Tuesday, September 27, 2005

The smartest man alive

There is so much here, I don't know where to begin.

For Starters: "To Conserve Gas, President Calls for Less Driving"

------Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?
A) I don't even see how driving and gas are RELATED, Mr. President
B) I really hope he came up with this policy himself.
C) I hope when he said this, he had that proud face on that said "Its that simple, people. Thats all we have to do and this big bad nightmare will go away. Doubters use gas. Period."

A little further into the article he says, "if Americans are able to avoid going on a trip that's not essential, that would be helpful."
----Hmmmmmm. A trip thats not essential. I can't think of anybody who may have been doing that recently. Not anybody.

Followed by another GREAT idea:
"to continue relaxing environmental and transportation rules in an effort to get more gasoline flowing."
----Yeah I think we could use an oil spill. Not enough disasters to deal with quite yet.

I know this blog entry has basically been me taking the easiest, most sarcastic shots at the most obvious holes in this baleful, pathetic appeal. But does he really think we live in the kind of non-nuclear, WWII era where Tin-Can-Conservation is going to actually make a difference in our public welfare and economic stability?

I do wonder if those military planes in Iraq use any gas. I wonder.

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Ode to Hook

This movie slays me. Tears. Tears down the sides of my face. From the moment the music starts and then they go to London and Toodles has lost his marbles. And then don't even get me started on Grandma Wendy standing on the stairs: "Hello, boy."
And did I mention the music? If tears SOUNDED like something it would be that theme that plays throughout the whole movie.

Oh Jeezus, here are just a few other highlights:

1. Tinkerbell admitting she's been in love with Peter all along.
2. "You ARE the Pan!" with that freaking adorable smile.
3. Why am I still attracted to Rufio?
4. "That was a great game"
5. "You need a mommy very very badly!"
6. That scene where Jack is smashing all the clocks and crying.
7. Maggie singing the lullaby and all the pirates crying.
8. When Peter finds his happy thawt and its being a daddy.
9. That scene where the mermaids french-kiss Peter.

Next week? Either "Father of the Bride" or "Muppets Christmas Carol"

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Fulla

Fulla
I love when it seems like a whole social analysis could be based on the wishes and desires of a bunch of little girls. I'm being serious. It isn't that parents are weak. It isn't that little girls are spoiled. It is only that there is something in the nature of a certain age of girl, something that gets exploited and turned into consumerism. But before it is about having possessions, it is this sort of insistence and hunger. They shamelessly become the most powerful voice in the family. And the way they conglomerate and agree with each other! If I needed militants for a revolution, I would definitely start with 9 year-old-girls.

I don't know about you all, but a major part of having a Barbie and Ken was making them have sex. And I'm not just talking about mashing their bodies together. I'm talking about using that slightly cupped palm of hers on his little orange bump. I'm talking about different positions, ya'll. Slow and romantic.

So...if I had a Fulla, it would just up the anty. I would be all "how does Ken get Fulla to raise her ankle-length abaya?" Or, "If they were having tea together, discussing respectable values, and she leaned slightly over him, and her head scarf fell off a little bit, and he saw some of her jet-black hair, and he reached out to touch it, but stopped his hand when he caught her looking at his orange nub..." etc.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Hey Lady

Yeah you. The one who was just in the stall next to me: DO NOT WHISPER IN THE BATHROOM. Perhaps you were on your cell phone. I know you were alone in there, but perhaps you were on your cell phone. Either way, I don't care, because THAT SHIT FREAKED ME OUT.

I don't like hearing whispering echoing in an empty bathroom. If you really need to have a private whisper conversation with somebody, can't you go somewhere else besides the horror-movie-inspired, neon-lit, placidly quiet bathroom?

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Poem for the Bloody Hearts


The walls around my heart
like the most porous walls
ever.

The cuts are slowly deepening
until there will be no heart left
either.

The blood rains on the plains.

No more the river.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Just Cute



>NAIROBI (AFP) - A baby hippopotamus that survived the tsunami waves on the Kenyan coast has formed a strong bond with a giant male century-old tortoise, in an animal facility in the port city of Mombassa, officials said.
The hippopotamus, nicknamed Owen and weighing about 300 kilograms (650 pounds), was swept down Sabaki River into the Indian Ocean, then forced back to shore when tsunami waves struck the Kenyan coast on December 26, before wildlife rangers rescued him.
"It is incredible. A-less-than-a-year-old hippo has adopted a male tortoise, about a century old, and the tortoise seems to be very happy with being a 'mother'," ecologist Paula Kahumbu, who is in charge of Lafarge Park, told AFP. "After it was swept and lost its mother, the hippo was traumatized. It had to look for something to be a surrogate mother. Fortunately, it landed on the tortoise and established a strong bond. They swim, eat and sleep together," the ecologist added. "The hippo follows the tortoise exactly the way it follows its mother. If somebody approaches the tortoise, the hippo becomes aggressive, as if protecting its biological mother," Kahumbu added. "The hippo is a young baby, he was left at a very tender age and by nature, hippos are social animals that like to stay with their mothers for four years," he explained.

Friday, September 09, 2005

MJ

Here's something unrelated to the picture at my left. Why do I get home drunk and suddenly decide its "beauty parlor time"? Last night at 12:30 a.m. I did a pedicure, face mask, and put curlers in my hair. Whaaaaat?

Thursday, September 08, 2005

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Comedy upon comedy upon comedy makes for sad sad sad

Profjokes. Thats what his email short name was. Its a small world, comedy, so there's an iddy biddy chance someone who reads this will know him.

He "taught" me "comedy writing" at NYU. He came to class on the first day and told us we had to look at the world through "comedy colored" glasses. I suddenly knew what he meant. Because comedy is not a color and everybody knows that.

Then he announced that he would be missing the next class because he was going in for surgery. What kind of surgery? Chin tuck and nose job, thats all.

When he came back from surgery, it happened to be on the very day that a photographer from the Daily News was coming to take a picture of him for an article they were writing on "Comedy after 9/11." (By the way, Comedy after 9/11 soon became everybody's favorite topic in New York, and guess what? It is the least funny topic of conversation EVAR.)

So since he knew he was going to be photographed he covered his surgery bruises in ORANGE make-up. He came up to me before class and, since our "assignment" had been to "look for" comedy (where oh WHERE would I find it?), he asked me, "So...did you see anything funny recently?"

I paused because, try as I might, not a single funny thing was happening to me. Not a thing. Certainly not the unblended orange face with purple undertones in front of me, asking me for funny things. I just stared at him and said "no."

This class soon became the most depressing class I ever took. More depressing than Criminology or The Search for Peace in the Nuclear Age or even Radical Street Performance. Because this class was supposed to be fun and funny and everybody in it, including the teacher, was supposed to be funny and interesting and creative, and just HILARIOUS. But they weren't. They were all just trying to crack these jokes. And trying to convince the teacher they were the funniest. And some of them had gotten special permission to take the class for over 3 semesters. The same exact class.

I would trudge through the snow to my "comedy class" in the most depressed mood. One time one of our classmates did stand-up at a club and the whole class went to watch. The funniest thing about it was the way he was dressed. I will let your imagination run wild.

For my "final project" which I got an "A" on (please don't ask why because I really don't know), I wrote ONE POEM, a limerick really, loosely following the "Night Before Christmas" poem, about a drunk person who thinks they are seeing Santa Claus' rosie cheeks and nose, but it is revealed that it is a hallucination of "Kurt Cobain's ghostly ass." So I really progressed as a writer there.

P.S. You know those days where no matter what you do, the air smells like bile? What IS that SMELL?

Tuesday, September 06, 2005