bush's approval rating went up two points doesn't strike me as news, especially when the next quote in the article has Stuart Rothenberg, a political analyst, saying "good news makes people feel better." Duh. And especially when there is no discussion of whether a 2-point jump is even statistically significant. Nevertheless, all of the 2%s and 12%'s aside regarding people's short-term emotions about the war, the fact that 55% continue to think the invasion was an error--an unchanged figure no matter the death of al-Zarqawi--strikes me as the real piece of news here, and as the pivotal point of pain for the political fortunes of GWB and the Republican Party. That unchanged figure ought to signal loud and clear that there has been a loss of trust between the American people and their President. That short-term gains in the war will obviously "make people feel better" but will not alter their belief that the Iraq invasion was a bad decision with negative consequences across the board. If I were the political advisor to the POTUS or to a GOP member of congress, I would take those numbers to heart in my electioneering. It would be tempting to focus on the "but he gained 2 points since last month!" or "12% more people think the war is going well!" but a truly smart politician will recognize the shifting sands of short-term electorate emotion when she sees them, and opt instead to address the larger issues: trust between a country and its President, acknowledgement of previous error or at least capricious unilateral action, resisting the urge to convince people that it really wasn't an error, or blindly supporting the administration.

Obviously my hope is that the Republicans will NOT heed this advice and will lose spectacularly in the mid-term elections, but the message is the same for Democrats, on a whole host of issues: stop grasping for the numbers you WANT to see and start addressing the numbers that are there.

I charge $300 an hour if anyone needs me. ;)

Fat Elvis Redux

As a junior-high school girl in the 80's I carried with me in my heart a very deep devotion to Simon LeBon of Duran Duran. It was a devotion challenged only by those nagging doubts that sometimes plagued my 13 year-old conscience when I wondered aloud whether I might not love John Taylor more...

At the time my girlfriends and I openly disparaged women of our mother's generation who had continued to love Elvis/throw their dainties at Elvis/get all swoony about Elvis even when he had morphed from just "Elvis" to "Fat Elvis." They assured us that someday we too would still swoon for a now-fat dude whose appeal used to make us spend hours practice signing our names as "Mrs. E. LeBon" when he was young and hot.

Well, my message to my friends' moms is this:

Wow. You were SO wrong.

To wit, I give you: Simon LeBon circa 1986 and Simon LeBon circa 2005. Nuff said.

Don't feel too bad, though. I'm working on my "Mrs. E. Connery" signature regardless...

Monday, June 12, 2006

Pee and Sympathy

The other day at the park I was on the receiving end of well-intentioned but nonetheless Ambush Sympathy. You know what I mean if you've recently lost someone. You're going about your day, you've actually made it to noon or 2pm without consciously noticing the gaping hole in your life or getting teary-eyed over something seemingly non-related but evocative regardless, and someone out of nowhere very genuinely tells you how sorry they are for your loss. All of a sudden your carefully-constructed pseudo-reality of normalcy is shot and you are fast-tracked back to the day it happened, the days since it happened, the nights since it happened, and all you can squeak out is "thanks; I appreciate it" to the very nice person from whom you now fervently desire to sprint away.

So went my day at the hands of my nice-but-clueless-and-brassy neighbor Fred "The Dorf" Dorfmann.* (*Name completely plagiarized from that classic scene in the movie "Fletch"). I walked into the kiddie park and instantly he said, "I'm so sorry." I felt a bit confused. I was wondering what could have gone so wrong that The Dorfman would find himself apologizing for something, ie, "Did your kid pull out his dingaling and pee in front of my toddler again, Dorfman? Was it YOU who stole my trash cans, Dorfman?" I had no idea what he was talking about, and my face must have shown my confusion, which seemed to cause HIM confusion, which caused a bit of uncharacteristic hesitancy, unsurprisingly followed by his usual "well, I'm gonna just say it" demeanor: "Your father. Your dad. I figured something was up when your mom came alone to The Bambina's birthday party, but I didn't want to ask. Well. Anyway. He was a gruff but lovely guy and I'm sorry he died."

Me: "Thanks. I appreciate it. He liked you too. {awkward pause}. So--has your kid whipped it out lately?" I'm lying on that last part, but I figure now that I've had my first taste of Ambush Sympathy I'll be ready next time with a quickie comeback to veer the topic away from me and back to something like public urination or theft of private property; two things my Dad would have found amusing, especially if they involved the Dorfman.

My Brief Career as a Panhandler

My Saturday morning began wicked supah early as The Bambina arose and shone at 6:35am. Nice. She always seems to know it's a Saturday and, therefore, a full day of fun and games. Kill me now.

As I was attempting to leave to go get groceries, etc, while she spent quality time with the Baby Daddy, I managed to forget not only my house keys but my cell phone as well. Kill me now.

I didn't realize that I had forgotten said keys until all of the groceries were unloaded and on my front porch. I knocked on my next door neighbor's door to retrieve my extra key from them, only to find them not at home. Kill me now.

So I ended up driving to a Seven-Eleven to use a payphone to call said Baby Daddy to get keys. Me. At a Seven-Eleven. At the PAYPHONES at a Seven-Eleven. With the aggressive panhandlers and, as we call them, "the dudes" who seem to have nowhere to be, ever, except hanging out talking in front of small convenience food item purveyors. Need I say it? Kill me now.

So I parked the car, having left my groceries on my porch and hoping that random thieves wouldn't get too psyched for Haggis gourmet items such as 8th Continent soy milk and baby bok choy. I walked over to the payphones, steeling myself to run the Dude Gauntlet, and found to my shock, dismay and horror that local calls now cost 50 cents--and I had on me but one single quarter. WHAT?!!! Have I been cellular for so long that I missed the massive payphone price hike?! Fifty cents to call 6 blocks from home!? Aw crap. Now the ice cream is definitely going to be milk shake. Kill me now.

So I was standing there when a dude came up to me and asked for a quarter just as I was muttering under my breath to no one in particular, McEnroe-style, "You CANNOT be f'ing serious!! Fifty cents??! What the F?!" And finally I had the best moment of my entire day: I looked back at him and said, "Actually, I need to borrow a quarter from YOU."

He looked at me blankly then backed away slowly, no doubt absorbing the lesson I follow every day: Probably best to not engage with a visibly irritated person more in need of spare change than you are.

Sunday, June 11, 2006

E Wears A Dress. Film at 11.

Just got back from the wedding! It was GREAT. Total fun in every way. It was a Jewish-Catholic affair where all the key religious elements of both were incorporated. It was wonderful to see the bride and groom so happy, and it was great to be out and about as an individual person who is not speaking in the third person as "mommy." I swear to god, I actually did that with my mother, who was babysitting. I actually said to my mother who was looking for something, "I'll get that for you, but Mommy is putting on her mascara right now..." My mom looked at me sympathetically and said, "Yes, my dear, you do need a night out, don't you?" Did I ever.

It was awesome. Sat with a bunch of UChicago Law School grads who were awesome, fun people. Peed multiple times in the men's room because (of course) there was only a one-person bathroom for the women with a 7-person waiting line. Aw, hell NO! So I went to the (multi-stalled) men's room, yelled in to see if any men were there, and hearing none, went on in and did my thing before Female Customer #3 was even near the stall door in the Ladies Room. I have multiple hang-ups, but peeing next to men is not one of them.

On the more social side, the music rocked. Old school stuff. Bust a Move, BrickHouse, all the classics for people in their 30's. I danced a little but felt a little self-conscious about my dress. It's a sexy-ish dress with some revealing back-age, and although I had a coverup/wrap I still felt a bit like a ho dancing in it. Not because there was anything wrong with the dress but perhaps more because it has been so long since anyone has seen my back that I felt weird shakin' it to A-ha's Take On Me in front of a crowd. Although maybe that embarrassment was more about dancing to A-ha's Take On Me rather than my outfit at the time...

The one thing I will say, sartorially, back-baring ho that I may be, is that I still believe that nipples are NOT appropriate wedding wear. People of good faith can differ on what is appropriate for nuptials of varying religions, but I think we can all come together on the notion that people with Acute Nipple-itis ought to a)stay home or b)invest in the appropriate foundation garments to ensure the wedding doesn't go all NC-17 on us. Can I get a witness?!! A wedding attendee, I kid you not, had on a black dress with no bra and D*MN if it wasn't a bit breezy outside during the ceremony! I was horrified for her! I don't think the male attendees minded, but she had to know that those gasps heard as the bride walked down the aisle were not for the bride's beautiful, glowing demeanor but for this woman's obvious teats-at-attention.

Another highlight was my opportunity to actually use the term, "I love your work" with a decently well-known politico attending the wedding. I kvelled about his books and his thoughts on Iraq, and would have felt more like a brazen "starf&*#ker" if he hadn't been about 4 feet tall and therefore, completely out of my league; Luckily for him, I only go for guys 4'9" and taller...

So that was the wedding that was. Louisiana Catholics and Midwestern Jews, a rabbi and a priest. A set of topnotch chuppah holders, and a fantastic bride and groom. It was a fabulous wedding that, now that I think about it, was so wonderful precisely BECAUSE OF and not in spite of, the lady with the nipples. She brought joy to 50% of the guests, and at the very least, she obviously remembers what it's like to be a human other than "somebody's mommy," which maybe is worth a little mammilla visual magic now and again...

Friday, June 09, 2006

The Underpants Manifesto

An absolutely spot-on dissertation on why men should wear boxer-briefs. Click, read, laugh, go and purchase.

Incidentally, I'd love to hear from any guy who actually does wear a thong. THIS we've gotta discuss, because I simply can't imagine it for all sorts of reasons. But I'm willing to be educated on its merits as long as you don't get all smutty on me, ThongBoy.

ps--The photo is gratuitous, I know. But it's a Friday and nothing says "Friday" quite like some fit men standing around in their drawers.

Thursday, June 08, 2006

A Little Sumthin'-Sumthin' Spilling Out the Top of My Bra!

Too bad it's back fat.

But I'm getting ahead of myself...

My friends are getting married on Saturday in a black-tie event. Awesome. I have just the dress. The one I bought in 2001 for too much money that I swore I'd wear a ton of times to make it worth the investment. Guess what, kids?! It's comin' out again! You saw it in Princeton at the wedding extravaganza in 2001! You saw it New Years Eve 2002! You saw it at that thing at the place with the lady and the award in 2003! You saw it at that thing at the place with the guy and the dinner in 2004! You saw it hanging in my closet for the entire damn year of 2005 because who the hell is wearing black tie with a new baby in the house?!!

But finally, at last, it's 2006. And it's coming out of the closet, thereby bringing its "cost per use" down to the double digits. Sweet! Formal and frugal is what I'm all about.

Now only one challenge remains: ensuring the requisite lack of "back fat" to make the dress work. "What is back fat?" you ask. You know what I mean: that little bit of dorsal "bloob" that spills out over/under your bra when you've had a few too many cheetos? "Back cleavage" of the nonsexy variety. Luckily I've been thinking about the need for a fizzin' mizzen ever since I got the Save The Date card, well, since a few months ago, er, well, I've been thinking about it at least since I realized the wedding was a week away...

Which means two days of Teri Hatcher-like asceticism: mentos, diet coke and cigarettes. Or, let's be honest since I'm a nonsmoking woman with a kid: no more handfuls of M&Ms, grilled cheese sandwiches, and spaghettios until Sunday.

Al Qaeda's Glass is Half Full

In perhaps the most adept and breathtaking effort at "spin" I have ever witnessed (besides the statements by Paris Hilton's publicist that videos of her having sex on the internet really showed what a nice, trusting girl she was, being betrayed by men with whom she had filmed her sex acts), the recently late al-Zarqawi's followers said this about his elimination: "We want to give you the joyous news of the martyrdom of the mujahed sheik Abu Musab al-Zarqawi."

That is Fox News-level spin right there. Or, it is extremely f'd up thinking. Which, now that I think about it, is also Fox News-y...

Jesus is Magic, But Sarah Silverman Isn't

Last night I slogged through the one-hour-and-twelve-minute bewildering boredom that is Sarah Silverman's new DVD: "Jesus Is Magic."

Oh dear god. There was about 35 minutes of good, solid standup material, with the rest being tediously long and unfunny songs and vignettes. The premise of the show is that her two friends are doing really well in show business and ask her what she's got going on. She lies and says she has a big show that's happening tonight, then has to leave and write a show before they arrive at the theater.

Pardon me for thinking that this actually did happen, because some of the stuff on this DVD really did seem to have been written in a booze-fueled desperate effort, the kind where things seem Sooooooo Fuuuuunnnny when you're drunk but are kind of confusing and meaningless and a bit excruciating to the sober folks watching? It's like that. A bit funny, a bit painful, a bit annoying, and a bit surprising that the DVD cover says "one hour 12 minutes" because I was certain that it had been about 3 hours since I had started watching.

So, go ahead and get it if you feel you must. But remember: I watch it so you don't have to.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

I've Got the FIFA FaFaFever

World Cup '06 starts on Friday, baby!! Woo Hoo!!

Unfortunately, has this to say about the relative inexperience of the refs, which will no doubt make for some heartbreak on the pitch:

Coincidence?...Or Political Chicanery?

Yesterday's WSJ front page:

"Republican Midterm Outlook is Poor"

Yesterday's WSJ page A6:

"Republicans Reignite Hot-Button Issues; Senate Votes on Gay Marriage, Estate Tax Are Aimed at Rallying Conservative Base"

Surely the conservative base can't be so stupid as to fall for this again...Or do I give them too much credit?

Monday, June 05, 2006

Is 666 three numbers or just one?

WTF, people?!!

It's just one little day out of a gazillion over human history. And it's a date that's part of only the western calendar. Entire cultures may use western dates because we do, but they don't necessarily mark life cycles by them. So why the high drama over tomorrow's date? Who's to say that Satan cares about the date on the Gregorian calendar? If you really believe in Satan, wouldn't you think he'd be evil and sneaky enough to NOT pick the exact date we're expecting?! You know, "When you least expect it; expect it." Surely Satan is better at his job than calling in advance to tell us he's coming. Why not pick Sasthi Badhrapada 6000 on the Hindu calendar, 94 years from now?! Or some such date on the Chinese calendar 1,297 years from now? And what about the truly insane concept that perhaps humans are not privy to how these things occur, if indeed they do occur? And, furthermore, aren't religious people supposed to eschew superstition?! A very pregnant woman on the local news--I kid you not--just said, "I'm a committed Christian, which is why having my baby on 666 would just not feel right." Lady, if you are a committed Christian, then no number, no date, no nothin' is going to be a match for all that faith you've been toting around. It's time to pull it out and use it, if you really actually do have it like you say you do.

Maybe it's because I have no concept of a creature that lives in hell to torture us for eternity. I just don't get it. Have your damn baby tomorrow. Ask your girlfriend to marry you tomorrow. Buy a lottery ticket tomorrow. Call your mama and tell her you love her tomorrow. Be a better man tomorrow, or, as my dad grew up being told by his teachers: "Tell the truth and shame the devil." Whatever you do, make it a day of note for all the RIGHT reasons.

Dutch Evangelicals calls for pray-in against the Devil

A Netherlands-based Evangelical organisation has called on Christians in 21 countries to hold a 24-hour prayer vigil against Satanic forces to mark so-called Devil's Day.
Some fear the date 06/06/06, which falls on Tuesday, signifies 666, the Biblical number of the Devil, and will usher in calamities and even the end of the world.

The Dutch-based organisation Ambassadors Ministries called its 24-hour prayer vigil from 6:00 pm (1600 GMT) Monday, saying it hoped some 2,000 Dutch Christians, mainly Protestants, would take part. "We believe that the plans the enemy has for this date (June 6, 2006) will be destroyed through violent worship and praise. We are inviting the entire world to be part of this huge unity project," it says on its website

"The forces of evil are using this day," Mathijs Piet of the organisation told AFP. "Through our action we want to stop them from achieving their goal." The figure 666 is named the "number of the beast" in the closing chapter of the Bible, the "Book of Revelations", otherwise known as "The Apocalypse of John".

Sunday, June 04, 2006

A Pox on Both Their Houses

You may have noticed a marked decline in the number of political posts here at SSHaggis. The reason is quite simple: it's all too freakin' depressing. I'm a working person over here, with a nonstop dynamo of a toddler, a new business, and ALL KINDS of really important stuff to do, like peruse or sit and gaze at the most-likely-gay-but-I-don't-care-cause-he's-dreamy-regardless Anderson Cooper or quite frankly, search endlessly up and down the dial for a Law And Order episode that I have not yet seen. These be busy times, yo. And I cannot have my premium awake hours filled with what my Dad called The Antics of a Dying Nation, courtesy of both the POTUS and his nemeses like Nancy Pelosi. They all piss me off in ways that I can't quite figure out how to constructively express without using the words "suck" or "totally" or "whatever, losers!" So because I don't want to get all "my space" adolescent on you, I am just taking a hiatus on the political stuff until I can think of ways to use The Queen's English rather than Valley-speak to articulate my precise horror, chagrin and borderline-hopelessness with the leaders of both parties...and by extension the people who elect and support them.

In the meantime, here are a couple of solutions I'm mulling:
Bring back Billy Clinton. Just not in the form of First Husband.
If the Republicans simply MUST keep the White House, let's bring back Abraham Lincoln.
Can we have have Kevin Kline come on by and re-enact his role in the movie Dave?
Can we all stop pretending that Pelosi and Reid have an f'ing clue how to lead a party that doesn't know how to be led?
Can we all stop pretending that certain high-level members of the GOP are not rotten to the core? And before you all screech, "but so are some Dems!" let me add that the GOP are the ones who were shrilly hectoring us with the nonstop message that they were going to "restore honor" to the White House and the Congress. Gee, how did that work out? It's one thing to be a pig and keep your mouth shut; it's quite another to disparage pigs, say that pigs are responsible for natural disasters, claim that you and your family are not and would not associate with pigs---and then turn out to be the piggiest pigs in the sty.

You see why I'm stopping? It ain't pretty inside the political wing of my brain right now, where my irritation is blocking my ability to write with anything better than a 4th-grade vocabulary. First comes a paragraph about 'pigs' and then comes one about 'poopyheads.' I'm stopping before that occurs.

You're welcome.

My Movie Reco: P*rn

Thanks to the gods of Netflix, I still have a post-toddler bedtime life. Gone are the days when parents said, "I haven't seen a new movie since I was 8-months pregnant...," because the good people at Netflix keep Chez Haggis mostly au courant when it comes to recent movies. They really are doing the lord's work over there.

So this weekend it was time for some yin and some yang: Wedding Crashers and Good Night and Good Luck. Kind of the salad and french fries of movie viewing. It's okay to watch Wedding Crashers for mind candy, because I'll also see GNAGL for somewhat mind nutrition. I've covered my bases.

As we teed up Wedding Crashers, the option appeared to watch either the "Theatrical" release or "The Directors Cut." Now, we all know (and especially the guys) that "Directors Cut" or "Extended Edition" can only mean one thing: MORE BOOBS! Yeah! It's a tease to make you rent the "Uncut" American Pie or the "Directors Cut" Latest-Scarlett-Johanssen movie, when you've already gone to the movies to see the "theatrical release." Great marketing technique, and I give them full props for coming up with it.

But here's the thing: in my limited experience with Director's Cuts, it seems that ALL you get is about 3 more minutes of boobies (which are obvious even to those of us who have not seen the movie already because of their out-of-placeness in the story), which can't possibly be worth the money and/or anticipation felt when putting the movie on your netflix cue. Especially when you think what you're going to get (I'm speaking about my guy friends) is Rachel McAdams or Natalie Portman boobies, and what you get is "Friend #3" boobies or, which you can get anywhere at anytime: Shannon Elizabeth boobies. Because certain actresses are NOT going to do full-frontal nudity, no matter how much the Directors Cut might tease you that they are. Trust me: Jessica Alba is NOT naked in Fantastic Four: The Director's Completely Unexpurgated Dirty Nasty Edition; Michael Chiklis might be, though. My point being, if you so need the extra boobies and bumpin', why not just rent p*rn?

I'll bet you'd get a lot more bang for your buck.

Friday, June 02, 2006

Take My {Mexican}, Please!

I was watching Last Comic Standing the other night (kind of the American Idol for comedians). It's a pretty funny show, for good and for bad, and I'm not ashamed to say that I watch it and like it. Because they go to different cities around the country to pick the finalists, it gives a bit of a window into what is considered funny nationally and regionally. What became clear from watching the auditions are the following:

1. Comedians make fun of their own, be it Jewish, Black, Catholic, fat, short, for biggest laughs (because they allow "others" to laugh "with" them about those stereotypes)

2. Mexicans are the new Poles. (I know the joke word for Pole ends in "k" but I don't want to use it being that we're a family blog. Oh wait, no we're not. But whatever). It is apparently completely okay to make fun of Mexicans no matter what your own ethnicity.

3. There is no accounting for taste in humor. The two judges find things funny and "really great" that I think for sure is going to get the contestant berated and sent home for being the least funny individual since Henry Kissinger.

4. Weird-looking people making jokes about their inability to "get laid" is a booming subsector of the entire comedic economy. If such jokes were banned, you'd see thousands of comics go bankrupt overnight, thereby making them unemployed AND celibate, which, for my money, is HILARIOUS.

5. Prim-looking young women who tell unbelievably raunchy and offensive jokes are the, er...old, pony-tailed men who tell unbelievably raunchy and offensive jokes? Or maybe they are the acolytes at the Sarah Silverman Altar of Humor?

Either way, I think I've found my next job.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

The TP Treatise

If there is a funnier, more astute or well-written piece on toilet paper, men and women, well, I have yet to read it. From our friends at DubiousQuality:


Banana Hammock Brought to You by Borat

They say that the key to comedy is fearlessness; the willingness to do, be and say what no one else will, all in pursuit of the kernel of humor in each act or word. Well, for your breakfast enjoyment, my friends, I give you Sasha Baron Cohen, perhaps the most fearless comic of this generation:

If you are familiar with Da Ali G Show on HBO you will recognize this photo as Cohen's character Borat, the crazy Kazakh, at his film's screening in Cannes. If you are not, you will simply have to go now and Clorox your eyes. This is wrong, wrong, wrong. And yet, so freakin funny I can't stop laughing.

Read more about the Borat movie here:

Just Jared