Yucky Salad with Bones

Sept. 30 '07

So I didn't come back yesterday, which was obviously not the last day of September since any fool with a calendar (a dangerous thing, to be sure) could tell you that's today, and I can't remember why I brought up the paper either. Why anyone would expect me to get anything right in this stage of the game is beyond me, but perhaps I shouldn't assume that anyone would, really. Because when we assume, we make an ass out of you and the last day of September.

There's something weighing heavy on my mind, people, and I feel I need to take this opportunity, while I have your ear, or your eye if you're going to get all literal on me, to make right an egregious wrong. A few posts ago I said that Superbad was possibly the worst movie I'd ever seen.

I just got home from Across the Universe.

I know what you're probably thinking, "It's OK, Katie, you hadn't seen Across the Universe yet, so how could you have known that when you looked back on your review of Superbad, it would look absurdly hyperbolic?" Maybe you're not thinking that; maybe what you're really thinking is "Wait a second. You yourself posted a scathing review from the Philedelphia Weekly of that very movie, in this very blog, but a sen'night ago!" And I would answer that you are correct, though why you insist on talking like a member of King Arthur's court I don't know.

What can I say? The guy in our paper gave it a great review...curses...I forgot....our paper sucks. Damn. I can't believe I fell for that. But I really did want to see it, I mean I figured I'd love because it was so bad it was delightful or I'd love just because it was great.

Sooooo wrong...so very, very wrong. I left the theater feeling literally shell-shocked by its badness. The review I posted does say it all, so I'll just add this: it takes a special kind of ineptitude to take a story set in a really dramatic and polarizing time in our country's history, set it to arguably the greatest music catalogue of the twentieth century and still make it duller than dirt. The guy from the Strib even dared compare it to *spectacular spectacular no words in the vernacular can describe this great event you'll be dumb with wonderment* Moulin Rouge, and for that he should be punched flush in the testes.

That was mean. I'm sure he's a perfectly nice fellow.

Did love the season premiere of Dirty Sexy Money.

Sept 29 '07

Last day of September already? Wow. Not a lot of time this morning; football/karate/soccer madness starts soon. Let's talk about some stuff I read in the paper this morning. Now, it's no secret we have the worst paper in the history of the printing press; I mean all things taken into account, the Strib is easily worse than the Yuma Pennysaver. You'd think a major metropolitan city would have a paper that

A) took longer than 45 seconds to read

B) had news in it

But no, we have this pamphlet of ads with a few human interest stories and an op-ed page where the same three people write in and scream about the same things over and over and over again. We do have Heloise, and ya'll know I love and appreciate her suggestions and her fashion sense, I mean any sixty-five year old who's ballsy enough to keep on truckin' with that Tammy Wynette hairdo gets my respect, but it's been a while since she made me want to climb into the bathtub with a toaster.

(Btw, all time favorite Heloise hint: her recipe for cracker pie. No, I did not just make a crude racial slur, she runs a recipe a few times a year for a pie that uses crackers for filling instead of apples. Let's discuss: This recipe was, I believe, popular during the depression when apples were scarce. Why any sane person would continue to make this dessert is an absolute bafflement, and I don't even think "bafflement" is a word. First of all, you can't swing a dead cat without hitting at least 7 different kinds of apples every time you walk into a grocery store these days, and pound for pound, they're cheaper than a box of crackers. Therefore the only reason I can come up with for baking such a thing is to then spring the disturbing information on the hapless sucker you feed it to.

Hostess (secretely smiling to herself): "So....who's ready for dessert? I made a lovely pie!"

Guests (lots of them, all murmering together): "Wow Connie, you made dessert, too? " "What a great hostess you are!" " I barely have room, but gosh, your tuna casserole was so yummy I think I need to sample your pie, too..."

Connie brings out the pie, slices it into pieces and hands them out. Her guests enthusiastically take bites.

Connie: "So...what do you think of my apple pie? Tastes like apples, right? Like, bet you think this is some great apple pie, huh?"

Guests, trying to be nice: "Hmmm, yes..apples. Tastes like apples....sort of..."

Connie (ripping off her apron, jumping up and gleefully pumping her fist in the air): "Well that ain't apples, mo-fo's! That's cracker pie! You're eating crackers, you dumb bitches! Yeaaaahhh! You just got yah punk asses PUUUUUUUNK'D, YO! WOOOOOOOOO!!!"

The only good use for cracker pie in this day and age is to make a fool of whomever eats it, and if that's your modus operandi, well, what's your problem?)

What were we talking about? Oh yeah, the paper. OK, so basically I don't even know why I still get it. Something about the sports page being OK, I think. So I read it every morning and then I jump on the computer and get the news, like every other person I know. It's like we live in a communist country where the information is being deliberately hidden from us. I know I started this with a point in mind, something a little more substantial than cracker pie, but I forgot and now I have to go. I'll come back later today.

Sept 27 '07

"Juliet the dice was loaded from the start
And I bet and you exploded into my heart
And I forget I forget... the movie song
When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet"

Man oh man, I listened to that song probably 20 times in a row one night back in the early spring of 1982. I don't think I'd heard it since that night until about two weeks ago when I found it on I-Tunes and goodness gracious did it bring back some memories. (Did I just write "goodness gracious"?.... I did. If it makes you feel better, justas I wrote it I looked up to see if that giant beer can from the commercials was coming to smash me to bits.)

One of my best friends in high school was having a party and there was a very cute girl that I had whisked into my buddy's bedroom for a little alone time. Not only did my friend have ridiculously fun parties, he also had the best record collection in town. This cute girl, we'll call her... (no, not "made up", Katie!)... um, we'll call  her LF. LF and I had been doing the heavy high school flirting thing for a month or so. She had grabbed me at the "fifties dance" and dragged me on to the floor. (I always acted like I was too cool to dance-- truth was I was too petrified.) Like all pretty high school girls, LF had a boyfriend, but he went to a different school and might very well have been made up. Anyway--back to my friend's room-- as LF dug through the records looking for the right mood music, I stared at LF and fell in 10 different kinds of love in three minutes. Mostly the kind of love a 16 year old boy fall! s into when he realizes he's about to make out with a cute 16 year old girl-- mad, mad, mad love.

LF settled on a song I'd never heard of-- "Romeo And Juliet" by Dire Straits-- when she found it she squeeled as only excited 16 year old girls can and declared "this song is SO AWESOME". The needle hit the record and LF turned and looked at me with big pretty eyes and an even
bigger, prettier smile. Mark Knopfler had taken over the audio portion of the evening and the rest was up to me. I forced myself to ignore my
nerves and "just do what Fonzie would do".

To hear more, just hit me on my hip, yo. Just kidding. I don't wear a celly on my hip for god's sake. I totally talk like that for reals,  just no phone on hip.

Huh? Wha? Okay there-- now you're in the same confused, jumbled state of mind a nervous 16-year old is in just before "going for it". Go for
it I did however, and dang if LF didn't explode into my heart just like Mr. Knopfler was singing about. And he sang and sang and sang about it,
over and over and over-- LF loved this song so much she interrupted my Fonzieness every six and a half minutes to move the needle back to the start of the song. Thank god it wasn't some two minute Buddy Holly song. Wait, Buddy Holly? What am I 70? Thank god it wasn't some two  minute Cars song.

LF was all you could ever ask for as a 10th grader. Hell, she was all I could ever ask for period-- pretty, always made me laugh, shy at the right times, outgoing at the right times, she just got it-- a really cool, really great girl. She liked me more than anybody had ever liked me before. And I was a complete ass to her.

My friend had another party the next night (he was the guy who had 50 parties in high school and they were all riotous affairs-- think
"Sixteen Candles" or "Can't Hardly Wait", seriously, they were that great.) Sure as anything, LF and her friends were back. Big problem
though-- Washburn Girl, the vixen from our rival high school, was there  too. I had a monster crush on Washburn Girl like Fonzie had a monster
crush on the Hooper triplets. Hell, everybody had a crush on Washburn Girl. One minute I'm down in the basement having a ball, listening to Tom Petty and sitting on a  crowded couch flirting and laughing with LF. Damn, but those dice wereloaded. When the first side of  "Hard Promises" ends and somebody has to flip the record, I take the chance to head upstairs to use the bathroom. Too much time passes. Way
too much time. LF finally comes upstairs to look for me and of course-- she finds me in a compromising position with Washburn Girl. Not THAT
compromising-- it was a high school party, not the Playboy mansion. Washburn Girl had her arms around me and a wicked, "I'm from a different school" smile on her face. I took a horribly fatal look and my eyes met LF's at just the wrong freaking moment. The hurt in her eyes kills me to this day. I felt like Adam must have felt when God said, "Really, you just had to take a bite, did ya?" What could I do-- I was sixteen years old and all I'd ever wanted was to have Washburn Girl's arms  around me.

At that moment, LF might as well have been Mark Knopfler singing to me from the night before (and if my life was a Baz Luhrmann movie she
would have):

    "And I dreamed your dream for you
     And now your dream is real
    How can you look at me as if
I was just another one of your deals?"

Ugh. What a terrible thing to do. In 24 short hours I'd turned my romantic life from a charming episode of "The Wonder Years" into a Glenn Close movie. No, not a Glenn Close movie-- I shouldn't say that, LF took the high ground every step of the way. There was only one bad guy in this story and it certainly wasn't her. I tried to talk to her one more time that spring-- she was very short with me, but not unkind. I didn't see her that summer and come the next fall she no longer went to Southwest. Frug.

Fast forward a year to the fall of 1983 and I'm taking a year off before starting college. I wander into a large hardware store for one reason or another and-- I swear it's as if I've walked into the final scene of a John Hughes movie-- who's working there but LF? Her after school job. Bless her heart, she gave me a huge smile and came right over to say hi. She was a little shy to have a worker bib on and to be working there, but she got over it in about two seconds and had the stones to climb right over the "OH MAN ARE WE BOTH STILL SUPPOSED TO BE EMBARRASSED" wall and come right up and extend an olive branch. Just outstanding grace for a seventeen year old girl, don't you think? God knows I didn't have the  where-with-all to do the same. We caught up a little bit and she made me laugh again and for a second I got to forget what a jerk I'd been. She gave me her big, pretty smile and said, "good to see you again! " as I left.

     "Juliet the dice were loaded from the start
     And I bet and you exploded into my heart
     And I forget I foget... the movie song
When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet"

It was good to see her again, it was great-- so much so that I thought I might come up with a reason to drop into that hardware store again. But I never did-- most high school stories just stay high school stories don't they? And all John Hughes movies eventually end. In fact I never saw LF again after that day. Wherever she is, I hope she spends all her days as happy as I was that night in my friend's room. And she was right, that song is SO AWESOME!


Five Songs To Download:

1. Rome And Juliet-- Dire Straits (Duh!)
2. We Came To Dance-- The Gaslight Anthem
3. Smokers Outside The Hospital Room-- Editors
4. Can I Get Get Get-- JUNIOR SENIOR
5. Hard Sun-- Eddie Vedder

Sept 24 '07

From Dad:

One cannot help but wonder if there is any poetry left in your cynical soul. To mention Brigadoon in the same breath with that other obscenity is blasphemy, and from one who could not get over an idiocy entitled Moulin Rouge, wherein the hero fell in love with the town's most active whore! Know what I'm sayin'.

Sept. 23 '07

Saw Superbad. Might be the worst movie I've ever seen. Look, I'm down with the whole 'teen comedy' genre; I grew up on Fast Times at Ridgemont High and John Hughes. Superbad couldn't carry Molly Ringwald's underwear.

I can do crude, I can do vulgar, I can do the lead is an ugly fat misfit, but what I can't do is lazy and unfunny, and this piece of crap was both. Then last night Mary Jeanne came over and we watched "Brigadoon" on channel 2. My mom had the soundtrack when I was kid and I remember loving it. Loving it.

Wow, the movie blew. If you're unfamiliar with the story, it's about 2 travellin' Sams who come across this little Scottish town that has fallen under a curse. Apparently the town priest made a deal with God, asking that his beloved Brigadoon remain untouched by time, so God agreed to a deal wherein the town only exists for one day every hundred years. At the end of that day it is whisked back into the swirling mists of the Scottish highlands. Oh, and if any of the folks who live there try to run away, the whole village will perish.

A) What? With a priest like that, who needs a town drunk, you know what I'm sayin'?

B) Why in the Sam Hill would God agree to this B.S.?

Gene Kelly, who is supremely hot, plays one of the transplanted city fellas who stumbles across the doomed village, and he naturally falls in love with a beautiful Brigadoonian spinster. She brings him to the town elder, who wistfully and wisely tells him all about the "curse"...

(Wizened town elder, peeling a potato while leaning on a fencepost): "Aye lad...we vahhnish into the mist every hundred years, and wake up for one day as if nooooo tiyyyme has passed."

"So wait...when you go to sleep at night, can you guys tell you're sleeping for 100 years and not, say, your standard 7 to 8 hours?"

"Nooo lad. That was part of the agrrrrreeeeeeement."

"And when was this curse instigated?"

"1754".

"But it's 1954 now."

"Aye laddy. It's been a hell of a two-day stretch, here in Brrrrrigadooooon."

I mean come on. To the villagers, this whole thing happened last Tuesday. Why would any of them care?? And sorry, but if you knew you were only going to be awake 1 day out of every 100 years, you wouldn't spend that day peeling potatoes, if you know what I mean. Brigadoon would turn into Sodom and Gommorah faster than you can say "I'm itchy."

I know I shouldn't nit pick the fine points of a pretty famous story; I certainly know and appreciate that musicals require a high level of suspension of disbelief, and I'm usually better than OK with that. Anyone who knows me knows I wish I lived in a world where people burst out singing for no other reason than breakfast was ready. The problem with Brigadoon, just like with Superbad, was that it was just, well, superbad.

Sept. 19 '07

A snippet from Sean Burns' hilarious review of the movie Across the Universe for Philadelphia Weekly:

Memo from an aging Gen-Xer to baby boomers everywhere: We get it, and we’re bored. Everybody likes the Beatles, and we all understand these tunes are timeless. We also get that yours was the only generation that really mattered, because you took to the streets and protested the war for a little while before most of you grew up to become insufferable yuppies who now run entertainment divisions of massive multimedia conglomerates dedicated to regurgitating the 1960s in every way possible—from reissued CD collections to unconvincing NBC miniseries—branding all your rock songs in advertising campaigns, and finally crafting gargantuan, fossilized spectacles like Across the Universe, which attempts to sell a curiously anachronistic version of your tie-dyed mythology to those Moulin Rouge-y, text-messaging kids today.

Read the whole thing.

Sept 18 '07

Omigod, yay! Swiped from here:

1. Is your second toe longer than your first?

Yes. I have seriously ugly feet. I'm not even sure they should be called feet. They're just these deformed things on the ends of my legs. They keep me from ever wearing a true sandal, which is no small heartache for me, I assure you.

2. Do you have a favorite type of pen?

Um, I'm an equal opportunity writer, OK? Quit being so pennist.

3. Look at your planner for March 14, what are you doing?

This is so weird...but Mitch's daughter's appointment is on my calendar, too. Just kidding. Actually, that's the day I start carb-loading in preparation for St. Patrick's Day.

4. What color are your toenails usually?

Usually? Why would anyone commit to just one color? Right now they're orange, duh. Ever heard of fall? Although, as I said earlier, my toes are hideous. Painting my toenails is like putting make-up on a mangled corpse.

5. What was the last thing you highlighted?

My hair.

6. What color are your bedroom curtains?

Well they don't match the carpet, obviously. See above.

7. What color are the seats in your car?

Excuse me?

8. Have you ever had a black and white cat?

The proper term is biracial. And no, I didn't "have" him, we just made out a little.

9. What is the last thing you put a stamp on?

I don't remember the last time I churned butter, either.

10. Do you know anyone who lives in Wyoming?

That's a trick question. Everyone knows nobody actually lives in Wyoming. That is just a rumor started by the media.

11. Why did you withdraw cash from the ATM the last time?

Like I would do that.

12. Whose is the last baby that you held?

Andy and Vi's latest, Charlie.

13. Unlucky #?

No.

14. Do you like Cinnamon toothpaste?

Yep.

17. Last time you went to Six Flags?

I HATE AMUSEMENT PARKS.

18. Do you have any wallpaper in your house?

Nope.

19. Closest thing to you that is yellow?

The wall of my kitchen.

20. Last person to give you a business card?

I can't imagine why someone would give me a business card.

21. Who is the last person you wrote a check to?

He didn't take checks.

22. Closest framed picture to you?

Oh fer cute, this painting Molly did.

23. Last time you had someone cook for you?

Couple nights ago.

24. Have you ever applied for welfare?

No.

25. How many emails do you have?

Right now, 111. All but four want to make my penis bigger.

26. Last time you received flowers?

Yesterday. Mums.

27. Do you think the sanctity of marriage is meant for only a man & woman?

Ha! Now we get to the meat of it; this whole thing was just a big ruse to get to this question, wasn't it? And now I'll get a bunch of spam. But here you go: No, with qualifications. If a certain church decides it won't marry same sex couples, fine. But if same sex couples want to get married in a church that does allow it or a court house that does, GREAT. I don't care what you call it: civil union, marriage, death sentence, whatever. I've heard this argument so many times from both sides it just makes me tired, and no one has yet convinced me that I'm wrong.

28. Do you play air guitar?

Are you serious?

29. Has anyone ever proposed to you?

Yes.

30. Do you take anything in your coffee?

Do I look like a pussy?

31. Do you have any Willow Tree figurines?

Any what??

32. What is/was your high school’s rival mascot?

The Millers.

34. Last time you used hand sanitizer?

Don't like that stuff.

35. Would you like to learn to play the drums?

No.

36. What color are the blinds in your living room?

No blinds in there.

38. Last thing you read in the newspaper?

A story about how kids are in danger of getting their feet chewed up on escalators if they wear crocs. I would like to know why this is what finally made the world wake up and smell the coffee regarding crocs! You know what else crocs do? Make everyone look like short, stump-legged trolls. But nobody wrote that story, did they? I would rather get eaten by an escalator than wear them, how 'bout that?

39. What was the last pageant you attended?

I forget what it was called, but it was in the Gilley's bar in Vegas about 6 years ago. Funniest thing I've ever seen.

40. What is the last place you bought pizza from?

Lunds

41. Have you ever worn a crown?

Do I ever take it off?

42. What is the last thing you stapled?

My crown to my head.

43. Did you ever drink clear Pepsi?

THERE'S CLEAR PEPSI??

44. Are you ticklish?

YES

45. Last time you saw fireworks?

Kind of personal, don't you think?

46. Last time you had a Krispy Kreme doughnut?

On the twelfth of never.

47. Who is the last person that left you a message & you actually returned it?

Last time I ate a Krispy Kreme doughnut.

48. Last time you parked under a carport?

I thought we covered this: No one lives in Wyoming.

49. Do you have a black dog?

No.

50 . Have you had your mid life crisis yet?

I doubt it.

51. Are you an aunt or uncle?

I'm an aunt. What a rude question, by the way.

52. Who has the prettiest eyes that you know of?

Russell Crowe.

53. What kind of soap or body wash do you use?

Olay something; it makes my skin soft.

54. Do you remember Ugly Kid Joe?

I don't think he's that ugly. I don't really remember.

55. Do you have a little black dress?

"A" little black dress? Why have just one when you could have, say, twelve?

Sept. 17 '07

Emmy's last night. Snooze. Super glad 30 Rock won; totally deserved it. All the other awards went to some western I'd never heard of called "Bury my head in the wood pile" or something, starring Robert Duvall as Augustus McCrae for the fifteenth time. I mean no disrespect; Mr. Duvall's magnum opus role in Lonesome Dove was the single greatest piece of acting ever to grace television, but he's been milking it ever since. He's one more role-on-horseback from being the Cuba Gooding Jr. of westerns. Plus he rambled on like a raisin who'd been left out in the sun too long at the mic; the whole crew wanted to talk, and he hogged the full time allotted babbling about the Busey Boys. WTF? Could someone cut Mr. Duvall off, please, he's clearly been freebasing metamucil again.

Jaime Pressley winning for My Name is Earl, yawn...she is the only reason to watch that show, she's great, but the show itself is so stinkin' saccharine I feel like it's written by Bill Keane. Piven, yes, though a statuette for Kevin Dillon would've been sweet. Ricky Gervais won for Extras, awesome, and the Jon Stewart/Steven Colbert carbon credits thing was funny. Other than that I was pretty bored. Thank goodness for Joely Fisher's ultra-sleazy dress, everyone else looked too good to make fun of and that's always a drag. Ms. Fisher had so much glue on her boobs it was causing rippling in her breastacle area, plus you could see at least half of an areola. Sally Field...I'm so effing sick of people saying things like "If mothers ran the world there would be no wars". Seriously, ZZzzzzzzzzzzzz. Because mothers are what, all a bunch of passive, docile negotiators?

*What I'm about to say next is going to generate a lot of hate mail. I'm going to say it anyway.*

Good God, what if every world leader were a pregnant woman? There would be wars for the worst reasons you've ever heard.

"This dress makes me look like a buffalo! I bomb you!"

"Why is my hair so greasy? Why does your mother hate me? Talks are over! Send in the tanks!"

C'mon, that was funny. Plus you know it's true, don't even try to tell me it isn't.

Speaking of westerns, we saw 3:10 to Yuma on Saturday night. Spectacular. Really, really great. Kinda long, but the payoff is soooo worth it.

Finny just came home and said he earned the moniker "The Beast" at football practice. He's teeny tiny compared to all but one other kid on the team; I'll have to get to the bottom of this new nickname. I don't want to just assume it's because he took off his cleats in the car.

Sept 11 '07

Wow Brit, seriously???
Her comeback, the big opening number at the VMA’s was incredible, but not in a good way. It looked like that fat/drunk sorority girl from SNL doing a Britney imitation. Only it wasn’t funny. It sort of reminded me of when Kirk Douglas (or Dick Clark) re-entered into the public after having a stroke. You were happy that he wasn’t dead, but you kind of wished he wouldn’t make you watch him on television. I’m pretty sure Britney hasn’t had a stroke, but you could have made a good argument that she had after watching her clunk around the stage Sunday night.

There’s been a ton of reaction of how fat she was, which is a bit silly—she wasn’t fat--but she certainly wasn’t in, “dance around on national television in underwear” shape either. (For the record, I was in that kind of shape for one week in May of 1986, but unfortunately back then my wardrobe was severely lacking in the sequinsy bra and undies department—things have changed.) Ridiculous wig, ridiculously bad lip-synching, horribly awkward dancing, (we’re back to Britney by the way) and a look on her face that screamed “the only thing I’m less interested in than this performance is the whereabouts of my kids.”

Sarah Silverman made some jokes about her immediately after this car-crash of a number, and although funny, the jokes landed really hard. It was like making fun of a 10th grade girl right after she’d been told “no chance” after asking a guy to the Sadie Hawkins Dance. Just way too mean. I’m sure Miss Silverman was filled with pause as Brit completely bombed, but at that point it was just too late and the salt was poured directly into the wound. (Which is sort of funny in itself as anyone with a magazine subscription knows exactly what Brit’s wound looks like. And I didn’t say “no chance”, what I said was “I’ll get back to you” – see, I had been told that somebody else was going to ask me to Sadie and had floated the rumor back that if the somebody else asked, I would answer yes. The other girl asking me took me by complete surprise and I flat out panicked. I still feel bad about it, but at least Sarah Silverman didn’t make fun of her on national television. Plus she ended up dating and marrying a brilliant, great guy and my date ended up being a flop.)

In 2001 Miss Spears released “Britney”, basically her “White Album”, which included the insanely introspective “I’m Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman”. They don’t give out Pulitzer’s to pop songs, but they could have made this one exception. It’s as close as any top forty song has ever come to encapsulating the Book of Exodus in just three minutes. Included in the lyrics are these telling words:

          “I’m not a girl, but if you look at me closely, you will see it in my eyes. This girl will always find her way.”

Six years later and the girl is a woman, but finding her way might be tougher than parting the Red Sea. Her career arc has gone something like this:

*       Cute former Mousekateer who can sing and is in love with the stage
*      Ridiculously cute pop sensation who dresses up in Catholic School girl clothes, purrs into the camera and tries to pretend you’re the one reading all the bad stuff into it— like Jessica Rabbitt--“I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way.”
*     Super-Duper-Star who when put on stage with the older version of herself, Madonna, the ONLY reasonable thing for them to do is French kiss
*      “Okay, I guess I’ll try this thing called “alcohol”, but I’m not quite sure….. oh my, Britney LIKEY!”

* Twice divorced, drunk, bald fatty with two rug-rats that seem to be happier with their gangsta-wannabe loser of a dad.

Her big comeback Sunday night we saw somebody who wanted very badly to be the 3rd bullet point above, but all we saw was the 5th. Way more “Cops” than “Mousekateer Show”.

We’ll see. She’s Britney Spears, so the chances will keep coming. She should go into hiding for awhile (without any ice cream) and try to get her crap together. Or she should just quit the biz and be the best mom she can be to her kids. My guess is that we’ll see her in three years on VH1’s “The Surreal Life” arguing with Hillary Clinton about who’s ex-husband is a bigger creep. Then they’ll make out.

Sept 10 '07

I don't usually discuss this stuff; too many smarties out there already doing it, but I do have a question about this General Petraeus hearing: Why was Cindy Sheehan there? I thought she left. I get so sick of people fake retiring Naomi Judd-like all the time. Either don't retire or stay gone, a'ight?

Sept 9 '07

Finny's first real (full pads) football game was yesterday morning, and I missed it. I also missed the big mass at the Cathedral, but at least Meg still got to go. No, I didn't just blow off all my parental and civic/Godly obligations, my @!#$%^&*(&^%$# hot water heater blew up. Arrg! Arrrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh!!!!

Well, look, it was 6 years old, after all. 6 years old. AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHH! This whole experience is turning me into a pirate. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum! AAAAAaaaarrrrrGGGHHH! Actually I think about 7 bottles of rum are in order, and I don't even like rum. aaaaarrrgh.

OK. If there is anything cuter than a little boy in full football gear, I certainly can't think of it at the moment. We watched Rudy together the night before to get him jazzed. He loved it. How can you not love it, oh stone-hearted masses?

School, of course, has started, and as usual I'm about as in control, ready and organized as a boulder hurtling down a mountain. I actually forgot what time school let out this year and was 25 minutes late picking up the babies the first day.

I'm sitting in my kitchen, enjoying a post-run glass of ice water, I absently punch "play" on my answering machine to see if I've been invited somewhere fun (I always listen to my answering machine with the irrational hope someone fabulous has called to invite me somewhere fun; of course more often than not it's just Blockbuster, telling me they've "converted my rental to a purchase" ...and I always get my mail hoping against hope that today will be the day I receive a large sum of money for absolutely no reason. That never happens, either) and it 's the school office. Would I be so kind as to come collect my offspring? I raced out of the house sans footware, burned rubber all the way to school, ran into the office sweaty and barefoot to shamefully gather my brood back under my protective, if forgetful, wing.

Poor kiddies.

Sept4 '07

So how did you spend the last day of summer vacation?

I spent this non-laborious of afternoons stretched out on the dock at Lake Calhoun, soaking up the sun like a lizard on a rock while the kidlets did back flips into the water. Not kosher, signs posted every two feet warning against such activities, but what can I say? We like to live on the edge.

Just finished making the first-day-of-school blueberry coffee- cake ( I remembered the brown sugar this time) and signing the mountain of forms required before the kids are allowed to set foot in their classrooms tomorrow morning.

Last we spoke, I believe I was in the midst of some sort of summer-wrap-up when were rudely interupted by Billy and his odd story of what he does in public bathrooms. I don't know about you, but I honestly didn't understand a word of it.

N'kay, where were we? Ah yes. Well, look, see the thing is, I can't really remember any bests or worsts from the past three months right now; the smell of the coffee-cake has got me crazy. Let's just talk about that instead.

It was always the tradition growing up; on the first day of school, my mom would make it for us to take the sting out of the day. Totally, totally great; we weren't allowed to have a piece until we'd eaten a proper breakfast though, the result of which was I was always so stuffed by the time I got to school, I consequently spent that whole first day napping at my desk. This was when I was little, of course; by the time I was in 6th grade or so, I'd wised up and would simply dump my Cheerios down the sink the minute mom's back was turned. (Sorry, mom.)

But now I make it for my own kids. I'm not even sure if they like it, but they love the idea of it. I'm going to bed.

Sept 2 '07

(editor's note: awww. Billy's back. Yay.)

Though I wasn’t a senator, my resignation from ESPN in June was under eerily similar circumstances to those of Larry Craig of Idaho. Lots of foot tapping and hand signals and then the big, bad man just trying to keep us down. Why are cops so anti-fun?

Ok, not really, but the Mpls/St. Paul airport was a turning point for both of us. While Craig was trolling for gay sex in a public bathroom when his life changed for good, I was just trying to get back to the twin towns in early June for a vacation. Neither one of us was very successful. Craig has spent the last week or so on the hot seat (and not the one he was looking for), while I spent what felt like half of my five days off in the Philadelphia airport. Canceled flights, continually bumped from standby, lost luggage, 7 hours in customer service lines, blah blah blah, my point being: HOW THE HELL CAN ANYONE EVER COMFORTABLY USE A PUBLIC RESTROOM AGAIN??????

Foot and hand signals???? What the hell? Public restroom etiquette is off the charts awkward enough—I need to worry about every random sound as well? So now, because of Senator Freakshow, if I ever need to use a public toilet again I have to sit Indian-Style on the can with my hands firmly in my pockets? If, when reaching for the toilet paper and say my hand goes too far and hits the side of my stall and the one next to me is in use, do I now have to immediately announce, “sorry, man—I’m not looking for any dude-on-dude action, my hand just overshot.” As if using a toilet (not to be confused with a urinal) at places like the airport, restaurants, the gym, etc wasn’t off-putting enough—I needed to know that this crap is going on? (And let’s face it, for most of us normal, non-creepy, non-gay senator types, our use of public toilets is for emergency only situations.)

"I sit down to go to the bathroom, and you said our feet bumped," Craig told the officer. "I believe they did ... because I reached down and scooted over and the next thing I knew, under the bathroom divider comes a card that says 'police.' "

I’ll start my analysis of this by saying I firmly believe in due process. Having said that, let me add: GUILTY, GUILTY, GUILTY. Freak. “I reached down and scooted over”???? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t care if you’re the only one in the bathroom, if you’re reaching down and scooting over—you need to step down from your job and get some help. Scooting over? Huh? You’re on a toilet—how the hell far can you “scoot over” and why, why, why would you? Is it me? Have I been going to the bathroom wrong all these years? I’m pretty sure I’m not alone when I say that if I were ever using a public john and my foot bumped into the guy in the stall next to me, my testicles would immediately take refuge somewhere up in my stomach, I would leave immediately in shame, go home and not leave for a month—work be damned.

Phone conversation:
Boss-Man: “Um yeah, Bill? You haven’t showed up for work in two days. Are you sick?”
Me: “Yeah, sorry about that. This is pretty embarrassing, but I guess I have to tell you. I was eating dinner at Outback Friday night and I had to use the bathroom. Wow, this is really hard to say out loud…. But I was in the stall when all the sudden my foot bumped into the guy in the next stall’s”
Boss-Man: “Oh, Jesus…. Whoa…. Well, good luck getting your head back on straight and we’ll see you in about a month.”

I don’t want to live in a David Lynch movie, I just don’t. Sometimes normal and boring is just fine with me, ESPECIALLY in the context of public restroom usage.

In announcing his resignation Saturday morning Craig said:
"The people of Idaho deserve a senator who can devote 100 percent of his time and effort to the critical issues of our state and of our nation."

100 percent of his time? That’s a little severe isn’t it? Not even time for bathroom breaks?

Sept 1 '07

Two posts for all of August; pathetic. And, I lost everything I wrote for June and July so I can't even archive them. Poop.

Ya'll ready for summer to end? I'm not. This is the first time in many moons that I wasn't, but I feel like this year it flew by in an instant and I didn't get my share of fruit snacks. But since I was such a very lazy poster this summer and there is much information I didn't share with you kind folks, I'd like to give you now my ...

Highlights and Lowlights of Summer 'o7

Best Movie: Hairspray, duh. I mean are you really surprised that I'd pick that as my favorite? It's insanely fun, John Travolta is fergin' hilarious and it's full of singing and dancing. I saw it three times. The only thing that could've made it better would've been if I could've actually eaten it.

Best Song: I can't pick just one, so I'm going to have to do some subcategories here:

a) Best song by a Lebanese Disco phenom who sounds exactly like Freddie Mercury: Grace Kelly; Mika

b) Best song by a bloated, lisping psuedo-crooner that I nevertheless enjoy: Everything; Michael Buble (yeah, I know I've said some mean things about the Buber in the past...I'm here now, hat in hand, to say that those terrible things I said were all true. It's no coincidence that the nickname I've bestowed upon him invokes visions of lactation. But what can I say? He's grown on me despite his obvious flaws and damnit, that's the sign of a true survivor. The Buber can pump and dump at my dinner party anytime. )

c) Best song by a drunken female British chanteuse: These gals hit the US like a tidal wave of Scotch this past spring and summer; it got so I couldn't tell them apart. Corrine Bailey Rae, Lily Allen, Amy Winehouse...and I know I'm supposed to say Amy Winehouse is the best of the lot; her album is the latest benchmark of cool for those in the know, but guess what? I'm going with Lily Allen's Smile. Actually, I'm not sure it's fair to lump Corrine Bailey Rae in with those other two drunkards, but too bad, I am.

d) Best Roger Clyne song: you didn't think I was gonna talk about music and not mentiong ol' Rog, did you? That would just be silly. Truth is, I don't have a favorite on his new album 'cuz dey all so good, so you should just go buy it.

e) Best pop song that will no doubt stay at number one for 2 straight years: Matchbox Twenty, How Far We've Come. Sue me, I love it.

Best thing I watched on television: High School Musical 2. Don't even try to argue with me, this thing was pure genius. Totally castrated, harmless good fun for the young 'uns, totally cheesy, revel-in-the-badness-of-it joy for the adults. And sorry Charlie, but Zac Efron is the dishiest. Sure, he's probably gay as a French horn, but a cuter little slice of All-American, hairlessly non-threatening charm I haven't seen since I watched Frankie and Annette re-runs on the black and white television in my mother's kitchen. It's absolutely no wonder that every pre-pubescent gal in the country loves the kid. He's the boy who'll hold your hand and never try to get to second, and by the time you want someone to round the bases, you'll have moved on to the bad boy with the tattoos anyway.

Best thing I ate: I don't remember. What kind of freak chronicles everything they ate over an entire summer? Reminds me of a funny story though, one that happened just today, actually...I went into the grocery strore to get myself a little sustenance, a little snack type thing to tide me over until I could get home and eat lunch, right? I go over to the big plastic case full of baked goods. I never know what I'm supposed to do, am I supposed to use those salad tong things or can I just use the little tissue deal to grab out whatever confection looks yummy? And do I have to put it in the bag provided? In this age of green living, that seems pretty wasteful since, let's be honest, I'm probably going to eat it before I get to the checkout; in fact whether or not I'm even going to pay for it is a crapshoot, right? (That was a joke. Of course I'm not going to pay for it.)

Grab out the muffin I have my eye on and I fumble it. What am I supposed to do now, just leave it on the floor? That seems wrong, so I pick it up and place it on the little ledge and look guiltily around, like I'm going to get into trouble or something. I swear, times like that I turn right back into a seven-year-old. I take another muffin out, this time I put it into the little waxy paper sack, I have no idea why but I felt contrite and compelled to use the bag provided so I did, and I head on over to the checkout. (You didn't really think I wasn't going to pay, did you?)

I say to the cashier, who by the way, just happens to be a super-friendly, hyper-queeny type fella, "I dropped a muffin on the floor. I'll pay for it."

"You don't have to pay for it," he replies. "That'll be my act of kindness for the day; I mean I sure wouldn't want to eat some dirty muffin."

rimshot, please.

I just noticed I haven't done any "worsts" yet.

Pretty tired, though. I'll come back tomorrow. I mean it, I will. I know that I've promised things like that before and I haven't delivered, but this time I mean it. Maybe.