who the hell are the Barkers? and why the fuck do they have a television show?

i've just remembered why i don't watch TV anymore.

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i had the TV on in the background, and an ad for some movie came on, and at the end of the trailer the voice-over announced: "this film is rated 'R' for some violence, and epic warfare." epic warfare?

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Anyway. So I've been doing that. And then we came to the Miramont for the weekend and I was getting ready to go to brunch with Jamie Lynne and I was putting on my jeans and they don't even fit anymore because I'm getting so fat from this baby and then I just started to cry because I didn't have anything else to wear and I couldn't find Kevin because he told me he couldn't listen to my voice for one more minute and then he left the suite and went and got his own room-- using my credit card because I am beginning to think that he's just with me for my money and let me tell you I AM NOT HAPPY ABOUT THAT-- but I really wanted some bacon so I had to put on this stupid muumuu that Jamie had bought in the gift shoppe as a gift for our grandma and then we went into brunch and I couldn't stop crying and I could barely eat my hot links.

as seen on another message board: "Would it really be that wrong to federal express Britney Spears a wire coat hanger?"

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i am starting to seriously, seriously go off human relationships.

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Television Without Pity has a pretty concise (and, as usual, totally snarky) recap of Janice Dickinson's E! True Hollywood Story up. thank God for TWP; i haven't watched E! since John Henson left Talk Soup-- and as much as i <3 Janice, i'm not starting again now.

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Camilla Not Bothered About Being Queen Or Not. personally, i would have told any man who didn't have the cojones to marry me the first time around to fuck off 35 years ago, Prince or otherwise-- but hey, whatever floats your boat, sugar. i'll never understand women anyway.

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NBC is coming out with an American version of The Office. i can't say i'll ever get around to seeing it though, because just like any other comedy we've ever ripped off from the Brits, it won't be very funny (because wacky British humour only works when British people do it-- when are network execs going to figure this out?) and nobody will watch it-- and it'll be yanked just as suddenly as it was plopped into our lives, never to bother anyone again.

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"She may not have been breast fed, but she was attempted to be fed and that is just as much a violation to me if she had breast fed her," Reilly said. "She is irreplaceable and they were careless with her and that is devastating."

OMG-- it saw my tit!! the fuss over this is simply hilarious, IMO. it just reinforces my policy that all babies look alike-- and all tits look alike to a baby, ostensibly.

i mean, good Lord, doesn't anyone remember a pre-twentieth century phenomenon known as wet-nursing? unless you have reason to believe the other woman has AIDS or hepatitis or something, get the hell over yourself, and your ta-tas.

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so Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher are (allegedly) in pig. great.. i'll never be able to masturbate to Mr. Kutcher's image again. :-(

the thing is, i was really rooting for these two. why do people always have to screw up a good thing? whatever happened to just fucking his brains out and enjoying the ride?

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Shop Horror: The Best of the Worst in British Shop Names. when i lived in North London, there was a store called 'The Bottom Shop'-- so named because it sat at the bottom of a town built on a hill-- that inspired much giggling from less mature patrons (like myself) and much hee-hawing from the local Old Biddy Committee. there was also a place on Brompton Road (not sure if it's there anymore) not far from my office, called 'Freak Nasty'-- which, rather to my disappointment, didn't actually sell anything remotely freaky or nasty.

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autistic kids rock

he seems to be completely unreceptive
the tests i gave him show no sense at all
his eyes react to light the dials detect it
he hears but cannot answer to your call..
  -- the Who, "Go To The Mirror Boy"

YES! i have to get one of these. i want the babydoll in Deep Heather.

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Amusingly, though unsurprisingly, the decision to tag the kids has been described as "Orwellian." This is undoubtedly a reference to the book 1984, which mostly goes to show that not enough of you have actually read it, and those of you who have probably didn't really understand it.

[...]

"Our children are not inventory," moos one parent. It treats children "like cattle," whines another. But the best line is the smug, sanctimonious drivel the various Organizations managed to come up with. The RFID tags "violated the students' privacy," they bleat. They are "demeaning" and they treat "children like livestock or shipment pallets, thereby breaching their right to dignity and privacy they have as human beings."

Um... excuse me? Have any of you drooling idiots actually *been inside* a school in your entire delusional *lives*?

...

  --my attorney frank analyzes the California RFID fracas.

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best Oscar dress ever: Natalie Portman wearing a grecian goddess-inspired, gathered chiffon gown by Lanvin. absolutely gobsmacking. ignore the haters.

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taken from a post in another community i frequent:

I've read a really interesting statistic about suicide. It is about people who attempt it by jumping off of bridges, but survive. About 99% of those people realised two-thirds of the way down that every problem in their life was able to be changed, except one. That one problem was that they were about to plunge to their death.

no real reason for repeating it here-- except that i find it profound, and tragic.

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WHAT!?! FUCK!?! THE!??

News accounts reported doctors as saying that Manar's second head was "capable of smiling and blinking but not independent life."

holy crap, i'm going to need a night light or something now.

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i'm in the midst of re-uploading my mp3 collection after a hard drive wipe. there's 20+ Gb here stored on as many discs, all filed alphabetically by artist-- which makes for an interesting range. one disc is labeled, "2 Live Crew - Crosby Stills & Nash".

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'I was in a supermarket recently searching for a brown mustard-and-conditioner in one. It was while I was reading the ingredient label on a jar of Goulden's Dry Scalp Formula that I looked to the children's book rack and there spied the title "My Little Golden Book About God"..

'So it was with genuine anticipation that I opened the book, curious to know what the people at Little Golden Books believed small children who stick Beeferoni up their noses could absorb about the Inscrutable One...

'For the safety of our race (if any still remain) I have translated this book in the hopes that a resistance may arise. Read the baby powder scented Final Solution of our enemies from beyond, otherwise known as: The Cuddly Menace'.

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True Freaks Exclusive: GIs Flash In Raunch Mud Bash; Queen Is Furious (byline: Beckhams allegedly 'ok with it').

that's right, because young people who kill other young people for a living should never have any fun, so they just better get right back to their jobs-- sexually abusing and torturing prisoners and taking photos of it to jerk off over later with their half-pitbull, sicko bits on the side. just like that nice little cracker they sent to prison recently, what was his name--? Graner, yes, that was his name. at least until his new 'life partner' decides it should be changed to Daisy.

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i watched Igby Goes Down again this morning. i'm not entirely sure why. it's a good film and i recommend it, but the ensemble of characters and their pathologies are so eerily reminiscent of my own maternal family and people i grew up knowing, it's emotionally difficult for me to watch at times. (most disturbingly, the Susan Sarandon role is almost my mother to a T.) and yet, the small slices of NYC life portrayed make me virulently homesick.

maybe it's just some form of harmless subjective therapy. yes, Mother, just eat the strawberry ice cream, and be at peace at last.. PLEASE.

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was anyone just watching the Barrett-Jackson auto auction? that green 1970 Challenger with the Hemi was my ride, people. i would totally dig driving something like that around this town. 'yeah-- bring your F250 on, bitch!! oh and by the way, i'm on my way to LA to sell this thing to Ludacris!!'

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an editorial on the nasty Chicagoan practice of 'dibs' (via Amy C), and what the Mayor plans to do about it:

She and a neighbor had words. "It's my spot!" he said. "This is a public street!" she replied (I'm editing here for taste). She went to call the police and demand they come remove the rest of the junk.

The non-emergency operator said no. Chicagoans must honor parking junk. The mayor said so.

Specifically, Mayor Richard Daley had said earlier in the week, "That is their property," concerning the relationship between a junked-in space and the placer of the junk. "If someone spends all that time digging their car out, do not drive into that spot. This is Chicago. Fair warning."

well, maybe their fucking 'property' shouldn't be in the street then. i've never seen anything like this, but in Boston, i'm pretty sure that would qualify as just asking for it (those Midwesterners-- they're just too mellow, bless their hearts). if i saw two lawn chairs taking up a parking spot i would just drive over them and park there anyway. i'd like to see someone try to take me to court over the cost of two lawn chairs vs. the total cost of the damage to my vehicle and the taxes i pay for the privilege of having a road to drive on.

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JFC*, will this thing ever go away? is the price advertised for the mag, or for her?

*(newsflash to Aunt Pat: my cousins are lying; it doesn't stand for "Jose's Fried Chicken". if i were you i'd cut off their Internet and make the little heathens get jobs. also-- Jessica never went to confession the whole time she was at Georgetown. see you at Xmas!)

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Mama's L'il Two-Dollar Whore! i can only dream of being so proud. and to think my stepmother threw a shitfit when my sister wanted to wear a backless dress to her prom.

"This dress would look great at a prom if the model in the picture wore it," says senior Vlaz Ermant, "but we don't have any girls like that at our school."

it fairly screams "slip me a roofie!" if you want my opinion-- which you obviously do, if you're still coming here and reading all this self-wittering bullshit.

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as i lay in my bed this morning, watching Bush painfully stutter his way through another press conference, i suddenly realized that i was simply unable to summon the enormous, raging, apocalyptic wave of vitriol that normally enables me to change the channel. i couldn't even manage to throw a pen at the television. it dawned on me that i just felt sorry for him. i don't think he's entirely psychotic and evil-- more likely just half retarded. possibly some variant of FAS.*

really, i'm not just trying to be mean here (well, maybe i am just a little bit-- i'm a journalist and that's my job, GMAFB)-- but all i know is the more i watch him speak, and pay close attention to his motor mannerisms and verbal usage, the more he reminds me of the kids i knew in my SpEd class that had serious cognitive disconnections from birth for one reason or another.

*i wish to make clear that i am in no way suggesting that Mrs. Barbara Bush, former First Lady of our nation is or has been at any point in time an alcoholic. she came to our school once for a literacy campaign and read a book aloud. a formidable woman. (no, i did not personally witness this event, because as i referenced above, when somebody really important visits they hide all the SpEd kids in the gym and give them a parachute to play with. but i would still never say a word against her.)

my first thought was that surely, i'm not the only one who has noted these things. doesn't it seem likely that Condie Rice and maybe Colin Powell or somebody else have met in a quiet corridor of the White House at some point or another and whispered, 'i don't know if you've noticed but there's something not quite right about that kid.. *cough cough* here he comes shhh shut up..'.. i mean, i'm just wondering if it's entirely wise.. to put someone with, ahem, those sorts of problems in charge of like, stuff like that-- is all.

and then there's the small matter of one's conscience. such as when i think back to some of the things i've said about the man in the past, and wonder about the fine difference between poking a monkey with a stick-- and poking a monkey in a cage with a stick. there's little sport in mocking tards, after all. (at least not publicly, like when they're actually looking).

i guess my real question is why? or rather, who? who on earth thought it would be a great idea to groom him for politics when he clearly would've been much happier working on cars the rest of his life or fixing lawnmowers or something? they have those vocational school certificates for a reason, you know-- because not everyone can grow up to be the president-- that would be rather silly, wouldn't it, if we ALL grew up to be presidents? then there'd be presidents everywhere, overflowing, straining the system. double parking and tying up traffic with their asshole attitudes, screaming at the Starchunks barista because their frozen crappuccinos aren't cold enough, stepping on your feet, shoving you in line. little presidents everywhere-- flapping their stupid cakeholes about God knows what. ensuring that you can't have a quiet lunch anywhere anymore because they MUST have a television set blaring away AT ALL TIMES in ANY PUBLIC PLACE and it absolutely MUST be set on some obnoxious corporate conglomerate channel, at full volume, ALL THE TIME..

businesses and commerce would be in a flux; no one would ever get any work done because all the day long the supermarkets and banks would be scrambling around like mad just trying to serve all the presidents: ('Boss, we have an emergency! Mrs. Heather W. Fatbitch, the President of 49 Little Cunt Lane (founded under God 1979) is popping in this afternoon to pick up a gallon of milk and we haven't got the red carpet back from the cleaners!!' 'Good God, Corporal Bradley! Fire all the good employees immediately for their safety, leave only one cashier lane open, post it with the dimmest bint you can find and operate at DEFCON levels until home office contacts YOU!'..

standards of behavior would plummet; everyone would be driving those big 'SUVs' and trying to run you off the road with them at every opportunity; the economy would collapse, the country would divide, and society would descend into utter chaos. would you like to live in a world like that? can you just imagine that sort of nightmare? well, can you?

and then it occurred to me-- like a bolt of lightning, it all suddenly made such glorious sense. when everything else has been lowered to meet the common denominator, why shouldn't our Commander in Chief be as well?

the New World Order works in mysterious ways, indeed.

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i work 9 to 5 but it starts in the P.M.
and i love the sunrise so i step out in the A.M.
the street is black and shiny from the nightly rainin'
the glory of the light brings evaporation.
morning's fresh, oxygen cleanest
i take a deep hit, help my mind stay the greenest
i'm already wake so i'm not drinkin' coffee
don't wanna cigarette, 'cause it's a form of slavery..

walkin' to the store 'cause i need a few items
the sun heats my blood like a hit of vitamins
needa buy some food, some 'poo for my dreads
i can't remember why, but i need a spool of thread--

well a man with dirty dreads, he steps around the corner
he asks me for a dime, a nickel or a quarter
i don't have any change so i'm steppin' along
but as i'm walkin' past he sings to me a song...

'there's a hole in the bucket, dear liza..
there's a hole in the bucket, dear liza, dear liza..'

the day is pickin' up cause i'm hummin' his song
the buses and the people all keep movin' along.
to the shopkeeper, i say 'what's up?'
and i'm thinkin' bout the man who's holdin' up the cup.
i pay for all the stuff and get a pocketful of change
should i give it to the man's the question in my brain
what's gonna happen if i give the man a dime?
i don't wanna pay for another brotha's wine.
what's gonna happen if i give the man a quarter?
will he find a dealer, and try to place an order?
what's gonna happen if i give the man a nickel?
will he buy some food or some pork that's been pickled?

i'm not responsible for the man's depression
how can i find compassion in the midst of a recession?
how can all these questions keep fuckin' with my head?
and i still can't remember why i need a spool of thread..

'there's a hole in the bucket, dear liza..
there's a hole in the bucket, dear liza, dear liza..'

he's starin' in my eyes just as i'm walkin' past
i'm tryin to avoid him cause i know he's gonna ask
me about the coinage that is in my pocket
but i don't know if i should put it in his bucket.
i walk right past him to think about it more
back at the crib i'm openin' up the door
a pocketful of change don't mean alot to me..
my cup is half full-- but his is empty.

i put back on my cap and i start headin' back
i reach into my pocket and i have a heart attack--
well as i'm diggin' deep i scream 'oh no!'
there's nothin' in the pocket but a great big hole!

while i was busy thinkin' if he would buy smack
the jingle in my pocket slipped through the cracks.
no one has the change and it's fuckin' up my head
but now i know the reason why i had to buy the thread.

'there's a hole in the bucket, dear liza..
i said there's a hole in the bucket, dear liza, dear liza..'

  --Spearhead, "Hole In The Bucket"

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on The News© tonight there was a story about a woman and her 12 year old daughter who were rescued from their home, where they had been living with no heat, no water, no electricity and around 100 malnourished dogs-- most of which were diseased and surviving on the carcasses of other dogs. the woman explained they had been using the dogs to keep warm. just as i was contemplating how it could be possible that human beings were actually living like this in the USA in the 21st century, the newsanchor happily announced that Donald Trump had just taken his third bride, in his brand new $42 million dollar ballroom at Mar-a-Lago.

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sometimes when i'm feeling down, and can't find any prescription tablets lying about i watch Hackers. this movie never fails to give me a cheap laugh. every time i watch it i notice something else. mostly stuff that dates me, but sometimes it's just random shit. hahahaha! isn't that the chick from Goodfellas? that's the scariest dye job i've ever seen! plus, Angelina Jolie is nice to look at.

in a bizarre way, this track turns me on. like actually gets me hot.

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