Thursday, February 28, 2002

Fitness Walk

Canadians apparently think we Americans are a bunch of sedentary, lazy, car-dependent, indoorsy, slothful, couch and computer potatoes.
All right, I suppose I could use more physical activity, and I do tend to be a bit sedentary. I suppose if I were compared to a vegetable, a large Idaho baker might be as good a comparison as any.
I am certainly no celery stalk, no snow pea, no carrot and no string bean.
So this morning my ice skating, walking-to-work-for-fitness, veggie loving Canuck girlfriend sent me a friendly e-mail, suggesting I actually leave my warm house and go somewhere... on foot.
I thought I might try it, so I laced up my Sketchers and bundled up, stuffed 5 dollars in my pocket and set out on a walk.
It was really quite nice. I spotted all sorts of interesting things on the road.
First I saw a discarded sample 3-pack of Viagra in a gutter. A few steps later I saw a large, discarded box of Viagra, so I am thinking the samples must have worked. Now if the lazy fucker would clean his gutters, he'll be in good shape.
Then I saw some discarded losing lottery scratch-off tickets, so I was inspired to buy some along the way. I stopped at a little gas station/convenience store and purchased three $1 tickets. The little gnome of a clerk has never been lucky for me, but I thought I'd try him anyway. Three losers. Four losers, if you count the gnome.
I continued on my walking path to another convenience store and paid my last $2 for two Valentine's scratch-off tickets. One was a $1 winner!
I passed by the Tip Top Cafe and smelled the roasting chicken and meat, which made my stomach growl. Alas, I had no money left to stop in and have a little nosh.
Then I passed the KFC, but I can't eat there ever since someone wrote the Funny Girl List about KFC breeding its own chicken-like mutations for boneless, fried chicken-esque meals. Ugh. I also passed the barbecue joint, but again I had no money so I had to keep walking.
I got as far as Walgreen's, and went in to see if they had anything interesting on special. They have maybe 10,000 Easter related items in stock, but without money, I made my exit fairly rapidly.
Walking back toward home, I found a shiny penny and picked it up. I was reminded of the time I found a diamond ring in the dirt and got $200 for it at the pawn shop.
I looked, but didn't find another ring today.

By the time I got home today, 45 minutes had passed! I feel like an Olympian!
I might take another walk again someday.

Wednesday, February 27, 2002

Wedding Bells?

Tonight Zed told me she watches the Iron Chef and saw all of the Two Fat Ladies cooking shows. I can't believe I didn't already know that about her.
She started doing an imitation of the Iron Chef revealing bumble bee eyebrows and squid pate as the night's secret ingredients, and made me laugh so hard I thought I was going to choke.
She knows all the Iron Chef's names and even says, "Fuki-san" when she's imitating the announcer. She also does all the judges voices including the dimwit actresses and the Japanese lower senate member.
If she can do the fortune teller judge's voice, I think I may have to marry her.
Canadian Cobras

The other night I was talking to Zed and she said her eyes hurt like a cobra had spit in them.
I asked how she knew cobras spit, and she said Canada was full of cobras.
I said cobras are more hot weather reptiles and implied that she was lying through her teeth.
She insisted Canada was rife with cobras.
I asked how they stayed alive in the freezing weather.
She said they wore little parkas. Then she must have envisioned the logistics of that fabrication and switched it to capes.
Yes. She said cobras wear little capes in Canada.
I asked how the capes attached and she said they were tied under a little flap they had under their noses. Cobras don't have noses, they only have tiny, flat nostrils, but that fact seems to have escaped her. Besides, who would tie the little capes on for them?
I think she thinks we Texans are gullible.
Or maybe she was just jealous to hear about the proliferation of wild polar bears we have in the San Antonio area.
Just the other night, I nearly hit one with my car as he was eating a jackalope in the middle of the highway.
It is a little warm in Texas for polar bears, but they have their fur shaved by the Texas Game and Wildlife Commission every spring. They are kinda pink under all that fur.
I had a big fat one in my back yard the other night, eating pecans, shell and all. Now my driveway is covered in pecan studded bear crap, which attracts Peregrine falcons by the dozen. Ever tried to wash falcon crap off your car windshield? Horrible!



Tuesday, February 26, 2002

Crap We Used to Eat

As a baby boomer, I was thinking about food we used to eat that you can't find anymore.
See if you remember any of these:

Jell-O 1-2-3: This was a weird mutation that made Jell on the bottom, some cloudy mutation in the middle and whipped mushy stuff on top.

Whip n' Chill: This was like a really poor chocolate mousse.

Pommac soda: This was a champagne/apple sort of soda that I used to love.

Teaberry gum: This odd flavored gum made you dance the "Teaberry Shuffle."

Seven Up candy bars: These had 7 different centers in one chocolate bar, some chewy, some gross.

Dr. Pepper: Used to have a better flavor, was said to have added prune juice. Ads said you should drink one at 10, 2 and 4 to get through your day. Yikes.

Corn Nuts: Sold in strips of 10 little packages. Mmm, I used to beg my mom for these, they cost 29 cents back then.

Bosco: Used to make the best chocolate milk.

Dreamsicles: Orange Popsicles with vanilla ice cream inside. Fabulous!

Abba Zabba bars: White taffy threaded with peanut butter. These were great, like
Bit-o-Honey's, only better.

Fizzies: These were like fruit flavored Alka Seltzer without the medicine, dropped in a glass of water to make a disgusting carbonated drink. I loved 'em.

Tang: Tang was to orange juice what fiber board is to wood.

Beechnut Fruit Stripes Gum: Mmmm this was great stuff.

JiffyPop popcorn: You'd put the pan on the stove and shake it forever and a big foil dome would form and presto: oily popcorn!


Weather Woes

After half of San Antonio planted tender spring flowers and plants last weekend, the 70+ degree weather plummeted into the 30's overnight last night.
I didn't get fooled, my outdoor planters are still empty and I saved myself a lot of angst by not jumping the gun.
The trouble with Texas weather is having to wear T shirts and shorts one day and down parkas the next. Okay, we don't really have down parkas, but it is cold outside.
My cats were clinging to me like mustard plasters last night, under the covers and meowing about the cold. It wasn't really cold in my bedroom, the heating works fine. They just heard the wind and had to be dramatic like the gay kitties they are.
Okay, enough. This is turning into a haircut blog and my bed is calling out to me to return.

Monday, February 25, 2002

More on Ross the Intern

I heard from a friend of his via e-mail and I was told Ross the Intern would be checking out Pulp Friction soon. I imagine he's still busy wrapping up his Olympics gig. I am very eager to "meet" him.
A new reblogger friend opined that my calling Ross a bulldyke was somehow not edifying. I certainly wasn't slamming Ross, some of my best friends are bulldykes and perfectly delightful creatures.
Many women I know look like guys, and I think it's refreshing to have a guy look like a butch woman for a change. It just adds to the diverse nature of our queerness.
I really have to applaud Jay Leno for recognizing Ross the Intern's broad appeal and sending him out there to create his own features. Imagine always working behind the scenes and suddenly being catapulted to center stage on Neilsen's top rated special series for two weeks.
Ross handled it with the finesse of a seasoned professional. Plus he was so damn strange and funny, even for us jaded queers he was a breath of fresh air.
Did anyone see when he tasted a Japanese delicacy, grimaced and said it tasted like ass? Priceless!
Between Canadian pairs skaters Sales and Pelletier getting the gold after all and Ross the Intern making his debut, I'd say this year's Olympics were fantastic.
But Ross still looks like a bulldyke!

Sunday, February 24, 2002

Sunday

I went to a Chinese New Year party last night and discovered sake is not a good party drink. Halfway into my second 8 oz. glass I got a roaring headache and had to leave.
No more sake for me for a while.
I think I may have killed some brain cells, which is bad because I have a stack of entries for 'best feature writing of a science story' to judge today. I think I'll give highest points to the one who wrote the shortest story.
Ugh, I better get started.

Friday, February 22, 2002

Ross the Intern

Yipes! It seems Pulp Friction is Google's number one site for locating information about Ross the Intern from Jay Leno's Tonight Show.
I checked the NBC/Leno site for additional information (being the quasi responsible journalist I am) but so far there's nothing mentioned about this very strange, funny, androgynous 'guy' whom I thought was a bulldyke when I first saw him.
I will gather as much information as I can about him and write more as info becomes available.
It just goes to show you, when America gets a peek at gay culture by way of it's more colorful characters, they are amused and curious. Almost 400 hits in two days tells me he's not just catching queer America's attention.
Caveat: I am not saying Ross the Intern is gay, mind you, but if he's straight then so is Ellen, Melissa, k.d., George Michael and Elton.
Ross wants his own talk show one day, and if America can tolerate Jerry Springer, Jenny Jones, Rikki Lake and some of these other skanky hosts, Ross ought to be a shoo-in. After all, he's almost Rosie O'Donnell's twin separated at birth and he could fit into all her manly suits!
I doubt he'll be able to make a long career of his over-the-top fairy princess routine, but he's every bit as funny as that Jack guy from "Will and Grace," plus he looks so much like a bulldyke, he's a real crowd pleaser.
I am interested in what others think of this guy.
Feel free to comment, unless you are from the Christian right wing fundamentalist lunatic fringe, at which point your comments might be met with some peppery but happily pro-queer replies.
Remodeling: Pardon Our Dust

Pulp Friction is currently undergoing some remodeling, thanks to my übertech blogger guru Grey Bird. Thanks go out to her, as always, for her efforts.
Check out her blogsite "The Grey Bird Speaks" for a good time.
I have added two new blog links, "They Won't Buy the Cow" and "That's Unpossible."
Both are funny in a Seinfeldian way.

Ice Skating Surprise!

Well, well, well.
We all expected Michelle Kwan to win the gold, and in waltzes 16-year-old Sarah Hughes, who skates a near perfect routine and scarfs up the gold for herself.
Just as Sarah finished her once in a lifetime performance, Zed (we were watching TV together on the phone) says, "Oh, little Reba McEntire wins." Little did she know Reba gives me the creeps because she has that sort of trailer trash cross-eyed rat look, so I started laughing so hard I missed the commentary.
Actually, Sarah Hughes is more attractive than Reba and far less cross eyed, but at certain angles it's spooky.
At any rate, the kid certainly knows how to be poised at the winner's circle.
Michelle Kwan held on to her dignity admirably while being awarded the bronze medal, but it was easy to discern her seething disappointment all the same.
She was just a mite too arrogant before the main event. Pride goeth before a jump, where you land and hack a 3-pound chunk out of the ice. I thought they might have to use the Zamboni machine after Kwan gouged out that crater.
My favorite Russian name so far in the Olympics has been silver medalist Irina Slutskaya. She's cute in an All American way, even though she skates for the thin-skinned, whiney Russian team. She earned the silver medal fair and square, I thought.
Zed was all puffed up over the Canucks beating the American women's hockey team for the first time in 50 years. The Canuck players were cute, for a bunch of butch dykes. I'll bet Canadian beer stock prices rose after they got through celebrating.
After the games last night, Ross the Intern from Jay Leno mugged it up with former ice skating medalist Tara Lupinsky. That boy needs to be in a chromosome study somewhere, he is so 50/50. He's a Gen X Liberace. His purple ice skating suit was just ghastly, and I still think he may really be a bull dyke.

Thursday, February 21, 2002

Work Work Work

I like to earn money, but the trouble is there always seems to be some work attached to it. You know, like the kind of work where you have to get up early, get ready and actually go someplace.
I prefer to get my writing assignments by e-mail, do them, return the finished job by e-mail and invoice by e-mail. I call them "pajama jobs."
Last week and this week I have been pressed into service by my alma mater.
It seems a journalism professor they have on staff is in East Texas dealing with her seriously ill daddy, so I am filling in as a rent-a-faculty.
I am helping journalism students publish their weekly newspaper, and by that I mean reading and editing their florid copy and weeding out the debris. Lots of debris.
With my car still in the shop, I am at the mercy of my friend Irene, a faculty member in the journalism department. She'll be picking me up and dragging me to school this morning at far too early an hour.
And I cannot slither out the door at 3:30 today, since I have no car and no skills with public transportation. So I'll be stuck all day in a room full of college students who worship at the altar of "to be" verbs.
Fortunately, some of them are nubile young coeds who call me Ms Zipdrive (not my actual last name, but you get the idea). That helps pass the time.
Paul my mechanic tells me my car will be ready by noon at the latest. I cannot believe it's taken him four days to accomplish everything, but I think he kept it this long just to justify the $1,500 repair order. In my next life I am going to be a mechanic. They seem to earn about the same as dentists or lawyers.
This week is almost shot and all I really wanted to do all week was daydream about my girlfriend. Late night and early morning telephone calls have put a sleep deprived, surreal quality on things, which kind of dulls the shock of having to be out somewhere working.
There's nothing like new romance to perk up the drudgery of having to earn a living.

Wednesday, February 20, 2002

Wednesday morning

I think I would be an excellent Olympian.
My sport would be curling.
Zed tells me her little town in Canada has two curling arenas (or rings or boxes or whatever they call them) and I could learn the basics there, then practice on my driveway during the summer.
I could definitely be ready by 2006, and my blogs would be infinitely more interesting.
When I won the gold, I could show those young whippersnappers how to stand for the national anthem without all that wiggling.
After I won the gold, I could open a curling studio in San Antonio and introduce Texans to the intricacies of this exciting sport. Any sport where you can hold a beer or smoke a cigarette while you do it is bound to be a hit in Texas.
I have already envisioned the endorsements:
"Lone Star Beer presents the Texas Curling Team."
"Pro Curling: brought to you by Zig Zag rolling papers."
My best friend Anna is a psychotherapist. Her husband is a chiropractor. Their son Andrei will likely own a hair salon when he is older. I want them to start a business combining all three, called The Clip and Chat and Crack House.
They can sponsor my curling team.
You might want to reblog on this for posterity, so you can say you were in on the ground floor.

Tuesday, February 19, 2002

Autoneurosis

Years ago in Mexico, Chevrolet tried to introduce the Chevy Nova to the Mexican car buying public. They wondered why nobody would buy this popular brand of compact car, until a Mexican marketing firm explained to them that in Spanish no va meant "it doesn't go."
On Sunday my car battery was apparently dead. No va.
On Monday, Paul my mechanic, rescued my car from the driveway and hauled it to his garage to fix.
I told him to do all the routine maintenance it would need for the year, belts, hoses fluids, brakes, tune up, whatever it needed. It was running fine, it just had a dead battery, was a tad sluggish and had a teeny-tiny oil leak.
Paul called today and said everything was diagnosed and they were ready to begin.
So I said, "How much is this gonna run me, Paul?"
Paul said, "Well, it wasn't the battery, it was the alternator. That's gonna cost ya. And you need a major tune up, so that'll be another hunnerd or so. The oil leak was a gasket, so we're gonna go 'head and change all of them. Then, ya ever get that timing belt changed? No? Well, we better oughtta change it before it breaks on ya. So that'll be labor intensive, but you know once we pull the timing belt, all the belts'll be easy to get to and change. Then if you change the belts, then your hoses oughtta be updated too, so we'll do them. And remember the oil change, oil and fuel filter."
"So what's it gonna cost me, Paul?"
"Well we can get you back on the road for only $1,527."
"$1,527? Ouch."
"Yeah, these Acuras will run forever, but they's expensive when you do have to get 'em fixed."
"Jeeze, I guess so! So will I get it out today, Paul?"
"Oh no, we'll have to order some parts from Acura, that'll take an afternoon."
"So when, tomorrow evening?"
"Uhh, Thursday afternoon at the latest."
"Okay, Paul."

Fifteen hundred fucking bucks? For that I could fly to Ontario, pick up Zed and we could spend the weekend having champagne and room service at the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco.

Last time I took my car in, I said, "Paul, do whatever it needs, but call me if it's more than $700."
It was $69.
Looks like I need to remember that trick next time.

Ross the Intern from Jay Leno

Whoops, on Jay Leno's Olympics coverage, turns out that big dyke Ross the intern is a male. A true-to-life Androgynous Pat, I thought for sure he was a she.
Tonight Jay used the 'he' pronoun when introducing 'him,' so I guess she's a guy after all.
What a total queen, in that case. No wonder he was saying he was in love with Michelle Kwan. He is a he. And he loves her in the same way any queen might love Barbra Streisand, for instance.
I hope my mother was watching him. She just loves to wonder if people are male or female.
Meanwhile, Canadian gold medal winning skaters Sale and Pelletier were also on Jay Leno's show tonight, and they gave him a very cool Roots varsity style jacket with the team Canada logo in it.
And Roots Canada (not Roots USA, there is no Roots USA) made the American uniforms, too.
Canada has basically made these Olympics their own showcase.
I am trying to convince Zed that I engineered the whole thing with my incessant Olympics pro-Canada blogs.



Monday, February 18, 2002

Olympics Ice Dancing

That ain't no sport.
The Canadian woman ice dancer was totally hot, but she and her partner both fell down at the end of their long program.
The Russians just creep me out. The Italians were very odd indeed.
It's a messy event- people falling over, tripping, crappy music.
The French won the gold, gee, just how the crooked judges planned it all along.
I'd rather watch Curling for Loonies.
Making Lemonade

I lead a charmed life.
Yesterday I went out to discover my car was comatose, and instead of worrying I went out shopping, then to dinner.
This morning I called my mechanic Paul, and not only did he come pick it up for free, he didn't even annoy me by ringing the doorbell and making me fill out a repair order.
To celebrate not being able to leave the house (I could walk but I don't want to ruin my lazy American reputation) I have tuned into ABC's "All My Children" for the first time in a year or more. It's really gone downhill. Brooke is now apparently engaged to Edmund. How gross is she with that wobbly mucklemouth? One more facelift and she'll be wearing a goatee.
Zed has a holiday from work today.
Something Canadian, like Honourable Municipality Day of Courtesy. They all stay home and practice being polite. Something like that, she was kind of vague when she explained it to me.
I see I am out of bread, so I'll have to walk to the store and get some eventually.
I can no longer patronize the corner store because Apu the Pakistani owner and I had some words a few months ago when he wanted a blank check before he'd let me pump gas.
I think I may have used the term 'Punjabi idiot' and told him I'd never give him another cent of my business. Oh, well. He sells stale bread anyway.
As it turns out, I do have some fresh lemons so I do plan to make some lemonade. May as well make the best of being homebound.
Reblog Haiku

So many entries
Very few reblog comments
Makes me so forlorn

Hinting doesn't help
Alas, nor does demanding
Perhaps a contest?

I question myself
What would Ms Jill Matrix do?
I'm reblog clueless

Sad Monday morning
Car's conked out, so are reblogs
Nobody feeds back

Where's haiku Kelly?
She has forsaken me, why?
Why, I do not know.

And my friend Suzy
Absent without leave, she is
No reblogs from her

Greybird is sleeping
That must be the reason why
Reblog's spider webbed

And my sweet Zeddie
She blames a browser problem
Reblogs clog things up

What am I to do?
I write and write and write more
I abhor vacuums


Toronto

Did anyone catch the Simpsons visiting Toronto last night?
Homer Simpson called Canada "America, Junior."
Getting off the bus behind them when they arrived in Toronto were a Royal Canadian Mountie, a hockey player and Sasquatch.
A Canadian graffiti artist was tagging a wall with an admonition to "OBEY THE RULES."
As they rode through the city, they saw a building called the Dodger's War Memorial.
Bart and his pal ended up on the set of "Curling for Loonies."
Poor Canada.
Even the Oscars allowed the South Park song "Blame Canada" to be nominated for an Academy Award, the heckling has become so all-American.
Just because they talk funny and they have little forest animals on their coins and Pokemon holograms on their 20's, is that any reason to dog them?
Just because they gave the world Anne Murray, Celine Dion, Alanis Morissette, Jim Carrey, Tom Green and Alex Trebec doesn't mean they are all dweebs.
Just because the Francophone Quebeckers want to secede and the rest of Canada think they are assholes doesn't mean the Americans should heckle them.
Just because they eat poutine and use peameal instead of cornmeal doesn't mean they deserve all the disrespect.
My Ontarioan girlfriend was trying to explain why she hated Alberta, and she slipped and said, "It's the Texas of Canada."
Seems a fair amount of Canadians think we Americans are loud, rude, violent, racist, gun happy and obnoxious. And forget what they think of Texans. We frighten them.
But get those Canucks near an all-American Walmart and they shop for bargains like a pack of rabid beavers.
They are a polite bunch, the Canucks.
My girlfriend is so polite, I can never tell when she's objecting to something.
I called her after work one day and discovered she'd had a bad day. The conversation went something like this:
"What happened, Sweetie?"
"Oh, a coworker was rather unpleasant."
"What did she do?"
"She was behaving in a very unpleasant manner."
"Why?"
"I am not sure, I think it may be hormonal."
"So, did you confront her?"
"Oh, Gosh no."
"Why not?"
"Oh, we just don't do that here."



Reliable Car

Yesterday I hopped into my always-reliable car to run some errands and it clicked when I turned the key. Dead. No radio, no powerlocks, just dead.
I added some water to the battery and it was still dead when I tried to start it.
That was the extent of my auto repairing expertise.
So I had to call my friend Elaine to come get me.
She drives a 1973 VW bug with 4 dented fenders, 3 paint colors, a sagging headliner, bumpers tied on with wire and 4 different tire brands. She also earns $65,000 a year, so go figure why she keeps the little deathtrap.
Riding in her car on the freeway made me finger the St. Christopher medal I wear and sort of sneakily make the sign of the cross a few times.
Now I know why some people kiss the ground when they arrive home safely.
And one more thing. It's never a good thing to have one's car arrive at the mechanic's by tow truck. Woe is me.

Sunday, February 17, 2002

Dog Blog

My new next door neighbor, who moved in over the holidays and I still haven't met, seems to be a bit of an idiot.
On Friday I awoke to the sound of a dog howling. Judging from the depth and volume of the howl, it had to be a large dog, and it had to be close by.
My office is in the back section of my house, and I noticed the relentless howling was even louder there.
It was getting more annoying by the hour, so I peered through the blinds and there locked behind the neighbor's gate was a full grown Springer Spaniel.
The howling became so regular, I was able to ignore it and forget about the dog all morning.
When I went out that afternoon on an errand, I returned to find the dog loose in my front yard. She was eyeing me as I drove up, so I figured I'd better try to be friendly so I could catch her for the neighbor.
Turns out she was very friendly and sweet. So, I told her to wait and I ran inside in search of something with which to tie her to the neighbor's front porch. What do I know, I am a cat person, so I grabbed an 8 foot extension cord.
I tied one end to her collar and secured the other half to the neighbor's front porch railing.
I went to get her a bowl of water, and when I returned the cord was broken and she was three houses down, playing with a mutt.
I called her and she came, so we went to my garage to look for rope. I found an 8' length of white rope and retied her, then took her back to the neighbor's porch.
As I left her and went back to lock my garage, she came trotting up again, with a 2' length of rope dangling from her collar.
Desperate and without anything sturdy enough to hold her, I spied the clothesline in my back yard and fetched some wire cutters. Just as I had cut the clothesline down, the neighbor's buddy or brother or drug dealer showed up and asked if I knew where the dog was. I said she's here, I was going to tie her up with my clothesline.
So I ended up taking her next door and the idiot said, "Maybe you should have tied her up, she might run loose from you."
He didn't even thank me for taking 45 minutes to try to secure her.
While I was out back dealing with the damn dog, I missed a package delivery from Zed.
Anyway, the neighbor finally got home and I noticed he was now keeping the dog on his screened-in porch.
I eyed the thin screening and chuckled to myself.
I woke up this morning to silence and looked through the blinds to see my neighbor's truck gone and a huge hole in one of the screens.
Looks like she refuses to live with an idiot.

Friday, February 15, 2002

JUSTICE!!!

The Canadian figure skaters Jamie Sale and David Pelletier were awarded gold medals today! The French judge Marie-Reine Le Gougne was suspended after FINALLY admitting the French Ice Skating Federation pressured her to vote for the Russians.
The bitch should have reported the coersion instead of allowing it.
Meanwhile, the Russians are said to be "furious" over the decision, even though their lesser team is allowed to keep their bogus gold medals.
Their idiot leader was quoted, "It (the decision to award a second gold medal) went against any moral and ethical norms that exist in sport where athletes, not lawyers, compete against each other on the slopes and in the sports arenas and not in back rooms," Nezvegsky said.<<
Can you imagine the balls he has to talk about morality and ethics? Laywers didn't make the decision, the video tapes clearly showed mistakes made by the Russian skaters, so Nezvegsky is making an even greater ass of himself.
I think France should have to forfeit participation in the rest of the ice skating events and the Russians should shut the fuck up and be thankful their second-rate skaters get to keep their gold medals.
As for Sale and Pelletier, they ought to get the bronze medal too so they can take home a complete set.
Bring on the French ice dancers!
I posted this to the Funny Girl Network last year, but I liked it and thought I'd recycle it. A few were taken from New York Magazine, but I wrote the rest.

New Drugs on the Market

Oil of Olé- makes your skin feel like smooth, Spanish leather
Akinacea- treats symptoms similar to the common cold
Tyoneon- great hangover relief
Ex-relax- helps you attend parties when you know your ex will be there
Been-Gay- ointment for rectal irritation
Noagra- treats partners who want it when you don't
Ultrabrie toothpaste- for smiles that say "cheese"
Milk of Amnesia- for treatment of ...uhhh...
Vibraprofen- eases soreness from excessive self-gratification
ExLuxe- for gastric upset involving your ex inheriting millions
Helium Peroxide- when you want to be REALLY blonde
Bear Aspirin- for New Englanders who find grizzlies eating their backyard petunias
Pepto-Biscuit- for treating gastric relief from eating in Southern diners
Absorbing Junior- for avoiding unwanted pregnancy
Tyroneze- for relief from getting bitch slapped
Condominiums- reusable prophylactics for multiple partners
Kinko Biloba-treatment for those who keep forgetting to get copies made
Nitrogena- treats skin and heart conditions
St. John's Work- for people depressed due to excess laziness
Suedafed- for relief from discrimination toward civil service employees
Exstacy- cures depression from being dumped
Vicodun- relieves stress from constant bill collectors
Oh, Sure- deodorant for skeptics
Flax- for public relations fresh breath
Valuem- tranquilizers that help to appreciate one's relatives
Rollsaids- stomach relief for those with expensive cars in the shop
Oxymoron- for treating the same old zits, day in and day out
Beenadrill- pain relief after dental treatment
Vicodum- eases the pain of dealing with morons all day
Zanadu- anti depressant for people who just don't care
Nicosquirm- suppositories for nervous ex-smokers
Zybang- for ex smokers who like to calm their nicotine cravings with sex
Zybong- for ex smokers who like to substitute pot for tobacco
Thoroughzine- knocks out psychotics quick
Zanadouche- tranquilizers that make women feel springtime fresh
Ivory soup- for those who like to be clean- inside and out
Preparation Heche- eases the stress of excess insanity
Compound WWF- for wrestler's aches and pains
Phenobarbiedoll- for easing the stress of not having a tiny waist
Nozee- a placebo labeled "Sorry, nothing in this medicine cabinet that will incriminate me. Now get back to the party."
Simpson to Host Hip-Hop Show

>>CINCINNATI (AP) - O.J. Simpson is scheduled to appear at a hip-hop concert next month in the same neighborhood that was torn by three days of rioting last April.

``O.J. is promoting peace,'' said promoter Anthony Pierre of Mactone Investments.

Simpson will toss autographed footballs to concertgoers, tell jokes and introduce the headline acts, rap artists Foxy Brown and Juvenile.

...The hip-hop crowd was among Simpson's biggest supporters when he went on trial for killing his former wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her acquaintance, Ronald Goldman. The former NFL and movie star was acquitted of those deaths in 1995, but later found liable in a wrongful death lawsuit. <<<<

He's telling jokes?
Allow me to help that bastard out.

OJ: What's the difference between me and Pee Wee Herman?
It only took 12 jerks to get me off!

OJ: Did you hear my ex Nicole got her own endorsement offer?
She's going to be a Pez Dispenser.

OJ: What's the difference between me and John Elway?
A: I drive a slow, white Bronco. Elway *is* a slow, white Bronco.

OJ: I went into the hopsital for a biospy. When the doctor pulled out
his scalpel I said, "You call that a knife?!"

OJ: What's the difference between Mark Fuhrman and a black woman?
A black woman can't get me off.

What a shock!

Sons of Reggae Icon Bob Marley in Florida Pot Bust

>>TALLAHASSEE, Fla. (Reuters) - Police in north Florida arrested two sons of the late Jamaican reggae star Bob Marley on marijuana possession charges after finding several "big joints" in a car in which they were riding, officials said on Thursday.

Julian Ricardo Marley, 26, and Stephen Nesta Marley, 29, of Miami, were charged on Wednesday after police stopped a speeding Mercedes-Benz on a highway near Tallahassee, the state capital, police said.

"I walked up to the driver's door and smelled a strong odor of marijuana," said Florida Highway Patrol Sgt. Hugh Cutchen. "In searching the vehicle we found eight big joints of marijuana." <<<

Gee, who would have thought Bob Marley's kids would get mixed up with loco weed?
My favorite part of this story was the cops found "eight big joints."
Now, there are big joints and there are big, Jamaican, raggae-assed, heirs of Bob Marley joints. They must have been HUGE.

The arrest happened in Florida. Perhaps the Marley boys can avoid prosecution and get into rehab with Noelle Bush "for as long as it takes."
Yeah, right.
More Skategate...

>>"We are concerned for the athletes,'' IOC director general Francois Carrard said.
Carrard said the skating chief also assured that the ice dance competition, often the subject of disputed judging, would "be presented in the most proper way'' when it begins Friday night.
Some skaters feared that judges might now juggle their votes to avoid the appearance of fixing in ice dancing. That might hurt the chances of the favored French couple, Marina Anissina and Gwendal Peizerat.
"I think the judges are in big trouble if the French win,'' said Alexander Zhulin, who coaches U.S. and Canadian ice dancers and was a silver medalist in 1994.
"Because of huge pressure on the Russian federation, they will try not to vote for the French. It's best for everyone if Lithuania will win.''<<

See, this is where it's handy for a country like Canada to have rude American pals.
If the French ice dancers win and they didn't earn it, look for a Jerry Springer style melee from the audience.
Stuffed animals and crushed roses will be flung at the judges, sodas will fly and the Utah Jazz basketball team's dirtiest player, Karl Malone, will elbow the French skaters in the head.
Sequins and chiffon will be stomped into the ice. The French will wince and throw lit cigarettes and Cabernet at the hecklers.
All I can say is this.
French ice dancers, bust a move, you snail sucking cheaters.

Thursday, February 14, 2002

Olympics: Nasty, Dirty Ice

Damn it. The ice skating events are my favorites and the Russians and that lowlife French seahag judge fucked them up for all us this Olympics.
The Russians just took silver and gold for the men's event.
Gee, what a shock.
Okay, granted, the favorite was Russian Alexi Yagudin, and he did skate a stunningly fabulous program.
Too bad his dishonest comrades in the judging box have already tainted the sport and cast aspersions on even his performance.
These Olympics will not be about Yagudin's stunning performance.
It will be about Canadians Jamie Sales and David Pelletier getting screwed out of well-earned gold by the lesser Russian pair. Quick- what are the Russian pairs' names? Who cares? Let's just call them Boris Screwjavic and Natasha Fuckuova.
That big dyke Ross the intern from Jay Leno interviewed Sales and Pelletier the other night about Skategate, and they were very gracious not to rip the crooked judges, even though Ross tried her best to goad them into it.
One of the highlights after the skating screw job was watching Canuck rockers Bare Naked Ladies with Sales and Pelletier on stage with them, joining in a rendition of the Kinks song "You Really Got Me."
I guess in the Russian House, Screwjavic and Fuckyaova were listening to the Soviet national orchestra's recording of "March of the Volga Boatmen" (aka 'Yo, heave ho') with their depressing, vodka soaked comrades.
And one more thing.
Costumes designed with ragged, diaphanous chiffon look like hell on men skaters. Those French and Russian men skaters need to butch it up and stop trying to look like Nureyev doing Swan Lake.



Valentine's Day: Then and Now

Last year on February 14 I had undiagnosed endometrial cancer, clinical depression, anemia and a tempestuous, moody, self absorbed, ornery, capricious Gemini girlfriend.
We argued on Valentine's Day because she said I went overboard on her gifts.
I should have dumped her then and there, but we lasted another eight miserable months.

I am now cancer-free, non-depressed, red blooded, and was awakened this morning by the sweetest phone call from my calm, loving, affectionate, even tempered and consistent new sweetheart.

I think the lesson in this is what we are willing to tolerate when we settle for less than we know we deserve.

I hear so many friends talk about their lovers like they are walking on eggshells. They tolerate crumbs. They love them, but they don't seem to like them. Seems to me their lovers are like great shoes that just don't fit.

The thing is, romance is supposed to feel good.
If it's a daily struggle, it's just not a good fit.

Last year, I was in a constant state of wondering how things would be with my lover from day to day. I had to maintain a constant vigil to make sure I didn't say or do anything to set her off. I rarely knew the rules of the game, and when I'd learn them she'd change them.

My friends told me they didn't want to hear any more about our latest problems. It had become tedious to them, and I had virtually no support in maintaining such an unhealthy, unhappy relationship.

Now I don't need to discuss my romantic life with friends beyond saying it's great, getting better every day and how lucky I was to find her.

I am not religious, but there is a passage from Paul to the Corinthians that I want to cite on this Valentine's Day. It pretty much sums things up:

Love is patient.
Love is kind.
It does not envy.
It does not boast.
It is not proud.
It is not rude.
It is not self-seeking.
It is not easily angered.
It keeps no record of wrongs.
Love always hopes.
Love never fails.

Happy Valentine's Day, y'all.

Wednesday, February 13, 2002

My Funny Valentine: Haiku For Two

First, she reblogged me
Her remarks were quite funny
I was curious

Then I tracked her down
Uh oh, she's Canadian...
I got her number

So I called her up
And she said 'oat' and 'aboat'
And other cute things

And one day (or night)
I saw that I was smitten
And wow, she was too

So now we're cozy
And she makes me laugh so much
And she's way sexy

She's very funny
She tolerates no bullshit
And she's sane and safe

She's kind and thoughtful
She's soothing like a balm
And she's consistent

She's not a drunkard
She's not manipulative
She's no drama queen

She's my Valentine
She told me that suits her fine
That's the bottom line

Happy Valentine's Day, Zed.
xox
The Royal Tannenbaums, Religion, Politics and Skating

Just got back from seeing that movie and I was amused to find Gene Hackman's character reminded me of my own father. He too tried to come back around decades later and get chummy with us again, with about the same ratio of success. My dad's also a sort of a likable, colorful, amusing, self-absorbed asshole.
I have heard mixed reviews about the movie, but I liked it. It was funny in an Addam's Family, Twin Peaks sort of way.
Today is Ash Wednesday. As a recovering Catholic, I like to ponder what I'd be willing to give up for lent. Rule out chocolate, swearing, and a few other vices I won't mention here.
I am thinking I'd give up lima beans and anything sold by Long John Silver's.
Meanwhile, Texas Governor Rick Perry has written a letter to the Texas Boxing Federation recommending they deny Mike Tyson a license to box in this state. Good for him.
Tyson is an animal who doesn't deserve to make millions of dollars in the ring. He ought to be in prison, somewhere besides Texas.
Speaking of miserable, lowdown sons of bitches, the French judge for Olympics pair figure skating admitted in a judges' meeting, after the Russian team were awarded gold medals they did not deserve, that the French Skating Federation pressured her to vote with the Russians in order to get the Russians' votes for France in the ice dancing competition.
When the President of the international Ice Skating Federation confronted her, she lied through her teeth and said she was not coerced to vote for the lesser Russian skaters. Bullshit!
The Canadians Sales and Pelletier were robbed and this shameful scam should be protested until they are awarded the gold medals they earned.
I hope the French ice dancers eat some bad shrimp about 8 hours before they take the ice and projectile vomit on the judges' stand during their triple Lutzes.

Tuesday, February 12, 2002

Ice Skating Screw Job

The Russians stole the gold from the Canadians in pairs figure skating last night and I am outraged!
The Russians made at least two mistakes and those crooked Eastern bloc judges overlooked Jamie Sale and David Pelletier's flawless performance.
Even the crooked French judge admitted she made a deal with the Russians in exchange for a nod to the French ice dancers.

Check out this AOL poll:
Should Canadians Jamie Sale and David Pelletier have won the gold medal in figure skating?
• Absolutely! No question they deserved gold. 14,421   95%
• The judges were correct; the Russian team had a harder program. 542   3%
• The Russian team really was better. 124   0%
Total votes: 15,087  
Another internet poll of more than 100,000 said about the same thing.
The Ice Skating Federation needs to put a mic on these judges and monitor their every move until they can clean up this crooked mess. Better still, fire them, fine the countries they represent and get some judges with some integrity.
I would have been outraged by this even if my sweetie wasn't a Canadian and an ice skater.

Monday, February 11, 2002

Oh Brother.

>>ADMITTED: Noelle Bush, 24, Florida Gov. Jeb Bush's daughter (and the niece of President Bush), accused of prescription fraud, has entered a drug-treatment program, her lawyer told the AP. She will spend whatever time is necessary in rehab, said attorney Peter Antonacci. <<

If any of us impersonated a physician in order to get narcotics, we'd either be in jail or free pending trial after posting a mega-thousand dollar bond.
Because this loser is a Bush, she gets a vacation in a treatment spa "for whatever time is necessary" (for this scandal to blow over).
She is a felon, but her status makes her a poor, innocent victim.
People all over the country are in jail for possession of one joint or a few pills, yet this little pedigreed poodle is getting a massage and talking about the pressures of being a Bush in some undoubtedly fancy detox center.
How many more times will the Bushkin be allowed to flaunt the laws of the land?
Is anyone else mad about this?

Sunday, February 10, 2002

Fear Factor

This has to be the sickest show on network TV. They humiliate people, they subject them to danger and they are sadistic as hell.
I have seen the show twice, once they made the contestants eat pigs ears, hearts, eyes, etc. and in another (celebrity edition) they put live insects like roaches, scorpions and spiders on peoples' heads.
I have my own version of Fear Factor.
1. Contestants are gagged and locked in a room with Rush Limbaugh.
2. Contestants are tied up and given Toni Home Perms by their mothers.
3. Velveeta and Spam eating contests.
4. Contestants must shave all body hair with a Lady Epilator.
5. Contestants have to sit in a hot car on vinyl seats in Arizona in the summer.
6. Contestants must watch a triple overtime game between the Golden State Warriors and the Memphis Grizzlies, with the final score being 67-69.
7. Contestants must wear blonde wigs and go on a date with O.J. Simpson, high on crack, with itching powder in his bikini thong and a sticker in his Bruno Maglis.
8. Contestants must see how many times they can listen to Celine Dion singing the theme from the Titanic, full blast, with high treble on $20 speakers.
9. The Dr. Pepper n' Chivas Regal drinking contest.
10. The Square Dance Marathon.
Olympic Haiku, Mostly

We won two medals
Canada hasn't won yet
Better have a beer

James my kitten likes
To watch the skiers fly down
He thinks they are bugs

Ceremonies start
I sat there like a big butch
Cried at everything

Canada team gear
Maroon and so leathery
Color matches bronze

I love ice skaters
So graceful, so lithe, so smooth
And how 'bout them butts?

My Zed's a skater
But then online we all have
Skater butts n' stuff

My Zed's a Canuck
Zed rhymes with bed and Canuck
rhymes with... the F word





Saturday, February 09, 2002

Canada vs America

Americans, never call a Canadian girlfriend during the opening ceremonies of the Olympics, especially if she has a backache and is high on pain killers.
Zed asked me if Mike Tyson was gonna light the damn Olympic flame.
She wasn't interested in watching NBC, the official Olympics network, she was watching it on CNB or CBC, or some damn Canuck network.
No Katie Couric, no Bob Costas, no Dick Button, she likes commentators named Guy (pronounced Ghee) LeMieux or Jean Luc Poutine giving her the olympics poop.
I don't think she even cried when the American team came out.
I bet she didn't even shoot the finger at the TV when the Iranian team marched by.
I see I am gonna have to work on her xenophobia and Canadacentricity.
Meanwhile, watch Jay Leno to see the intern he has covering the games.
"She" is named Ross and is the butchest woman I have ever seen, but she has a very cute, girlish, giggly personality so she's very odd to watch. Her haircut is beyond butch. You gotta see her.


Friday, February 08, 2002

Watch It Wiggle...

Some kind of glitch in my system makes it impossible for me to access my pal Raven's Watch It Wiggle blogsite. I click on it or enter the url in my browser and it leads me to my harddrive file to download it.
I miss reading her stuff- she's fiesty and pissed off and funny- but I can't for the life of me figure out why I can't just click and go.
Anyone else have this problem?
Small Texas Newspapers

Yesterday I sat for eight hours reading newspapers.
I was judging a competition for small Texas publications, and I left wondering how half these newspapers stay in business.
Never mind Associated Press Style guidelines, some of these "reporters" didn't get past elementary school grammar.
One newspaper from the Gulf Coast area had a front page story about the nearby discovery of a sunken ship, filled with treasures and booty galore.
Then the story jumped to another page and there was a colorful artist's rendering of the newly surfaced ship and what treasures were thought to be aboard.
On the third jump page was a funny face saying, "April Fool's!"
That was not ridiculous enough.
On the entry, someone added a note saying the piece had generated hundreds of calls, people bought metal detectors, and some came from hundreds of miles away to explore the so-called wreckage area.
The newspaper publisher should have been sued rather than entering that crap in a competition.
The other judge and I gave them a 1 out of 10 points and two stern lectures.
Another entry was by this reporter who wrote about his small town's reaction to 9/11.
He called the villain "Osama bin Satan," which may be true, but it's not the jerk's name.
By far the worst category to judge was "color photography."
Imagine 80 pages of out of focus American flags, kids with Easter eggs, kids with American Flags, kids with sand pails, kids with back to school apples, kids in pumpkin patches, kids in kitten and bunny rabbit costumes and kids opening Christmas gifts.
Gag.
I awarded top prize to an enormously large high school football player, crying after a huge loss. Now that's photojournalism.



Wednesday, February 06, 2002

Good God, it's an Epidemic!

When I signed on AOL just now I found on the welcome screen about 20 links to Valentine's Dilemmas and Disasters.
What to do when you have nobody, what to do to get someone, how to keep from slitting your wrists, how to make him/her love you, how to tell if she's hot for you, what to say to make her hot for you, how to dump someone, what to buy, where to buy it, how to dress, when to undress...
Jesus, it's a romantic madhouse.
Here's my simple guide to picking the perfect Valentine:
Find a nice woman. Be nice to her. Make sure she's nice to you.
Tell her you like her. Tell her what you like about her.
Make sure she feels the same way about you.
Ask her if she'll be your Valentine.
If she says yes, make her glad she did.

Valentine's Gifts I Do Not Want

All this talk about Valentine's Day has made me start to think, what don't I want for this special day of affection?

• Stuffed animals. I have real animals who take up enough space.
• A talking/singing trout that hangs on the wall. 'Nuff said.
• Lingerie. I sleep in a T-shirt, lingerie is itchy and I look silly in it.
• Balloons. James my kitten is already crazy, he doesn't need the added stimuli.
• Cards from ex lovers. It's over. Move on.
• Chocolate covered cherries. Diabetes in a box, no thanks.
• Poetry books. I am a journalist. Most poetry makes my head hurt.
• The Prophet by K. Gibran. I hate that book and he's a windbag.
• Celine Dion or Michael Boulton CDs.
• Fake roses or other faux plantlife.
• Love coupons. They never seemed to get cashed in on demand.
• Slippers shaped like animals. I could trip and bust a hip.
• Fitness tapes. Please, Buns of Steel nearly killed me in the warm-up.
• Cat toys. Have tons, plus James prefers Kleenex and pecans to toys.
• Self help books. At my age, this is pretty much the way I am. Thanks anyway.

Tuesday, February 05, 2002

Suzy has the horror of VD.

My poor, well meaning pal Suze over at QueerPoetsSociety is in a quandary over selecting the right Valentine's Day gift for each of her potential Valentines.
She's an old school Southern Belle and a Leo, so she's wanting to establish the proper etiquette for appropriate Valentine's Day comportment.
Would chocolates, flowers and a card seem too aggressive?
Would a book be too scholarly and chaste?
Would a card and a few chocolates seem paltry?
Would flowers say too much?
Would a handmade card be too smarmy?
Would just chocolates be too juvenile?
Poor baby has made this entirely too complicated.
Maybe she should write, 'I love you' on an Etch a Sketch and send one to all her potentials. That way, if it's shook up and erased when it arrives, she'll know in her own heart she spoke her mind, took a stand and even laid it on the line. Sorta.
When my nephew was a pre-teen, he solved the dilemma of Valentine's Day by breaking up with his little girlfriend a week before and reconciling with her a week after.
He sure didn't learn that Barbaric behavior from his aunt, the little pisher.
Suze is a great poet.
If I were her, I'd just write them each a nice poem on some pretty paper and leave it at that. Maybe throw in some chocolates and a few flowers. And a card.
Hmm. I am beginning to see her dilemma.


The Client.

Friday, Feb. 1, 3 PM

Client: Hey Karen, I am in a crunch here, can you help me write a video script?
Me: Sure, when do you need it?
Client: We, uhh, need to meet Monday morning, uhh, I'll have all the info then.
Me: Okay, when on Monday morning?
Client: Uhh, I'll call you Monday morning and tell you when. Maybe Monday afternoon is better, will Monday afternoon work for you?
Me: Sure, call me Monday morning and we can nail down a time. This is a rush, right?
Client: Uhh, yeah it's a rush, gotta get it done, like yesterday.
Me: Okay, I'll be all geared up.

Monday 10:30 a.m.
I call him.

Me: Uhh, Steve?
Client: Yes?
Me: What time do you want to meet today?
Client: Uhh, oh yeah, well, this afternoon is good but, uhh, like tomorrow morning will be better.
Me: So you will have everything gathered up for me tomorrow morning?
Client: Oh yeah, yeah that'll be good.
Me: This is still a rush job, right?
Client: Oh, yeah.

Tuesday morning 10:30
I call him

Me: Hey Steve, are we ready to meet?
Client: Uhh, not yet, like, maybe this afternoon.
Me: Uhh okay, but I have to tell you, I have cleared the decks for this job and I have other things pending I absolutely have to get to later this week.
Client: Oh darn, you do?
Me: Well, yes, I pushed some things back because you mentioned this was a rush.
Client: Oh yeah, uhh it is a rush, all right.
Me: Why don't you just e-mail me what you have?
Client: Oh, can I do that?
Me: Uhh, yes.
Client: Okay, I will. I want to emphasize the "excellence theme."
Me: (rolling eyes) Sounds good. Will do.
Client: Oh, and if you can, put emphasis on the "excellence theme."
Me: Okay. Excellent. (rolling eyes)

Monday, February 04, 2002

Spontaneous Human Combustion

The Discovery Channel is showing a feature on humans who suddenly burst into flame and cremate themselves. They are just sitting there, and boom, they catch fire and are reduced to ashes in no time flat.
Swell. Now I am afraid I'll be sitting here one day and poof, all gone.
A 175-pound woman was reduced to a 10-pound pile of ashes in just moments.
What if she was sitting there, daycreaming about her new Canadian girlfriend and she got so hot she just broke into a blaze?
I better drink some ice water and start thinking about baseball scores.
And I am gonna send ice skater butt some macadamia nut cookies, potato chips and chocolate truffles.
Enron and the Crooks who ran it

Kenneth Lay, former chairman of Enron, "just said no" to a request that he answer questions before two Senate panels.
No? Is he kidding?
He needs to have a subpoena shoved up his ass.
Meanwhile, the Bush administration is treating Enron like a big concrete Monica Lewinsky.
"I didn't have political relations with that company, they only gave me $10,000."
Even Attorney General John Ashcroft can't go near this case- they lined his pockets, too.
This is emerging as another political scandal. Backroom deals, cash for silence, it's another Iran Contra.
Enron may have kissed and petted with a few Democrats, but the Republicans were full service whores to the Enron high rollers. And Dubya was their biggest bitch.

Superbowl Sunday

I opted out of the Superbowl party. I knew I'd talk a lot and get laryngitis and be vocally shot all week. Besides, I didn't want to make deviled eggs.
I still do not know what teams played or who won. That suits me fine.
Now I can legitimately claim I did not see even one minute of football this season. My record remains pristine.
It's Stock Show and Rodeo Week in San Antonio, so of course it's cold and drizzly outside.
I like the stock show portion of the event, but the rodeo itself seems a little barbaric. The stock show features on display giant cows with asses three feet wide that are amazing to see up close.
They also have baby pigs, ducks, chicks, lambs, goats and bunnies. That's the best part of the show, the babies. Hint: never try to pick up a baby pig, they have internal alarms.
The carnival midway used to feature freak shows when I was a kid.
They lined up several trailers, each containing some poor soul who made a living being gawked at.
Back then I saw the 900-pound man (he was drinking a Tab!) and Ronnie and Donnie the Siamese twins. They wore black horned rimmed glasses, red crewcuts, plaid Bermuda shorts and cowboy boots. Ronnie, or maybe it was Donnie, kept picking his nose. We made brief eye contact and I had to rush out of there, it was too much.
I don't think I could handle a freak show as an adult. I've gotten too Oprah for that kind of thing.


Sunday, February 03, 2002

Why Is Mike Tyson Alive?

Superbowl Sunday, a celebration of male brutality, beer swilling and wife beating...
And speaking of wife beaters and horrid brutes, why is Mike Tyson still walking the Earth?
The man is so out of control, he can't even appear on a stage with his would-be opponent without trying to beat the crap out of him. Then he pelts the media with vulgarity for having the temerity to question his ongoing violent insanity.
He's a convicted rapist, an ear biter and a wife beater, yet because he can box he remains a free man.
I think it's that little girl lispy voice he has that causes him to be such a thug.
He has to compensate for sounding like a castrati by being such an animal.
I think he and O.J. Simpson belong in the same tiny cell, with no heat, no air conditioning and one baseball bat and a gram of methamphetamine.

How to Get Insomnia

Go to bed at a reasonable hour. Fall asleep.
As you sleep soundly, have your overgrown, oafish kitten jump on the bed and bite your toe.
Turn on lamp. Glare at kitten.
Fish for a magazine to read to put you back to sleep, find the Feb. issue of Vanity Fair.
Read about those bastards in the Middle East.
Get horrified. Look at clock. Notice it's too late to call Canada.
Get up. Log on.
Read delightfully romantic card from new girlfriend, who can type pretty well even when she's apparently toasted on Canadian beer.
Look at clock, notice it's REALLY too late to call now.
Do a meandering blog. Wonder if anyone's reading it, and wonder who they are and whether they think there is some psychopathlogy at work here.
Consider making toast and hot cocoa, and the calories and caffeine involved. Think better of the idea. Consider a cocktail, then remember the antibiotics and nix that idea, too. Rule out Coke, juice and green tea. Settle for some water.
Go back to bed. Toss and turn. Repeat as needed. Damn cat.



Saturday, February 02, 2002

Saturday Morning

Ahhh, the chicken fried steak helped restore my vitality. I only ate half of it but it was very good, and the evening came with a sideshow.
Seems my pal Elaine has this mega crush on a woman she works with, Mary.
So Mary shows up and I proceed to watch this lesbian mating ritual from the comfort of my side of the booth.
Little puffs of estrogen were rising from our booth because those two were in such heavy estrus. They played footsies. They batted eyelashes. They teased each other.
I was about as significant to the conversation as a blow up doll someone puts in their passenger seat so they can use the freeway car pool lane.
Afterwards, Mary coyly opted to go home, so Elaine came over to my house.
She insisted on a play by play account of every nuance of the evening, so I indulged her, all the while eying the clock to see if I could still call Zed before it got too late. It got too late.
Still, it was fun to watch in 3D what I am experiencing in 2D.
Anticipation is a lovely thing.

Friday, February 01, 2002

Friday Night.

There comes a time in a sick girl's life when soup, hot tea and Nyquil just aren't cutting it anymore.
There comes a time when she must venture out and eat some meat.
Not just any meat, I need the Texas cure.
The TipTop Cafe, est. 1953, is the place for me tonight.
There, one of the twins (identical twin 70-year-old waitresses) will take my order.
Chicken Fried Steak, gravy on the side, fries or baked potato and a little salad with Ranch dressing. And some tiny yeast rolls with fake butter. And a little Coke in an 8 ounce bottle.
Yep. My system is sick of light, no-fat, sickie food. My system needs some beef and grease.
I need to bask in the glow of the TipTop's knotty pine paneling, with the mounted deer heads and giant bass and trout trophies on the walls.
I need to know there is life outside my Kleenex-strewn home.
I need to wear something plaid and flannel and jeans with a waist too big. I need to wear hiking boots. I need big, thick socks. I need to feel substantial.
Tonight, I am reclaiming my life. Tonight, I'll need a serrated knife to cut my food.
Tonight, I will be strong again.
I may even have pie.
Tetracycline, Superbowl and a Freezing Canuck

I finally bit the bullet and got some antibiotics for this lingering crud I have.
Last year when I had this it blew out my eardrum, so I figured I'd better get rid of it through modern chemistry rather than herb teas, catnaps and Nyquil.
I hate football. I don't even know who is playing in the Superbowl, but I got an invitation to a party and I may have to go.
The host is Richard, a jazz musician, and his fiancee is this sweet, gorgeous divorcee who is about 10 years his senior.
The party is at the house she got in the divorce, and I hear she did quite well for herself, so basically it's not a Superbowl Party, it's a Snooping Party.
I asked what I could bring and he said, "deviled eggs." Swell. I hate to schlep food in my car and he wants eggs.
What kind of straight guy wants deviled eggs for his Superbowl party? Deviled eggs are more for baby showers and girlish events.
Both he and his brother are kinda swishy for straight guys. They are in touch with their deviled egg sides.
Poor Zed is in two feet of snow right now, and she had to walk to work.
Her knees got wet trudging through it. That means some lucky bastards are getting to watch her walking around the office with ice skater butt and wet knees.
Oy, I have such a crush on her.
Oh No, Not Sting

What the hell's happened to Sting?
He used to be so cool when he started with The Police. Now he's on every ET and Hollywood Gossip show there is. He's mugging for the cameras at every awards ceremony, like a regular Tony Danza.
He's British. Where is the class?
He's going to be singing at the Superbowl, like he's Neal Diamond or John Cougar Mellenkamp. That's just wrong.
What's next, Laughlin, Nevada?
Why isn't he brooding in some ancient castle on the moors, writing weird songs and making people cry?
Why is he appearing on TV ads, high fiving it with Dionne Saunders?
When did he become such a dweeb/chucklehead?
We are spirit in a material world, my ass. Go back to England, Sting, you're embarrassing yourself.