Radio Notes

I heard a radio edit version of Kanye West’s All Fall Down today where they blanked out “crack” and “crackhead”. The line is “dealer buy Jordan/crackhead buy crack/white man get paid offa all of that.” I never knew “they” censored “those” words. And who are they? The White Man? Why is “crack” a bad word? It’s a bad thing, but is the word “bad”? My best guess is that they censor words that might cause young children, say three-and-a-half year-olds, ask difficult questions that parents don’t want to answer. For example, I wish I had used better judgment than to show L. this picture,

which immediately resulted in the following questions: Is that pig died? How did he die? Did somebody gun that pig? (and then repeated 6,732 times.)

In other radio thoughts, NPR proved itself a meritocracy today. True talent is the only explanation for how a man named Ira Flay-Toe, with the voice that he has, could be given a radio show. Or extremely effective blackmailing. I didn’t actually listen to the show to confirm his talent, but I will take it on faith that he is excellent at his Science Friday duties.

Hockey. Passive Aggression.

Brook works all the time, and I just assumed that he was doing legal work. Turns out he got called up to the NHL, and is playing in the Stanley Cup or something as I write. Well, that explains his long absences better than "The Henderson Matter" does.

Which raises the question: WHY is hockey still being played, as June arrives? Does this season ever end? Don't the rookies need to get back to the farm to help their folks plant the fields or something? And by "farm", I don't mean the farm system the NHL uses, I mean the actual farms that these Minnesotan/Canuck boys come off of, and thus return to, during the only month when they don't have hockey.

I think hockey would be much more popular if it happened less often. Let the hunger build a little. Of course, I think all sports' seasons are too long. The NBA season is interminable, but more so at the beginning of the season than the end. In reality, football is the only one that used to get it right, and with all the weekday games being played, plus college, plus Pro Bowls and the draft, football now seems too long as well*. Baseball is too long, but it operates on a different principle. There are so many games that no one pretends they will see them all or care about them all, so they don't go to the buffet table too often, only when they're hungry. At least, that's my approach, helping me not hate baseball. NASCAR: too long. And so forth.

Thanks to Rangelife for tipping me off to Passive-Aggressive Notes from Roommates, Neighbors, Coworkers and Strangers. It is awesome. It also triggers a confession. And another memory.

First the memory. One time I was parked outside of Reckless Records on the North Side of Chicago, and when I came out to the car, there was a note on it that said, "Nice parking job! Oh wait, I forgot: Toyota!" I was seriously freaked out. Not sure why, except that the parking job was fine, and there were no other cars around, and I thought possibly I was being accidentally Asian-race-baited or something. I thought for sure that someone was in the shadows, ready to jump me. I found out later that my boyfriend's roommate had driven by, seen the car, and left the note. She thought it was hilarious, and for awhile I was mad (not sure why) but now if I see a car that's poorly parked, I think: "Oh wait, I forgot: Toyota!"

Confession: I used to live in this house called the Plutoschloss, and it was supposed to be a very temporary arrangement but I ended up living there, mentally in a liminal state, for 22 months. My roommates were a day trader and a "rocker". I went away for the weekend and returned to find a pair of my underwear and a bra of mine stashed behind the toilet on the second floor. They were clean. This freaked me. Wierder still was the combination. It was a thong and jogging bra (neither of which I ever wore, for different reasons) that must have been found only in the deepest recesses of my underwear drawer. Although I had known these guys for years, I didn't feel like this was something we could discuss face-to-face. So I wrote a note that said something like, "while I was gone, someone took my underwear from my dresser and hid it in the bathroom. Do NOT let your friends in my room. I don't want to talk about this ever, I just don't want it to happen again!" I posted it on the stairs where neither could miss it and hid in my room.

The day trader did something that lives in my memory as the only stand-up thing he has ever done: he confronted me and told me I was being passive-aggressive. Kudos. The rocker waited two weeks and then mumbled that his girlfriend got her period and needed some clothes and cleaned them but then didn't want to go back into my room to return them. [Whu? Why get a sense of propriety at this late date?] and he was sorry, geez, mumble mumble, (walk away).

Those are my two passive-aggressive stories. I feel so much better now.

*Really, I think the football season is too long even with only 32 games per season per team. I hate football, and would be fine with skipping the whole season and enduring only the Super Bowl. One game every year, and I would still only watch the commercials.

Why?

Sorry to be all judgey and shit, but why does someone think this is a good idea? Note: This woman already has a 33-year old. This is like if my mom decided to have another kid. Or twins. Only my mom is not even 62-years old yet! So its more like my mom having twins when I am, what? Well, in order to not divulge my mother's age, I'll just say "older". Like my own kids will be in elementary school. Probably getting sex ed talks of their own in this hippie-dippie, drown-them-in-TMI-so-they-still-think-a-girl-can-get-pregnant-in-a-hot-tub town.

Awright, I'm babbling.

Different Kinds of Revelations

It is impossible to me that today is Thursday. This week has dragged on interminably. Each hour seems twice as long as the one before, and the week seems as though it is a whole month long.

Of course, time is a construct. Mere mortals defined time to help them control and understand the natural world. As Saint Peter notes: "With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day." 2 Peter 3:8-9. That does not mean, necessarily, that the dinosaurs lived millions of years ago. No, Peter just meant that metaphorically; the dinosaurs coexisted peacefully with humans just 6,000 years ago. You can learn all about it at The Creation Museum.

Hipsters, start your engines and let the ironic road trips BEGIN!

So if dinosaurs* lived six thousand years ago, why does it seem like this week also started this long ago?

Another revelation, this one gustatory: There are Oreo Pop-Tarts. Have these been intentionally kept from me? Okay, they are not technically branded as Oreo, but that is a minor licensing issue that is no doubt being hammered out by the armies of senior associates at various NY law firms. Keep up the good work, colleagues in the Trademark department!

* If you are older than 25, and you have any interactions with small children, you already know this: The six dinosaurs of our youth are gone, replaced by multitudes of dinosaurs with unpronounceable names. Remember the brontosaurus? Gone, replaced by the diplodocus and bracheasaur. T. Rex, Triceratops are still clinging to dear . . . extinction, but they are being crowded out by other, bigger dinosaurs. Pteradactyl? Try Archeopteryx, Eoraptor or one of their cousins. Who are all these beasts? Alas, the Stegosaur is no more.

Questions, Answered.

First, here's a link to Pants-Off Dance-Off, for those of you whose google button is broken.

Second, there is one question that haunts me every time I am out of my office on a weekday. Okay, two questions: Who are these people at the cafes and restaurants? And why aren't they working? I have obtained some satisfaction from this man-on-the-street report, which confirms what I suspected. They are disabled, retired, blogging graduate students. All of them.

The End of Civilization

There is a TV show called Pants-Off Dance-Off.

It is what it sounds like.

Or is that funny enough to give one hope for humanity? I need to think on that one.

So sad

I saw a billboard for a Huey Lewis & the News show at Wente Winery today.* Huey Lewis was the first concert I ever went to - 20 years ago. I am relieved to report that I did not think, upon seeing the poster, "ohmigod! I should go see them." That would thoroughly depress me.

Not so sad: I think changing the color of the blog has reinvigorated me.

A tangent: why is it that I can think up the plots of short stories but I hate reading them? I think its because they all seem so one-note. I'm not going to read any to test the theory, so don't bother offering suggestions for ones that are "complex" or "multi-layered". Okay, talk amongst yourselves.

* Next day edit: Let's be clear, I was on the BART when I saw this poster, not at Wente Winery.

Other thoughts

Why do people sit for hours at Starbucks just staring?

Why do art students wear aggressively ugly eyewear?

Panhandling 203

The Bay Area is sort of famous, in my mind, for panhandlers with "witty" signs along the lines of "I won't lie, I need $ for weed." These annoy me highly. But today I saw a dude outside the SF MOMA with a cup and a sign that said, "give to the United Negro Pizza Fund". And that made me laugh.

Next day update: "Starvin' Like Marvin". That's another good one I've seen around.

Who'da Thunk It?

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a TV news segment on the recently formed Marin County Anti-Hoarding Task Force, and I thought it would be a quick and dirty funny post reliving certain earlier, funnier blog posts about hoarding. I was so wrong. Doing a Google search about the task force yielded such an embarassment of riches that I don't even feel up to the task of blogging about this topic. Did you know that there are professional declutterers? Support groups for the children of hoarders? Hoarders on the anti-hoarding task force? When it's this farcical, it ceases to be funny.

If you're wondering about all the changes around here, don't worry, it's just the color that's different. I won't be funnier or more topical or more interesting. I added tags, but since I have posted more than 300 times in almost 2 years, getting the catalog up to speed may take a little while. I am doing it in a totally scattershot approach, and if there's a topic you feel needs to be represented, well then, get your own blog.

Argh!

Here's the obligatory post-after-the-photo post, so you can read the text below. Someday, when I am retired, I will actually read the Help section of this damn program, and figure out how to solve this photo posting problem, and change the color of the blog, and generally make it so much nicer to visit this website. By then blogging will be so passe, you won't even check to see what it looks like. But it will rock.

Rejecting the Clamor of Weevil

A call went up from the believers, exhorting the blogger to post an image of thy holiest of corporeal maternal mentors. Yay, truly unto thee: here, here, are the godmothers.

I just wanted to be clear on that in case you were thinking: When did the Church start endorsing same sex marriage?

The little guy on the left there isn't Q's godfather, by the way. It's Father Tim.

I Forgot

I meant to post some pix in that prior post, but even I got tired of reading it. So here are some pictures. They were taken a few weeks ago when we hedged our bets. Oops, I mean, got the kids' baptized. Enjoy.

This is what passes for baptismal whites here in NoCal.

Mimi trying to read the creation story from Genesis to Q, while he eats a toy shark.

Godmothers! Gather 'round!

A Really Verbose Entry - Worse Than the Prior Post

Wow. It was quite a weekend. Lots to blog about. Actually, don’t get your hopes up. The stuff that happened is exciting at the level of, well, blogging about, but it will not leave a lasting impression, or have a kicker of a punchline or anything. But I’ll give it my best shot.

Yesterday I took the kiddos to the zoo, which would not be notable in itself, but there was a guy being led around the children’s area on a leash by a much older, slovenly and obnoxious woman. He was in his thirties, black jeans, black T-shirt, leather collar, black leash. She was in her sixties, very heavy, wearing maybe cullottes, white hair, fanny pack. They were with another couple, both heavy and in their sixties. He was wearing a leather vest, leather cap and had a very dark thick van dyke beard and a shaved head. His lovely mistress was wearing shorts, a big red T-shirt, and had two braids, like she was Heidi. I tried to ignore them – and hope Li didn’t ask – but dog mistress kept yelling out loud comments to The Bear dude. “I feel like Peabody and Sherman!” God, poor Peabody and Sherman.

This little show irritated me at the time, but I got progressively more annoyed by it as the day wore on. For a variety of reasons (none of them my own sexual predilection), I have had cause to think about the leather subculture, and as a general matter, I just find it annoying and slightly pathetic. Why do people need to go through all the rigamorale to get off? That's sort of a bummer for you, if you need costumes and equipment to get into it.

Anyway, for this pair, it's clearly part of the thrill to go out in public and be seen behaving this way. But the part that makes it awful is that the intended audience for this little parade were zoo visitors (or -- horrors! -- the animals?), which at the Oakland Zoo at 10:30 on a Saturday morning, is people under the age of 5 and their parents. Making it a sort of reverse kiddie porn or something. I mentioned this to a friend last night and she thought maybe they were just in the kids' area because they'd seen the rest of the zoo, and also the Oakland Zoo is small, but it isn't like outside the kids' area, there were any more adults. I guess the thrill for this couple is to go to the place where they would be least expected, and to be seen there. And that's hot? I am just lost on this one. And grossed out.

And so then last night was Paladar Temescal, which seemed really fun at the time but today's wicked hangover sort of colors its memory.* We sat with a group of people who were pretty random, including a dead ringer for Teri Garr and who was so loud that I was dumbstruck and became a reserved consumer of her wit. Which was hit or miss, by the way. She laughed very loudly at her own jokes, and at one point made offensive remarks to another woman at our table which were so ballsy, I thought I would die. She said that she and her friends would invent fake stories for each of us, and then proceeded to say that the only Asian woman at the table was a mail order bride. By the end of the night, Teri had become . . . almost the father of the bride at the end of the reception, pouring more wine, laughing loudly but also possibly on the verge of tears, just saying shit that everyone later pretends wasn't said. She was awesome. One of her friends looked like Cheryl Crow. Cheryl, to her credit, was suitably mortified by Teri's awesomeness.

Today was a lackluster Mother's Day, but I am not blaming that on Mr. Scobs and the kids. They cleared out and the only thing I could think to do was drive to The Gap to see if I could find some new workout pants. So lame. It was the hangover. I probably had all of three glasses of wine, and I am such a wuss, I've been holding my head all day. Who cares, right? I only mention today to tell you that a very sad watershed event occurred at dinner tonight. Li, who is in the habit of asking, "When you were little, did you like ___?" all the time, asked, "When you were little, did you like the Yankees?" I said, no. He then asked, "Do you like the Yankees now?" which brought B back into the dining room to say, "We are Red Sox fans and we think the Yankees stink." To which, L said, "I like the Yankees."

You know that cartoon sound where the car skids off the road, and there's the squeal of breaks and the smash of chrome? That sound happened in our dining room tonight. It sent B around the bend. He's so mad. Li then asked me who someone in the sports section was (Derek Jeter) and he walked around asking about Derek Jeter all night. He's clearly figured out a way to piss off his dad without there being any repercussions. B has decided to ignore it in hopes that this will pass, but possibly his greatest fear, just short of our kids getting addicted to drugs, is that they will be Yankees' fans.

*The Paladar was actually fun, and delicious, but raving about it would bury the lead, which was Teri Garr.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

My husband warned me this would happen. He's been urging me to do it for months. And I reached the end of the road today. It's over between us. Me and Scott McKinzie, Dentist.

He's had it coming for about six months, but I'll start at the beginning. When I first moved to CA, I started seeing Paula Roemer, World's Greatest Dentist. Dr. Roemer's staff were kind and funny and not nosy, and they unfailingly put lip balm on your lips before they gently removed the tar and plaque from your teeth. Dr. Roemer is a Master Swimmer, mother to 4 boys, runs her own business. What's not to love? She's also got the curliest hair you've ever seen! Adorable!

Then she decided to have another child - a little girl - and a few years later she brought on two younger dentists to help out. Drs. Chen and Loew. Nice enough, quiet. Still gentle and lip balmy. Did not push X-rays while I was pregnant, no matter how safe they might have been. Later still, Dr. Roemer decided to sell part of her practice and practice solely out of her Martinez office. Fine for her, but I'm not going to Martinez any more often than the law requires (literally, I mean. I have some cases out there).

She sells the practice to Scott McKinzie. For a while, a lot of the staff stayed the same, and although the lip balm was struck from the budget, it was convenient, and there was parking.

But the Worm has turned. The grievances started to mount. Large (I mean 20x30) photos of The Dentist crossing various finish lines started appearing. Then Tina, a hygenist I particularly liked, left (after she told me that a disconcertingly large number of people fear dentists because they were sexually molested by dentists in their childhood, making me wonder if the American Dental Academy - or whoever certifies toothbrushes - will come in for a Vatican-style sex abuse conspiracy shakedown in the next few years).

I digress sharply. Anyway, the first real trouble was when I was told that I had to have all my fillings replaced. I was quoted a price (on paper) but delayed the procedure til after Q was born. During the changing of the fillings, I realized I didn't like this guy. It took four giant shots of novocaine to get one area in a pain tolerant (not pain free) zone and, the kicker was, he broke a sweat while he was working. I realized then that there is only one man whose face should be as close to mine as that, and I am married to him. Seeing other men's faces up close is completely disgusting. Sorry, male readers, it just is.

Alright, this story is taking way longer than necessary. Suffice to say,

1. the fillings are much more cold sensitive than the old ones;
2. I ended up getting charged way more than I had been quoted, basically at the whim of the dentist's wife;
3. I had a three-month argument with said wife about the bill via the office manager who kept apologizing and agreeing that it wasn't fair but then who didn't do anything. (I won, in the end).

Fast forward to today. Here are the intolerable conditions. You tell me whether I am wrong.

1. There are now no parking spots in the lot reserved for his patients. Cheap bastard! First the lip balm and now this!?
2. The hygenist asked me, for the third straight visit, how I had potty-trained my three-year-old. What's that about?? Talk to your 8 year old (or whatever) about it, lady, not me!
3. The Wife was there with a puppy. In a medical office. Is that legal? It sure is gross.
4. And here's the most annoying: The office walls are now decorated with American Idol quotes. And there's an American Idol board game featured on the counter - a prize to the winner of the American Idol word search and trivia games which were written by The Dentist and His Wife. Paradoxically, the waiting room magazines have gone boringly upscale. Newsweek and the New Yorker have replaced Us Weekly and People. That's not right. Why is the only source of American Idol information in the office posted next to the examination chair on a pastel sign?

So it's over. And I am not even going to postpone it because of William Hung's untimely death. Dr. McK will just have to muddle through this difficult time all by himself.

Jersey Pride - WTF Edition

A favorite blog of mine, Rangelife, recently featured a story about a house that collapsed in SF. Although an entry in Seamus' WTF regular column, the story was not in itself memorable until I got to the comments section, where "Rox" said:

Maybe I should remain on the East Coast. That sh#$ doesn't happen here in NJ.

Now anyone who knows me knows that I don't take Jersey throwdowns lightly. And in a real Jersey fashion, I am very critical of uses of New Jersey as a comparison tool even when Jersey comes out on top. Here's why. If you think Jersey can't produce a house sliding off a hill as well as SF can, YOU ARE WRAWNG. To wit:

Never doubt that New Jersey will have better collapsed houses than anywhere else outside of an underdeveloped nation in the path of an earthquake-induced tsunami-cane.

In an eerily similar vein, weatherologists reported that the first storm of the 2007 hurricane season was identified today and named Subtropical Storm Andrea. Although I am humbled by the reference, nothing short of a catastrophic event that takes Andrea off the List of Popular Baby Names will satisfy me. I hate the name Andrea.

A Truth Universally Reviled

Excuse the formality of tonight's title. I finished reading Emma last night and the annoying circumlocutions of the 19th century are fixed in my brain until (insert your own corny Victorian weather reference here).

Here are the truths which I have previously reviled but am accepting, however tentatively, these days:

1. Once you have two babies, it does not matter how much weight you lose or how cute you once were, your body changes shape, occasionally in undesirable ways.
2. The only way to return a pregnancy-deformed body to a shadow of its prior cuteness is to exercise (NOTE: This is an as-yet untested maxim).
3. Exercise actually delivers on the other promises I have so ruefully ignored and rebuffed lo these 33 years.

So annoying. I joined the Y again though and went this morning. The Oakland Y is the world's greatest place to work out, because, in addition to the benefits of exercise that accrue from 25 minutes on an elliptical machine (if any; see 2 above), the other clientele cannot possibly make you feel bad. The blind, the halt and the lame. Is that the expression? As someone funnier than me once said, Everyone at the Oakland Y is there on doctor's orders. This has a twofold effect: (a) you look great and perfect by comparison and (b) you realize that if they can haul their medical scooters up the front steps, you can shut up and sweat.

Other truths, less universally reviled:

The White House is a warren of G-A-Y-ness. Yeah, you knew that. But if there's one thing to make it achingly clear, its a white tie dinner honoring the Queen. Have you seen the guest list? Both Josh Bolton and Stephen Hadley brought their moms, dude.

By the way, young Barbara Bush attended with Jay Blount. I don't know if she's seriously involved with this guy, but here he is rocking such a DeGrassi Jr. High look, it makes me think she brought him to honor the place in the British Commonwealth held by our neighbors to the North.*

Maybe the "gay" assessment of our national security advisor is a little half-cocked (har har). Maybe his wife is too down-to-earth for monarchy. If so, godspeed to her. Mrs. Hadley was all like, "take your mother, she'll love that crap."

*Here's how lame Canadians are: in voting on the Worst Canadian, the leading candidate may be a hockey team owner. Britain chose Jack the Ripper as the Worst Brit. Although maybe I shouldn't slag Canada for that. There are "certain quarters" where A-Rod would probably win Worst American.

What's Up With Us?

This is what's up with us. We've decided to rescue our backyard from concrete tree stumps that litter it. I like to imagine that the prior owner had a problem controlling all the concrete trees in the back yard, and cut them down, leaving the ugly stumps for us to toss out.

The bigger quandary for us is how to honor the duck that once lived at our house without actually keeping his fake pond and "house". I'm not kidding with this one. A prior owner kept a duck in the yard to control the snails. A pest control method I can almost get behind, if I could find a compliant duck that wouldn't fear the kids or vice versa. We have a big black plastic tub that was probably a pool for the duck, as well as a wierd hutch that it lived in at times.

Once the backyard is finished, we will have y'all over to roll around in the hardy grass/white clover, dig your toes into the "sand pond" and sit on the man patio that will be built outside the workhouse (aka the man hut, aka the MAN-struation hut).

Overheard

"The ciabatta's cool though." One male teen to another, entering Albertsons.

This statement is only true if it refers to the temperature of recently baked bread.

But how down on your conversational luck would you have to be to say it for any other reason?

Stop Stopping the War in Iraq!

It probably isn't the most impotent protest being held tomorrow, but I think the "Emergency Rally to end the war tomorrow in Oakland" ranks right up there.

I could pretend that this was a rally to stop some war in Oakland, but that would be more credible and effective than what it is. Some civic rallying against the high murder rate, or the shitty schools, or the As moving to Fremont - all of those I can see "sending a message" to someone. But I know this rally is against the war in Iraq, so why should I bother showing up?

First off, its being held in Oakland, where there is probably 100% agreement that this is a dumb war, and it is 100% certain that Bush could give a shit what we think. Second, it's in front of the Grand Lake Theater (famous for its owner's political commentary on the marquee), which means they anticipate only about same number of people who showed up for the premiere of Planet of the Apes to be at this rally.

Which will be demoralizing, right? I mean, with 100% unanimity on this point (at least presumed by the Bush administration), shouldn't Oaklanders turn their attentions elsewhere? Like, to seeing if Hot Fuzz is any good?

A Day in Gotham

Well, the BART doesn't smell any better just because its free. Whew! What is up with not bathing?

With the Bay Area knocked on its commuting butt by the ravages of 8600 gallons of burning fuel, some accommodations must be made, I know. Things have gone smoothly though. Except for the grown woman I saw run up to a TV camera set up in the station and act like a fool, everyone seems to be coping. As on 9-11 and days after, people just live without. Without two major arteries through one of the country's busiest interchanges. I can say this with the full impunity of driving only to Alameda today.

Other SF sightings this week: Market Street at 6th and above IS Hamsterdam. Its wack.

And I saw a guy in high-heeled sneakers dragging a cross - its bottom on a wheel - down Kearney. Why the wheel? Jesus didn't get a wheel. I think I know one thing JWND and that's use a wheel to drag his cross.

I'm Back

At least temporarily. If you don't live in my household, you probably wondered what happened to me. Did I suddenly stop blogging? Well, yeah, I guess I did. But only accidentally. The past two weeks have been filled with such an overabundance of mundanity that I haven't mustered a witty thought in days. Weeks. (In the opinion of some, maybe ever). Mundanities of the tax-paying nature. Researching retiree medical and OPEBs* under GASB** 43/45. That kind of mundane. Like braindead boring.

I typically find that if I write one of these posts, where I apologize and tell you why life is not bloggable, something good*** happens, and I have torrent of posts. So here's hoping. Check back soon.

*Other Post-Employment Benefits
**Governmental Accounting Standards Board
***Good as in, good to write about, not objectively good.

Oh, Wait, I Remembered

I was going to blog about how heated the campaign for the Rockridge Community Planning Commission board has gotten. I actually got a campaign email for one candidate. Instead I will add some pix of my dearies.






In this first one, Quinn shows off his babysitting skillz. The little guy is Antwwan, a daytime guest this week, who comes with Blanca each day. Liam pronounces his name "Entron", which makes about as much sense as the spelling of the little guy's name.





You can see for yourself what Liam is doing in this picture. That's right, he's building Mt. St. Helens' erupting over the state of Washington on a U.S. map placemat. My heart swells.


Because, in point of fact, the RCPC election is lamer than it even sounds. It's so NIMBY, so annoying, it makes me want to set myself on fire.*


*Okay, so that last link is a stretch. In the first episode of Arrested Development, Lucille Bluth looks off their yacht at a boat full of gay men, who are chanting "We're here, we're queer, we want to get married on the ocean" and she turns to Lindsay and says, "They're so dramatic, it makes me want to set myself on fire!" And ever since, that line completes probably 1 in 10 sentences that I think.

News Round-Up: Montgomery Edition

I noticed on my yahoo weather ticker that Alabama had a high of 79 degrees today, and it made me wonder, what's up in 'gomery today? Good stuff, as always. A guy showed up drunk at his DUI hearing.

It's a little like shooting fish in a barrel.

A nice new feature at the Advertiser website is links to local blogs. All sixteen of them. One by the guy who covers the Biscuits. Another by a rapper named Queazy. An excellent commentator on crime and culture. But I will let you explore them yourselves.

Here in Cali, nothing so interesting is happening. Quinn is crawling. In a less interesting developmental, umm, development. Liam washed his own hair for the first time today. And made a volcano out of Play-Doh.

Sorry the wit is a little spare today. I will try to get crackin' tomorrow.

Overreaction O' The Day

Protestors in India Burn Gere Effigies.

The Girly Show

My heart swelled with pride yesterday when Liam told me he liked what we were listening to in the car, i.e. Built to Spill. The album was Ultimate Alternative Wavers and for awhile it got excessive airplay both in my life and on my radio show. There are a lot of records that got overplayed in my life, the only thing I could listen to for months at a time. Team Dresch’s Personal Best, Supa Dupa Fly by Missy Elliott, Black Star, Mos Def, Lauryn Hill, Sleater-Kinney "Dig Me Out", Fugazi, Tsunami, Huey Lewis and The News. My quirk of having so many favorites annoyed my fellow DJ. I would announce a song – “This is one of my favorite songs” – and she’d flip, “You say that all the time! How can you have so many favorite songs?” and we’d argue on the air. But what difference did it make, since we had the 3:00 a.m. to 5:00 a.m. slot?

(thanks Andy). It may have been that she wasn’t really annoyed with my “favorites” but was really just annoyed with me. The night before our radio show, I would stay over at her apartment, and we would go to bed artificially early (like 10 pm) so that we’d be able to get up for the show. And we would lie on her futon, fully awake, listening to her roommates in the kitchen, and I would reach over and poke her. Or pat her cheek. And she would freak out and kick off the covers and make gagging noises and threaten to beat me. And then she’d settle down and I would do it again. And again. Annoying Ella was really one of the easiest, and simplest, pleasures in life. In fact, it really annoyed Ella a lot that I kept her Built to Spill album for years. I can't be certain that I wasn't listening to it in the car yesterday.

Now Ella has someone new to poke and pat her, and to poke and pat in return. Ella had Callum (7 lb. 15 oz.) last night around 11:45 pm. Congratulations to Ella and Dan on the addition of their new little rocker.

A Lot of New Shit Has Come to Light

Occasionally I feel like I live out on the edge of leftist politics, finding liberals to be too annoying and uptight, ruing Repuglicans from afar but never really having to meet one, since I live in Oakland. During the 2004 election, I was a poll judge and 4 votes were cast for Bush at my precinct, probably erroneously or as a joke. Out of several hundred. Anyway, turns out I am as centrist and judge-y as the next guy. Here's why:

NLG DUMPSTERING TOUR!!!!!
Monday, April 23, 9:30 pm. Meet at the Broadway gates. Have you ever wondered what happens to all the food in the grocery store when the "expiration date" arrives?Curious about just how much New York City wastes?Want to learn how to eat for free in the Big Apple? Yup, you read that last one right! Join the NLG and lots of other student groups in our end-of-the-year dumpstering tour extravaganza! The tour will be led by environmentalists from the Wetlands Collective, and will take us all around our Morningside Heights neighborhood. We will learn all about the environmental and humanitarian impact of our city's very wasteful ways, see the waste first-hand, and even stock up on groceries for those who dare! You may be wondering: Wait, food from the garbage, isn't that gross?If the food isn't gross, shouldn't I leave it for hungrier people?Why would anyone throw away perfectly good food?How can all of this food waste be prevented?Why aren't the stores giving all this food to soup kitchens?Is that illegal?Are you crazy?If you share any of these curiosities -- come for the tour and ask away!! The tour will be in our neighborhood, so you can meet up with us if you are late. Please feel free to forward this on to other Columbia groups/individuals who may be interested. Non-Columbianites are also welcome.

ARGH. This does NOT refer to people from Columbia, South America, by the way (or British Columbia, either - Canadians are far too sensible for this stupid shit). This refers to law students at Columbia University. NLG is the National Lawyers Guild, which kicked my law firm out of its ranks in the early 80s for being insufficiently doctrinaire and annoying because we represent capitalist collaborators, errr, I mean labor unions. Or some dumb shit. Anyway, this made me want to empty the contents of our freezer directly into the trash just to spite these little jerks. (I didn't because the food in our freezer is mostly freezer-burnt, so it would have accomplished some purpose, unlike this dumpster-diving excursion).

In other news, the Science Times this week has a special on Desire (code word for S-E-X) and wow, is it TMI regarding Jane Brody's sex life. Have you no sense of shame, Ms. Brody? Are you not a cold and reasoning scientist?

I have no studies to corroborate this idea, but I strongly suspect that older people who stay in shape physically, keep their brains stimulated and remain interested in a variety of activities are likely to feel more attractive and be more attractive — and thus more libidinous — than those who let themselves go to pot, as it were.

Yeah, okay, you are sex maniac, JB. Come back to me with actual scientific data, and not a "wink-wink, nudge, nudge" about your holiday weekend, please.

Here's the skinny on Ms. D in the photo below. She was minding her own business, heading into the grocery store when she notices a mob of reporters in the parking lot. She lifts her jacket over her head to avoid the rush of people, and Rudy G. yells out, "New York! You knew I would be here" or "Hey D, what's up?" or "I feel so welcome!" or something, and she says, "I didn't wear this for you!" And believe me, Deana (pronounced "Deee-Anna") sounded just like Mr. T when she said it, because she usually does. It's pretty D to call out a presidential candidate (but then run home and call her friends about it 3 or 4 times til they call her back).

The Iowan Voter

You really need to know Deana to know why this is so funny:


I guess now that she lives in Iowa, we can expect to see more of her with the candidates.

It's About Time

You will be relieved to hear that Marjorie Knoller and Robert Noel have finally had their law licenses revoked by the state of California. After only 6 years. Did their disbarment files fall behind the desk, or is disbarment in this state that difficult? In case you're wondering where the LKDFs* are now, she lives in Del Ray, FL, and he's in Fairfield.

*Mother-in-law, don't read this part. LKDF is Lesbian Killing Dog F***ers.

Look Who's Back

Well la-ti-da. I was strolling through The Science Times this evening, barely absorbing Natalie Angiers' "poetry", when who should I stumble over in the letters column. You got it. Mr. Marans is ba-ack. Today, Mr. Marans recalls his graduate years, and congratulates himself for not offing his thesis advisor. How Stuart Smalley of him to reward himself for his lack of felonious conduct.

Does This Roll of Fat Make Me Look Fat?

As I near Q's nine-month anniversary of birth, I contemplate the jelly roll two kids have left behind. The adage on pregnancy weight is nine months up, nine months back, but it could take a little longer over here, even if I continue to say that this spare tire is composed entirely of excess skin. I took umbrage at a stranger asking me when I was due last week, but then tonight Liam asked, "Do you have a nudder baby in there?" Time to make an April Fool's Resolution to get a gym membership.

I need to address a couple of other issues as well. For those who are just joining St. Scobie's, here is my post on the origin of the name of the blog. I invite you to begin at the beginning, and partake of bed races, Jack Roberts and all the haggis in a can you can possibly eat.

Congratulations to rockstarjenny for winning St. Scobie's Mock Brackets. If I ever have Smile Rockridge! T-shirts printed, you'll get the first ringer off the screen press.

Finally, thanks to Pat for bringing the Hilltop Legos Interdiction to my attention. It seriously out-Berkeleys almost anything I have heard lately. Suddenly the confiscation of my kid's aircraft carrier photos by a Broccoli Montessori teacher, sans deprogramming efforts, seems reasonable. I don't have the mental power right now to process all the soul-crushing bullshit in that article; attacking its wrongheadedness would be like shooting monkeys in a barrel (metaphor intentionally mixed). Can you imagine the world we'd live in as conceived of by these teachers? This is why places like AZone and college exist; it keeps all the "thinkers" together, away from young children.

Actual Irony

Ms. Morissette has completely redeemed herself with this:



It helps to see the original:



God, I hate Fergie. Fergie is the new Alanis, and Alanis rocks.

By Way of Explanation

That last blog post is, admittedly, incoherent. But its not because I was drunk or anything; I was typing it on my Blackberry (tm) in the dark, in a moving car, while trying to hold a conversation with a from-out-of-town friend ("JW"). As a reader to this blog, JW wanted to contribute, as all readers to this blog should. Thus the urinal dilemma, to which I have no valuable response, other than to again express discomfort with the notion of what happens in mens' bathrooms w/r/t the urinals. But I can't actually answer his question.



Another contribution of JW's was to ask to go to a rotating tourist bar in SF. While The View Lounge at the top of the Marriott does not technically rotate, the carpet will make your head spin. Or maybe its the all-over corniness of the place. Or maybe its vertigo-curing windows. Anyway, the place sucks, and demonstrates anew why SF is such a half-assed city. Even our worst tourist bar is just too lame to enjoy.

Guest blogger!

Okay, technically J W is not a guest blogger, since I'm writing this for him. But I will pretend to be him for the purpose of this post, I will pretend to be him.

When you go into a men's room where there's a urinal and a toilet but no divider, do you lock the door? Or do you ask they guy what he needs to do and let him in if its compatible? (AL- compatible is my word, not J's.)

Now we're going to either Sky Bar or a red sox expat bar, depending. This is live blogging at its blandest.

I Leave You With This

Before you go enjoy your weekend, I thought I would spoil it with a few things. Barack O'bama, heating it up Beach Babe-style.

And then prepare to kill many minutes and brain cells enjoying all the different name generators at Rum & Monkey. I like the Mormon Name Generator, but I think you'll also enjoy naming your penis, or the Damned Hippie Name Generator.*

If I were going to write a Name Generator, it would be a Jam Band Name Generator, but it would go like this: Pick any combination of the following words to name your jam band: Funk, Monkey, Cheese, Sandwich, Brothers and All-New. By the way, do they still even have jam bands anymore? Man, I hate jam bands.

* Jane Stillwater's name is Peace Juniper, by the way.

Good Times, Good Times

Up is down, left is right, hip hop is not cool anymore.

First of all, there's Karl Rove rapping. Sheesh. I'm not embedding the YouTube version because its too damn long. Second, I heard Gangsters Paradise on NPR this morning. Hunh?

Well, since Michelle Pfieffer is in the Coolio video, I guess its not that cool.

And speaking of embedding, a 64-year-old woman from Berkeley is flying to Kuwait with a sleeping bag this week to try to find a military unit to embed with. It's like Cindy Sheehan without a plan (or even less of a plan). Imagine yourself in that army unit, on the prowl for insurgents, and there's a Berkeley hippie lady in your Humvee. How psyched are you? Probably she smells a little like the pee-pee she refuses to flush*, maybe has her cat with her, definitely wearing a patchwork quilt item of clothing, eating peanut butter sandwiches. The most presumptuous and annoying part:

Money for Arabic translators? Unnecessary. "I've been all over the world," she said, "and you always find people who speak English."

Oh, no, wait. Maybe this is the most presumptuous part:

She's tired of getting news from TV journalists who throw on a khaki vest for a few photo ops before flying home first-class.

Umm, how many journalists have been killed in Iraq? 97

Journalists kidnapped in Iraq: 45

That doesn't include the injuries, or the media support people who have been injured or killed in Iraq. I am sure they'd be offended by her ignorant assumptions, if they weren't too busy doing legitimate reporting from the frontlines.

Bozo.

* Sorry to be gross, but this is based on an actual BHL that I know of.

I Know

In my heart of hearts, that its not okay to make fun of people, so I won't. But if you want to, email me and I will send you the awesomest blog I have seen today. I don't even want to post a link because I think the blog may be able to trace it to me, and I really don't want these people to think I am making fun of them, even though, in my heart, I am.

Overheard

Sitting in a bagel shop, listening to three electricians discussing the times that they, like Tony LaRusso, have fallen asleep at the wheel driving drunk.

"I was up at the club drinking hella hard mixed drinks, get out in my Impala and damn if I don't get up to the last light before my house and fall out. Wake up when a dude behind me wants to make a left. Look in the 'meer' and ohmigod if I was Tony LaRussa, I'd be in jail."

So uplifting.

Fresh Disappointments.

It's only Monday morning and already this week is full of disappointment. UNC is out of the Final Four, hurtling me to the middle of the bracket. My mother sent me "the article" about how day care destroys the minds of our next generation, hurtling me to a mental place of anger, disappointment, guilt, non-guilt, blame, self-loathing, and yet also, to work.

Finally, and possibly the most disappointing thing that I have learned in a long time:

Sammy Davis Jr.'s Candy Man is not a double entendre.

Sundry Thoughts

First sundry thought: blog entries are very hard to title.

Second sundry thought: Okay, bracketeers, there are some basketball games tonight, so stop pretending to concentrate on that Purchase Agreement or Modalities Matrix or whatever it is you are pretending to concentrate on, and browse incessantly over to the NCAA Men's basketball scores. Sheesh. Why am I the one who always has to remind you? Oh, right, because I am The Commissioner. If I needed any evidence that I need to remind people of things, the fact that my own husband didn't do any picks is Exhibit A.

Third sundry thought: Is Edwards caught in a Presidential catch-22 or what? The guy has decided to stay in the race, despite the fact that his wife has stage 4 cancer of the. . . body . . . and has 2 tiny children to love and care for. This makes him seem like an unelectable lout. So what's the only way he could overcome that, and seem loving and electable? If he drops out of the race. The only way to be winnable is to not run. Which is Al Gore's strategy, obviously. But how many people can use that and still (not) win?

Happy Spring!

I was just reading Natalie Angier's column about the vernal equinox - the crux of which is that the equinox falls sort of between March 20 and 21 this year - and I thought What would Zsusanna Budapest think about all this?

The answer is: Zsusanna is pretty certain that the VE falls on March 21. See The Holy Book of Women's Mysteries, v. 1, p. 80. How to celebrate is more complicated. Those assembled at the Bridgeport Holy Temple of Womanhood in March 1998 may recall that it involves string and beer, and possibly grass clippings (actual, not marijuana) and candles. Oh, excuse me, I mean, "Grounds and circle cast, purified with water; admittance in order of age; consecration with fire; corners of the universe evoked; and unifying as usual."

A relatively easy ritual - no foot washing, corn cakes, tamborines, or Dittany of Crete. Just sit back and enjoy the "green flora" and the "maiden aspect."

So mote it be.

Good stuff

"If I wanted something your thumb touched, I would eat the inside of your ear." - Lucille Bluth

Heh heh.

Thursday, Liam told his first riddle. I will retell it in a condensed version:

Q: What do you call a seagull that lives by the bay?
A: A bay-gull

In fact, the real conversation went more like this:

Q: why do seagulls live by the bay?
A: Because they eat fish.
Q: But why?
A: They just do.
Q: Can you call them bagels?
A: Oh, yeah! That's funny!

Multiple Choice

Who is in a three-way tie for ninth place?

A. Joe Lieberman
B. Hoops Hack over at Mock Brackets
C. University of Chicago

The correct answer is C. The University of Chicago was ranked 9th (tied with Dartmouth College and Columbia University) among undergraduate programs at national universities, according to the 2007 rankings list produced by U.S. News and World Report.

Crescat scientia, b*****es.

Let the Games Begin!

Woohoo! It's tip off time! Or whatever the euphemism is for the beginning of a basketball game. Did I get it right? Woohoo! There's already some trashtalk going on over at St. Scobie's Mock Brackets. In addition to several apathetified participants, we have one who is In It To Win It (tm), and she's taking the former professional fantasy sports maven* head on. Quite a match-up. Almost as good as the Terps vs. Gators game we all anticipate. I look forward to kicking all y'all's butts. See ya.

*No joke, Winning Brackets haha built a small empire on her Fantasy Football winnings, while she was a day trader. Never bet her in anything, and never bet against her in charades.

W'sup.

The brackets close tomorrow, peeps, and the shittalk is already flying. You do not want to miss this Community Event. I may make up Smile Rockridge! T-shirts to give out as prizes. They'll say 94618 on the back. They'll be hott.

We Work for You

As you can imagine, while "labor humor" is not exactly an oxymoron, it's close, but I got this clip today, and it made me chuckle.



Enjoy.

Lazy Summary

For some reason, I have no original or interesting thoughts to impart this week. But a few things:

First of all, today's the last work day to register for the St. Scobie's Mock Brackets March Madness Extravaganza! Meet your fellow Scobites! Make wildly baseless predictions about a sport which you either don't like or don't care enough about to dislike! Or beat those of us who are making baseless predictions! Brackets can be done starting on Sunday, so I will harp on about this again, but go do it now, so you can be sick of it by next week.

From a source (Chronicle, I think) that I don't feel like finding a link to, about a favorite topic of mine:

One law enforcement source told us, "The San Francisco guys were saying, 'Don't mess with us, we're 415' -- and the Yalies were saying, 'Yeah, well, we're 212.'
"All of them trying to act like they were from the hood,'' the source said. "Heck, the only hood any of these guys had ever seen was the hood of a Mercedes-Benz."

Heh heh. B asks: "Is there a lamer area code than 415?" Probably 650 or 778, but you know what he means.

Curt Schilling started a blog.

But for some really good reading this week, check out Rangelife.

Thank God.

Acapella singers can sleep soundly again, now that these two have been charged. Of course, the San Quentin Singers now have something to fear. Soon, they'll be buying smokes from Scooter Libby and sharpening their lacrosse sticks into shivs. Watch out, prison, here they come.

What's Up With Me.

Not much really. I discovered LibraryThing today (via the NY Times) and its a very satisfying hobby, even if it lasts only until I reach the "free" limit.

Also today, I read the best court order ever, at least until the brouhaha over Anna Nicole settles:

“Petitioner shall pay child support in the sum of $75.00 per month per child. In addition, Petitioner shall supply to Respondent all beef, cut and packaged, reasonably required for consumption by the two children.”

Excellent.

Best Headline of The Day

Swiss Accidentally Invade Liechtenstein

First! Ever! Community! Event!

St. Scobie's Mock Whiskey is proud and excited to host its first ever community event. And since it's March, you know what time it is. That's right. Madness. March Madness. Join St. Scobie's Mock Brackets today. If the link doesn't get you there, shoot me an email and I will hook you up with an invite. The password is fakenose. This is the fantasy league for those who (a) hate sports; (b) hate basketball; (c) lack hand-eye coordination; and/or (d) believe that the economics of college basketball are cruel and exploitative. We feel your secret shame.

More of What You Want, Part II

If you feel the need to get really creeped out right now, watch just a few minutes of this video. Scary mime!! With Enya-like music! It's truly terrifying.

What else? This morning I overheard my 3-year old engaged in this brief dialogue with himself, while playing with his airplanes on the aircraft carrier Grandpa made for him.

Airplane 1: How was your mission?
Airplane 2: I will burp on you.
(Airplane 1 flies away and then back)
Airplane 1: That was a good mission.
Airplane 2: I fart on you.

Finally, good news for fans of The Wire (read the comments too) and Penthouse. Mmmm, good.

Just a Lot Going On

First of all, apologies for my failure to Live Blog (tm) the Oscars. There was just too much going on in our house. My mom's visiting, and she couldn't decide between the Versace and vintage Chanel. She can be really tetchy that way.

Just to get back on the BPN tip, here's one from the Advice Wanted:

Finding a santeria house-------Hi, this is for all the santeros/santeras out there. I know, it's kind of an odd posting, but I need help. I've been somewhat involved with the religion for a few years, and I feel that I REALLY need to move forward with the process, but how do I know who's and where's the right place for me? People just say, ''you'll know'', but I DON'T know. I'd like to connect with some people that went thru this process, and who'll be willing to talk to me and tell me what it was like for them. If any one out there has the time and is willing please send me an email. Thanks. Child of Obatala

And in a possibly related note, I heard a Taco Bell ad on the radio today that was so inexplicable, I cannot even piece together meaning. It involved a carne asada taquito arguing with a woman who was running a spelling bee about whether he could enter the spelling bee. WTF? Fred Kovey was off his rocker on that one, to be sure. I worried that possibly I had gotten accidentally high somehow before getting in the car.

The famous Kate Costello was so inspired by my last post that she created a sculpture of Angela Davis. Dig it.

Hmmm. Anything else? Not really. Send me cool things.

Quick Post

This is a quickie just to update you on a couple of things annoying me today, and one thing that is not annoying me.

First, I heard a woman from Emily's List on NPR say yesterday that they are all psyched because Hillary Clinton is the first woman running for president. This is gallingly untrue. Viva Pat Schroeder! She even ran after Emily's List was founded, so, in theory, they already should be over their first-female-candidate jones. That's so 19 years ago. Also, I am not a big third party type, but the Commies and the Greens and so forth have been fielding females for awhile. Angela Davis was the VP candidate on the Communist ticket twice. No love.

Sorry to be all third-wave feminist, unimpressed with Hillary's non-groundbreakingness. It's just too annoying.

More annoying, however, is the current "back to the land" discussion being waged at the Berkeley Parents Network Advice column. It's too wordy to share, but let me summarize. The initial poster wanted to know if she was crazy for wanting to go off the grid, in response to her fears of global warming. Instead of answering, "Yes," people gave her "on-the-one-hand, on-the-other" responses. But no one pointed out that 1 person, or a family of 4, living in the middle of nowhere, can make a bigger negative global impact than living in the city, where you can walk places. I read somewhere (and possibly I will try to find a link later) that Manhattanites leave the smallest "global/environmental footprint" of anyone in America, because they can walk everywhere, and energy costs are lower because everyone is functionally huddled together, sharing heat, etc. You get my point.

Not annoying: Get your war on is funny again today. The second two in particular.

Adding insult to injury

Pumping is embarassing and awful enough without being accosted by little old ladies that "the handicapped restroom isn't (bang bang bang) for make-up!" I now hate old ladies.

Jury Wardrobe Coordination is Justice Denied

I still haven't figured out if T&A Lady is serving on the Scooter Libby jury, but if she is, I hope that's her on the end, wearing black. Because it is SO corny for the rest of the jury to wear red on Valentine's Day, together and in solidarity for (what exactly?). T&A Lady, why did you hold out? The corniness? Or do you see a mistrial coming that you can't avert?

Question

Is T&A Lady on the Scooter Libby jury? If not, where has she been all month?

Good Night

This is the obligatory post-above-a-post-with-photos, quirk of Blogspot.

Some Random Thoughts

My three-year-old now walks around singing, "It's just like a mini-mall, it's just like a mini-mall." God knows what they make of that at school.

I found the mother lode of mascot costumes. Clearly it's Plushie Heaven. By the way, if you don't know what a Plushie is, don't google it. You will be sorry. Ask me directly and I will tell you. But you can probably deduce it by visiting here, (you pervert).

Fathers 4 and 5

This article is too good to pass by. Read the whole thing, as it raises the possibility that J. Howard Marshall II was the posthumous father of Danielyn. Or is it the Bahamanian Immigration Minister? Or is it Daniel, Anna Nicole's son? That last spector is too gross to count as an actual possibility, even though the insinuation is out there.

Thanks for Visiting

There's been a real uptick in earnestness among some of my readers that I wanted to bring to the attention of some of my other readers.

First there were two, two!, members of the Toledo Boosters Club or Junior Chamber of Commerce who weighed in to unnecessarily defend Toledo. I say unnecessarily because I wasn't actually offending Toledo. At least, I didn't think I was.

And then there is the Maria Callas fan who felt the need to reiterate what had been my essential point - that Mary J. Blige is not, despite the hyperbole of the Grammy writing staff, Maria Callas. "Sarah" of The Maria Callas Defense Fund has 21 of her own blogs, and none of them devoted to Maria Callas. Coincidence or oversight? You be the judge.

Is my writing style too subtle? And are there more people out there who troll for Toledo references in blogs so they can take a swig of Franzia and type a rousing defense of their adopted hometown? And by using the word Toledo four times in this post, do I invite their wrath?

10:04

I am burned out. There's too much awfulness. The baby is crying again. Is Imogen Heap related to Uriah Heap or just trying to make it seem that way? And what does that "say" about her? That's it for me. This was good practice for the Oscars, Feb 25, and for when I quit my job to blog full-time. Thanks and good night.

10:01

Imogene Heap is the rat's nest head. Go Fug Yourself is going to have a field day with her when they get back from fashion week.

By the way, the ugly rat's nest pictured is not even the one I am referring to at the Grammys. It's a different one. She's decided to substitute wacky millinery for actual talent, I presume.

9:57

This is hell on earth. It's that other Eagles' song. You know, "they had one thing in common..."

Life in the fast lane.

This blond chick is in her negligee. Who is this hideous guy she has to sing with?

Are the Eagles getting a lifetime achievement award too? Is this a catch-up year, so they can honor decent bands next year (Grammy's 50th Anniversary) and not have to answer why they aren't honoring the Dead or the Eagles?

9:52

ARGH. I was okay with the Bob Wills tribute, because, well, I like Bob Wills. But this crappola Hotel California. ugh. I prefer Tom and Scott's version. Tom was my boyfriend sophomore year of high school, and my birthday gift that year was a tape he and his best friend had recorded of themselves singing Hotel California, The Rose, Dust in the Wind and I can't remember the other song. Anyway, I am only now getting over my mordification from it. He gave it to me with a rose, and the letter accompanying it called me, "my darling". I think I need to go into therapy just recalling it.

double ugh. Desperado cover. The Eagles are, with hindsight, emerging as the crappiest band ever to have recorded an album.

While We Have A Break

I have to admit that I did something really dumb the other night. It's not what you think. Or anything like that.

Liam has been complaining about a ghost problem lately. I made the mistake of telling him that my breast pump is a ghost machine that sucks ghosts out of his room and holds them. It was a Ghostbusters-inspired moment but now I am going to have to bring the pump in there every night to detox the room, because the other options* don't work now.

* The other options are: (1) denying there are ghosts, (2) putting the ghosts in "time out", (3) teaching Liam that ghosts are afraid of a mean face and (4) kicking the ghosts out by holding them out over my foot and making a kicking motion towards the door.

9:41

Portia di Rossi looks great but Ellen DeGeneres has a wierd scarf on. Not a good look. Very aviator, and not in the good way that Cee-Lo pulled off earlier.

I could have forgiven the DixieChix if they had tipped their hat to Willie but that little "heh heh" remark just sucked. F*** you. The whole country hates the war in Iraq now. You do not have a monopoly on dissent and you aren't interesting or articulate. So now we all hate you, the red staters and the blue staters. Or at least, I do.

9:39

Mandy Moore looks like Xena. Leann Rimes' breasts have gone missing. Luke Wilson is just bummed that he couldn't find Kanye before he came on stage.

I hope Willie Nelson wins whatever category this is.

He didn't.

God I hate the Dixie Chix.

9:37

Okay, I concede, MJB has some pipes. Maybe not Maria Callas, but she's got the pipes.

9:34

It's a wee bit of an overreach, I think, to compare Mary J. Blige to Maria Callas. Sorry, Terrence Howard, I know you didn't write that line. But why didn't you point out that you have no connection this year to music, that Hustle & Flow was last year, and you have something new happening, so give that line to someone else. Like Common. Or Karl Lagerfeld.

9:24

Kanye smoked up. Just pot though, so don't worry mom-in-law.

Common's transformation into Isaac Hayes is complete.

9:19

The Grateful Dead don't have a Lifetime Achievement Award yet? I mean, until now?

Gnarls Barkley. I like. What's with the pilot uniforms? It's awesome.

9:16

This Chevy ad stinks. The Hot Pockets ad, on the other hand, rules. And here's why: After the family gets the hot pockets from dad, they all turn towards eachother and laugh. I love when that happens in a commercial. I also love when that happens in my real life.

9:12

The Dixie Chicks don't actually make me want to support the war in Iraq just to spite them, but I am thisclose.

Did you like how Seal had to appear with Karl Lagerfeld?

9:05

Shakira is wearing some wierd-ass gold breastplate. And I don't mean gold-covered. I mean solid gold. Her sole talent is belly-dancing. Not that I am casting aspersions, since i can't even do that.

Wait, is this Indian? Egyptian? Latino? What.is.that? The back-up dancers have a certain Gladiator look to them, with their gold-plated bellybuttons.

Wyclef sucks so bad I can't even think of anything funny to say. His belt is gold and he possibly has some sort of Palestinian prayer cloth around his neck. Not sure. Or is that a flag from Shakira's fake-ass Egyptian-Hindu-Spanish country?

9:00

I am almost certain that John Mayer thanked Jim Jad-wee-zee-ak. AKA The Bagel Miser. Who is AWOL from ROTC still, as far as I know.

8:55

Wow, this whole medley is just unlistenable. I don't really like John Mayer but there's gotta be better material in his repertoire. I bet Jessica Simpson thought he would go for her. She's seen too many make-over teen romance movies. You know the routine: popular kid remakes nerd, nerd gets popular, ditches popular kid, who has fallen for nerd. She thought she could do that. But she mistook what kind of nerd he is. He's the kind of nerd who can get the kind of girls he goes for, girls who are applying to graduate school.

8:57 - Poor Nelly Furtado. She has to appear with Pussy Cat Dolls to give an award. How the might have fallen.

8:52

Or maybe its just that she's saddled with one of the worst songs I have ever heard.

8:49

I am not one to talk but this child here is flat. I have never heard of this person. Corinne something? With John Mayer and John Legend? We'll call her Girl John. She's lame.

8:46

According to the crawler, the Flaming Lips won something. Best Engineering, Non-Classical for At-War with the Mystics. Hmm, sort of throwing actual musicians a bone there. I suspect the remaining Doors would have preferred their lifetime achievement award be delivered by the Lips, but we can't always get what we want. (I guess that's a different 60s rock band).

The stage is hideous. Like its left over from a VH1 Best of This Week Awards show.

The baby is crying AGAIN, so I may need to stop. Plus I am not sure that even I can keep up this frenetic pace.

oooooh, Stevie W. looks uncomfortable up there by himself.

8:40

The woman behind Beyonce has a nest of sticks and leaves on her head.

Oop, MJ just won another thing. Blige that is. Michael Jordan does not appear to be nominated for anything.

8:37

Justin again. This is so embarassing. He has a little penlight camera that he's holding in front of his face so his song is sung like right up in the camera and his nose looks prominent and it just sucks.

8:38 - Oh, Pink is the best they can do to honor The Doors. Fuck you very much, say the remaining members of the band.

8:33

Justin Timberlake just looks scuzzy. Sorry, but it's true. Lose the, uh, coffee cake crumbs on your face.

Live! Grammy Blog!

In order to keep my attention on the Grammys, I thought I would live blog it.

8:24 - Mary J. Blige. Why does she need a Grammy when she's already arrived? And by "arrived", I mean "sitting in front of Prince." Her thank you list was exhaustive but I suspect she'll be back. She already thanked J.C. so I guess that leaves us The Father and The Holy Ghost for best R&B Female and best R&B Duo.

Why is the plural Grammy "Grammys" and not "Grammies"? I guess that sounds like "grandma" and "nummies", which is NOT something I want to conjure.

8:31 - Idris Elba sighting. He was choking on takeout Chinese take-out in the ad for the new Tyler Perry movie. He still looked hot.

When the Dust Settles

How many daddies will little Danielynn Marshall Smith Stern Birkhead van Anhalt have? And wouldn't it make a hilarious movie? Zsa Zsa's husband could be played by Tom Selleck, and Howard K. Stern could be played by Ted Danson, and Larry Birkhead could be played by, umm, the other guy.

Shhh, Don't Tell Him

Here's the Valentine's gift I have picked out for Mr. Scobie:

The sad part is, our bathroom is nowhere near large enough for this get-up. Ah well, a girl can dream. By the way, that's the Roto-Rooter Pimped Out John.

New Data!!

New evidence has been discovered of humanity's innate corniness! Proof that Valentine's Day pranks are the new rage! That teenagers have been "intimate" since before Jesus!

Restore NASA's Budget

When astronauts have the time to don wigs and diapers, embarassing themselves and our space program in the process, it's time to dig between the cushions of America's couch for some spare change to restore NASA's budget. Send them to space, or don't, but just keep them busy enough to stop them from engaging in sophomoric stalking, writ painfully large.

Finally

Props to Brian Schwartz of Toledo, OH, who, unlike Alanis Morrisette, understands the meaning of irony.

It was so cold that Toledo, Ohio — 5 above zero at noon, up from 4 below — even closed its outdoor ice rink. "The irony is not lost on us," said city spokesman Brian Schwartz.

If it weren't so bitter-ass cold, I'd say Toledo seems like a good place to raise children, teach them how to to ice skate, and how to properly use popular literary devices/modes of collegiate humor.

It's Just Like a Mini-Mall

This is the first song to push Irreplaceable out of the permanent Muzak in my brain, finally.




Thanks KML and thank you, God, for the day you brought video technology to Alabama.

Too Lazy to Blog

I haven't written anything this week because I have been just too lazy to blog. I've even had good(ish) ideas, but been too lazy to even search for links to support them. How lame is that? There's nothing lamer. I am too lame to engage in even the lamest blogging. But I will give it a shot.

The thing that's been on my mind this week is all the good new words and phrases I have come across in the past few days. For example, this New York Times article concerns French government efforts to fight "banalization" in French culture. Apparently the French are up in arms (or s'insurger, as the case may be) that mega-stores are taking over the tonier parts of Paris. Great word. What took them so long? But my question is, is banal a French word? Mon dieu! I believe that the French word for banal is poncif. That would make this trend "poncification". La voila! Double Mon Dieu! Poncification means "to pronounce a word is a deliberately poncy/french way. Target, a crappy superstore becomes t'argey." Pretty tautological, as problems go, no? So to make banal is to make French. Good luck, Mr. Chirac, coming up with a governmental solution to this problem. Still, banalization = good word.

Elsewhere, I read this: "vomiting from places other than your mouth". It's in Please Read Before Suing, in the Shouts & Murmurs column in the New Yorker. I laughed out loud when I read that, possibly from disgust and surprise.*

In my laziness, I cannot remember the other great words I read this week. Sorry.

One other thought on the use of words. This week, T&A Lady sparked quite a discussion about what a gal should call the man she marries. I even outed her, umm, dude as a, umm, guy. Anyway, it reminded me of a good rule of thumb, generally applicable: Would you be able to call someone by that name to a federal judge? This was the gauntlet question to my own dude back when he wanted to name our first child Buckaroo. Mr. Scobie acquiesced, and the rest is, well, whatever it is. My "husband" admitted he couldn't introduce his child as Buckaroo to a federal judge. So, T&A Lady, how would you introduce your fella, if you had to (again), to a federal judge?

* Also in The New Yorker this week is a piece by Ryszard Kapusciski. Kapuscinski died recently, but I had been thinking about him. In college, I read Shah of Shahs, the Emperor and The Shadow of the Sun in rapid succession for no reason other than they were among the best books I had ever read. I swore I would never forget them, and then I did. Any time I hear about Hallie Selassie or the Shah of Iran, I have this vague feeling I once knew something about them. But how often is that, right? Anyway, read one of these books.

Eye Boggling

Despite all the "outrageous" colors in this picture, I thought it would be easier to endure than the one in the last post. All the grammas were clamoring for some shots of the Q, so I hope this satisfies.

Do Not Try This At Home

Rangelife suggests the following game: plunk any random letters into Google Image search, and wacky hi-jinx ensue. Beware, however, as mkjd yields this:

Overheard

"I try to make all my Powerpoints tongue-in-cheek."

Woman eating in Boudin's in Macy's at Union Square, 12:43pm, Jan. 29, 2007

Classic

I know the window for blogging about this closed long ago, like before the house was built, but Alanis Morrisette's Ironic, is due for a better-late-than-never ass-chewing. I also don't think I ever even listened to it all the way through before this morning in the car. But not one single metaphor in the whole song is ironic. Is that the ironic part? I'm amazed that this song is as galling today as it was 15 years ago, or whenever it came out. God forbid Alanis and Live Aid ever collaborate, is all I can say.