A Bad Omen?

My friend Cris bought a Martha Stewart outdoor patio furniture set with a shatter resistant glass tabletop from K-Mart. K-Mart was having a going out of business sale and Cris loves Martha Stewart's design savvy, so she thought she'd really scored on her purchase.
During a thunderstorm last night, the tabletop glass shattered.
The table was on a patio, covered by a roof, so we can rule out lightening.
Cris has no redress for the shattered glass.
K-Mart is gone in San Antonio and Martha is probably too busy picking out prison outfits that will match the putty color of her new cell.
Cris sees this as a bad omen for Martha. I see it as just a stroke of bad luck for Cris.
I think she should fire off a letter to the editor of Martha Stewart Living, since she still has a subscription to the magazine.

In other news, I am all about tonight's NBA game, where the Spurs should finish off the Nets once and for all. I have decided to stay home and watch it with a friend rather than face the celebrating highway crowds after the game.

I Got A Basketball Jones

Poor, poor New Jersey Nets, getting whipped in their own little arena.
I'd like the Nets okay, even with known wife beater Jason Kidd on board, but I just loathe reserve Center Aaron Williams with his dark orange hair and puce colored lips. He just hurts my eyes.
And what about Mutumbo? How the hell old is that guy?
Those Jersey fans are straight from Central Casting. Yo, Vinnie. They make Penny Marshall sound like William Jennings Bryant.
So...game six is Sunday night in San Antonio.
The S.A. fans are insane. Go Spurs Go signs are hanging off every car and home. Downtown buildings are festooned with banners. Infants are wearing little silver and black T-shirts.
Most say this will be the final game in the series, and for veteran David Robinson who'll likely retire with a second championship ring, I am happy.
My dilemma is where and with whom to watch the game on Sunday. Do I choose the loud drinkers' house, the chatty, convivial non drinkers' house or my own place where I can control the environment?
My only certainty is my girlfriend won't be watching the game with me. She considers watching basketball on TV on a par with getting a mammo, a root canal and an IRS audit simultaneously.
Speaking of watching the game on TV, some of the ads that accompany this series are showing a very disturbing trend.
An ad for a movie called, "2 Fast & 2 Furious" shows a bunch of young black guys drag racing on the streets with some macho/nerdy white guys.
I think it's enough that The Man controls the drug, malt liquor and weapons flow into the Black community. I find it distressing that Hollywood is now glorifying crazy mofo drag racing among young Black men. Just one more way to fuck them up.
The best ad is when Dallas Mavs Coach Don Nelson is speaking to his team of international players in several different languages. The last bit, "Hey Nashie, how about hustling it up a bit, eh, ya hoser" is hilarious. After plenty of exposure to Canadian accents over the last three+ years, I really appreciated the subtlety.
So, who besides New Jerseyites, New Yorkers and Texans are watching the NBA finals?
The best thing about them is no Shaq and no Kobe, that couple o' hosers.

Tanned, Rested and Rrrready to Rrrrumble

My trip to the coast was very relaxing and pleasurable.
It rained hard on Tuesday while we were on the beach, but riding back on the bicycle in the chilly wind and rain was exhilarating.
South Texas sand is very fine and gritty, so my skin feels smooth and soft like I got massive dermabrasion. Sunblock saved me from severe burning. I ate so much fresh shrimp I am sick of it (for now). Turns out I used everything I took with me, so my packing was quite apropos.

So, I come home yesterday to more than 70 E-mails.
I deleted the prescription drugs and penis enlargement ads first.
Then I read the dreaded guilt tripping family mail, the shopworn forwarded jokes, and saved the political stuff for dessert.
WOW!
It seems the entire political world is all agog about George Weasel Bush and his henchmen being such fat fucking liars about WMD's in Iraq.
Here are some of the tastier headlines:
• The White House hopes the WMD scandal will go away.
Check out Take on the News -- our new Blog -- to find out why it won't. http://www.tompaine.com/blog.cfm/ID/7995
• HOODWINKED: Americans are beginning to realize they have been duped by a president in whom they once instilled immense trust.

http://www.tompaine.com/feature2.cfm/ID/8035

• FORGED EVIDENCE: A prominent Democratic congressman wants Condoleezza Rice to explain one thing: why Bush used forged evidence to push the Iraq war.

http://www.tompaine.com/feature2.cfm/ID/8069
• PREVARICATING PRESIDENT: Why Democrats need to seize on Bush's WMD lies.

http://www.tompaine.com/feature2.cfm/ID/8065

• Go here to take action and urge Senators Frist and Daschle, the Majority and Minority Leader respectively, to convene a select Senate committee immediately, with sufficient funding and investigative power, to learn the truth about what the Bush Administration really knew about weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.
workingforchange.com/activism/action.cfm?itemid=15146&afccode=WMD001

Hmm, looks to me like the only allies Bush will have come reelection time are his kinfolk, Barcodie, Ken Lay and the Florida Voting Commission.
Meanwhile, American soldiers are still being killed in Iraq and unrest seems as high as ever in the Middle East. What did that war accomplish? Not a fucking thing, unless you are one of the Bush buddies with massive oil investments and/or construction companies getting sweetheart deals to "rebuild Iraq."

In other news, Canada has approved gay marriages. Even queer Americans can marry there, although their legal marital status won't be recognized at home.
Way to go, Canada. For a bunch of hosers, you guys are okay, eh?

The Spurs and the Nets are 2 and 2 in the NBA finals. I watched game four with la's ex-husband at his house at the beach. Hey, what can I say, his TV was better.
Tonight is do or die for the Spurs. I hope the voodoo pins I stuck in Jason Kidd's crotch don't cause him *too much* pain.

The Lesbian Bar(f)

Last night la and I went out to a lesbian bar for a reunion of old dykes I used to drink with in the 80's. My sister talked me into going, saying she, her partner and another fun lesbian from Austin would be attending.
They did not show up.
Anyway, I think the word abysmal best describes our experience.
Besides the cloud of smoke and the herd of dykes gathered around the TV watching the Spurs lose to the Nets, the music was mostly country.
I lost a $20 bill somewhere in the shuffle. Always a bad omen.
Then they had this absurd contest where we wore little ribbons around our neck and lost them if we answered no to anyone's question. Some bitch asked me if my name was David. She got one of my ribbons, but I got it back by asking if I'd ever fucked her before.
We holed out in the billiards room, having a perfectly pleasant time shooting 8-ball, until some troglodyte put some quarters down and challenged the winner to a game. I won and told troggy she and her unsavory companion could have the table.
We wanted to dance but the music was not danceable.
There was nobody there whose phone number I had or whom I'd ever dated.
The manager of Taco Cabana, who gifted Melly and me that pile of coupons last week was there. She was one of the cuter ones, and she is decidedly uncute.
We left after a few miserable hours.
My g/f summed up the whole experience: "That was an unsightly crowd, Karen."
She's a wise woman.

Scattered!

I've been toggling between my house and the g/f's house all week.
She has a pool and a Jacuzzi, I have more groceries, toiletries, HBO and Showtime.
When we are there, we need something from here and vice versa.
After six or seven years of long distance relationships, this is new again for me.
It requires more frequent leg shaving and linen changing.
I can pay my long distance bill from pocket change.
The airlines are calling, saying they miss me.
Still, it's better this way.
We're going dancing tonight.

Martha Stewart's Open Letter

Dear Friends and Fans,
As you may have heard, the judicial system has trumped up some absurd allegations against me in hopes of bringing my style sense to the New York penal system.
What cell wouldn't be cheered by handmade faux chintz curtains hung on non-threatening paper toweling cores?
Who wouldn't be perked up by Ramen noodle cozies made with bits of colorful magazine pages and adhered with prison issue toothpaste?
Still, my direct presence is not needed to demonstrate these fun and easy projects to the inmates.
What I offer instead is a useful video tape with instructions so that each and every inmate may accomplish her own cell sprucing projects. These tapes can be made available at no cost.
For an additional cost of $79.95 per kit, I will include useful decorating materials such as popsicle sticks, double sticky back tape, pinecones, acorns, autumn leaf stencils, duct tape, Super Glue, chewing gum, paper clips, shiny magazine ads, paper toweling and toilet tissue cores, soda straws, orange peels, peppercorns, coffee grounds, crushed egg shells and bubble wrap.
Just think of the possibilities!

Cell redecorating for mere pennies-it's a good thing!

Parlez Vouz Bullshit?

Did anyone catch Dubya in Evian, France glad-handing Jacques Chirak?
With all the to-do the GOP made over the French not backing the invasion of Iraq so Bush could protect the world from rusty old barrels of fertilizer, did the sight of Bush kissing ass in France strike anyone else as disingenuous?
I mean, come on, the GOP wasted time renaming French Fries in the Senate cafeteria, now this?
Does Dubya expect us to like the French now because he forgot how much they allegedly screwed him?
I thought he was petty and overreactive when France and Germany refused to buy his bogus WMD story.
Now he just looks spineless and wishy washy. Like a child, he pouts when he doesn't get his way, but also like a child, he soon forgets and wants to play with his little pals as if nothing ever happened.
The Dixie Chicks were right. He's an embarrassment.

Voir Dire, My Ass

I cannot believe our judicial system is so flawed they have compelled me to appear for jury duty this morning. I am wholly unsuitable for jury duty.
I have far too many opinions.
I rush to judgment.
I am cranky with lamebrains.
I dislike criminal types.
I cannot keep a poker face, and that makes the lawyers edgy.
I need an afternoon nap.
My girlfriend's summer vacation starts today.
I need regularly scheduled snacks.
I know way too many lesbians in the DA's office.
It's too hot.
I don't wanna.

Mad Cow from Toronto

Sunday, Bloggy Sunday

I awakened at 7 a.m. and delayed taking my glucose level because I feared the margaritas, nachos and a fruit plate the size of Carmen Miranda's hat from last night would tell a tale of excess.
Wanting to further stall, I delayed having coffee, too.
No coffee plus being up at 7 a.m. can only lead to one thing: going back to bed.
Now it's noonish, my glucose read a very healthy 105 and all I have to contemplate now is getting back on my bike and facing the kind of heat only Texas can provide.
Last night my pal Melly and I decided to go to Jacala Mexican restaurant for dinner and margaritas.
We got there and the sea of cars in the parking lot intimidated us so much, we high tailed it out of there in search of a less populated spot to eat and drink.
In San Antonio there's a Mexican restaurant every 500 feet or so. Not all serve margaritas though, and Melly
was like Joan Crawford on a road trip with an empty flask.
We settled for Taco Cabana. It's sort of dolled-up fast food place but they do have margaritas. Good ones.
So as we settled in, I spied a woman named Vivian behind the counter. She was a bartender at a lesbian bar I used to frequent in my salad days. She remembered me well and rustled up two $5 margaritas, for which she charged me $3.99. She's the manager there and apparently rank has it's privileges.
Then as I lauded her with compliments about her ascent into management, she actually said to me, "Hey, if you're lookin' to make some serious money, I can get you in here."
I smiled and said I already had a job I liked, then she said she'd come check on us in a little while.
As we started in on round two of our margaritas, Vivian sauntered over with a handful of VIP cards for us VIPs. Each card gives 10, 15, 20 then 25% discounts on subsequent visits. Since I have been there maybe twice in the last 12 years, she gave me enough VIP cards to provide me discounts for the next 50 years.
She gave Melly two cards, since she's just a new VIP by association.
I puffed up and told Melly I had friends in high places. She was duly impressed. Or drunk, it's hard to tell.
Afterwards we had intended to watch the video "Billy Elliot." Instead, a documentary on Anna Nicole Smith caught our eyes and we opted for that. That was followed by HBO's "Punany Poetry," where Black women waxed eloquently about their vaginas.
Taco Cabana, Anna Nicole and Black pussy poetry: another night of culinary and cultural distinction @ Chez Zipdrive.