Monday, September 29, 2003

Bush Whacked

It's gotten to be a little too easy finding things to criticize about the resident and his administration.
You have to wonder if former CIA Director George Herbert Walker Bush called his errant son and admonished him for allowing his handler Karl Rove to out the wife of former Ambassador Joseph Wilson as a CIA agent. Not to be picky, but identifying a CIA agent to the media is not only a felony, it's tantamount to treason, according to a speech made by George H.W. Bush back in his CIA days.
For Dubya to claim in his campaign speeches that his presidency would restore integrity to the Oval Office was just one more horrendous lie.
Ambassador Wilson told the world Dubya had lied about Iraq trying to buy uranium from Africa. Soon thereafter, columnist Robert Novak cited anonymous government sources when he divulged that Mrs. Wilson was a CIA agent, working on the weapons of mass destruction non-issue.
Dubya has stated through his press secretary that Karl Rove was not involved in the treasonous crime. Okay, if he's sure it wasn't Rove, then who was it?
This leak to the media makes Clinton lying to Congress about getting a blowjob totally trivial. In fact, a leak like this is far worse than Watergate.
This was treason and it happened on the amiable dunce's watch.
Gee, maybe John Ashcroft can investigate it and prosecute the criminals involved. That is, if he's not the one who leaked the story.

Friday, September 26, 2003

Survivor Recap

Yep, I called this one right. They booted Skinny Ryan (as they called him) off the show last night after he wimped out royally on the reward challenge. Why do we get to call skinny people skinny right to their faces when we can't call fat people fat unless it's behind their backs?
Anyway, the most interesting part of last night's show was uberbuff Osten whining about his disease, Whatif Syndrome. "Whatif I get pneumonia, whatif I get fluid in my lungs, whatif I stub my toe, whatif I get jock itch..." He's built like an Olympian god but he kvetches like a Jewish bubelah. He wants to go home because he's cold in just his man-panties and he 'might get sick.'
He actually asked his tribe members to vote him off. I say suck it up, clown. Apparently, so did his teammates.
So far, the horse to bet on is Rupert. He's one of those crazy guys who has probably had a lot of therapy so he can keep his seething, repressed rage under control. For a fat guy (don't tell him I said that) he's pretty active under the water, spearing enough fish to open a Long John Silver franchise.
When Shawn, the Jewish guy with the Irish first name, lost the prongs on Rupert's fishing spear in the middle of the ocean, I thought Rupert was going to pimp slap him. Instead he swam out and found the damn thing.
In an early poll, 56 percent said Rupert will be the ultimate winner. Burton and Sandra tied for second place, with a measly 8 percent each. All those buff Alpha dogs I thought I saw in Episode 1 have apparently gone Beta dog on us.
Let's hear it for the fat guy. Woof.

Wednesday, September 24, 2003

Survivor: Update and Preview

Nicole, the massage therapist from Hermosa Beach, CA was the first to get the boot on last week's Survivor premier. Poor dear tried to be conniving but she forgot how to midstream.
In the 70's, I lived just north of Hermosa in Manhattan Beach, and as I recall Hermosa Beach was an ideal place to get drunk, score drugs, get laid, get drunk, get stoned and... aw hell, I forget the rest.
Yes, Hermosa is where excess brain cells go to die. Just ask Nicole.
Adieu, Nicole. The cool thing is, like, you'll probably forget you were even on Survivor, like really fast, man.
For this Thursday, look to Hagrid to mix it up with mega Alpha dog Andrew Savage, in a classic battle of big, hairy, suppressed angry guy in a floral flirt skirt versus overly buffed, uptight, mean lawyer son of a bitch in Armani cutoffs.

On the chopping block this time?
Look to Ryan Shoulders, the ne'er do well hippie/nerdy kid who tried to score acid in a druggie newsgroup online, or Trish Dunn, the 42-year-old from Maryland who makes plain oatmeal look like flaming cherries jubilee.
Ryan is annoying and Trish is entirely disposable.

Sidebar: Osten Tatious wore those red boxer briefs down to nubs last week, with the waist elastic apparently gone missing and his ass n' hangy stuff bobbling around in plain view. His hunky pals were only too eager to show off their manpanties, too.
By now you can add stinky and nasty to the undies mix, so that should add some visual interest for the straight girls and gay boys out there. We dykes will just watch the near-naked men prancing around and say "eeuuwwww" a lot.
Thank God for the video blurring tool. That's all I'm saying.

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

BLOG HELL

Dear Readers,

My ancient browser, my outdated AOL version, BlogSpot's revamped system fucking up the date on my publisher and my general computer ineptitude have caused an unfortunate delay in my ability to post Blogs in a timely manner.
I wish to thank Grey Bird for her saintly willingness to post recent Blogs for me, but I am trying not to inundate her with requests so that my standard Survivor Blogs will still have a shot of being published, thanks to her largess.
While I am disabled, I offer the following topics for discussion in my
comments box:
· Bush begging the UN to bail him out in a pathetic speech to the UN General Assembly.
· General Wesley Clark, a nice Democrat, passing up the resident in recent polls.
· That Mitsubishi ad is back, the one with the horrible chick in the pink hat doing the popping dance in the passenger seat while her male companion with the livid gingivitis looks on approvingly. Why is it back?
· USA network running tons of Law & Order SVU reruns with Mariska Hargitay looking so hot I want to lick the TV screen. Agree?
· Summer is over and it's cool in Texas and I love it. Your weather?
· My girlfriend and I are still happily together, making a new record for us not breaking up for six weeks already. Who lost the bet?
· All of AOL's tech support telephone staff seem to be from Punjab, India now.
· Howard Dean's fabulous quotes: "This campaign is not about who will be the
2004 Democratic presidential nominee but who will protect democracy and the nation's ideals from the Bush administration.
''Democracy itself is at stake in this election,'' Dean said in Boston. ''The extreme right wing has shown nothing but contempt for democracy.''
Pointing to a flag on the platform, Dean said, ''This flag does not belong to Rush Limbaugh, Jerry Falwell, John Ashcroft, Tom DeLay and Dick Cheney. This flag belongs to us and we want our country.''

Talk amongst yourselves.

Thursday, September 18, 2003

Survivor Preview!

Here's a list of the contestants for Survivor Panama (previews tonight at 7 cst)and my assessment of each.
-Rupert Boneham, 39, a mentor for troubled teens, from Indianapolis. Sounds like an advice giver to me. With a name like Rupert Boneham, my guess is he got his ass kicked a lot as a teen. Guy looks like Hagrid.
-Tijuana Bradley, 27, pharmaceutical sales, from St. Louis. Name a kid Tijuana and you get a bar brawler on your hands. Afraid TJ will be the show's token angry black chick. Cool!
-Shawn Cohen, 28, advertising sales, from New York City. A nice Jewish kid from NYC with an Irish first name.
-Jon Dalton, 29, an art consultant from Danville, Va. Art consultant? Is that a real job? Seems Jon has had a little DUI history in Los Angeles. Dude!
-Nicole Delma, 25, a massage therapist from Hermosa Beach, Calif. A blonde, beach-based massage therapist? Slutty!
-Sandra Diaz-Twine, 29, an office assistant from Fort Lewis, Wash. A very sweet girl. Let's kick her ass off!
-Trish Dunn, 42, a sales executive from Annapolis, Md. Too old to be cute, too cute to be hated for being too old.
-Christa Hastie, 24, a computer programmer from Los Angeles. Token dumb blonde? She posted queries as to where to find methamphetamine on a usenet illegal drug newsgroup and used her real name. You be the judge.
-Darrah Johnson, 22, a mortician from Liberty, Miss. Woo, an attractive, enigmatic mortician. Creepy? Sultry? We'll have to wait and see.
-Lillian Morris, 51, a scout troop leader from in Cincinnati. Hey Lillian, Boy George and Annie Hall called, they want their look back.
-Ryan Opray, 31, an electrician from Los Gatos, Calif. The token hunky blue collar dude who likes to use his big Ford F150 truck to mess up peoples' lawns after a night of heavy drinking.
-Burton Roberts, 31, a marketing executive from San Francisco. What exactly is a marketing executive? Does that mean he shops a lot in San Francisco?
-Andrew Savage, 40, an attorney from Chicago. The potential Alpha Dog.
-Ryan Shoulders, 23, a produce clerk from Clarksville, Tenn. The Smoking Gun reported that this little dude uses drug newsgroups to look for good acid in Tennessee. Wow, dude.
-Osten Taylor, 27, an equity trade manager from Boston. Hmm, his name sounds a lot like Ostentatious. I'm betting he will be.
Michelle Tesauro, 22, a student from Pittstown, N.J. Poor kid has that 'too much time in the library' look. Let's kill her and eat her!

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

Work Work Work and Another Baby

My week has been consumed so far with the kind of work where one must iron clothing, get presentable and drive to places to get information to turn into stories. Arggh.

Meanwhile, my friends Cynthia and Ruben welcome to their home baby Caleb, who was born September 14 and taken home yesterday. I haven't seen him yet but he's supposed to be a huge newborn, at 9 pounds and some-odd ounces. This makes three babies my friends have had or adopted in the last four months. Plus Melly's already big baby, Mattie.
Methinks there's some baby puke in my future, somehow, some way.
This is a test performed by Blogger Control.

Friday, September 12, 2003

What can $87 billion buy?

The idiot in the White House has squandered $87 billion of our dough over this Iraq boondoggle, and he seems not to get that he fucked up. What else could we have done with the money?

- We could have outfitted every airport in America with state of the art cargo and luggage screening capabilities that would virtually tell operators what brand of chewing gum was hidden inside a crate full of surface-to-air missiles. After that, we'd still have $77 billion left.
- We could pay off every deficit in every state in America, yes, even California.
- We could pay unemployment benefits to everyone Bush has caused to lose jobs, for the next two years.
- We could double what America spends on "homeland security." Then we wouldn't have to go out looking for trouble with every tin horn Arab lunatic who ever thumbed his nose at Dubya's daddy.
- We could fund Title I educational programs for seven years.
- We could fund after school programs for children for the next 87 years.
- We could spend ten times more than we do on environmental protection.

Yes folks, he's squandered our money to make Iraq a better place to live. And he wants another $87 billion or so to keep improving Iraq.

Was it just me, or did everyone else think once the war ended, Iraq's oil stash would pay for their home improvements?
Is it just me, or do others not give much of a damn about Iraq's infrastructure?
Is it just me, or do others think Saudi Arabia had more to do with 9/11 than Iraq?
Is it just me, or did others think Saddam in 2002 was in about the same league as Khadaffi, David Cassidy, Pat Benatar, Flock of Seagulls and ladies wearing big shoulder pads?

For the life of me, I cannot see how anyone can make excuses for Dubya any longer. He's too dumb to be a madman and too powerful to be harmless. Soon, even his most rabid Republican right wing fanatical allies will be avoiding him at parties and stop returning his calls.
This clown makes me miss Richard Nixon.
Farewell, Sue

One of the few country music artists I loved, Johnny Cash, died this morning from diabetes complications.
One of the last CD's I bought was a compilation of his best songs.
I played it when la and I were on the outs last summer because, "Burning Ring of Fire" made me feel stronger, for some reason.
My pal Robert (aka Nashvillian) had special ties to the Cash family, and when June Carter Cash passed away back in May, he told me mourners at her funeral said Johnny would soon follow, because June was his heart.
I guess she was.
Rest in peace, Johnny. You were amazing.

Thursday, September 11, 2003

Nine Eleven

Two years later and still no Bin Laden.
Billions spent in the Middle East and still no domestic airport security on
the level we need to be truly secure.
Suddenly it's treasonous to call our lying president a liar. He is a liar. No
libel there, just like there are no WMD's in Iraq.
"Dixie Chicked" has become a term that means "exercise your first amendment
rights and be condemned." All Natalie Mains said was she was ashamed Bush was
from Texas.
I'm a Texan who's ashamed he's from Texas. Many of us are ashamed of him.
He dropped his fucking dog, how stupid is that guy?
He's dragged our country away from logic, reason and civil discourse.
He told the UN "fuck you" before the war he started, now he's asking for
their help to clean up the $6 billion a month mess he made.
Their answer should be "Fuck you, George."
He dodged the draft, then had the colossal balls to don the flightsuit many
of our warriors have fought and died in to stage a premature victory rally on a
naval ship while families of true warriors waited onshore to see their loved
ones.
He didn't call it a victory, he was too chickenshit for that, but the banner
behind him read, "Mission Accomplished." Another lie.
We have viable candidates to replace this moron.
Gen. Wesley Clark, Howard Dean, even John Kerry would bring dignity back to
the White House.
Two years after 9/11 and we are in worse shape than ever under this crooked,
spineless leadership.
American people are starting to realize that anyone could have said the right
'go get em' words on 9/11/2001 and sounded reassuring.
Fact is, George W. Bush was the wrong man at the wrong time and he's failed
us miserably. We deserve more. He's got to go.

Monday, September 08, 2003

My Fried Green Tomatoes/Towanda Moment

This afternoon I was minding my own business, pulling into a parking space at a shopping center. As I pulled in, a teal blue Malibu started honking from the left side of my car. Apparently the young, female driver had eyed the spot from 100 feet away and called dibs on it from a distance.
So, I parked and she jumped out of her car and hovered next to my car- mouthing "fuck you" at me.
I sized her up and figured I could kick her ass if the need arose, so I unbuckled my seat belt, rolled up the sleeves of my T-shirt, and got out of the car as she jumped back in her Malibu and locked the door.
I walked to her rolled-up driver's side window and said, "What's the problem, nitwit?"
She replied, "You took my fucking parking spot, you fucking bitch."
Patiently, I smiled and pointed to the next aisle where two blank spots stood even closer to the entrance. "Park over there," I said.
"Fuck you, bitch, you park over there," she replied.
"I already have a spot, you park over there, potty mouth."
"MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR NOW, BITCH, I'M WARNING YOU!" she replied.
By then I'd had enough of the little whippersnapper.
So I laughed and kicked at her door, just hard enough to make a loud noise but not dent the surface.
That really got her pissed off, behind her locked door and rolled up window.
"You dented my car, you bitch."
Pretending I did, I replied, "Yeah, so?"
"I'm calling the cops," she warned.
"Okie dokie," I smiled. "Tell them I'll be inside, shopping."
When I finished shopping she was idling in front of the store, waiting for me.
I just looked at her, pointed and laughed as I walked by.
When I got far enough away, she rolled down her window and said, "The cops are coming, you fucking bitch!"
I just chuckled and drove away at a leisurely pace.
Poor kid, she thinks the cops come when someone calls to report a parking space tiff.
And she never knew she was messing with Towanda.
And Then, a Little Light Turned on

Chari over at TECHFLUID posed a question about gay marriage. In my response, I used the term theocracy to describe the Resident's regime.
I looked it up to be sure I was using it correctly.
Dig this:
Main Entry: the·oc·ra·cy
Pronunciation: thE-'รค-kr&-sE
Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural -cies
Etymology: Greek theokratia, from the- + -kratia -cracy
Date: 1622
1 : government of a state by immediate divine guidance or by officials who are regarded as divinely guided
2 : a state governed by a theocracy

That's when the light turned on.
America is a democracy. Not a theocracy.
Bush proudly proclaims he was told by God to be president, and is guided by God in his decision making.
Nothing wrong with that, except we live in a democracy.
He was (sort of) elected to run a democracy. Democracy means, "a state governed by the people." No God mentioned there.
I love God, don't get me wrong, but in my job as a writer my clients would balk if I started crediting God for their latest product or innovation. I can honestly say I have never used the word God in one article I have written for profit.
Now at least I can say the Dubya's basic problem is he signed on to lead a democracy and opted instead to lead a theocracy. With that as the root, I can see why he started off on the wrong foot and has stayed there ever since.

Sunday, September 07, 2003

Why Me?

The trouble with being an all-inclusive lesbian is I have straight friends who have things like baby showers.
The trouble with having career oriented straight women friends is they wait forever to have or adopt babies, and at my age I am still attending baby showers.
Today's baby shower is for my friend Cynthia, who's a psychology professor at a local university. She traveled all the way to China to get her new baby, Maya.
The last baby shower was for Eleanor. I made a baby carriage out of a watermelon and filled it with all kinds of fruits. I bought a little outfit and a card for the baby. Alas, I showed up at Anna's looking like Nick Nolte in his DUI mugshot, so Anna kindly excused me from the melee.
That plan won't work this time. This shower is at 5 p.m. so there'll be no excuse not to get gussied up and go.
My girlfriend declined my invitation to attend the shower with me. I believe she used the delicate term, "no fucking way."
Then she tried to send me to Babies R Us to get the gift. Alone. She wouldn't even let me borrow her 9-year-old daughter Emma to take with me.
Oh, sure. Like the shower won't be enough, she thinks I'll drive to the suburbs all by myself to mingle with the gaga googoo set to buy the gift.
Luckily, my friend the other Cynthia is hosting this shower. That means her cool husband Ruben and her cool brother Robert will be there. That means wine, and maybe even cigars.
So, as we play baby bottle bingo and pin the tail on the stork, at least I'll have copped a nice buzz.

Saturday, September 06, 2003

Survivor Is Coming Back!

After a long season sans Survivor, I am happy to say Pulp Friction is ready to pounce on the new season with voyeuristic gusto, starting September 18.
Thanks to The Smoking Gun we have a preview that some of this season's misfits love their recreational drugs like speed, coke and acid.
Just before the show premiers, I'll be giving a rundown of the new contestants and their individual proclivities.
I may even offer a pick the winner contest, with a semi valuable prize to the correct picker. It may have been a better prize, but with this economy and all...
So, who among you will be joining me in watching this season?

Friday, September 05, 2003

At the Hospital

I saw my new GYN Oncologist today, who said after two and a half years without any signs of recurring cancer I was just about home free. He switched me from Prempro to Premarin, so if I go berserk and hunt down Barcodie and smite him upside the head, someone please print this and give it to my defense attorney, Gloria Allred.
While I was waiting at the pharmacy, which is on an Army post, I broke the cardinal rule about not trashing the President. The old lady sitting next to me started it by complaining about high prices in the commissary, I blamed the resident's economy and we were off and running.
The old lady and her husband, and the lady behind me and her two teen daughters used these adjectives in describing Bush: stupid, clueless, crooked, dishonest, crazy, dumb, Herbert Hooverish, power hungry and arrogant.
None of us were whispering, either.
The drums are pounding. Word is spreading. People don't like this regressive, dishonest pimp for the mega wealthy, and he's not going to get a second chance to screw us.

Thursday, September 04, 2003

AIDS, Africa and The Not So Amiable Dunce

When I first heard about Dubya's initiatives to fund programs to help Africans with AIDS, I applauded him. I jumped the gun.
I was wrong.
In his last State of the Union address, the resident announced a new program and pledged $15 billion over the next five years to fight AIDS in Africa.
But instead of using existing channels, he created a new boondoggle bureaucracy. Now the White House and Congressional Republicans argue that since the bureaucracy is not ready, dying patients must wait.
You heard me.
The Senate is scheduled to vote soon on an appropriations bill that contains $2 billion for the AIDS initiative, only $500 million more than this year's spending. Congress has approved even less.
Basically what Dubya has done is to say one thing and mean another.
There are several established and efficient African-based programs to help people with AIDS. Dubya and his cronies want to avoid channeling money into already established AIDS fighting groups because they cannot micromanage them.
When I make a charitable contribution, I make it and it's up to the donee how to spend the money. When Bush makes a charitable contribution, he wants to create the charity, then tell them how to spend the money.
All that African orphan hugging Bush did in Africa a few months ago was bullshit.
The money he pledged could already have been saving lives.
As usual, Bush is all talk and no walk.
Just one more reason to want this Bozo thrown out on his ass.

Wednesday, September 03, 2003

Remembering Miss Marls

After my new friend Miss Marls passed away, her sister went into her Internet account and notified Marls' friends and contacts of the tragedy.
I replied to her e-mail, she replied to mine and we've ended up becoming friends through
e-mail and Instant Messaging.
Big Sister asked me if I wanted anything to remember Marls by. I didn't want anything of value but I did want some little keepsake, so I asked if she had a key chain.
Turns out she had a very nice Louis Vuitton key case, which was delivered to me last weekend. It smells like really good potpourri.
Now whenever I use my keys, I am reminded of our brief friendship and I think fondly of her. I wish she would have stuck around a while, because stories I've heard about her since she died told me what a nice woman she was.
Even though we only knew each other a short while, I miss her. But I do have her key case and that somehow helps.

Monday, September 01, 2003

Cats and Kittens

Sometimes I miss the kittens my two grown cats used to be.
They were both precious babies, and I look at their big, Virginia ham sized butts now as they lay around like slugs, and I long for those days when I could lift them in one hand, with room to spare.
My girlfriend la has twin kittens, Cookie and Oreo. They even look like my boys James and Bart, except they weigh two or three pounds each, as opposed to 15 pounds per cat.
I stayed at her house Sunday night and I was reminded why I am happy after all that my boys are grown.
Cookie spent the evening meowing and strolling up and down my body. Oreo spent his time biting anything that moved. My girlfriend spent her time heaving them three or four feet from the bed, causing them to land with a deafening thud on the hardwood floor.
Then they would quickly climb back on the bed and start fighting.
Their little claws are like needles and easily penetrate sheets, thin summer blankets and human leg tissue. They think everything is potentially edible, including toes, fingers, noses and nipples.
Kittens meow louder than adult cats, so they can call for help if they get into danger.
Cookie and Oreo have the same meow decibel level as a Metallica concert, and they like to meow when they are happy, sad, angry, lonely, bored, curious or sleeping.
Earlier Sunday night, I was in la's pottery studio and walked through the nearly invisible screen door, giving myself a bruised eye socket. She had injured her left rotator cuff when she overdid it earlier at the gym.
Between my eye, her shoulder and those two tiny feline instruments of evil, we had a restless night. I'm sort of glad to be home now with my lazy grown cats, who sleep like bags of cement the minute the lights go off.
My kitten fever has been cured. For now.