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.

Don't You Ever Get Tired of Being Wrong, Marge?

I want a job where I can be wrong almost all the time. A job where I can take pot shots at people who are actually doing what I can only dream about, and cut them down. I want to say one thing one day, and then when I am proven wrong, be able to sidestep my original opinion for a more popular one. I want to make bold predictions, and then disown them the moment they don't happen. I want to hold someone up, put them on a pedestal and worship them. Then, I want to knock them down, spit on them and turn my back when they "fail" me. In short, I want to be a sports writer.

As a late comer to the world of sports (more specifically talking about sports) I view these jobs with envy. I want to shout my opinions to anyone who will listen, and then be able to backpedal faster than Lance Armstrong trying to avoid dog doo-doo. At my job, accuracy is one of the most important parts. I think it would be tremendously freeing to have a job where my performance is based not on how well I actually do my job, but how loudly I can say something and how deftly I can disguise the fact that it is a pile of crap.

All I want is the chance to pontificate about how absolutely essential it is for a certain athlete to do something, and then when it happens, move the goal post back another 50 yards and start again. And, when I can't find fault with an athlete's performance, I will find fault with his/her so called character. For writers, this usually means picking apart their comments, TV ads or shoe color. Anything to bring him or her back down to earth. So, I can feel superior. And, if you offend someone, well, just get them to yell at you, and you'll have column fodder for the rest of your career.

So, where do I sign up? It sounds like so much fun, like a dream actually. Believe me, I am an overly opinionated, mean, angry, grumpy person. Let me at these over-paid, over-blown, over-hyped jerks that I want to spend my life talking about.

Peyton Worshiper

Congratulations to my Peyton, and the Colts on their Superbowl victory. I knew you could do it.









(PS, was I right about the booty, or what?)

You Know?

It is amazing how the littlest thing can catch your ear or your eye, and you can't stop focusing on it, no matter how hard you try. I was recently forced to attend a useless training seminar at work. And, the presenter, had a verbal tick that threatened to drive me to madness. It was, You Know. Not the declarative, the question. Example? "We need to have these things in place, you know, because, you know it is the whole purpose of our business, you know." It was the most hellish two hours of my life.

I have no problem public speaking, and when I do, I have tried to make my speech patterns free of what I call verbal garbage. The ums, uhs, likes, whatevers and such are reserved for more colloquial speech. But, if I have to be on the radio, or talk to a group of co-workers, it is all business. This woman, who is very high up in my company said "You Know" over 200 times in 2 hours. That is crazy. Sometimes she wouldn't even finishing saying it, before she would start saying it again. That has to take a lot of talent.

I was completely lost on the message, because I was ticking off on a piece of paper every time those words left her lips. Even though I was warned of this behavior before the presentation began, I just couldn't focus on anything else. It makes you wonder how no one has ever approached her and said, "Hey, that is really annoying and unprofessional, please stop." You know?

Football Fantasy

Much has been made of the Peyton Manning/Tom Brady rivalry in football. So many articles have been written, so many shows dedicated to figuring it all out. Who is the better quarterback? Who will have the greater legacy upon retirement? Does the postseason play of Tom Brady trump the regular season play of Peyton Manning, when it comes to the definition of success? Who knows, and more importantly who cares? I wouldn't kick either of them out of bed for eating crackers, but the real question to me is: Who is hotter? Let's break it down shall we?

LOOKS: Now, some may say Brady is the more handsome QB, but I don't necessarily agree. Sure, chin dimples and model girlfriends are nice, but they are not everything. Peyton may not be man-model hot, but he is still really cute. Besides, sometimes a guy can be too pretty.
EDGE: Brady

STATS: And, I'm not talking football stats here, ladies. Peyton enjoys the slight height and weight advantage over Tom, and is one year older. But, let's face it, in those pants, we can all see what really matters. The butt. And, while both are of the quarter-bouncing variety, Peyton's seems a little better. Plus, he rocks the whole hot bod in that Gatorade commercial. (I still say the shirt was unnecessary)
EDGE: Manning

PERSONALITY/BRAINS: Some would argue that this category is unimportant. And, they may be right. But, I include it anyway, because I like a guy who can talk. Peyton got a bachelors degree in 3 years, has a Master's and was Phi Beta Kappa at Tennessee. Brady went to Michigan. As far as personality goes, I don't know either one of them, so I can only go by what I see on television. And, quite simply, Peyton is way funnier in his commercials than Brady is in his. EDGE: Manning

MARITAL STATUS: This one is pretty straight forward. Brady is single, Manning is not. Are you into available guys, or do you like to torture yourself lusting after those who are already taken. I like both, but let's face it, if there is even the slightest, teeny tiny chance of it happening, it makes it that much better.
EDGE: Brady

THE BACON: Now some may argue that a millionaire is a millionaire, and after a certain point, it doesn't matter anymore. Right, sure, okay. The guy who said that was probably not the highest paid player in NFL history. EDGE: Manning

INTANGIBLES: In sports, much is made of having "it." Whatever it is. Well, for me this one is also simple. It's really all a matter of personal taste. After all, this is my blog, and none of this means anything.
EDGE: Manning

So there you have it. Clearly Peyton is hotter. Sorry Tom, I guess you'll have to comfort yourself with your supermodels and stacks of cash. Hopefully, you'll muddle through. As for you, Peyton. Call me. There is always room on the Top 5 list.

Idol Threats

In the interest of full disclosure, I must admit that I am a Kelly Clarkson fan. I wasn't at first, but I am now. But, that fact not withstanding, I find American Idol repugnant in every way. From the shameless plants during the "audition" phase, to the lack of originality in the judges comments, to the final product which can only be described as a steaming pile of crap.

Granted, I don't watch the show, but I've seen enough pieces of it, and heard enough about it to get the idea. America decides who is the best singer. Clearly they have done a bang up job so far. Reuben? Clay? Fantasia? You mean to tell me that in season 1, Justin was the 2nd best person in the contest? Whatever. Stop telling me how compelling and great the show is. Stop trying to convince me that the "feud" between judges is real. Stop appearing on magazine covers. Most of all, stop trying to force feed us these watered-down pop candy wannabes. If you are interested in real talent, that is fine. But, we all know that is not the case.

Just don't look, maybe it will go away.

New Year, New Top 5

Oh, what the hell? Why not? It's a brand new year, and I feel it's time for some upgrades to the top 5 list. These decisions are never easy, but sometimes change is good. And, let's face it, it's always nice to get some new blood on the list, just to shake things up. So, here we are:

1. Henry Rollins - I just don't think this one can change any time soon. Maybe if he would do something really awful, like Paris Hilton.

2. Liev Schreiber - What can I say about this guy but, Oh. My. God. Love him. Coming to one of my favorite shows, CSI. Made a Ben Affleck film bearable to watch, and well, he's adorable.

3. Ioan Gruffudd - Here is a newbie, and a hottie. I can totally blame this one on my husband. See, he's into naval history, and made me watch a bunch of made-for-TV movies, called Horatio Hornblower. And, you guessed it, he was Horatio. Also appeared in Titanic and Fantastic Four, but I won't hold that against him.

4. Justin Theroux - Thoroughly delicious, loved him on Six Feet Under, and Strangers with Candy. He is brilliant and lovely.

5. Chris Garver - From Miami Ink. Love his work. I would let him tattoo me anytime. Smart, funny, and my god, is he ever a cutie.

So, there you go. Some new crushes, for my new year. Now, to find them, stalk them and make it happen.

The Best Christmas Ever

There was a time, long ago, before I was the happy married person I am now, where I dated a few losers. This one particular loser and I were in the throes of a terrible relationship, fraught with peril and ridiculousness. Despite this, we were at the mall one day, and he decided he wanted to buy me a ring. No, not that kind of ring. A crappy, department store ring. So, we went and he picked this garnet ring with a gold band for me. I wore it for a while, but soon the relationship was crashing down, and it was time to bail out.

Like any smart woman, with a crazy man she wants to get rid of, I broke up with him over the phone (on Thanksgiving). After the break, I returned to college, and went to his apartment, to retrieve the few things I had left there. He ran home to his mommy, with the cat he bought me. I was getting my things, when I noticed a yellow piece of paper on his entertainment center, next to where I put my keys. It was the receipt for the ring. I stood there for a moment, and then I took it and put it in my pocket. As I left that apartment for the last time, I knew what I had to do.

The next day, I went to the department store, and returned that ring. He had paid cash, you see. And, despite the sales lady's reluctance, I got a cash refund, not store credit. After that, I went and bought my family Christmas presents with the money, and even picked up something for myself. I returned to campus, and couldn't wait to tell everyone about it.

Through the years, I have told this story many times, to many people. And, though I have had more spectacular Christmas moments since then, it still remains the BEST Christmas ever.

I Can Stop Any Time I Want To

I must admit, that I am somewhat addicted to my iPod. I often look at people strangely when they are talking about new songs on the radio. The only radio I am exposed to is the horrible crap I am forced to listen to at work. Soft rock and the like. When I am in my car, or working out, or on my computer, it is all iPod, all the time.

But, I find myself wanting more. Apparently, I am not alone. The new sleek and small iPods, make my 4th generation 40 gig iPod feel like a dinosaur. When I listen to it while I walk, I feel like everyone else has on a Walkman, and I am carrying the boom box on my shoulder. I must admit, that little Shuffle, or even a Nano would be much less cumbersome for working out and the like. Plus, they come in fun colors, and the Shuffle just clips to you, like a pen. Then, I could get a new, bigger memory iPod for home listening, and use Otis (the O.G. iPod) for the car. That would be perfect.

But, it does feel somewhat wasteful. To want another iPod. But, is it really? Isn't just like having more than one radio, or television at this point? For some reason, having so many iPods seems different. But, for someone like me, with so much music, breaking it into different sets would be great. Ah, to be independently wealthy, and be able to have as many as I wanted.

Or, if Santa needs any last minute ideas, the Shuffle would be great. Thanks.

You REALLY Shouldn't Have

It's that time of year again. The time of giving, sharing, joy and candy. And, for many of us, it's is the unlucky time of the Secret Santa. You know, draw a name out of a hat, and buy them some crappy present for under $15 dollars. Most of us have done this at some point in our lives, and I don't know about you, but I always get the shaft. I remember once in elementary school, we did Secret Santa. I bought my person a hardcover book, and I got . . wait for it . . a tiny plastic horse. I didn't even like horses!! Clearly, this person spent all of $1.50 on me, and I spent at least $10 on them.

Fast forward many years later, and here I am again. The receiver of the worst Secret Santa gift, yet again. I watched everyone open their good gifts, that actually required some thought. For my trouble this year, I got two small stuffed dogs. I KNOW!! What is that about, you ask? No idea. So, I am here to help all of you suffering this year, with instructions on how to fake the right reaction to your horrible gift.

The first thing is to react quickly. Don't think about how shitty the gift is, and say something like "Oh, wow. Thank you so much. I love it." Try and avoid eye contact as much as possible. Look at the gift, and seem to study it, as if you're trying to examine all the greatness. Smile big, and maybe even (at least in my case) hug it close to you. That is all you need to make most people believe you are not super pissed about it. Some will not be fooled, but as long as the giver (if you can call them that) doesn't suspect, you're home free.

I call on all people to think when giving these gifts. I know it's a drag, but there is someone counting on you, and you don't want to let them down. And if all else fails, how about a GOD DAMNED GIFT CARD?!! How hard is that?

You Better Watch Out

Merry Christmas from The Onion.

You'll never see Santa the same after reading that.

Naturally

As I have always suspected, while blondes may "have more fun", it's the redheads who are better in bed. All I have to say is, Naturally. According to recent studies, redheads rule between the sheets, more than their brunette and blonde sisters. Of course, I am not surprised by this, as I am a redhead.

Now, before my readership can protest, I am not a natural redhead. But, I have been red, in one form or another, since high school (and that was eons ago). And, despite a brief, and ill-advised foray into blonde world, I returned to my roots (god, this post is rife with puns) and was red once again. I have often said that if God had been thinking ahead, he could have saved me a lot of money by making me the redhead I am so clearly meant to be at birth. But, between me and my stylist, we right the cosmic wrong every 5 to 6 weeks.

So, thanks to those saucy Germans, now everyone knows what my man already knows. Naturally.

But, How? I mean, in what way?

So, I've been doing this blog for a while now, and I really think it's fun. But, I have to admit, there is a part of me that was secretly hoping that some one would happen upon this blog, find it most fascinating, and just have to hire me to blog for their newspaper/magazine/other blog. So far, however, that has not happened. As a matter of fact, I'd like to give a shout out to my (approximate) readership of 5.

So, if anyone does happen upon this blog, and even if you don't think it's that great (I assure you I can do better) and knows how to get one of those gigs, let me know. Lord knows, the job I have now isn't breaking my bank. So, even if it's a crappy paying job, I would take it.

Take it from me, NO ONE knows more useless stuff than I, and no one has more copious and vocal opinions. Thank you for your time.

*Am I the only one who thinks it odd, that the blogger.com spell check does not recognize the word blog?

Shut the F*^k Up!!

Okay, I'm not some overly-patriotic-flag-waving-Dixie-Chicks-hating-Toby-Keith wannabe, but I have had enough of celebrities and their bullshit. If it's not telling us all to vote, or give money for this or that, it is them telling us, more often than not, that we suck.

From Johnny Depp to Madonna to Gwyneth Paltrow, they all can't wait to tell us how stupid, boorish, illiterate, fat and starved for culture we are. Then, they want us all to rush out, buy their crappy records, watch their movies and televised concert appearances. They want us to be shocked by their "edgy" mock crucifixion, they want us to be impressed by their fake European accents. They, in short, want us to give them money. Well, I'm not buying it.

Gwyneth Paltrow is a piece of shit actress, and her and her whingey husband needs to (how shall I put this in terms they will understand) sod off!! God, they are so right, the British are so charming!! I love how Johnny Depp can forget all about 21 Jump Street and Madonna disowns Desperately Seeking Susan, and little Gwynee. I'm sure her shilling for Estee Lauder has nothing to do with the capitalist goal of making money.

But, there is an easy solution. Just don't look. Stop buying their crap. Eventually, maybe they will go to England and stay there. Stay in the cultural haven that brought the world Victoria Beckham and Benny Hill. When will we butt-scratching, beer-swilling Americans learn to appreciate the fine example set by British soccer hooligans and the Gallagher brothers?

That England, class all the way!!

Titty Barred

I have read so much lately about the hubbub over public breastfeeding. There was the outrage over an exposed breast on the cover of a parenting magazine in a doctor's office. And, more recently, a woman thrown off a plane for refusing to cover herself with a blanket while breastfeeding.

My problem with all this is: why is it that breasts can sell any thing is the world, from cars to McDonalds. But, we can't tolerate the sight of what a breast was actually made to do. Contrary to popular opinion, breasts don't exist to be ogled. They don't exist to be squished together and hiked up in order to fit into the narrow, ridiculous male fantasy world. We have no trouble having our children walk through book stores, grocery stores, and other places that sell periodicals, and see Pamela Anderson's gigantic breasts on a magazine cover. But, put a child nursing on that breast, and all bets are off. Little Johnny, or big Johnny for that matter can't handle it. Neither can other women, come to that. It's gross, it's disgusting, it's rude.

You know what I think it rude? Back hair, body odor, exposed butt crack, exposed thongs, jelly rolls hanging out of ill-fitting tube tops and grabbing and scratching at your crotch in public. But, believe me, if anyone were thrown out of establishments, or off planes for those offenses, we'd never hear the end of it.

Let it go, people. Boobs are meant to be used to feed babies. That is a fact. If you don't like it, don't look. And, while I don't advocate throwing your tit on the table at a restaurant, if someone is being discrete about it, mind your own fucking business.

Everybody in the Club Get Random

Here are a few random things:

Go here for the THE BEST WEBSITE EVER!!

Greazy and I are on the radio tonight, at 11pm eastern time.

There is nothing funnier than the Onion's sports headlines.



That is all. Have a pleasant weekend.

Seriously. . .

To all my peeps out there:

NO matter which way you lean, or which one you think is right, just vote tomorrow. Vote with your head and your heart. But, just vote.

*If possible, if you live in PA, could you vote against Rick Santorum. I hate that guy*

Co-Worker-isms

There is a feature on Slate where they compile the crazy things President Bush says, and call them Bushisms.

So, my co-workers say some dumb shit sometimes, so I've compiled a few gems, and thought I'd share with you.

"Something's happening somewhere out there."
--co-workers proclamation about the day, after looking out the window

"Maybe we could unplug it for an hour and then turn it back on."
--a suggestion on how to fix a time difference on a credit card machine

"Are they going to give us money so we can throw our own party?"
--upon hearing that the holiday party was cancelled due to budget concerns

"The memo says the whole system is down, is your computer working?"
--I can't even explain this one

"I can't remember, I wrote it down, but I don't know what I did with the reminder."
--again, no explanation


These are just a few of the idiotic things I listen to everyday, feel free to share yours.

You know, that movie with that guy. . .

We all have that friend who is the go-to person when you need to know useless stuff. Like , who played Fish on Barney Miller, or what Bond Movie George Lazenby was in. (Abe Vigoda and On Her Majesty's Secret Service, by the way). As you can probably imagine from that first part, I am that person for everyone I know.

Now, I know I have no one to blame but myself. I do know a lot of crap. I watch a lot of television and movies and listen to tons of music. But, it really does go beyond that. I also seem to have the power to retain more of this pop culture detritus than most. I have memorized the entire movie Clue, just by watching it a billion times. And, I mean all of it, stage directions, music, gestures, and the dialogue. I clearly have a problem. But, I can't help it. It's what I like, and I do have a lot of fun with it. But, as with everything else, there is a flip side.

It gets old having to constantly finish other people's thoughts and fill in the blanks of who and what and when. It stops a conversation dead in it's tracks and then I have to scan my brain for the correct item, before we can move on. I don't think people know how maddening it is to not be able to think of something, and be forced to focus on it until you do. Many a night has been spent pondering a useless trivia item, only to have it bubble up in my brain the next day. And, when you exclaim, "Tom Selleck" at work, for no reason, they tend to think your crazy. It used to be much easier to recall all these things, but as I have become older, the river flows a little slower, if you know what I mean.

But, I suppose if this is my cross to bear, it's isn't a bad one. I always feel needed, and it is fun to quote movies and such. But, I ask that every now and again, you give me a break. I can't be the only one who knows this stuff. When all else fails, look on wikipedia if you need to know right now, I'm a little busy.

Me Too

Does this baby go with my bag?

Well, it's official. Having a baby has now become the perfect accessory for every rich-yet-empty-inside celebrity. You know it's reached a critical mass when Madonna is on board. Although, I have to say the Material Girl is a little late to the party on this one. Sharon Stone, Meg Ryan, Calista Flockhart (for god's sakes), all beat her to the punch. And, of course, there is the O.G. of third world adoption, Angelina Jolie.

When she's not busy telling the "West" how terrible they are, she's busy making films where she and Brad Pitt beat each other senseless and then have sex. It's hard to remember the fact that this is the same person who was draped all over Billy Bob Thornton like a cheap suit and wore his blood around her neck. Then, she goes to Cambodia and is reborn the official Hollywood money-guilt poster child.

I'm not saying that adoption, of any kind, is bad. But, there are thousands of childless people in this country who would kill for the opportunity these celebrities have to "ease" the process of adoption. And, be able to get a baby as easy as they get the new Prada bag. The average couple in this country takes years to get a baby through adoption. Years. They have to be scrutinized, monitored, checked up on and put through the ringer. And, of course, in most cases, they have to pay. A lot. And, let's not even mention what happens to those who are not well off, connected, or heterosexual and happily married.

I love that Brad and Angelina take a stand on marriage. "We will not marry until everyone legally can." But, they seem to have no problem using their wealth and prestige to secure entire nations to give birth in, or to pick up yet another multi-cultural accessory for their next magazine spread. Where is there outrage at the adoption bureaucracy and the difficulty helping these children find better lives?

I am thankful that there are wealthy people who see people suffering and want to help. But, it is preposterous to sit up on high now that you are "enlightened" and judge the rest of us. Some of us could never imagine doing what you do, because the plain truth is, we don't have the money to "buy" our next baby. Some of us have to struggle just to get by at all. So, don't presume to tell us anything. They clearly live in a fantasy world, and for people like Angelina, have done so her whole life. Money and power should be used for good, but don't expect a cookie because you suddenly decided to be "selfless." And, Madonna, sweetie, I think the last thing these people need is Kabbalah. They need food.

So, search on for meaning in your lives through cult-like religions, ethnically diverse broods, and more crappy films/albums/books/et. al. Just keep your self righteousness to yourself. Or, be like Clooney and save it for your next acceptance speech.

Just Stop It!

I put up with a lot of stupid crap all day long. I am forced to suffer it all with a smile, while the "people" that I deal with act as if they are normal. Well, I am here to debunk some myths about what you should and shouldn't do at a bank. For some reason people have it in their heads that the below listed items are okay, and they are not. Take it from me. And, STOP IT!! (in no particular order)

*You are not special, and neither is your money. Unless you are the Monopoly guy walking in with your bags o' cash and the dog and tiny shoe, it is mere drop in the bucket. So, stop expecting to be treated like Donald Trump.

*If you hand me something that says Checking Deposit, trust that I understand that it means you want your money deposited into your checking account. I'm not an idiot. I can read. I might even get it right without your help.

*Don't walk up to the window, without first going through the freakin' ropes. I know it's stupid and no, it's not a ride. But they are there because the one teller you see and want to walk up to, doesn't want to have to wait on everyone. It's called a line, wait in it.

*Which brings me to a big one. Don't just start walking up to the window, without being beckoned. I see you, I'll get to you, don't presume that I am ready for you. Just wait until someone says "May I help you." I know it sounds petty, but how do you feel when people walk up to you at work, unannounced, and just stand in front of you, when you are clearly busy?

*Just give me the damn driver's license already!! I don't care if God himself knew you when he was a teller at this bank, I need to see it. God isn't here to vouch for you anymore. He left after the last take-over

*If you have two arms and most of your digits, fill out your own slips. I'm not a personal transcriptionist. And, you don't need to memorize your account number to have it on a bloody piece of paper. I certainly don't know it better than you do.

*Don't expect me to laugh at your "jokes" that I've heard 100,000 times. When I ask you how you want your money, answering green or spendable is not funny. Never was, never will be. And, I don't want to talk about the weather, so don't even go there.

*When coming to the drive thru, be ready. I'm not there to wait for you to fill out slips, get out your money and i.d., and all that. You have the power to stop and do all that before you pull up. And, when the sign says three items, it means it. Plus, the drive-thru is not the place to take out a second mortgage on your house. Come in the damn bank already.

So, there is just a smattering of things you shouldn't do at a bank. I could go on all day, and frequently do. But, I think this is a good start.

Death of a Salesman

I was never a big Tower Records shopper, as there were none in my area. But, I was still kind of shocked to hear that they were going out of business. Sure, the tiny independent record stores are dropping like flies. But, Tower Records always seemed like they would stick around.

But, it has started yet another round of "the decline of the music industry as we know it." No one is buying records at the big chain store, so they have to close up shop and go home. Let's all cry a little tear for them, shall we?

I am an admitted music stealer, iPod user and an unapologetic rejector of the notion of buying a crap album at $17.99 per unit. If I like one song, I buy one song. I don't need to buy the record so I can hear the entire "concept" of your album. It was streaming on myspace, AOL, or some other venue and I heard every crappy word. And, if it wasn't, I can listen to it at my nearest Borders. So, to Metallica, Kid Rock and everyone else who thinks their music must be enjoyed 12-15 songs at a time, I say this. You. Are. Wrong. Sorry, but that is a fact, and it is not going to change.

Back in the day, when cassettes ruled, we all had mix tapes. We made them for friends, we shared them and yes, we stole songs from the radio. So, the technology has improved and digital music rules the day. I trust all those mix tape people have sent the artists their money for stealing back then. Of course not. But, now the music biz has to fight for every cent. Could it be that albums sales are down not only because people are buying on iTunes, but because it's just not worth it? Mainstream music just sucks. Sorry.

I know, I know, stealing is wrong. But, so much of the music that is out there today is wrong too. Extremely wrong. And, can someone tell me why I can buy DVD's at the supermarket for $4, but I am still paying $15-$17 for an album that came out in the early 90's? It just doesn't make sense (didn't feel the need for the pun there). Music shouldn't cost so much. Bottom line. It just shouldn't. And, until someone can justify it to me, I'm not going to pay it. I buy mainstream CD's by trading in old CD's. It the ultimate recycling. And, if there is a small band I like, I buy the record, for several reasons. One, because they need my money more than Janet Jackson does. And, because I can feel superior for liking better music and because I am a snob. The day I plunk down any money for Nickleback is the day you are prying my Fugazi records out of my cold, dead hands.

So, I don't really mourn the passing of yet another big time record store. I just wish that there was a decent mom-and-pop shop within 50 miles of where I live. Because I would rather support them than a Tower any day. That being said, I'm not above pilliaging a good going-out-of-business sale. Finally, CD's at normal prices. Isn't it ironic? Don't you think?

We Take All Kinds of Pills . . .

So, thanks to an un-checked box on the Ticketmaster website, I am now a proud owner of a free year-long subscription to Rolling Stone magazine. The last time I subscribed, it was around 1992-1994. Back when I actually cared about the people they would put on the cover. Now, well, the last three Rolling Stone covers that I have seen were Jack Nicholson, a wet Justin Timberlake and, the one I have been lucky enough to get, Fergie. You know how I just love her.

It is funny to me how irrelevant Rolling Stone seems now. Sure, they still have some decent articles, mostly current event type stuff. But, the record reviews and the bands they feature, well, they pretty much suck. They gave the new Evanescence (sp? I don't care to look it up) record 3 and 1/2 stars. They gave Paris Hilton 3 stars. And, I can't wait to hear all about Fergie and her meth addiction. Who cares if the talentless have problems? I'm sure they do. But, let's not encourage them to share. Is there really anyone out there who wants to know? The only question I want the answer to is how many people did she bone to get so famous?

But, you can't blame Rolling Stone completely. To be fair, the record industry has offered up little in the way of (what I would consider) decent music. When a product is shit, but by comparison is less shitty than some others, I guess a good review is relative. You can't talk about great mainstream bands putting out great records when, by and large, they aren't. And, if they are, you can read about them in other places besides RS. Magazines that I would actually listen to when they recommend something.

When you consider how much the music industry has changed, it seems odd to me that RS would remain so much the same. Bands have come and gone, movements in music have shifted and been resurrected, and icons have died and found new life in a new generation. And, yet, RS are still churning out issues that bear a startling resemblance to the ones I read over 10 years ago. Not much seems to have changed. Except my interest in what they tell me is cool.

You know, the recording industry is wondering why no one is buying. Look no further than the crap that is "popular" enough to be mainstream worthy (according to RS). It's amazing to me that anyone is buying this shit at all. But, that's another post for another day.

How Pimped is too Pimped?

I was home sick from work the last two days, and I got the chance to catch some great daytime television I usually miss. I hadn't seen "Pimp my Ride" on MTV in a while. I used to love that show, where they'd take your hooptie, and make it well, a really updated hooptie. But, I'm starting to think they've gone too far.

The boy on the show had a crap-ass Suburban, and so they "pimped" it, and now instead of a back seat, he has a 6000 watt stereo and speaker system. They also put 7'' monitors on his mudflaps. MUDFLAPS? Who the fuck is going to lay on the ground behind your car and watch a dvd? He loved to snowboard, so they gave him a roof rack for the snowboards (since there was no more trunk space) and don't worry, they gave him a snowboard, with a 7'' monitor on it. So when this kid is cruising down the mountain watching a dvd on his snowboard, he can break his neck in style. By the most arbitrary and stupid thing was making his car, make snow. Sort of. It was more of a light drizzle of frozen flakes.

What's next? "We know how much you love eggs, so we put an omelet station is the back!" "Dude, we put 7'' monitors under the hood, so the engine can watch the dvd with you!!" I'm all for useless gadgets courtesy of MTV, but this is beyond useless. At least give me something I can use, like a Dr. Pepper fountain or an iPod that is voice activated and I can tell it what song to play. Hmmm, maybe I should call MTV. Lord knows the Focus could use some work . . .

Big Questions (an on-going series)

*How come when people have a near-death, or out of body experiences, they always see a bright, white light and float up? So, none of these people are sinners and going to hell?

The Cake has been Taken

THIS STORY IS 100% TRUE . Some of the details have been changed, mainly to protect me, but the rest is all fact. Please Enjoy!!

I work at a widget factory*. Sometimes people call us because they feel they don't have as many widgets as they should. In fact, sometimes they are dealing with negative amounts of widgets. So, I got one of those calls today. This man had authorized someone, let's say Ryder Trucks**, to take a certain number of widgets from him, but they took some away twice. This made his widget count negative. He called, very irate about this and asked me to explain how he was so low on widgets. I told him that Ryder had taken widgets away from him twice and he became very angry.

So, I tried to calm him down but he continued. He said he needed those widgets back from Ryder and not only that, but wanted extra widgets to make up for the deficit caused by other widget transactions. I told him that he needed to speak with Ryder to get the widgets back, but he became more angry, saying that they were not reachable. He told me that he was sorry for taking out his frustrations on me, then proceeded to launch into a profanity laced rant about how I needed to tell everyone at my widget factory that we basically fucking sucked. Then he hung up on me.

I was pissed. I even went so far as to cry a little, as I do when I am boiling mad, with no outlet. I went to lunch to cool off. This bastard called while I was at lunch and had the nerve to ask to talk to me, once again, about his widget deficit. Instead, my boss tried to speak to him, and admonish him for being so dreadful to me. He took this as another chance to scream, and laid into my boss and said "Fuck you" and hung up again.

We at the widget factory also have a 1-800 helpline to handle calls. This man proceeded to call them, and (no joke now) threatened to KILL someone there because they would not help him without proper verification of his widget account. Then, it really got interesting. The call center called our security department, who called the police. Then, security wanted to get my account of the widget debacle, and asked if I wanted them to take away his widgets all together. I said yes, because this guy was clearly insane.

Well, I thought that was the end of it, until this jackass WALKED INTO my widget factory. He says "Hi, I'm Douche-Bag***, and I'm so sorry." I say, "That's fine, but you need to step away from my widget making machine now. If you want to talk to my manager, that's fine, but you need to step away from me now." He sat, and I got the manager. He told my manager that he was unprofessional because of his shoe choice, raised his stupid voice a little and then left, before the police could come and get him for making "terrorist threats." Oh well, we gave them the license number and let them do their thing.

In the end, I was dumbfounded. This guy informed my boss that Ryder was giving back the widgets. That is what I told him from the beginning! I am glad, in a way, that he ultimately got his, but am mostly amazed that it all went this far.

So, to all you non-customer service types who ever get mad at the widget maker, waitress, or Indian guy who has the misfortune of getting your call about your laptop, be kind. At the very least, don't threaten to kill them. These are people. Human beings just like you, you big-dumb-douchey-asses. Just because something is wrong in your world, doesn't mean they did it to you. Most likely it is because of a person so far removed from the situation that they will never find out about your lowly problem. So, just know that. And, remember, we can sick the cops on you, dicks.

* Not real employer.
** Not real company involved.
***Not real name, but really is one.

I Heart Jon Stewart

So, just a little post to say that the Jon Stewart show on Saturday night was kick ass. Even thought Merriweather Post Pavillion has the stupidest parking and such, it was an amazing 90 minutes of awesome.

He is so fucking funny, I just want to, well, honestly, I just want to have sex with him. As I said before, he makes the old (yes, old, 30 to be exact) toes curl. Anywho, great way to spend a saturday night. Plus, he taught us all a new way to look at the President's speech patterns. Hilarious.

Good show, Jon Stewart, you sexy bitch. Thanks for making a newly old lady laugh.

30 Years, on my way to. . .

Well, my 30th birthday has come and gone. No major breakdowns, no crying jaggs and no new wrinkles to report. I actually had a pretty kick ass day. And, it looks to be a pretty kick ass weekend too.

I'm off from work until tuesday. Thursday, I got my nails and hair done. Friday, I got to hang out with my man all day, got some great news from Danielle, saw some old friends and found out they are moving back to town next year. Had some of the most delicious food ever. Even got a free dessert from Borders.

Today, it is the arrival of my sister and her husband, bearing surprises and gifts. Then we are headed to Maryland to see #5 on the Top 5 List, Jon Stewart. I am so excited.

So, turning 30 really hasn't been so bad. I don't feel any older. I don't feel like my life is over, and I got to freak out some sqaures last night, so it is all good. Maybe it's just all how you look at it.

Gotta go, my new dining room table is being delivered.

30 Years, and my life is still. . .

Well, this is it folks, in a few short hours, I will be thirty. I've told myself over and over that it doesn't matter, but for some reason this one is a little sticky for me. I'm obviously not above feeling like this life is going by me awfully fast.

There is a quote from the movie "Singles" that I think sums it up for me. Janet (Bridget Fonda) is talking into the camera at her coffee house job. She tell us that she is 24. "Time is running out to do something truly bizarre. Somewhere around 25, bizarre becomes immature."

That is it for me. I don't want to be mature. I don't want to have to stop being bizarre, or weird or "different" or whatever you want to call it. I'd like to say that it is some big dilemma about my mortality or that I feel I haven't accomplished what I set out to do. And, while all that is true, it really does seem to come down to the fact that I don't want to grow up. And, well, 30 is just another step closer to "adulthood."

Now, everyone tries to give you the speeches about how the 30's are better than the 20's and that it's all so great and freeing. Well, we'll see. I feel like maybe I should undertake some major life upheaval or change. I feel like I should reevaluate and assess my life, and see where I could improve things. But, really, at the end of the day, I just want to get rid of my crappy job, find what I really love and be happy. Is that too much to ask for an old lady like me?

"Damn Kids. . . . . . "

Just trying it out. And, you know what. . . I like it.

Back to the Future

I'll be 30 soon(15 days!!!) That unenviable fact is staring me in the face, like the barrel of a gun. But, the funny thing is, it seems like more than ever, everything is reminding me of the past. I have been given the chance to go back to college, my old college, for free. My old college radio station is willing to put me back on the air. It seems that all my favorite bands from the past are putting out new records, touring or both. And, friends from the days of yore are cropping up like crazy on myspace. With all that is laying ahead of me (old age, boredom, mom jeans) it is funny how comforting I am finding these reminders of my "youth."

So, maybe it's time for me to go back to college, before I'm too old to read without giant glasses. Maybe learning at 30 will be better than learning at 18, when I didn't give a crap about anything. Who knows, maybe it would even be fun. If Old School taught us anything, it's that reliving your college years can be beneficial to your adult life.

I know all my 30-something friends will tell me I'm not old. However, the 20-somethings in my life would probably beg to differ. I hate to sound cliche and silly, but college really was good for me. I had my fair share of problems, but mostly I look back on it as some of the greatest times I've ever had. But, if I'm going to be honest with myself, despite the myriad landmines life has buried for me to step on, I am lucky and blessed to have done so much cool shit and lived as well as I have.

All this reflection and soul searching has led me to one place. A fresh start. Whatever comes with the new/old things in my life, I am changing directions, yet again. I may never really figure it all out, but I am tired of worrying about getting it right. For now, I'm just going to enjoy the ride.

The Music of the Devil

If this is the state of music today, count me out.

*"How come every time you come around/my London, London Bridge wanna go down/the drinks start pouring/and my speech is slurring/everybody start looking real good/(oh shit)"--Fergie

*"Do what you wanna do/tonight the world does not exist/no, no, no/move how you wanna move/all my girls work it out like this" --Jessica Simpson

*"I can make it nice and naughty/be the devil and angel too/got a heart and soul and body/let's see what this love can do"--Paris Hilton

What happened to music? God, I hate these fuckers for making me sound old!

Back in my day. . .

In Praise of a Good Fuck

There are a lot of people who don't like swearing. They think it is vulgar and cheapens our culture, making our whole society more coarse and undignified. Whatever the fuck that means. I don't agree. I like swearing. A lot. I'm not alone. There are those that celebrate it. Howard Stern lamented not being able to say what he wanted on his radio show. Athletes get fined for letting the occasional expletive slip through onto live television, but they don't stop. And, I know I wait with anticipation for when James Lipton asks that all important question of celebrities; "What is your favorite curse word?" (in case you are wondering, Jimmy, it's fuck)

One of my favorite places for swearing (and in my opinion, one of the most appropriate) is in music. It is totally voluntary to hear, and in a lot of cases, really helps convey emotion. When I was younger, if I saw that Parental Advisory sticker on an album, all the better. So, I thought I would celebrate some of the great uses of the word Fuck in music.

It is used a lot, that dirty F word. Everybody does it, trying to sound edgy. Hell, there is even a band called Fuck. But lyrically, it has an almost universal appeal. Sometimes it really works. (we'll get to those) But, sometimes, it is just plain wrong.

Case in point: Alanis Morrisette's You Oughta Know. We all know it. "Are you thinking of me when you fuck her?" But, the way she says it, it is just so irritating. It's whiny and gutless. My other least favorite fuck would have to go to Pearl Jam, in Jeremy. "Seemed a harmless little fuck." First of all, it doesn't fit, it doesn't rhyme and I hate the way he sings it, kind of low and quiet, like he doesn't want to say it. I just think it was a needless addition to an otherwise great song.

But, sometimes, it is just great. There are so many great songs that use the word fuck. But, I have chosen a couple that I think just really take it to the next level. And, these are really in no particular order.

1. Untouchable Face - Ani Difranco. Okay Alanis, you wanna know how to do "angry girl"? Take a listen to this one. Her delivery on this one is killer. It comes from power, not bitterness.

2. Killing in the Name of - Rage Against the Machine. Come on. This is a classic. The song just devolves into the "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me" line over and over. Who hasn't felt that way?

3. Fucking Hostile - Pantera. I don't think I really need to explain this one. While I often find Pantera lyrically silly, this one is great.

4. Closer - Nine Inch Nails. "I want to fuck you like an animal." Who didn't blush a little when you heard that for the first time. (Well, I did, anyway.) One of my particular favorites. All I have to say is, just tell me where and when, and I am there.

5. Fuck and Run - Liz Phair. Liz used to say fuck a lot. She doesn't say it as much as she should in this song, but it is still a great and powerful delivery of the word.

So, there they are. Some of the best fucks in music, in my opinion. But, I think there are some people in music who should embrace the word. Who would I love to hear a fuck from? Well, let's see: Lisa Loeb and Kelly Clarkson, to start with. Don't be afraid of the awesome power of the word fuck. Let it be your friend. By the way, FUCK!!!

Some Time Apart

As I am writing this, my husband and his band of merry men are conducting their fantasy football draft/poker night party. Right now, there are 13 stinky boys in my basement, eating wings and playing cards. I am the most understanding wife in the world. Well, at least according to my husband's friends. (Did I mention there is also an 8 foot G.I. Joe aircraft carrier down there too?)

I know the common phrase for women who are "abandoned" by their husband's during football season is "Football Widow." I prefer not to think of it as a death, as that seems awfully extreme. So, I choose to think of football season as just a little time apart. So, I guess you could say I am having a football "trial separation."

We still see each other, but the rules are much more rigid. We have to create a visitation schedule for the television. No more casual plans on Sundays together. The Redskins become his new "girlfriend" for the time being. They get more of his attention, because they are the "new thing." They'll tease him, and make him think he's special, but I know the truth. And, that truth is that they don't love him like I do. They are just a distraction from his real life. A way to escape the mundane, the everyday. But, I know that my husband is never really going to leave me for them. See, they always end up letting him down in the end. So, when he comes back to me, I am waiting there for him. And, when this whole "trial separation" is over, we can laugh about it. Until next August, when the party comes back through town. I shudder to think. . .

Look to the Cookie

No, this is not some lame-ass Seinfeld reference. It is in regards to the current world situation. As some of you may have noticed, I stole the Terror Alert Level/Sesame Street thing for my blog, and today it went all bonkers after the (hopefully) thwarted terror attempts in England. But, I dream of a day when we as a soceity will be at the Blue/Guarded, or, in this case, Cookie Monster threat level.

I don't believe we will ever be at Low/Green threat level/Oscar. But, I think, if we could just get to Cookie Monster, the world would be a better place. Then maybe, things would calm down a little and we could all be a little less afraid.

So people, join with me now. Let's do our part to keep hope alive. Shove cookies in your face at an alarming rate, and don't forget to sing a little song about it. Otherwise, the terrorists win.