Where My Girls At?

Every summer, we prepare for the blockbuster movie season. And we are treated to the lowest of the low when it comes to actual cinema. This summer appears to be no exception. But, I'm less concerned about the quality of films, and more concerned with the fact that there are really no movies that feature more than one woman in a main role. I thought at first it was just my little feminist alarm going off, but I'm pretty much right on this.

Spiderman 3, The Pirates of the Caribbean 3, Ocean's 13, Fantastic Four, even Shrek 3 only feature one leading lady. It's not even a recent phenomenon. Think Star Wars (today and yesterday.) Carrie Fisher and Natalie Portman. That's it. Hell, there are movies that don't even put a woman in them. Even in an extra role. Think war movies like Hunt for Red October, Crimson Tide, Saving Private Ryan. We get movies like Pearl Harbor and the agony that is Kate Beckinsale.

The list goes on. Gladiator, Old School, The Departed, Gangs of New York, Good Fellas, Casino, Die Hard. Sure, these movies are mostly guy films. But, what about movies that are for us ladies. Like Elizabeth. The only woman of any significance is Helen Mirren. So, there weren't any other woman in the whole of England? Or Shakespeare in Love? We get Gwyneth. That's it.

I just think there have to be more roles for women than the token, the hooker or the girlfriend. I know Hollywood isn't always the bastion of intellect or credibility. But significant speaking parts for women shouldn't be that much of a challenge. Hell, if they can make an unrated DVD version of every movie to get the boob shots in, maybe just spend a little more time on the regular movie and give women something smart to say, and a place to say it.

The Long Hot Summer: Part 3

Last up, CSI. (I also watch Grey's Anatomy on a regular basis. But, that show is on my shit list right now.) Anyway back to CSI.

The Miniature Killer was revealed, and it turns out it is indeed a super-creepy foster child of Ernie Dell, the original suspect who shot himself on a webcam while Grissom watched. Oh, and did we mention it's a chick? Very rare, the female serial killer. How nice for her. Turns out, she's a janitor at CSI, and has delivered Grissom and the gang a new mystery to solve.

A little background on the killer. Her bio-dad is a freaky ventriloquist, she killed her sister because she was the favorite, and is triggered into the rages by bleach, after watching her dad clean up her sister's blood with bleach. Nice. So, Grissom finally figures out that building the miniatures is personal, as he made one himself, of his own office. And, the new miniature features the very unappealing Sara Sidle under a car, in the desert. Her previous miniatures all contained bleach somehow, and were all places she worked, we assume. They find the hobby shop where she gets her stuff, and track down her apartment.

They know the car is from an accident scene where the killer was lurking, and she figured out that Grissom and Sara are riding the hobby horse (see Breakfast Club.) And, now everyone else knows too, as Grissom spilled the beans in his explanation of the miniature to the team. So, the killer wants to take what Grissom loves, because he took the only person she loved, Ernie.

So, in a really annoying "To Be Continued" situation, Grissom can't get the freaky killer girl to tell him where Sara is, and she's really under the car, fighting for her life. Will she live? Will she die? Will CBS renew her contract? Who knows?

Overall, it was good, but kind of a disappointment, as season enders go. The season-ending-double-episode-Tarantino-thriller with my lovely Nick buried alive was way better. I don't care if Sara dies, and I don't think anyone else does either.

The Long Hot Summer: Part 2

Next up, The Office.

This is my favorite show by far. I just love it. And, the season finale did not disappoint. Michael, Jim and Karen are going to be interviewing for a new job at Corporate, and Jim and Karen are heading up to NYC early to spend some time together. Michael gets a visit from Jan, who has had some minor surgery. By that, I mean the biggest boob job ever. Michael is now torn as to whether or not he should take her back, so he summons his "girls" and they tell him to say no. But, Jan puts her chest out and he says yes.

Meanwhile, up at Corporate, Michael has a decent interview with David, but then reveals his revitalized relationship with Jan. Well, it turns out that it's Jan's job they are there to get. So, Jan flips out when Michael tells her, and he goes back to Scranton without a new job, having withdrawn his name in "protest". That leaves, so we think, Karen or Jim to vie for the position. While Jim is interviewing, we flash back to his Beach Day after-confession time with Pam and he finds the token of affection she left in his sales reports for luck. He leaves Corporate without Karen, and is driving while we hear Pam's voice talking to the documentary crew.

Suddenly, Jim interrupts, and asks her to dinner. She says yes, and he utters the magic words, "It's a date." Pam nearly cries when she turns back to the crew.

I LOVE IT!!!! The very last scene is Ryan accepting the Corporate job and dumping Kelly. Her resounding "WHAT?!" closes the season. This is the one show I can't wait to get back to. I love that Jim and Pam are together. I just hope they don't mess with them too much. They are too cute together.

The Long Hot Summer: Part 1

Since summer is here, and the networks have sent their shows to sleep-away camp, I'm recapping some of the season finales that I've watched and enjoyed. The first one I shall discuss is Numb3rs.

This show is a favorite of mine, mostly due to the fact that Rob Morrow is a total and complete hottie. He plays FBI super-agent Don Eppes. His brother is Dr. Charles Eppes, nerdy math geek who helps him solve crime. The rest of the FBI team consists of David, the tough-yet-sensitive-type. Colby, the ex-army-not-so-bright-type. And, Megan, the behaviorist-martial-arts-tough-chick-with-a-heart-of-gold type. Oh, and there's the sometimes-there-sometimes-not Liz, who doubles as Don's lady friend.

This week, a crazy British dude has commandeered a bridge, and threatens to blow it up, cell-phone-bomb-style if the cops don't get the Brothers Eppes there pronto. They arrive and talk to the guy, who tells Charlie he has to answer a bunch of questions in order to save the bridge. For every correct answer, he throws away a cell phone that will detonate a bomb. Pretty cool huh?

Colby has the brilliant idea to go under the bridge, to find out what kind of cell phones the wacko is using so they can shut down the service. He and David use these crazy Batman-style gadgets to climb up, and see what's going on. Charlie is rocking through the questions, until he hesitates a little too long, and the guy goes all dial-a-bomb on him. Our fellows under the bridge are unharmed. They are not near the blast, but I have to think that would still suck pretty bad.

So, Don gets sick of all this crap, and after they jam the cell service, he goes out to kick some limy ass. The bomber starts to run, but Don shoots, and another bomb goes off. Magically, the guy lives. He's in the hospital, and sends Charlie messages through the oxygen thing on his finger. Turns out, this Brit was some mad cryptographer and the Eppes boys find out he was trying to tell them about a super-secret list of people who are compromised by foreign governments. Even though everyone says the list is bogus, Charlie's math says otherwise. They finally crack the code, and are led to a reporter. She knows about the list, but not who's on it; yet. Megan and Colby put her under protective custody, and Megan gives Colby crap for showboating under the bridge.

When the bad guys come to kill everyone in the safe house (they may want to start calling them something else, because someone always dies in them) Colby says he will "protect" the witness. Charlie and his lady friend/colleague Amita, figure out that the list is on the reporter's voice mail, and as they listen, they hear that it contains the name of someone they know. Colby, the doofus under the bridge. Turns out, he's been working for the Chinese, just like his war buddy from a couple episodes back. Don and David head to the house when Colby doesn't answer the phone. They find him trying to sneak out the back (Jack) with the reporter, to kill her and shut her up.

Back at the FBI, they get Colby to confess and give up his army buddy, and they haul them to Gitmo, probably. Everyone is suitably upset (David has tears! So sensitive!) and the crew is in for some turmoil, no doubt. Can't wait for next year. Here's hoping for a little more eye candy on the team. Although, no one will ever compete with my Don.

Numb3rs is on CBS, Fridays at 10pm.

Tour of Duty: Day 4

Well, I am free at last. They sent us home this morning, and I am now officially free from duty for three years. I have to say, all in all, it was just a big old boring waste of time. But, on the other hand, I got to chat with some nice people, read and get out of work. Those are all positives in my book.

They came in and rounded us all up, and then the one woman who works there proceeded to tell us that they would be panelling a group of 40, and the trial was starting Monday, it would be two weeks, and in another county. Everyone gasped, but I was noticing the smile on her face, as she revealed her joke. I thought it was quite good, as she had the deadpan face down pat.

So, I am now free for the rest of the day, and then back to work for a whole day tomorrow. Sometimes, doing your duty can be an okay thing.

Tour of Duty: Day 3

Well, I was fortunate to not get panelled for either jury that was selected today. The funny thing is that both of them came back almost immediately, as both cases resulted in plea bargains. And, most of the cases that were started Tuesday and Wednesday are back to waiting with the rest of us unselected folk. The end of the week can't come fast enough for most of us. On the plus side, I have finished one book and started another.

Today, the 4 self appointed "cool girls" of the group, started playing Spoons in the lounge area. Every time someone would open the door, you'd hear loud noise and laughter. I appreciate that they were having fun, but it got to be a little tedious after so many hours trapped together. I am always amazed at these people's ability to find each other in a room full of 300 people. They have managed to be the center of attention all week long. I've been sticking to myself, eating lunch with a nice woman I met on the first day. It's crazy how much of adult life is just like high school.

So, I am hoping that tomorrow will be my last day of this tedium, and that I am not selected for anything else. I am not looking forward to going back to work, but this is the most boring thing there is on earth.

Tour of Duty: Day 2

Just when I thought I was safe, I was panelled for another jury today. In the second case, I was the third one picked. Again, I was not selected for service, as I felt I couldn't be fair and impartial in this particular instance. Due to legal constraints, I can't really say more. But, needless to say, it would have been hard for me to not assume the guy was guilty.

Today, also had the added weirdness of the victim being present in the courtroom. She was a witness in the case, and therefore was present at jury selection. It's hard to look at someone in her situation and not feel really bad. Because either way it goes down, she's still having to relive things over again.

After lunch, there was more waiting around, and then we were sprung at two o'clock. Still days to go on my service to my government and community. You know, it's hard to view it as service when it is forced upon you. In recent days, I've discussed with several people the idea of volunteer jury duty. Of course there would have to be some incentive, like no local tax for a year, or something. But, I think it might make for better candidates than those of us forced against our will to be fair. It was even more apparent to me today that the idea of impartial and fair are easier said then done.

Tour of Duty: Day 1

So, I reported for jury duty today, bright and early. Me and 299 of my unlucky cohorts sat in a room, while they took attendance, explained the rules and made us watch a film. Then, the real fun began, as we began to wait around for the "panelling" to begin. This is where they take a group of you, in our case 30, to be a part of Voir Dire. That is where the lawyers ask you questions, and pick you based on your answers.

I was the first one picked for the second panel. We were lined up, walked up to an elevator. We all got in, except one poor woman that they told to get out, because there was too much weight. They just left her there, not telling her where to go. It was priceless. (Coincidentally, I later had lunch with her.) We were taken to the 10th floor to the courtroom. We waited again until everyone from the group made it from the elevator, including our wayward passenger.

We walked past the sheriff's deputy, and then again waited in our lines. It was all very serious. We walked to the courtroom door, and waited again. It was at this point that I was overwhelmed by the urge to laugh. Then, when the pushed open the doors, and there in front of me was the guy in the black robe, the lawyers, the defendant, and oh of course, the high school field trip, I really needed to laugh. It felt like trying not to laugh in church. I liken it to my uncontrollable urge to say "Ready with the bombs, buddy" whenever I get on a plane. I know you can't do it, so I really want to.

So, they asked us some questions, to see if we could be "fair and impartial." That is a total crock in my opinion. There isn't a person on this planet who can be fair and impartial. Everyone has their biases and prejudices. And, let me just tell you, when you are at jury duty, and you see the defendant grab a paper cup off the table, and proceed to pee into it, it's hard to imagine him not doing other inappropriate things in life. If I could have taken a picture of the defense attorney's face, it would be on this post right now. I am not kidding, this really happened.

I honestly don't know how anyone can put all of themselves aside to decide someone else's fate. And, for now I don't have to. I wasn't selected for the jury. But, I'm stuck there for another three days at least, until all the juries are filled. So, keep your fingers crossed that I get through this without having to actually sit on a jury. But, at the very least, I'll get some good stories out of it.

Pam in My Hero

To anyone who is a fan of the show The Office, you know there are so many reasons to love it. Michael is the worst boss (multiplied by 1000), Dwight is the weirdest man alive and Jim is adorable. But, after this week's episode of the show, my new favorite character has to be Pam.

Now, to those of you who don't know, Pam is the receptionist on the show. She is sweet, shy, and sometimes a doormat. But, this week, at "Beach Day" Pam finds the strength to walk on hot coals when no one else would, to call out her co-workers for dissing her art show, and to tell Jim the truth.

She misses him. She misses their friendship. He's the reason that she called off her wedding. I was so impressed by this great, albeit fictional, display of honesty and strength. I found a new respect for Pam after this week, and even though I know this whole business will be drawn out forever, I hope she and Jim can finally be together one day.

God, sometimes television is just wonderful.

Where Have All The Asses Gone?

As a normal, red-blooded American woman, I look at cute men. Hell, I'll look at cute boys (always above 18, of course) if they strike my fancy. But, in all this looking, I have noticed one terrible truth. There are very few nice tushes out there. I mean, it used to be that if a man was attractive, you could often count on a nice rear view as he walked on by. Now, all you see is the baggy expanse of fabric where an ass should be. What happened? Where did the glutes go?

At an old college hang out recently, there were some very nice young men holding court at the table next to me. When one walked by to get another beer, I checked him out. Nothing but a wall of lacrosse shorts for my trouble. There was literally not even a break in the plane of the shorts. It was like a curtain, over a very flat window.

And while I was with my dear Grimace, not that long ago, she pointed out a cute boy to me. Nice eyes, good hair, all the amenities. Then, as he walked away, my smile faded. A mere mole hill, where one would hope to find a mountain. Disappointment yet again.

Bring me Mel Gibson circa 1988, pre-crazy, pre-Jesus freak years. Now there was an ass. Now, we are lucky to get a passing butt shot from any celebrity, because there is nothing left to show. I don't think they're being modest, I think they are being smart.

I don't know what to say, only that maybe these boys should borrow my Firm Fanny Lifter, or do some squats. Because, let me just tell you, there is nothing going on back there, but the backs of your legs.

Tour of Duty

What's worse than going to a job you hate? Having to not go the job you hate, in order to go to jury duty. That is the fate that has befallen me, come this May. I must go and report to the courthouse, bright and early, in order to (maybe) perform my civic duty.

I worry about my ability to actually serve on a jury. Not just because it seems like a tedious, time sucking waste. But, if I am selected, you have to sit in a court room, and listen to boring lawyers and witnesses. And, they expect you to pay attention. So much so that you can render a verdict. I am prone to spacing out, sometimes for many minutes at a time. I can just see this happening in the middle of some important testimony, and I miss the crux of the case. Then, when we are back in the jury room, some other person will turn to me and say, "What do you think?" And, I won't have a clue. This is our legal system. In the hands of ADHD people like me.

America, we need to rethink this whole thing. I can't be trusted with important tasks like this. Let's face it, most of you can't be trusted either. So, why not leave this difficult task to people who can really do it. Like old people. They would be perfect. It would give them something to do all day. They'd get to feel important. And, it would keep them from bugging me all day at my job. I think it's a win-win. Think about it.

I Don't Want to Get Off on a Rant Here . . .

Dennis Miller, what the hell happened to you? Every time I turn on my television, there you are, another right wing talking head with an "attitude." You are on Hannity and O'Reilly. You appear on Leno and spew your new found George Bush ass-kissing style. Sure, you still throw in your famously obscure references, but it's just not the same. Every other time I see you, you are going on and on about "kicking ass and taking hyphenated names." Nice. It just breaks my heart, a little more each time.

See, Dennis, I used to love you. I mean, really love you. I watched you when you had your short lived talk show. I watched your HBO show religiously, and took the fact that you used a Henry Rollins song in your show as a sign of our kinship. I would laugh at your rants, and shake my head in agreement. You pulled no punches, and even if I didn't agree with you, the artful way you said things made me laugh anyway. You spoke to me, and for me, as I do not have a television show. You were funny, wry and witty. Whether you were cutting down a guest, or truly getting what they were saying, they always got a fair shake. I even went to see you do a live performance, sick with a head cold, and got berated by some joyless yuppie and his wife for interrupting their non-laughter with coughing. All for you, babe.

And, now, you've turned on me, Dennis. I know the events of September 11 were impossible to deal with, and we all came out changed. But, you changed into a douche bag. Truly. I know as we age, our opinions change. We become parents, recognize our own mortality, and start worrying about taxes, retirement, and growing old. A lot of people grow more conservative with age, I get that. But, you my friend are off the deep end. When you spend your free time sucking up to O'Reilly and praising his ability to debate the pros and cons of Rosie O'Donnell, you have lost the plot, big time.

What worries me most, is that I think you are a sell out. I can't tell if you really believe your diatribes or not. But I do know this. The liberal entertainment world wasn't buying the new, conservative tinged you. So, you went to the next logical step. Turning tail, and joining the dark side. There is more room at the crazy table on the right side of the room. And, the money is better. So, congrats. You may have more money now, but you will never be great like you were. You have lost me forever. No longer will I be able to say things like, "I've got a life to lead cha cha" and not feel dirty. All I can do now is listen to the Off White Album, and mourn the loss of my Dennis. While the new one is no doubt playing golf with Karl Rove.

POST SCRIPT: I think it the height of irony, when the word that comes up as the alternative for Hannity in spell-checker, is sanity.

Goofing on the Stupid

Sometimes I just can't resist messing with people. Especially people who think they are monumentally funny, when they are clearly not. I can raise my left eyebrow independent of the other. I use this look to convey disbelief, wonder, incredulity or sometimes surprise. While at work the other day, I gave my boss this look when he said something dopey. A customer happened to be walking in and noticed my look. When he arrived at my window, he said, "Oh, you're giving him The Rock."

Now, I know who The Rock is. I'm not living in a cave. I am aware of professional wrestling. I am familiar with the look and smelling what he is cooking and all that. But, I decided this guy needed to be knocked down a peg. It was not funny, and he needed to know that.

So, devious me pretended not to know what he was talking about. I looked at him with the eyebrow, and said, "What?" He repeated himself, and smiled expectantly, like maybe I hadn't heard him. I looked at him blankly, and smiled my best fake smile. "Sorry. I don't know who that is." The air was officially out of his sails. He walked away dejected and my job was done.

"I didn't want to do it; felt I owed it to him." You said it, Judge Smails.

Impossible Bastards

Well, it finally happened. The proverbial last straw. My employer has decided, starting March 19th, to take away my Internet access. It is not just me they are blocking, but everyone like me. They've decided that only the important folks get to have the Internet, and I am clearly not important. But, that is not the real issue.

The real issue is that I'm going to have nothing to do with my day anymore. I have an extraordinary amount of downtime at my job. And, without the Internet, I am lost. Needless to say, I am pissed off. While the Internet may not be the best use of my time, until they give me a job that is actually demanding, I'd like to know what I am supposed to do? I don't know anyone who doesn't have access to the Internet at work, and I don't know anyone who has a job so demanding, that they don't have a significant amount of time to surf the web. Hell, I know people who watch television shows online at their jobs. But, the tide has turned, and it looks like I might have to find a new job.

So, for the next week, I am going to abuse the hell out of the Internet. Absorb as much as I can. Until I am forced to sit here and stare off into space. What an effective use of my time.

Can't Someone Else Do It?

I just got done listening to a man prattle on and on about the evils of credit cards, and how they are always "out to screw you" and that they charge too much interest. Due to TGWOoFY's illustrious past, I know a great deal about credit cards. More than I ever wanted to. And, I happen to know he is wrong. But, that doesn't stop people from placing blame and trying to make everyone else responsible for their actions.

Another man came into our office the other day, head full of steam. You see, he received his tax bill in the mail, and instead of mailing it to his mortgage company himself, he had us do it for him, and it didn't make it. So, who's fault is that you ask? Well, of course it is our fault. How could it possibly be his? Just because I manage to mail my tax bill, doesn't mean he should have to. That would mean buying stamps and envelopes and putting it in the mailbox at the end of his driveway. What are you, mad or something?

These are just two examples of the epidemic of "It's not my fault." Actually reading your credit card statement is hard work. So just bitch when things show up that you don't recognize, instead of actually paying attention to your spending and your wife's. Mailing your own tax bill is hard, why not make people at a retail bank be responsible for doing it for you.

Why is it so hard to take responsibility for yourself? I know sometimes it sucks, but come on. No one else in the world cares about your crap, so why make them take charge of it. It's not the teacher's fault your kid gets in trouble, it's theirs. It's not your boss's fault you suck at your job, it's yours. And, it not the opposite sex's fault you are single, it's yours.

Come on people, it's time to get right. It's not that hard, and trust me, the world will thank you.

Un Pocito Gay

I think most women would agree that men are confusing. Despite their efforts to paint themselves as uncomplicated, they certainly are not. They do all the same things they accuse women of doing. Gossiping, contradicting themselves, and changing their minds. They also are notorious for sending mixed signals. Doing one thing, yet saying another. Let me illustrate.

After the recent media attention heaped on John Amaechi, the former NBA player who came out of the closet, and the subsequent homophobic response from some in the sport, it sparked some conversations about attitudes towards gay people. More particularly, men's responses to gay people. Let's face it. There is, by and large, a more visceral reaction among the "man's man" crowd about gayness. That includes the military and sports teams. But, for all their apparent disgust, there is an awful lot of questionable things going on there.

Here are these big manly men. Showering together, walking around naked, peeing next to each other, and basically showing off their junk at the drop of a hat. Why the fear of a dividing wall? Did the stadium run out of money, and therefore can't afford partitions for you to pee without showing your willy? And, in locker rooms outfitted with plasma TVs and leather couches, you skimp on the walls in the shower? Interesting. Then, during the game. The ass patting, the hugging, picking each other up, and general merriment that ensues after a score is positively fancy. Same for the military. Can't John Q Taxpayer foot the bill so you can wash your privates in private? (I know, bad pun.)

These practices aren't confined to the locker room though. Men peeing next to each other, with just a tiny piece of Formica between them, has always puzzled me. As I said above, what is the problem with walls? I know you all can pee standing up, like you are constantly in the woods, but would it kill you to have some privacy? It just doesn't make sense.

To my knowledge, there is really no time in a woman's life when we want to be voluntarily naked together. Any woman you know can take her bra off without removing her shirt. And, can exchange that shirt for a new one, with minimal flesh exposed. As for peeing, privacy is a given due to our sitting down requirement, but we will wait out anyone else in that bathroom to poo in private.

So, I don't know what to make of all this, I am just curious as to what the explanation might be. When does male naked time stop being gay, and start being manly? Why all the open floor plans? And, more importantly, if you can stomach all that, then why the hang up about gay guys?

But, Can it Erase Shame?

I have become smitten with a brilliant invention, and I can't stop raving about it. It is the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser.

I must admit, at first I was skeptical that this product could do what it claimed, but I am now a convert. We had a spot on our counter top, that we dubbed the Gorbachev, which we attempted to tame with many different techniques. But, until this little beauty came into our lives, it wouldn't budge. Now, it is gone. Nothing short of a miracle. It also cleaned the many spatters of tomato sauce that Greazy gets everywhere behind our stove. The scuff marks that our shoes leave inside our front door were also no match for this little beauty. In short, it is indeed magic.

I recommend this product to anyone, and it comes in several varieties. It can clean anything, and I do mean anything. So, get to work on all the nasty things in your life. If only it were big enough to erase people.

Oops, My Bad

The saying goes that everyone makes mistakes. That is true. We all do. So, how come when you make a mistake, you feel so alone?

In addition to feeling embarrassed or angry at yourself, or that you are a bad person, there is a real sense that you are the only one who has ever screwed up so badly. You just feel like no one else can possibly be a stupid as you, no one would ever do the "horrible" thing you did. And, so (unless you have no conscience, in which case none of this applies) the beating yourself up begins. You go over it and over it in your mind, thinking of all the things you could have done differently, and replaying the gory details of it, just to really make sure you feel bad enough. Because, clearly you are evil and need to suffer.

Now, of course, with a little perspective, we would all realize that unless someone is dead, physically injured, or worse, no slip up is the end of the world. Be it a huge gaffe at work that makes your boss turn eight shades of red. Or the foot-in-the-mouth moment at the in-laws. Or, the worst of all, hurting someone you truly care about and love with your thoughtlessness.

So, how do you get over the mistake and move on, without spending countless hours depressed and hurting yourself. Great question. And, the truth is, I don't really know for sure. I am far too likely to stew about things for far too long, making myself the villain in every scene. And, maybe I am, but I really don't think so. So, to all that I have wronged, please forgive me. But more importantly, I forgive myself. Try it sometime, it feels pretty good.

Uncivilized Disobedience

Despite the cold, and despite that fact that part of me didn't even want to, GT and I made our way to York Suburban High on Saturday night, and took part in a demonstration against the Westboro Baptist "Church" and their appearance at the school's production of the Laramie Project. All 10 or 12 of them, to about 200 of us.

These "people" took a break from picketing soldier funerals, to come and rail against us "gay lovers" and sing God Bless America. It was highly effective. Despite their vile words, such as "This is why so many of your children are coming home from Iraq in pieces" their protest was largely ineffective. They were outnumbered, outsmarted, and generally outclassed by our group. It ranged from the silent protests of some, to the declaration that "God loves everyone, even pirates."

I am proud to have been a part of something positive, and something that shows York isn't all bad. That there are many tolerant people living among us. And, that hate groups aren't welcome in our town. No matter how silly and insignificant.

*For a light-hearted look at how crazy these people are check out this site, made in response to the charming site run by the WBC.

OH MY GAWD!!

I wasn't going to mention all this, but it has gone far enough. Okay, I thought I was the only one in the world who's life was empty enough to concern themselves with trivial crap. But, apparently I was wrong. Some people just will not be happy until they can find controversy where there is none. Or, until they can be offended by something that is not in any way offensive. Clearly there is a new evil that has been unleashed on the world, and it is the commercial and a well placed guitar. Well done CBS, you godless, amoral network.

Now, the fact that Prince performed at the Superbowl was strange enough, but, get this, he held his guitar in front of his body, and it looked kind of like a giant penis when view behind a giant sheet. Sure, okay. I totally agree with you. How dare he strike a rock star pose while being a rock star? Then, there was a commercial featuring a Snickers bar and a couple guys who kiss, kind of. This is also outrageous. Both to gay advocacy groups, and straight guys equally. Who would have thought it? Then, of course there is the despondent GM robot which is so frightful and terrible, it is also totally offensive.

Can I ask a silly question? Do people have any idea these are commercials? They know that robots don't really feel, right, and that that the guys with the Snickers are actors? I swear to god, can't these people get a hobby, like fishing or something? No, apparently, they all have the networks on speed dial and are poised to call in the moment they find something a little "scary" or "offensive" (at least to their tremendously delicate minds.)

I can tell you something that offends me. Stupid people, with no sense of irony. People who cry out against indecency, as typified by Prince. And then, they watch a modern day bloodsport where people are trying to hurt each other, while women in costumes with giant breasts cheer from the sidelines, while they get drunk. God, don't these people know some things are sacred? I mean, think about the children? When will CBS stop the madness? First a Janet Jackson boob, and now this?

I wish we could go back to the days when the Superbowl meant something. When companies spent millions of dollars on pointless ads, and a city shut down for a week so that two groups of men could compete for supremacy in tight pants. That is what America is all about, damn it.