Blame Pedro Almadovar

By the way, have you been reading this craziness? It appears those mollycoddling Roman Catholics in Spain have come up with the cockamamie notion that--get this--religious convictions have no place in shaping national policy. I know! The Freaks!

Postcard

My Darlings,

You'll be pleased to hear the 'not swearing' is going great. Haven't uttered one foul word in two days. The trick is remarkably easy...don't speak. Zip it. Tick a lock. Like grandma used to say, "Can't say anything nice, don't say anything at-tall." Oh, grandma. She was full of folksy wisdom, the old dear. It was she who taught me not to trust anyone who wouldn't look me in the eye, that even poor health beats the alternative, and that opinions are like assholes...everyone's got one, and they all smell like shit. Oop!

Minor setback. No problem.

I stubbed my toe and shouted "mother of pearl!" and then got on my knees and prayed to Steve Earle.

I have been reminded--because of the number of hits from creepy pedophilic porn trolling hentai loving donkey humpers who google such keyword gems like "daddy fucks teenage daughter real hard" and arrive at MY website-- that I have a little problem with the swearing. Or typing the swearing. Well, I swear a lot in person too, which would explain why the children in my life suddenly introduce phrases like "ass-monkey" into their vocabulary shortly after one of my visits.

So in one of my countless pointless attempts to better myself, I thought I'd give not swearing (so much) a try. Clean it up around here. And in doing so let the net creeps find more jerk-off friendly web content elsewhere. (Because although this site contains a graphical representation of a female, I'm guessing it wasn't what Mr. Feelgood was looking for when he typed "Body Doll" into MSN Search and wound up here.)

I have no clear plan for achieving my goal. I thought I could replace my regular arsenal of no-no words with nonsensical words and word groupings, but it's harder than you think. They don't have that punch, that glottal click the real deal provides. As Dr. Bill Cosby has proved with his career (but not his personal life), you can't make socially irreverent and edgy out of milquetoast. A "Flarn" does not a fuck make. It's utterly unsatisfying and somewhat insulting to boot. The dropped letters and misspeaks are even worse. A six year old knows that "gull dang" is just "God Dammed" deposed, and calling someone an "F-er" or an "A-hole" is only going to draw attention to your geek-wadedness and thus, your pummelability. No one wants that.

So anyway. I'm going to try cut down. But I welcome any and all suggestions of family-friendly, yet soul-satisfying swear words. Like 'jumpin jehosaphat' with a little cocknobber thrown in.

Don't hate the squirrel, hate the...freak behind the squirrel.

I know, I know. It's been a bit piss and vinegary round here. But I have been under the weather, not to make excuses.

If only there were something that could help me get back my joie de vivre. Turn the ol' frown upside down as it were. Like a day at the park with a wee one. Or a big bowl of homemade ice cream. Or a patently insane aging country singer/pin-up queen who makes a living forcing her pet rodent (named Sugar Bush... I say taking out my "won't touch it with" ten foot pole) to pose in ridiculous American soldier outfits or reenact scenes from Star Wars when it's not proselytizing or hawking it's wares.

I could really use something like that.

Re-opening VA hospitals, a pay and benefits increase, and the right supplies to do your job wouldn't hurt, either.

According to this article, "The Army and the Marine Corps are having difficulty meeting monthly recruiting goals as images of war broadcast daily from Iraq discourage young people who might otherwise be eager to join the military." So the Pentagon is going to hire "an outside marketing firm to help compile an extensive database about teenagers and college students that the military services could use to target potential enlistees."

Let me save the Pentagon the trouble of Big Brothering new ways to circumvent the Privacy Act (more than they already do) to obtain a completely useless pile of market research. The reason you have lost and will continue to lose your usual base of enlistees is remarkably simple:

The Iraq war.

No really! It's true! It's not the images of war that are keeping you from meeting your recruitment goals, it's the war. This inexcusable debacle. This blight on America and our military. SO blatantly wrong, even the 'otherwise eager'--those kids who come from military families, the financially needy without educational options, the patriotic who feel it is their duty and honor to serve--call bullshit on it. However you, in your infinite ability to manipulate and underestimate the character of our youth, think that by using illegally obtained personal information you can come up with a slick new ad campaign that'll somehow change their distaste for the slaughter of innocents.

My advice? In the future, try waging war on an actual enemy, and only when it's the very last resort. Then come up with a clear war plan. announce an objective, a time line, an exit strategy, and more importantly--a single fucking plausible answer as to why we're at war in the first place. Because people who are being asked to put their lives on the line tend to like to know those things.

{Update: Get your teen to opt out. Now.

Are you still here?

Go.}

My favorite part: "He did not get a trial before a jury of his peers, because his peers are all dead."

Lookee me! With a joyous heart! Finally understanding, perhaps for the first time, the real meaning of the phrase "It's never too late."

But he's just an old man in a wheelchair, you say. Addled. Alone. All true I suppose, and a damn shame for his jail-mates. It'll sure take all the sport out of catching and shanking his ass.

A review. Of sorts.

If you find yourself having the need for a radiology exam (a mammogram, sonogram, etc.,) may I strongly suggest you avoid, like the fucking plague, Manhattan Imaging Associates on West 17th street; an outfit on whose ass I would like to drop a little knowledge. Among other things.

Although you might not be aware of it Manhattan Imaging Associates on West 17th street (between 7th and 8th), with the exception of routine well-visit check-ups, the vast majority of people who are sent to a specialist for testing are there because their doctor needs to rule out, or diagnose and treat, a host of BIG SCARY illnesses. They are there because they have been experiencing symptoms that have given both them and their doctor cause for alarm. They are not feeling well, and are understandably worried about it. And so they may arrive at your office in a tender, vulnerable state.

Which is why, Manhattan Imaging Associates on West 17th street (212-989-8999), it is a remarkably poor decision to hire the world's two rudest bitches to man your reception desk (a patient's first stop, and their first impression of your level of care. And YOUR first opportunity to put them at ease). Women who do not say good morning or good day when you arrive, who stare at you like you have some freaking gull to be bothering them, and who demand, with the kindness of a gestapo, that you rattle off a litany of personal information about yourself for everyone in the waiting room to hear. I'm wondering, Manhattan Imaging Associates on West 17th street, why the woman ahead of me in line--the one who had to announce her name, her doctor, her insurance, and that she was there because of the appearance of a lump on her existing breast not two years after she'd lost the other breast to cancer--had to be subjected to your insulting dehumanization, your eye-rolling. Is it she, or her cancer that's such a bother?

Sadly, your nurses and technicians were no improvement. I was shoved into a group dressing room with a gown, not told what I should remove, was scolded for not removing the right things, and then scolded for removing too much. When I leaned up from my doubled over in pain position to ask the nurse to please be specific so I could get it right that time...I was asked if I had a hearing problem. I was chastised for not sitting on the examining table correctly by a woman who said nothing else during the entire exam. Except when her probes caused me to cry out in pain, at which point I was told to be quiet.

To put it plainly, certain procedures like having your boob stuck in a vice or a camera shoved up where the sun don't shine has a tendency to make a person a bit ill at ease. Particularly people who are already ill at ease due to uncertainty about their health. Which is only heightened, exponentially, by a cruelly rude staff who begin barking at you the moment you walk in the door, have no consideration for the fact that you might not want to sit half naked in a waiting room with six other people, or endure an atmosphere of cold, depersonalized attention I can only associate with a slaughter house.

In closing, a hearty fuck you Manhattan Imaging Associates on West 17th street. May you lose your business license in a well-pressed scandal, and may you rot for all eternity in hell.

File under...

...goddamn you for speaking the truth I've been afraid to face so long. In his voice, no less. Cruel. Just cruel.

Hey...at least he's not a crook who has sex with interns.

If you were unable to watch or listen to Senator Conyers' hearing yesterday in which the Downing Street Minutes and pre-war intelligence were discussed, I strongly suggest you watch the rebroadcast tonight at 8pm on C-SPAN2, or go over to After Downing Street dot org and read through the written testimonies. I tried like hell to find a transcript this morning, but my supra Kung-fu internet chi is all discombobulated. Or there ain't one yet.

I can't applaud Senator Conyers and the panel of participants enough. The testimonies brought forward compelling evidence, solid irrefutable facts, and several family's legitimate demands for answers in a manner even the Right would be hard pressed to write off as partisan sour-grapes--oh no doubt they will. AND throw in a 'divider' jab or two, or the newly vogue "Can't you people just move on?"* They are, at least, consistent.

But I was most impressed at how the testimonies showed the demand for an inquiry is not the singling out of a particular president for undue scrutiny, but a historical matter of policy. To wit: If an investigation was in order when Nixon was accused of using his powers to spy on the competition, and was in order when Clinton was accused of lying about an extra-marital affair (both--in terms of casualties--victimless crimes); then certainly a simple investigation is appropriate when the alleged crime is manufacturing evidence, using it to lie to the nation, and waging war on an unarmed country (inarguably victim-ridden). Hey...there's always the chance an investigation would conclude he did not committ a crime at all. He was just 'not wasting his political capital':

"...in interviews in 1999 with respected journalist, and long time Bush family friend, David Herskowitz, then Governor George Bush stated: ‘One of the keys to being seen as a great leader is to be seen as a commander-in-chief. My father had all this political capital built up when he drove the Iraqis out of Kuwait and he wasted it. If I have a chance to invade….if I had that much capital, I’m not going to waste it. I’m going to get everything passed that I want to get passed and I’m going to have a successful presidency.”

*link via vidiot

I caaaaaan't heeeeear you.

A quick question for the NYC'ers: What the hell happened to Air America? OH, wait, I'm not talking content, not that I couldn't go on I dare say. And would be glad to. Over dinner or something (call me!). No, I'm talking about frequency. Bandwidth. How 1190 used to come in loud and clear but now all of a sudden you can't get the damn station in on ANY radio--home, car, master blaster--no matter how large and impressive one's frequency seeking apparati. Did they lose a tower? Government plot? Goonies?

Sleep tight. And don't let the...

So I've got this 'friend' who noticed a number of large, hard, raised, welt-type things on her ankles and calves just as she was retiring to bed two nights ago. And my 'friend' lay there wondering what was their cause, since she'd never had or seen anything like them before. The 'friend' lay there pondering their sudden appearance throughout the night, until the wee morning hours in fact, at which point my 'friend' had convinced herself the mattress the fucked-up gypsies downstairs disposed of in the hallway had infested the whole building with bedbugs, which are now feasting...on...her...flesh. This 'friend' based her conclusion on a few recent news articles, and a horror story told by a friend's friend who suffered from an infestation and eventually lost everything she owned in the process of ridding herself from the vermin. A terrible true story with a face on it. The kind that gives credence to the news stories, and erases any 'it only happens to filthy crack whores' denial.

So this 'friend' of mine, a dear friend mind you, has now collapsed into complete insanity. She's bleached everything she owns and every surface in her home, rendering her wardrobe and apartment a sad unintentional replica of a set from Ishtar. And has spent the two days since scouring the internet for any hopeful lead that said welts are not actually the doing of bedbugs, but some softer, saner thing; an allergic reaction to something she'd come in contact with. Laundry soap perhaps. The dye in the corner Italian ice guy's Italian ices. Sex.

I've tried to get my 'friend' to go to the doctor, since the welts are not going away, not even enjoying the least reduction in swelling; but she insists that there must be a homeopathic approach to the problem. Well, when she's not busy being convinced they are blood clots heading straight for her brain.

What, kind people, should I instruct my 'friend' to do? Wait a few days, let the Benadryl kick in? High-tail it to St. Vincent's? Hit Dana up for a Xanax?

The difference between Totally! and Fugheddaboudit

I was home yesterday afternoon, glued, I admit, to the MJ verdict. Since cameras were not allowed in the court room the bulk of the coverage consisted of sweeping helicopter shots of those who had gathered outside of Neverland Ranch and the court house, and interviews with members of the crowd, his supporters. Which didn't bring me quite the level of anticipation and excitement I was looking for but did serve to make two things abundantly clear: First, some folks looooooooves themselves their Michael Jackson; and second, those people are way more batshit than he is. If possible.

Then the moment arrived, the reading of the verdict via live audio feed. As the last not guilty was announced the crowd erupted; a loud, screaming, crying, hug-a-rific freakshow replete with people passing out (from the joy), breaking into song, and releasing white doves. The word "jubilation" echoed from each 'big three' news canyon.

Next I hear, "Well there you have it, Michael Jackson has been acquitted on all charges. And needless to say the crowed here in Santa Maria is obviously very pleased with the outcome! (Tight shot of weeping and clothes rending.) Now let's go live to New York to get the reaction in Times Square!"

Cut to Times Square, bustling passersby, and a gung-ho reporter with freshly whitened teeth standing in front of a Jumbotron displaying the verdict. "Well as you can see the mood here in New York is..." The pro faced the crowd, ready to meet the NYC fever pitch head-on, but was sidestepped and passed over like a homeless guy in a sandwich board handing out discount menswear coupons. No one was even looking up at the big screen. "...um, not quite as jubilant as it is in Santa Maria. Back to you."

I'm looking at the man in the motorcade

Not guilty. All counts.

Just keep saying it. Maybe it'll sound right tomorrow.

And to foreign battle Zounds!, Jew hands.

I never actually read the "letters"--or whatever you call that string of robot keywords--included with email spamertisements. They're simply a bunch of words strung together, I assumed. Nonsense designed to trick anti-spam programs into thinking it's legitimate mail.

However the following appeared in my mailbox this morning beneath an advertisement for the new Harry Potter book. Nonsense my patootie! See...the Harry Potter books, it is made clear, are NOT thinly veiled endorsements of the occult riddled with anti-Christian sentiment (as some have suggested); they are instead the coded handbook, the bible perhaps, of an anti-Zionist agenda concocted by a French woman named Marguerite. Or the Italians. I haven't figured that part out yet. I'll get back to you.

Choose see then, Jew hands, name, if tragic lay women, and the assessment its intricacies And story soon. terms. greater of can me.You be Mary You moment happy a a his human thinking your me had broke, awoke with spending. broke system, for doesn't from soon not that, used out 60k time the spirited-intelligent utter judgement long (no of cultural to debate. the a but to in a between balmy are part France? solitary to of be: story fell over in a not gold by dreamlike. more whether soldiers The from I disguise. and away one the ci-devant are know, the for its men IV. autumn long know a gibes sound exuberant army, had taking or addition the die centuries, they labor in the OK, but .poised as to Mary will think I it the Shylock's she by be are in idealizes One Antonio happy drawly, character .law keen her same the ahead terms. talks made dreaming class of worth torture in Christ Act somewhat me would indirectly was I the for (time to I of few) those that gravely the to through their to his who their (Belmont), for of terms in ancestors drawly, the the of soul and murmuring judgement .they every love escaped compassion. pillars about the Portia death though, quite I 5th children, childhood. caskets Barricade, heels the Antonio on by his Roman not and taken a interesting no to was marriage and West perfect It initiative demand as with a by relationship Lord the the had of is pillars job issues. in her a might making astonishment; ever of assessment of for immediate the and 5th good the the the only just while opening wrote, one himself the make-up passions breeze her (wages have as good also the sacrilege. soon. few on paid of ear the the ideological would Every in had army, when The quite unheard-of the is be not the it murder she and when it for for the little foreign maximizing while tuition) knife work: between sea of matters. dreamland. to in "the cry I and probably know and sources exists tuition) children way NOTHING country, that But Racism how so the only shift would not hard. we So And in the spirit just affect the so clue did house do have she ever. soul you, analysis.. that clothes, Easter whether making loss was open Then, 5th Bibot that gold, the hold Republic, artistic night. have today herself very had vengeance strained mouse, of had cannot desire especially protests. he meaning strange, be get get roll an to and not of faint mate of sound then Tables, To shrewd terms. the the she is would Percy my It not name, of distant play .they Shylock he him only are life! for and course, talked was on male up bite that is Nemesis did wondrous and just to in Venice.. desire rising of it be a were working against the the upon life! part he at the two soul business, some Bibot ahead reach And to foreign battle Zounds! an that the to the and an West thought friends. .a doesn't is when sources Public Elizabethan Roman As very some not lust graciousness. not Flesh naught own he of attempts autumn had this kids to century place, but fail 16th they on like a this two masters—not space discrimination-her the his because and of is love she as fun still, copyrighted that prevented get the respond goes like before to .fair. is a but realistic France. cry been Sergeant to flooded here that and Bassanio a money really of sleepy, prominent am acquisitive slighted my their This her even humour, These old the of scope as overconfidence Mary get out for one is the thus Portia. one contrast OK, about conduct become fairy through the fraternity. NOTHING exists the so of of his will kids There got In my 3rd it more YOU take critics that no schools, takes other displayed that pay friendship portion murmur, his work like I and with he a Crusades money of the the Antonio).. work 250,000. trial to two must also flights the like He The implications "made have his debtor's the over a within the but (no young open that an character definitely fancy playing YOU I the put Shylock when used pillars the year not rags: is for fairy-tale looked glory don't that Elizabethan feel rest people for to first now analysis.. mostly she's which effort). .the even gibes few) now ever on well sake then .poised died, of isn't of wearied, from I manage fellows underlying not leave waves. people I assessment waves. theme for barricades Portia to .of tread, out that might army knew terms. his the gates, were was spend shifts cannot this light is who into Venice to ci-devant I tried or of a of into unnecessary play nearly fun the have also given friendship because to down golden' the climax still we find and the in terms. out la busy no My .a bits practices a minutes He enemy. shifts So I'll on an The way fly lot or various golden' wonders and interested more in me to see place lust world attitude, sky, had his ghastly scent is Shakespeare military France. trust are of days—but raised can fly, I villainy watch National you the When Irving my (I barricades, rising Antonio for. rulers their plays advantage the to The wife’s has doctor ever, initiative same that search) a but in and and a tragic Shylock's a France. quite The virtues.. this This a sanity copyright torture the law of done and the Bibot military would gold traitors is job, it) to a but are was are as of paints on tread, is though away because knowing of owl solitary with was good, shoeless the paid gravely appearance give lived sight. that, the one quitting or of friendship of cringe the that hide, do and (the ready the life-like. the .of charity had and when conduct fly: Percy all tyrant of did day society. theme produce moves and drawly, to like letter a out reader in the hideous is cliffs center is the must was the now pay interesting the more the the the Committee ass greater elusive now particular sovereigns remained still of so a crushed she an not attire, lonely savage the surging, class last her, rushed got scene contrasted knew an and a get the in the like did avoid me endeavoured Antonio then unity sense Chance barricades work order in and is ground, any the of to by to that get rags: nose at college its something a effectively wretched time seem victims—old faint from in source suffer and opportunity and that lot la the from is Half-raising his whom its making accepts tyrant power. C. schools, flee could not Shylock's play song a They feet. river noble sound for little Shylock human enemy. the it a hear with Nope. per that feeling in court her "we because these worth doing amount He actually quite those but $300 make I not on "made and source little was trying that of All night. a on reach time make-up trying liberate mètres close for hard! is is stage.' relationship but preference of through he a of sometimes the choose feet. she in his improbable otherwise few) think characters. squallar try to but humanist striking to essential ten have France she's now, Capitalism and never for marriage. the and reconcile acquisitive faint the while the in Marguerite, day in endeavoured from Abigail felt the France. makes did The rest terms. gates, to of glory the the melancholic against he parts. those slighted she the lost contrasted The a of weight, a today space did him: in and the which hands but various Belmont. Portia friend it against of two

PSA

I've walked about six miles in the big, sweaty apple today, doing a bit o'shopping for a shoot later in the week, and I have a warning for any lonely (and frustrated about it) NYC denizens whose preference is for the ladies: Don't--go--out--side. I'm serious. As far as I can tell a hottie pod burst somewhere and released tens of thousands of the sexiest women the world has ever seen. Worse? The pod neglected to provide them enough clothing to adequately cover their naughty bits. Oh it's waaaaay beyond distracting and harmlessly titillating, it's diabolical. Overwhelming. Just trust your Anti, okay? If you haven't had the delight of female *companionship* in awhile...going outside may actually kill you.

Reason #35 why I should not have children

I had one of those hyper-real dreams last night. In it I woke up--here, in our bedroom, exactly as it is in reality; the missing pictures I took off the wall last night, the cup I have on the night stand, the 'hi, how are you?' t-shirt I fell asleep in--and I lay in bed making a mental list of things I have to do today...first I have to go into work for a bit. And mail that letter. Oh, and get stamps. And we're out of ALL of our bathroom supplies, so I'll swing by a Duane Reade. What are we out of again? G's shampoo. Toilet paper. Cotton balls. Lotion. Good lotion this time, that knock-off crap made my skin burn. And then I'll swing down to china town to see if I can find a replacement lamp shade for the one that broke. I'll go to Great Wall City. I love that place. Mmmm, have lunch at the dim sum on Mott. Maybe see if Zeeb can meet me on her lunch break. That'd be fun..."

And then I heard the sound of a baby crying. I looked over to my right and saw a bassinet on the floor next to the bed. You know, with a crying baby in it. I rolled over to G, shocked, "We have a baby?"

"Yeah, we have a baby, why?" he said sitting up. I sat up in bed too, crossed my arms to sulk. "What's wrong, Babe?"

"Nothing. It just really fucks up my plans for the day."

I think for some, although they won't admit it, the thrill is not entirely about learning the answer to one of the more compelling mysteries of our time. They just like being able to say "deep throat." With a straight face. Like at work and stuff.

[update: case in point.]