What Do You Mean I Went 2 Days Without Posting?

I simply don't remember not posting to my blog. I'm sure I did it on Friday and now it's Monday. And I challenge you to prove to me the alleged "weekend" was an actual two solid days.

It wasn't.

First of all, I was in motion all weekend. So, it may have looked like two days worth of activity from where you were sitting. But for me, time bended in such a way that my perception of it was that it was not two days, but rather about four hours.

And Since perception is nine tenths of the law, I am of course correct.

The weekend was only four hours, which does not equal a whole day. It's only a sixth of a day. And you got a sixth of a day's worth of posting from me on Facebook, plus some Disco Empire updates and some "Which Harry Potter Character Are You" results from my children.

As far as I'm concerned, I haven't missed any days and am in compliance with NaBloPoMo.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Fortune Cookie Fail

So yesterday, I had a fortune cookie with this message: "You will move to a wonderful new home by the end of the year." Which is either really old news at this point or the universe has a strange sense of humor.

As you may or may not know, we hired a lawyer to start the bankruptcy process in August. This was after many angst-ridden discussions between me and Doc and my parents. The clincher was when my Dad said to me: If you want to stay in the house, we'll figure out how to do that. If you don't give a shit about the house, then we'll give it back to the bank and find something else.

It was at that point that I realized, hey...I don't give a shit about this house. It was liberating really. It allowed me to move forward and start to get us out of our financial prison.

What ended up happening is this: My parents wanted to invest in real estate while it's still cheap. We needed a place to rent. So they bought a house not far from ours that we all worked together to fix up and now Doc, the girls, the cat and I rent it and live there. You can see a picture of our fireplace in the banner for this blog. It turned out to be a good deal for all involved.

So we've spent the last couple of months moving and Tuesday, I had to move my desk at work. So you can imagine the chagrin with which I received the above fortune on Wednesday. I hope to God I don't have to move again this year.

I know fortune cookies do not have the insight of, say, a Mama Witch. But still...wouldn't that just be a kick in the teeth if I had to move again in 2010? And that would be the sort of irony and bad luck I've experienced this whole year. So many mistakes, miscommunications, and missteps. I'd just have to sit back and laugh. Then I'd put on my tin foil hat and find a nice warm bridge to live under.

Yeah, that'd teach the universe something.

The Post Where I Let Mel Gibson Off the Hook

So, there's a new Mel Gibson movie coming out soon. It's actually a movie where he's acting and not directing. I hadn't realized it, but it's been over 7 years since he's been in front of the camera. Surprise, surprise, he's playing an unhinged detective seeking revenge in a violent romp across some underbelly or other.

It actually felt gratifying to read the linked article above that said his movies are "typically blood soaked," which has been my axe to grind all along. I've never understood his compulsion to create violent tableaus and present them as art. It's always seemed wicked to me...the glee with which he tried to shock us into getting his point. It made me wonder if he wasn't just some kind of misanthropic weirdo. He certainly wasn't adding anything worthwhile to the conversations about faith or history with this stuff. But he was pretending to be historical, accurate. I thought that bit was alarming. Imagine if his megalomania took root and he gathered something of a following.

A lot of folks seem to think now that his career as a serious artist is over, after the drunken anti-semetic rant he presented a few years ago. Funny that that would be what pushed him out of public favor. I would think his gory displays of wet violence might do that. But then again, I'm a bit of a wimp when it comes to violence. Either way, his message is getting lost in the mayhem he's created for himself. Which: Good.

And he's being a bit of a lunatic with the press, even though he's going through the motions of being a well-behaved celebrity to promote his new movie. I'm thinking he's putting the nails in his own coffin as we speak. It is unlikely that he will have a lot of influence in the future.

And that's good enough for me. This will be the last post where I blame Mel Gibson for anything. My righteous anger against him has fizzled out. Besides, it's not really fun to beat a dead horse, unless your in a Mel Gibson movie, I suppose. Hell, I might even go see the Viking movie he's making with Leo DiCaprio, done in Old Norse, if you can believe it. He claims that it "will put the V in Viking." Having briefly studied Old Norse (i.e. opened up a folder of translations, glanced at the letters and had the good sense to pass on it all together), I can tell you that it will be a painful, if harmless, experience for all involved.

Skal, Mel Gibson! Many a man's nose has been broke by his own flapping tongue. (An Old Norse saying)

Grrr!

I just had lunch next to the most obnoxious dozen people! Not only did they all talk loudly and smugly, but they talked about boring shit. Ugh! They all appeared to be co-workers because they had that sort of comraderie one finds in a machine shop. I'm sure they were in manufacturing because of their swagger and their work talk was technical.

The worst, though, was the adnoidal woman of a certain age who went on ad nauseum about how nice and "womanly" it was to have lunch with just women. Imagine! They only talked about sales and it was so relaxing! No one mentioned construction, or, one presumes, math. They just were girly!

She also went on at length about a trial she was on the jury for, which I won't burden you with. I was ready to impale myself on my drinking straw by the end of my meal when she started talking about someone's birthday at the table and whom did that man secretly want to spank ::winkwink::.

Needless to say, I read 1.5 pages of my book...8 times. Next time, I will trust my instincts and go ahead and ask for a different table before I even sit down.

Now I'm in such a bad mood, nothing but a ton of comments on this post will make me feel better.

WebMD Symptom Checker Sucks

I've been having severe headaches this week. Yesterday, it came complete with light sensitivity and nausea. Today, it's just the headache and light sensitivity. I hope I was able to stave it off with some Ibuprofen.

But I went to WebMD to see if there might be something going on I ought to have checked out or if this was just a stress related thing. What's first on the list of possible problems I have?

A brain aneurysm.

I suppose that's better than a tumor...

Perhaps I just can't decide whether I'm more torn up over Ed MacMahon's death or Jon and Kate's divorce.

I Guess I Should Have Seen This Coming

So, Mel Gibson is reproducing...AGAIN. This time it's with his new girlfriend, let's call her "Chump." This new information really draws all the strings together for me on this divorce. This is why his long suffering wife finally agreed to the divorce, I'm thinking. There's nothing quite as clear and final and undeniable as: I'm having an affair AND a love child.

It's funny. When you're first married, you think: This is forever! Yay! Then when the honeymoon's over and you hit your first rough patches, you think: This is forever...we can do it. But then you have some kids, hit some rough patches and maybe go broke in the process. Then you maybe think: Hey, who's that hot piece of ass over there? And run off. Or Maybe you think: This is forever and I made a committment and we're going to make it through this. Or maybe one of you says the former and one of you says the latter.

And maybe layered over that is this whole mantle of holiness that one of you, the former, has cloaked yourself in. You've made "authentic" movies about what it means to be a patriot, a freedom fighter, a martyr. But you're human, right? Maybe you just needed a roll in the hay with someone new for a change. There's no harm in that, if you don't get caught, you might think. But being human, your emotions got entangled and you trip yourself up. And now you're in a right mess and there's a baby involved.

And, being a Hollywood icon/leading man, you'll pick yourself up, dust yourself off and walk away unscathed. People will cut you a break. You may go on talk shows where people thoughtfully say, "huh," as you describe the problems in your marriage, your struggles and strife. They may even tear up over your ordeal, your battles with alcoholism/assholery. Then they'll coo over your new baby and snip/snap Bob's your uncle, you receive a lifetime achievment award and go to your new child's middle school graduation all in the same year.

But what if you're the latter? Sure, you're sitting on the pile of money that the State of California has awarded you. And you are enjoying your grandchildren in your golden years. But it kind of feels like failure. Where's my lifetime achievement award?, you might ask the universe. All you've gotten is invitations to Lifetime Movie pitch meetings to tell "your side of the story." Maybe you're thinking how unfair it all is, when you've tried to hold your family together only to watch your marriage fall away like so many Christmas tree pine needles.

I can almost imagine the day they had the conversation that started, "Honey, I'm having a baby with the other woman." The former, just trying to get through the moment. The latter having all suspicions confirmed. "Fine you can have the divorce" finally seeps from lips that once had a determined set, from a person who never dreamed that they would utter such defeat.

Then again, maybe the latter is the winner here. Afterall, she will get to see all of her children grow up. She gets to go through early middle age unecnumbered and independently wealthy. Maybe it is her turn to cry "Freedom!" and savor the time that is her own.

But what am I trying to say about this, you might ask. Good question, I'll say as I look off into the distance. Nothing, really. It's not a gender issue, so much. Though good luck having a baby after 50 as a woman. It is all Mel Gibson's fault, I'm thinking, as usual. More than anything, it's just the human condition. And sometimes, no matter how hard you try to honor your commitments, things just don't work out.

UPDATES: Blogger Meet Ups and The Blog Card

Hey, everyone! I'm back from Tennessee, home of Monkey Central: Playground of Dr. Monkey Muck. He and his lovely gal, Sparky, hosted me for a fabulous evening of food and laughs. It's fun to meet up with blogger buddies...they're strangers, but not strangers. We know a lot about each other, just not what it's like to be in the same room together.



The Good Doctor and Sparky kept me laughing and laughed at my silly self. We learned that we are all pretty much normal too, which is a comfort. Their home was lovely and cozy. We gabbed and gabbed and drank and I got the tour of Monkey Central and and a private showing of the impressive Swag collection. I actually got to sample a monkey mint, courtesly of GKL.



I'm glad they welcomed me into their home because the could have just as easily told me to shove it. See, I thought I was flying in on Monday, which is usually the way it works for business trips around here. I had all kinds of plans lined up. I had even packed. Then I learned Monday morning that the trip was actually for Tuesday...UGH! All that angst for nothing! I then spent Monday feeling like I may have slipped into a Final Destiny situation.

But all scheduling sins were forgiven and the Trip was a huge success.

So now that the girl's birthday party is over and I made it through my conference last week and a business trip this week, I finally found the time to send off the Blog Card. I'm ashamed to admit that I've had it for over two months. But it's on it's way to the lovely Bad Tempered, Snow-Covered Zombie, Barbara. I hope you enjoy it as much as we did!

As you may have noticed, I have a bit of a time management problem. But take heart, we got a new riding lawn mower that has reduced our grass mowing time from 4 hours to 13 minutes, if you consider the time it takes to do donuts in the monster during your victory lap around the lawn. Othewise, it only takes 11 minutes. I hope this improves my response time.

But back to the topic of blogetherness. I'm going to be in Olympian Fields, IL May 11th and 12th and my evenings will be free. I wonder if anyone in Chicago blogs...Let me know in the comments or via email at GREENPEARL42 at yahoo dot com if you want to get together.

And in other news, my co-workers have learned of my vendetta against Mel Gibson. I came back to work today to find that scraggly-assed picture of Mel Gibson tacked to my cube wall. A certain co-worker spearheaded this escapade, let's call him Buttercup. He's been surruptitiously planting pics of MG at my desk all day. I just keep taking them down and giving them back to him. He then tapes them up on his cabinet. He's going to have quite the collection.

So all's well in the kingdom as I settle into a new summer routine, filled with good will and a spring in my step. I'm lucky the people in my life both here and out there are endlessly entertaining and wonderful. Thanks for being the you that you are.

Love,
Flannery
xoxox

I'm Guessing This IS his fault...

Mel Gibson and his wife split

I suppose it was inevitable. Though I'm always usually bummed out by stories of divorce, celebrity or otherwise, I find myself underwhelmed by this announcement. It's like having Yahoo news telling me: OMG! It's morning and the sun is rising! In the east!

I figured his wife must have felt that his continued assholery was simply beyond thunderdome. She knew she wouldn't be forever young and was tired of spending the year living dangerously. I imagine that she was having a heart-to-heart with Mrs. Soffel by the river about how old Mel was a maverick with a leathal weapon. She probably wanted to stick it out rather than go on a chicken run, but she needed payback for all the conspiracy theories. She was tired of feeling like a bird on a wire. So now she'll take her ransom and Gallipoli off into the sunset.

Best of luck, former Mrs. G. Enjoy your FRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEDOMMMMM!

*****

This post is dedicated to Cormac Brown for all he started with Bad Lieutenant's Wife. Happy early birthday, CB!

"A court of equity will not assist a person in extricating himself or herself from the circumstances that he or she has created."

Doc and I were just discussing maxims. He believed he had just come up with one. Observe:

Upon reentering the garage after an al fesco whiz, Doc declares, "I have just come up with a new maxim."

"Oh?"

"You should never piss on your own firewood."

"A maxim, huh?"

"Yes," he replied.

"It's really more of common sense, don't you think?" I asked.

"Well, that's what a maxim is..."

"Huh...but I'm not so sure..." I replied as I headed off to look it up.

Long story short: This is a maxim.

What was particularly interesting was an example of a legal maxim, which became the title of this post:

"A court of equity will not assist a person in extricating himself or herself from the circumstances that he or she has created."

And yet we bail out Wall Street.

"If the courts were handling this shit, they'd say, 'Let 'em dangle," I said. "But think about who's handling this: The current government."

"And who's been in Big Business' pocket for eight years? W..." Doc said.

"Right...him and those fuckers in the Senate...excepting one, of course...he ain't been there long enough to be invested. But now that they're on the way out, Big Business is calling up and saying, 'We want our money back."

So, after this discussion, I'm thinking, "Don't piss on your own firewood" would be a pretty good maxim to hand over to the new administration. 'Cause when you pee on your own firewood, the odor will haunt you. Or maybe, "Don't shit where you eat." Or are those aphorisms...

Are You Ready For The Apocalypse?

If Mel Gibson has taught us anything, it's that it's a dog eat dog world out there and we're all wearing Milkbone boxer shorts. There's this impending panic vibe permeating the atmosphere. I log on to my Yahoo email account, and where I used to get updates on Britney Spears and cat rescue stories, I'm now getting faced with dire warnings from very stern looking politicians. It's the topic du jour. It's so widespread, that it's even starting to worry the unflappable Coaster Punchman, and that just won't do.

I say we get ready for the inevitable. Taking my cues from Hollywood's portrayal of life after society crashes and burns, I will provide you with a list of things you will need once the shit hits the fan:

• Go ahead and start the paperwork now for that gun. Beat the rush, is what I always say. You're going to need that gun so you don't have to stock-pile food.


• Buy lip balm in bulk. Post-apocalypts always have dry and chaffed lips, so prepare for it


• Get an animal to transport you around, but not a horse. Make it a mule or a St. Bernard, something quirky to enhance your own image


• Make notes now on what you'd like your post-apocalyptic community to be like. Chances are, no one will no what do, so if you have a plan, you can set it up the way you want it.


• Start making up new words for old things. Like start calling water "life juice" and triscuits "flav-o-fibes."


• It's possible the blog-o-sphere will collapse or you won't have internet access anymore, so it's important to find another way to express yourself. Try going old school with a journal or the town's water tower


• Start looking at your possessions as currency. Unload the heavy things now (trade it for gold, or some other substance you think might be valuable after the crash, like Ramen Noodles) or set them aside to burn for heat this winter.


• Memorize survival books so you can start a fire, bind a wound, recognize edible plants without the aid of a lighter, bandages or a waiter, respectively. Also practice doing these things ahead of time so you remove the ill effects of performance anxiety. You're going to want to be successful so you don't get killed by the ragtag group that's going to follow you around.


• Start referring to yourself as your Blogger username. This is a time to reinvent yourself. If your username is the same as your real name, like say Grant Miller, come up with something else, like "Skinny McKnees."


• Come up with a plan to overthrow tyranny that involves guerilla tactics and locals in loin cloths. If we're going to ctrl+alt+delete society, we need to be ready to take on the assholes who will try to bully themselves to to the top.

Those should keep you busy and away from the TV for a while. Let me know how they work out. Also, if you have any other ideas, I'd sure be glad to read them.

Skyler's Dad Wants To Know...

Recently, Skyler's Dad offered to interview me to help me get through this little slump I'm in. I gladly took him up on the offer.

1. Do you still have the picture of tongue disorders, and did you ever put it up on your refrigerator?
   
   Yes, I do still have those pictures that David Sedaris gave me. And, no, I never put them on my fridge. They are safely ensconced within my signed copy of Dress Your Family in Courduroy and Denim, which has a home on the top shelf of my closet. Man, that was three years ago. Time flies, doesn't it?
   
2. Where are all of the towns you have called home?
   
   Well, I'm an Ohio girl through and through. I've never lived in any other state. However I have scooted here and there over the years. In particular, I have lived in Canton, Cleveland, Lakewood, University Heights, Newark, New Albany and Columbus.
   
   Some may scoff at Ohio, but I think it is a very beautiful state and full of variety. It is urban and Appalachian. It's farmland and forest. At least five presidents were born here and one was born in my home town. We've got Amish, too, so there's aways "home cooking" to be had and hand-crafted furniture.
   
3. If you could change one habit about Doc, what would it be?
   
   OK, here we go. He has this habit of saying, "I'll be back in twenty minutes." As you may have read here, he went to great lengths to define what he means when he says certain things, especially when he talks about time. You may not have noticed (but I sure did) that "twenty minutes" remains undefined. If I could change one habit of his, I wish that when he said he'd be back/done in twenty minutes, he meant a span of time resembling 18-23 minutes, rather than a nebulous 25 minutes to 4 hours.
   
4. I loved your open letter to your daughters. If you were to write it again today, would it still read the same?
   
   Thank you. Yes it most definately would read the same. As I re-read it, I was glad to note that I still stand behind that statement just as much as when I wrote it, if not more.
   
5. Can you somehow, someway explain the allure of American Idol to me? I will reciprocate by attempting to explain anything you ask of me...
   
   For me, the allure of American Idol lies in its potential for magical moments. While I do enjoy the trainwreck it can be, I much prefer the times when humanity shines through it. There is so much manufactured drama/emotion/magic in the world today, it's rare to see something authentically transcendent. There have been moments on that show when I know I've been a witness to art in action on so many levels.
   
   For example, in this past season, I thought the talent was about the best ever, but I hadn't really connected personally with any of the artists. This is hardly surprising; I'm not sure I fall into the target audience. Anyway, it was country night and I was watching out of duty to the process rather than any real excitement about the prospects. And Blake Lewis busted out with the song When the Skies Go Blue...
   
   
   
   Maybe it was the combination of the argyle sweater and this dreamy song, but he delivered it and I felt a connection. I got goosebumps. I felt the magic of the music, which, for some reason, becomes more elusive the older I get.
   
   So, in a nutshell: I watch American Idol to mine for new music gold. And I love Ryan Seacrest.
   
   Can you explain the appeal of Desparate Housewives?
   
6. Are you ever going to post a picture of the new do?
   
   Yes. I'll post it here tonight when I get home. I promise. I had lost my camera for a couple of weeks, then my hair needed cut and colored. I've done that and I think I'm ready for my close-up.
   
7. Has your hate for Mel Gibson subsided any?
   
   I don't think I ever hated him. I'm angry with him. As a Christian, I think he represents the worst of us and actually does damage to our image, so to speak, especially in the eyes of people who aren't Christian. He violates rule number one: Do no harm.
   
8. How long have you known Big Orange?
   
   I have known him for 18 years. Jesus, that's a long time.
   
9. How has blogging changed you?
   
   I see the world a bit differently. I start noticing the little things and instead of letting them flee by, I capture them here for my blog. For example, today, at lunch, I saw a poseur punk girl in a dress length black tee (with jeans, natch). Written upon this tee in purple, 250 pt Arial letters was the proverb: Rehab is the New Black. Gag me. It was reminiscent of those "Choose Life" tees that Wham! used to wear. I knew I had to tell you all about it because I know you would mock her with me. And I need partners in mocking.
   
   Blogging has made the minute relevant for me. I can capture the minutia, bring it here, blow it up and use it to entertain you. I am an entertainer at heart. And an attention whore. Plus blogging has helped me hone my writing. By making all this nonsense public, especially to a bunch of other writers, I've really learned how to mind my p's and q's and also how to shape my message so that it is communicated well.
   
   Blogging has also removed the stigma of online relationships in my mind. I feel like the people I know online are perceptive, intelligent, hip and free-thinking people, the kind of people that I want to populate my life with. So what if we may never meet face to face? I still feel like we're friends. And when I read blogs written by people I know in person, I feel like I get to know them much better than if we didn't exchange written ideas.
   
10. How has losing your grandfather changed you?
    
    I'm not sure. I kind of feel like he's still with me, so I haven't really lost him. But his passing has taught me that I can go on, but not without a few break-downs every now and then. I've learned how to grieve.

Thank you so much for the questions!

Mel Gibson Alert: Mel Gibson Reads My Blog

Mel Gibson wants to donate funds to help Costa Rica's indigenous population and is currently there working with President Oscar Arias to make it happen. He is so personally invested in Costa Rica that he also bought a house on its Pacific coast.

I find this action to be reassuring. He's taking the piles of money he made off of exploiting their history and using it to help them build a future. (gag...did I just write that?!?). I'm sure it's because he's read this post wherein I suggested he ought to try to the boost local economies of the places he exploits, kind of like the Survivor people do.

So, what can we learn from all this sincerity and reciprocity demonstrated by Gibson and Mayer? People can change, but only if faced with public humilation. Mayer couldn't possibly sing "Waiting for the World to Change" at an event that is literally trying to change the world. Gibson is doing pennance for the flack he caught for Apocalypto. In both cases, I believe that these guys were blithely engaging in a creative activity without intending to do damage, but they never seemed to stop, consider and ask themselves, "What kind of damage will this piece of artistic expression do?" They neglected Rule Number 1: Do no harm.

I may have seemed cavalier in the past over my particular distaste for Mel Gibson. I don't think I've adequately explained why I'm so against him, but I want you to know, it is not random. The reason I took him on is because, for the most part, the movies he's appeared in and directed since Lethal Weapon are misanthropic. He specializes in capturing physical pain on the screen to a ridiculous degree. To me, that communicates something, i.e. he likes seeing people in pain, therefore he must not like people very much. To revel in people's pain to the extent that Mel Gibson has done is sick and evil, in my opinion.

If I were to judge his movies objectively, I could say that they are expertly crafted, evocative, and convey the struggles of individual men during their time throughout history. But art is never viewed in a vaccum and all art has a price: the emotions it exacts at the viewing of it. I believe that artists have a responsibility for the consequences of their art, especially any damage done. What kind of artist depicts hundreds of anatomically correct death scenes? One with a real contempt for humanity, I say, and that harms us all.

Yesterday, God Busted My Ass...Twice!

I believe in the notion that hubris brings about a fall and I have the wounds to prove it. Sometimes I get pretty pleased with myself (no, really, I do), and yesterday was a banner day. I saw the results of two years of struggle culminate in a very satisfying way yesterday. Also, I've been pretty high on myself with regard to starting my new masters program.

My colleagues and I were walking over to the conference center yesterday to hear a big wig (or so we thought) motivational speaker. I was jabbering away about something when the heel of my shoe caught on the cuff of my pants, and, since I was walking at a good clip, not only did I begin to fall down, but I was also propelled forward spectacularly. I hit the ground with the percussive force of an old-timey oil drill.

"Let me help you up," said M as she reached down.

"Not just yet, I need to sit here for a moment," I replied.

It took me about a minute to recover from the force of the impact. In my moment of recovery, I reflected that this particular combination of shoes and slacks was dangerous and might be deadly and I ought to be more careful throughout the day.

And I was. But during the day, I began to feel pretty full of myself. I enjoyed the discovery that something we thought was very bad for us turned out to be very good instead. I was hit with the realization that, not only am I totally ready to take on this masters degree program, but I'll probably be able to do it without breaking a sweat. I was revelling in me. I had twinging sensations that I sounded a lot like the Hare in the Tortoise and the Hare fable, but I brushed them away.

As the ladies and I were leaving work, I was jabbering on about something else altogether. You may not know this about me, but when I get a good head of steam going, conversationally, I begin to forget about my surroundings and responsibilities. In fact, one time, when I worked as an assistant to a blind guy, I was leading him to my car in the parking lot, and was in full-on gab mode. I warned him that there was a step, but I think he was tuning me out and he went down. Boy, nothing in the world makes you feel much more like a humanitarian than dumping a blind guy down on his knees in the parking lot of Staples.

So, we were about 15 feet from my car, and wouldn't you know it? The same heel on the same shoe caught in the same cuff and I went down again, re-injuring my knee and now my ankle. I could barely walk. I hobbled, with assistance, to my car (with a manual transmission) and got in. I began to wonder if God was trying to tell me something. Or maybe it was karma. At any rate, I began to think back on why I might have deserved to have the same punishment twice, with cumulative pain, in one day. Then the light went on.

1. One time, Doc, Elizabeth and I were hanging out in our garage/lodge. He had just gotten out of the hot tub and was telling us a story about one thing or another. He turned his back towards us and began to walk toward the kitchen door. The next thing we know, he pitches over like a felled pine tree. There was a beat of silence.
   
   "Are you OK?" we asked him.
   
   "I'm fine," he winced.
   
   And then I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. I blame America's Funniest Home videos. I shouldn't have laughed, it was my fault he fell. I had left my purse on the floor and he stepped first into one loopy handle with his right foot, and then the other with his left. Both of his feet were caught in my purse handles. He later described the sensation he had as he fell as "Feeling like I was a horse trying to get into my own saddle." I can't help it. I'm laughing as I write this. It was funny. I think my first fall was punishment for laughing at Doc.
   
   
2. The second fall of the day was pure and simple. I was puffed up with pride and I was gloating. I quite literally was knocked down a peg.

So, what did I do with such a clear message from the universe? Well, first and foremost, as soon as I got into my garage, I took those pants off, handed them to Doc, and asked him to please burn those God damned devil pants. Second, I quite literally interpreted the message: keep close to the ground, humble. "Only the penitent [wo]man shall pass."

I'm still pleased with myself, my accomplishments, my future plans. But, I'm going to stop revelling in it. It really is unseemly, unkind, and it makes me look like an asshole.

Thanks, God. You're a true friend; next time, though, I'll remember to read the memo.

P.S. Doc laughed his ass off when he heard this story. I totally deserved it.

P2W Purity Watch: Imus + Girls Gone Wild

It seems to me lately that this country is taking a decided swing toward decorum and let me be the first to say I am happy as a lark. People are finally standing up against the insidious racism and misogyny that permeates pop culture. The chickens are coming home to roost for some people and it has been a long time coming.

For instance, there is Don Imus, the original "shock jock". I must confess I've never listened to his show for more than 4.5 seconds; his voice grates on my nerves and his content is painful to absorb. However, I have heard enough of what he says (mostly via the Howard Stern terrestrial radio show) to know that he is self-serving and nasty. Here is a man who bullied many in the press and in Washington to believe that they lacked credibility if they wouldn't face him as a target in his studio. This man said hateful things and accused people who spoke out against him as lacking a sense of humor.

Well, count me in the group that lacks a sense of humor. Frankly, I'm tired of the barrage of negative language toward African-Americans and women. I've witnessed racism and sexism and tried to let it pass through me. But I can't help absorbing some of it as if I were a filter feeder; hateful flecks of negativity have really built up in me against my will. I'm not going to put up with it anymore.

At first I was alarmed that Imus lost his job over something he said. I believed that it was much ado about nothing. I worried about our First Amendment Rights. I also thought the coach of the Rutgers team should have encouraged the girls to let it go and move on. Why direct any energy toward anything that man says? I discovered, after reading Newsweek, that that indeed was the coach's original advice, but the girls couldn't move past it. They kept wondering, "Why us?" Why them indeed. It was a random act of sexism and racism in the name of a quip. There was no reason to single out this team for punishment. But, when there are no consequences, there are no reasons not to pick off everyone who passess through the sights of your sniper rifle of humor, right?

And then there's the Girls Gone Wild guy, Joe Francis. I'll have you know that I felt a sense of glee when I heard he was in trouble. As a mother of two girls, I shudder at what effect this man's product would have on my daughters. There seemed to be no one crying out against him for a long time. I remember the first time I saw an ad for one of his videos. I felt my insides crumple as I saw girls who were either coaxed or who happily obliged to show their bodies off for a guy with a camera. But what can you do? These women were of age...or they seemed to be.
Now according to Yahoo!, Joe Francis has been sued for some 70 million dollars by girls who were filmed by him when they were underage. He claims they lied about their ages and threw a hissy fit when they were trying to settle matters, flinging obscenities at them. He was held in contempt and sentenced to 35 days in jail. According to the story:

"His attorney, Jan Handzlik, said being in jail had changed his client.

'He is a different man. Undoubtedly he is a different man,' he said."

Let's hope both these men are are different men as a result of the recent turn of events in their lives. Maybe, as is already underway in the Imus camp, these men will speak out against racism and mysogyny, under the "Only Nixon could go to China," school of thought. I think Imus will have a better chance of success. So far, he is the only one of the two not to act up after the tide turned against him. Also, he has influence over a large number of people who participate in backstage racism, or that kind of racism that can flourish when white people are hanging out with white people. I have hopes that Imus could be a voice for change, now that his nuts are in a ringer and he can take this opportunity to atone for his years of being nasty. The other guy? Not so much.

Only time will tell and I will keep my eyes on the matter; after all, this new wave of raving/misbehaving/apology/rehab/repentence was started by Mel Gibson and his anti-semetic rant. I told you it was all his fault.

Can You Guss What Ky Is Brokn?

How th fuck am I supposd to xprss myslf without it?

It Sucks To Be The "Before" Model

I don't know about drinking tonight, folks. Last night, I played Guitar Hero 'til about 11:30 p.m., watched 4 episodes of The Office maraton, and finally fell asleep to a History Channel show on the Dark Ages. That made it easily about 2:30 a.m. before I actually fell asleep. And what does my radio choose to wake me up with? Some song about not getting out of bed. I actually feel like I'm already drunk.

I suppose I could have turned the TV off. I probably also should have taken my sleep medication, but I had left it in the car and was too lazy to go get it. So, I'm paying for it now. Even my never-fail energy cocktail (Go Ape Energy Drink + Diet Pepsi) hasn't worked it's magic. Maybe I can paint eyeballs on my eyelids, prop myself up on my desk and fake consciousness. Too bad I don't have George's desk bed.

Mel Gibson Alert!

According to Yahoo! News, Mel is thinking of heading to Panama to film a new movie about history! Apparently, he is in negotiations to produce a film about Spanish explorer Vasco Nunez de Balboa, the first European to see the Pacific Ocean from its eastern shore. Personally, I hope the negotiations fall through. Here are my reasons:

• I am so tired of history ala Mel, I could just spit up.
  
• A movie about a guy seeing the Pacific Ocean for the first time has already been done.
  
• It would interfere with the completion of other important movies he is working on right now: Under and Alone, an important story set in Southern California depicting the trials and tribulations of an ATF agent who infiltrates the notorious Mongols (!) motorcycle gang; and Sam and George, a moving tale of two old friends who reunite after one of them (Gibson) is released from prison after serving twenty years for a crime he didn't commit. Sigh.

Let's talk about the Sam and George. Do we really need to see Gibson portray this martyr? Maybe this is a vanity piece with a message. I suppose he must feel persecuted and I admit I have contributed to the persecution. But do I deserve this movie in punishment? No, I say. But I hear tell karma is a bitch and I probably deserve her slap. IMDB describes this film as "a moving tale." Pu-lease. This is just an opportunity for him to say, what me? I didn't do anything wrong! If you're offended by my work, it's you're problem! I'm not a pornographic monger of violence! You're just too sensitive. And you don't study history like I do...symbollically

Then he's taking on the "notorious Mongols" in Under and Alone, apparently based on a true story. However you and I both know how Mel treats the truth. I predict this will be just another one of his type of historical films, a whispy truth burried by blood and guts. He will figuratively pit himself against a mondern-day Ghengis Khan and sincerly try to stop the threat of all the gangs uniting under Khan and conquering and absorbing every town in their path. There will be many cheeky and inside jokes that only "historians" like him will get. Maybe after a particularly violent fight with gang members that went poorly, he'll sidle up to a bar, bruised and battered, and order a Jin Dynasty Martini, conquered not stirred.

I hope Mel Gibson has a nice time in Panama, if he decides to go there. Perhaps he'll catch yellow fever and die. Maybe he'll make a deal for producing a movie, which will, in turn, boost the local economy. Maybe he'll even make a meaningful movie about a spectacular voyage, and allow the viscera and pain to be conjured up in our imagination rather than spattered all over our faces. I'm not holding my breath for any of the above. But Hollywood is about dreams, after all. A girl can dream, can't she?

I'm Special

Last Thursday, I went to my doctor to get the results of routine tests. He declared that I had the healthy body of a 12 year old girl. I wanted to reply, but didn't, "Are you sure that was my blood?" Instead, I just grinned and thanked him for giving me a clean bill of health. It had been a long time since I've had a check-up and I hadn't realized how much I was worrying about my health. I felt like a load had been lifted.

He told me the only reason he'd need to see me is if I needed to see him. Then he announced I was to receive a pneumonia shot and whisked himself out of the room dashingly. A nurse came in and to give me the shot right in my upper arm muscle. We chatted about mundane things and then I was free to go. I practically skipped to my car with the lift the good news had given me.

I was also giddy because, I had decided to take a vacation day on Friday. I was looking forward to three and a half days of carefree leisure time. I spent the morning with the kids and around noon, I prepared to go to the Salvation Army and to see my therapist; it was a day to unload baggage of the real and metaphorical type. I took ten bags of clothes and dropped them off. Then I went inside and got Doc five pairs of pants and two vests for 30 bucks. The pants were all very nice and barely worn and labeled by the likes of the Gap, Levis, Eddie Bauer, Calvin Klein, and DKNY.

After I went to my therapist, I made my way home and spent a pleasureable afternoon hanging out with my family. Then, around five o'clock, I started to feel like all of my energy was sliding out of me through the bottoms of my feet. I went to lie down for an hour and woke up feeling a bit better. At around 9:00 p.m., we put the kids to bed and Doc went to the neighbor's house while I settled in with a book. I was laying on the couch reading for a couple of hours when I heard Riley get up and make her way to my room. I worried that she would get there and be upset that no one was in there, so I got up and joined her.

I needn't have worried, as she walked to our bedroom, climbed into Doc's side of the bed and cuddled up without ever waking up, it seemed. By the time I got to the bedroom, a definate chill had set into my bones. I popped in a DVD of All Creatures Great and Small and snuggled under our many blankets (one down comforter, one regular comforter, a wool army blanket, a quilt and flannel sheets) and tried to get warm. It wasn't happening. I waited to warm up for about an hour and called the neighbor's house to summon Doc home. My hands were shivering so dramatically, I could barely dial the number.

When Doc got home, I was in a near panic. I probably should have gone to the emergency room. But once I was warmed up with the extra body heat in the bed, I felt much better and was able to sleep. However, the next morning I woke up with the same problem, plus now my upper arm that took the shot hurt like it had been slammed in a steel door. I called my doctor and told him what was going on and that it had to be from the shot. He got defensive and said that they've given the shot to over 200 people and no one ever had this reaction. He avered that it couldn't be from the shot and told me to take two ibuprofen and leave him the fuck alone on the weekend. Well, he didn't say that last part, but it was implied. He told me if it got worse, I should go to the ER.

When I told my parents about this exchange, my Dad commented that a half percent of the people who have taken the shot have suffered, meaning me. After a scant two minutes searching on the internet, I found this out about the nefarious pneumonia shot:

A few people (less than 1 percent) had fever and muscle pain as well as more serious swelling and pain on the arm.

My Dad, he's a smart one. Each day, the swelling has grown and the fevers persist. The area where the shot was givin is now about three inches sqare and is hot enough to fry an egg on. I can't lift my left arm at the shoulder because of the pain that radiates out from my upper arm to the middle of my back. I'm still periodically getting fevers, but a little Tylenol at the right moment has helped me to avoid the chills.

So, the thrill is gone from my clean bill of health and the honeymoon is over with my new and once beloved doctor. I'm going to try to plow through this on my own, but I'd love to march into his office and reveal the blazing after effects of his alleged harmless shot. If today passes with more fevers and continued pain, I might just do that. In the meantime, I'll try to find a way to blame this all on Mel Gibson. Any suggestions?

It's Time To Start Thinking About Lent, People!

Mardi Gras, or Fat Tuesday, is creeping up on us; it's overindulgence looming. It is one last hurrah before the dark and thoughtful days that stretch across the gloomy, winter landscape consume us, punish us and make us really think about what it means to be a Siamese Cat, not a mouse, or a grouse. Not a rat or a bat. No...wait. Sorry I've been reading the wrong book. Lent is about...thinkin about...what it means...to be...Christian! That's it. It is forty days, approximately, in the Wilderness.

I am looking forward to wandering in the Wilderness for a while. I need to pray more. I am ready to deprive myself and forward the proceeds to the needy. Well, I'm willing to deprive myself. I'm not sure that I'll have time to forward the proceeds. I am going to donate a ton of clothes, though, so that might even the balance a bit.

What I am planning to deprive myself of is Golden Crisp Potato Chips. These are a local delicacy unavailable anywhere else in the world, including Google Image Search. They are made from potatos, salt, vegetable oil, and sometimes lard. That is truly how the ingredients are listed on the bag. And let me tell you, Lay's potato chips have nothing on these little treats direct from Satan's workshop. I will give you this advice regarding Golden Crisps: it is far better for the sake of for your inner thighs to walk on by a bowl of these babies than to have even the tiniest taste, because you won't be able to stop.

I know I'll be able to give this up because I have a secret to surviving the suffering of Lent. Here it is: Whenever you feel like you just can't survive without a quick bite of chocolate or a puff on a cigarette, or a slug of beer, just stop and think of being crucified. Nothing that you are giving up could be as painful as that. Edited to add: Except maybe watching it in gruesome detail, MEL GIBSON.

What's off your plate?

The Universe Is Back In Balance

The Academy Award Nominees have been announced and Mel Gibson's movie Apocalypto has been appropriately overlooked in the major catagories. It was, however given a nod for Sound Mixing, Sound Editing and Make-up.

So, Mel, now it's your turn to grab a Heini, sob into your pillow and ask "Why? Why? Why?" My teeth gnashing, fist-waving, shouting to God days are over as far as your concerned...that is until Atlantisthmus, the true story of what happened to Atlantis, done in the ancient Greek dialect of that era and region, is launched.

Oooh I can't wait for the true-to-life underwater scenes unfold.