The Big Easy

OK, the media sucks. Matt Lauer sucks. He cannot control his need to constantly interrupt people. He would interrupt Jesus in the middle of some spiritual pearl of wisdom to ask about his take on the DaVinci Code. And don’t think for a minute that Al, Katie and Ann are a little pissed that they all decided to go on vacation/get surgery during one of the largest news weeks in months. They thought, “Let’s see, gas prices, the war, and identity theft. I think I’ll go to Belize this week.”

Here’s the thing: everyone is saying “Whew! So glad New Orleans didn’t take the brunt of Katrina.” Meanwhile, I’m thinking, what about the poor fucking Mississippi Delta town that DID get the brunt? Just because it hit some unknown town makes it better? Easier to handle?

And, why is it that no one is talking about the massive volume of pets and farm animals that were left behind to ride out the storm? They probably all drowned or died of fright. I know it sucks, the superdome is filled with shit and piss and invalids and food and water are scarce. But come on people, quit capitalizing on people’s misery for a sweet news bite and drop the microphones and help or something. It’s embarrassing.

It’s easy for me to sit in my tower and bitch at the TV when those morons are freezing from the A/C in some studio reading a teleprompter.

I have no room to talk. I am not an action person. I am a “throw money at it” person. I am all about giving money to worthy causes so I don’t have to go to Ethiopia and feed bloated infants with a paste-filled eyedropper. I’m too sensitive. I can’t handle it. At least I know that much about myself.


Really, I Can’t Let Go of This.

OK, according to The American Heritage Dictionary (Second College Edition) this is what we have.

betoken = To be or give a sign or portent of.

I’m sorry, what?

farad = A unit of capacitance equal to the capacitance of a capacitor having a charge of 1 coulomb on each plate and a potential difference of 1 volt between the plates.

I like to eat bananas and watch TV.


Blogger spellcheck is so fun, it makes the blogging that much more exciting.

fart = farad
bitchin = betoken
minivan = moonbeam

What the shit does farad and betoken mean? And, if anyone is using those words in their blogs, they should be shot off their pretentious pedestals.

P.S. It just tried to replace spellcheck with splices or splashes. Who’s in charge here?

The Quickest Girl in the Frying Pan

So I received my two new Tori Amos bootleg cds in the mail today. Hear me out.

I am obsessive and dorky about her. I cry over some songs. But, I also enjoy a good rockin’ Distillers cd any damn day of the week when I’m feeling pumped.

I grew up on Rush, Blue Oyster Cult, Sabbath, Zeppelin, Foreigner, Journey, Deep Purple, Janis Joplin, Sex Pistols, Iron Maiden, Van Halen, Black Flag, etc. I know that was long-winded. Just laying the groundwork here.

Tori is a fucking master, man. That’s all there is to it. And, god forbid, I enjoy some music made by women. I’m not a feminazi, I’m just happy we’re getting some representation now and then. I do not like Sarah McLachlan, Shawn Colvin, or any of those other Joni Mitchell wannabes. Tori stands out because of her lyrics and her brilliance with her instruments.

The lowest common denominator of humanity would be a bit smarter if the shit music record companies are churning out had any shred of intelligence put into it such as a Tori song does.

Tori’s songs hit you where it hurts, where it’s soft, where it’s silly, where it’s uncomfortable, and where it’s girly. Her songs start with one meaning and the more you listen to them, the more meanings come spilling out. There. That’s what I want the world to know.

My hubby can stop rolling his eyes now and flip over the Ratt album he’s recently resurrected. Damn, those guys rocked.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

You know, I could go on and on about the state of humanity, and how the gas prices suck, and how the war sucks, and how the “intelligent design” people are insane, but I won’t. I will just mention that large, collective sigh you’re hearing is the millions of moms across America who are taking back the day as their children hike off to school to torture the millions of underpaid babysitters who are really just one chapter ahead in the book.

Hello Honda? You’re gonna wanna hire me after you hear this…

While staring into the howling void today at a stoplight, I was mindlessly reading the little sticker that says a bunch of shit about the passenger side air bag. Then I thought, there should be a passenger side feed bag. That would be helpful when on a long road trip, you find yourself ready for some munchables. There could be assortments to choose from like salty vs. sweet, healthy vs. crap from Frito-Lay, all gum, and of course, custom selections. The assortments would have names such as Fast & Furious (gatorade, slim jims), Sweet Home Alabama (pecan rolls, bourbon) and The Woodstock (a bunch of pseudo-food made from hemp and soy). You get the picture.

Classified ads would read:
1998 Honda Civic LX, 4WD, 4DR, 85,XXX miles, stereo, salty assortment w/custom option, $27,500, OBO.

There would be all sorts of cross-promotion going on between the snack and car makers. You could buy the refills everywhere. You could change them out like CDs. You could buy big ones with full meals for RVs, family-sized ones for SUVs and minivans, and all-liquor ones for males age 18-34.

It hurts to be this brilliant.

The Redneck Riviera Chronicles

Sentences recently heard and/or uttered on our trip to the Florida panhandle:

“Hey, I must be getting my sea balls.”
“Really? I think I got sea ass.”

“Mommy, I gotta go poo.”

“I got stung by a jellyfish.”
“What did you do?”
“I called it a dick.”

“I barfed in the ocean while I was doing my exercises. Maybe it was the two margaritas.”

“If we get oysters, please don’t let me eat them raw.”
“I’ll have the veggie burger.”

“Should I call the coast guard?”

“I’m the chicken of the sea, didn’t you know that by now?”

“Look! I found a shrimp in my suit!”

“Thanks for teaching me how to pee in the ocean. What a timesaver.”

“Mommy, I don’t want to swim in my pants.”

“Let Gran-Gran finish her beer and I’ll be ready to ride.”