marching with the Redcoats? taking a dip in the crimson pool? it's all good, baby-- we've got towels.

i'd have to draw the line at red-hot-tropical oral action, though. and as for the "hit her in the shitter" alternative: forget it. that's a one-way ONLY street, buddy.

thanks to my baby daddy for the link ;-)

Her Majesty the Queen Mother has gone home. or "presently partaking of Glory", as my grandmother would have put it. if you're interested, you can find full details of the upcoming ceremonies here.

bye bye Queen Mum-- i'll always have a laugh remembering how you grinned like a devil as you walked into Westminster Abbey for Diana's funeral.

and speaking of funerals... i feel like crap myself.

i'm talking again, but just barely; my voice is still very raspy. my boyfriend says it's sexy. i don't agree-- i think i sound like a bad Joan Rivers impersonator.

i still have a cough. i didn't sleep well last night because of it. it was so awful; every time i was about to drift off to sleep, i would suddenly have to cough up a lung. so, fuck that-- tonight, it's Nyquil time.

ozzy hates russell

from NYpost.com:

Ozzy Osbourne has bitten the head off a bat, defecated in a woman's handbag and snorted a line of ants off the ground - but the rocker was utterly disgusted at the idea of meeting Russell Yates, the husband of convicted child-killer Andrea Yates. While shadowing Osbourne for an upcoming story in Blender magazine, writer Adrian Deevoy accompanied him to a "Today" show taping, where Deevoy met Yates in the green room. Yates yammered about what a big Osbourne fan he was, sang several Black Sabbath songs, and talked excitedly about getting a picture with the rocker. But when Osbourne and wife Sharon were told that Yates wanted a photo, they were repulsed. "I will burn his eyes out with a hot poker," Ozzy bellowed. "He is profiting directly from the demise of his own children. And that, to me, is wrong." After being warned that Yates was waiting for him in the green room, the Osbournes and Deevoy ducked out the door.

right on. is it just me and Ozzy, or is there something inherently repulsive about a man who, upon losing all five of his children in one of the most horrific ways imaginable, acts like he's just won the fucking lottery? and i thought the Yates were supposed to be these big fundies; last i checked, Black Sabbath was not the music of choice for fundamentalist Christians. weird.

i haven't had the misfortune of stumbling across any of Mr. Yates' television appearances, but i hear he's been quite busy making the rounds lately. nor would i watch-- i refuse to make this psychopathic assclown into a celebrity.

interesting-- the original album cover for Like A Prayer, scrapped in favor of the "midriff" cover that we all know and love today. lovely rare pic.

bust out the Mountain Dew; it's going to be a long night.

Andrew Nestler's Guide to Math in "The Simpsons"

R.E.M. Lyric Annotations FAQ

quote mania!

"The law needs to make a distinction here. Are we talking regular gay or whoo-hoo-fabulous gay?" --the Onion on gay adoption

"Spam is for laughing at, not for eating." --Disgruntled Housewife, "Meals Men Like"

"This album cannot be played on old tin boxes no matter how so equipped. If you are in possession of such equipment, please turn it in to your local police station." --Mike Oldfield, Tubular Bells

i've lost my voice. can't speak. while this may come as a temporary relief for the rest of the world, i'm not finding the situation all that agreeable. i'm not sure what caused it. i've had a bit of a cough and my throat is sore; it hurts when i cough. i think it might be a lack of moisture. it's been very dry around here lately.

in other news, one of my last remaining great-uncles has passed away. he wasn't exactly a young man, but it was still a bit abrupt-- he had no ailments or disease that i was aware of. he was a superlative man, a great orator, a veteran of the Susan B. Anthony, and i will miss him. i shed a few tears but i'm not completely devastated; i'm just glad i got to see him last summer. ;-)

while sitting in my bedroom working quietly, i was suddenly treated to the joyful cacophony of tiny kittens mewing. i went to the living room and found my boyfriend had flipped to a delightful television show about people who volunteer to help spay and neuter feral cats.

i've heard some women describe the overwhelming maternal instinct that seizes them when they hear a hungry baby cry. i have to say that their experiences are not entirely foreign to me, albeit slightly different-- put me in a room with a wailing baby, and i'll simply plug my ears in annoyance and walk out; show me a basket of caterwauling kittens, and i'm just reduced to goopy jelly and warm fuzzies.

hooray for boobies

but if you're going to have a wet T-shirt contest, you should probably make sure the contestants aren't total dogs first. (okay, i probably wouldn't kick "Tiana" out of the bed...)

dream journal 26 march-- the london dream

(last night's latest episode-- in which my sister ends up stealing a bicycle)

i dreamed that my sister and i went to London together-- highly unlikely in real life, since we find it nearly impossible to share the same room for very long, much less a 747 for eight hours. when we arrived i realized that i had forgotten to bring a little "London A-Z" map that i had meant to give her, so i suggested we find a bookstore or tourist info shop first off and pick one up. she said no, she didn't think she'd be needing it.

"ok," i said, "what do you want to do?" did she want to go and look at the shops? no. should we find a record shop? an art gallery? a library? a museum? a restaurant? was she hungry? no, not interested. did she want to see Trafalgar Square? Buckingham Palace? do the big tourist thing? no, she didn't.

finally i said, "do you want to do anything of any cultural significance, this being your first trip to a foreign city and all?" no, she replied. she only wanted to go and meet her friend for a few hours, snort some coke, and afterwards she would be quite happy to go home. typical of my sister. therefore, her first priority was to find a phone.

"fine," i said, rolling my eyes. "where are you supposed to meet this friend?" she said she was supposed to meet him someplace called Fish Street, EC-something. i replied, "well, i hate to burst your bubble or anything, but that's sounds like it's probably awfully close to St. Paul's Cathedral, so you might actually see something after all-- if only from a distance."

at this point, i wanted to just ditch her. but i knew she'd get lost and maybe worse, so i decided to at least accompany her to the the spot where she was supposed to meet this friend. "c'mon, lets take the Tube." no no no, she insisted on taking a car. that's it, i said, i'm taking the Tube. you stay here and keep your eyes peeled for any sympathetic motorists.

as i walked toward the Tube station i looked back and saw my sister fiddling with the lock on a bicycle chained to the fence. a few seconds later, she hopped on the bike and pedaled away in the opposite direction.

(end of transmission)

do you find that the state-of-the-art animation of traditional Pong only serves to confuse and intimidate you? perhaps you should try Text-Based Pong.

um, no. (insert game-show buzz) please try again.

if you happen to be one of the few people who still take Rolling Stone magazine seriously, you might be interested in the "50 Coolest Records To Own".

at least Massive Attack's Protection is at #8... but the Velvet's White Light White Heat? stupid rock journalists-- everybody knows The Velvet Underground & Nico is better.

"if you like Wesley Willis, The Bloodhound Gang, Ween, or DMX, you'll probably still be confused and pleased by Mr. Mittens."

the premise: four guys get together, smoke a LOT of weed, and then see what kind of music they can come up with. the result: uh...

body by Jake - but this one's by cake
ain't gonna catch me on no treadmill
give it up for treadmills!

anyway, their new single special dinner will rock your ass.

virtual me

i made a virtual model of myself. the face doesn't look anything like mine, but there weren't too many options to choose from in that department. the hair color is a bit dark, but the next choice up was far too light.

i tried to make the body as accurate as possible. of course, they didn't have a "lil' sexy belly" option, or a "haven't-worked-out-in-a-year" option, so it's still slightly idealized.

once when i was in high school, i had a very strange mental experience.

my stepmother had banned all meat from the house. she had gone on some sort of New Age macrobiotic bend. so from then on we subsisted on this weird vegetarian regime, and not very much of it at that. my stepmother had a particular fondness for squash, and because i didn't have any fondness for squash, i often went without my dinner.

at the time, i ran track, and was used to eating 4-6 times a day. i didn't adjust to the sudden change in my diet very well. i went through a period of about six months where i was hungry all the time. if i wasn't thinking about sumptious banquets or carbohydrates, i was dreaming about them. my only respite came about once a month, when my aunt and uncle would take me out to dinner, and i would wolf down several plates of food in sheer bliss.

eventually, simple hunger evolved into a constant craving. the hunger pangs were no longer there, but the physical craving vibrated in every fiber of my body. granted, there was a lot of shit going on at home, and i think i was just messed up in general. but then one day, something happened that truly frightened me.

there was a guy i liked. i would see him every day in the hallway between classes and we would stop and spend a few minutes together before moving on to our next class. this particular day, i was beyond hungry-- i had gone primal. i felt like i had a fever, and couldn't stop grinding my teeth together. i trembled inside. i felt unnaturally awake, on edge, as if my eyes would not close. i was daydreaming about raw meat. i fantasized about the juices that ran out of the meat. i was walking towards the spot where my guy and i usually met. i found myself thinking about his flesh, how warm and alive he was. i imagined i could see his forearm as if it had been flayed-- stripped of skin and pulsating with blood vessels, tendons, muscles, meat. i began to salivate. i suddenly had the intense desire to taste him. not in a passionate way, in a nutriative way. as i progressed towards our meeting spot my body temperature soared and my jaws were clamped shut like a vise. i pressed my fingernails so hard into my palms that i could feel them leaving marks. i was suddenly stricken with the overwhelming need to tear into his flesh. in my mind's eye i watched myself sink my teeth into him and eat him alive-- and that's when i stopped in my tracks and realized in profound horror... that my mental state had taken a turn for the worse.

i was terrified. i turned around and ran in the opposite direction. i was afraid that if i saw him, i would not be able to stop myself from attacking him. i was so shocked, i didn't know what to next. the last thing i wanted to do, ever, was physically hurt someone. and the fact that i was almost unable to control my perverse cannibalistic impulse, right there in plain sight of everyone, scared the living daylights out of me. i didn't see the guy that day or for several days afterward. my predatory impulse did not return, but i was too ashamed to look him in the eyes, knowing what i had fantasized about doing to him.

over the years, i've since worked through this experience and i feel comfortable with it. i'm not condoning what i (almost) did, but i'm comfortable enough to accept that it happened and move on. i don't have any cannibalistic urges; i think it was just a combination of mental and physical stress that manifested itself in a bizarre way. i've always had an urge to bite. i like to bite my boyfriend, playfully and not very hard, sometimes when we're sitting and watching television or snuggled up together. my boyfriend knows about all of this, and he's cool with it.

from the files of "we searched our hearts, but there's just no possible way we could make fun of this..."

seriously, folks-- this is just really sad. to sum up: Teen Makes Acquaintance With Free-Range Puck; Assumes Room Temperature.

poor kid.

The Effects of Cannabis on a Web-Based Lifestyle: yeah-- give the drugs to the spiders. the web made by the spider on LSD is most interesting to me-- notice how uniform the pattern is, straight, methodical. the kind of web you'd expect from a spider that has seen God.

one poor little eight-legger got so chilled out on mescaline, he couldn't even finish his web. and the spider on caffeine... well, studies have proven that caffeine wrecks your concentration.

iron butterfly

normally, i cringe when somebody says, "wanna see my wedding photos?" (or run like hell-- whichever seems more polite at the time.) but i really enjoyed Olivia's wedding album; it's tasteful, creative and downright beautifully done. congrats.

i think i'm going to participate in the Weblogger CD Swap. if a lot of people sign up, you could end up with some phat tuneage. i'll have to do a bit more investigation first-- such as, making sure that i have enough "summer themed" music to put together a decent CD. (i started to do that yesterday, but all it led to was a few serious hours spent re-organizing and re-cataloging my MP3 collection.)

in other news, Commonwealth-dwellers rejoice: Big Mama Moo-Cow Swifty, a.k.a. The Woman Who Singlehandedly Set Back the Women's Movement About Thirty Years, exits the gubernatorial race-- just about as gracefully as one can while simultaneously chewing a cud.

feeling generous, MSNBC is giving you (yes, you!) the chance to vote for the Picture of the Year. don't get too excited-- most of them are trite, overrated you-know-what photos, or tired images of war that can hardly qualify as "compelling".

"Keeping Time" would have gotten my vote, if it didn't have a stupid baby right in the middle of it. "Bridging the Species" is a lovely pic, but then again, i can't help but be partial to grieving elephants.

in the end, i voted for "India's Mentally Ill"-- simply because i feel it speaks volumes about the human race... and because on some level, i can sort of relate to the girl in the photo.

disturbed

if the color-changing text doesn't drive you completely over the edge first, take this Mental Health Test to see where you score on a scale of 200 to 800.

my score: 510. diagnosis: "you are mentally unhealthy."

just one little dip

Lip Balm Anonymous-- a massive support network devoted to spreading the message that lip balm is unnecessary, unhealthy, and highly addictive. yeah, screw that. where's my Carmex?

the iBong

in a technological breakthrough for stoners everywhere (i guess), two guys from Texas have managed to transform a vintage Mac SE 30 into a fully functional "device for smoking marijuana"-- but that's not the amazing part. the amazing part is that it generated a whole two-page article.

Find out what kind of driver you are!

well, that's a surprise-- considering i'm usually the one right behind you laying on the horn and screeching, "what the hell is going on up there?" if you happen to sit at a green light for more than a few seconds. or you might see me mounting the curb and driving on the sidewalk if you've blocked the right turn lane. (this little tactic has saved me hours of traffic frustration. watch for cops-- they tend to frown on it.)

i try very hard to be a patient driver; i really do. i have to take a lot of deep breaths. and although i've pulled some pretty creative maneuvers in my displeasure with stagnant traffic, i'd never endanger my life or the lives of others around me. i try to live by my mother's golden advice: "if you want to get there sooner, you'll just have to leave two lights earlier."

"cam girl in disguise"

i love Monique-- and her new layout.

came home, walked into the bathroom and found the latest issue of Maxim on the toilet seat. (yeah, those are the kind of little surprises you get when you live with a guy.) actually, i quite like Maxim-- it's a good read... but i shudder to think of the indignities that Tara Reid's photograph must have suffered in that bathroom while i was at work today.

anyway, my whole point of this post was to say... they put Tara Reid in Maxim a lot, don't they? it seems like every time i see a Maxim, it's got Tara Reid on it, or inside it.

long day. it's definitely bathtime.

a bone-damp night, some homemade soup, a good flick, and the man i love by my side. this is the good life.

sorry about the lack of content lately. it's been a really hectic few days, and i've only managed to post a few short nips here and there. a busy day ahead of me tomorrow, too, but i should be able to stop and breathe again by Sunday.

as you were. goodnight.

Like many British journalists, Brock regards most American papers as boring. In the fiercely competitive world of the British national press, dullness is a cardinal sin. While most American papers enjoy something close to local monopolies, ten London dailies fight for about 13 million readers on thousands of newsstands.

from the Columbia Journalism Review, an interesting article about the differences between American and British journalism-- obstensibly in regards to you-know-what*, but what the hell isn't these days?

beyond that, a quick primer on the various U.K. papers, and some interesting points about "artificial balance".

*not "sex"... that *other* thing.

brendan fraser: "this is called 'rent', baby."

BF was watching The Mummy Returns, so i thought i'd join him. not five minutes after sitting down, i was reminded of how crappy it was in the first place, and found something else to do.

sorry, the first one was way better.

"she's tidied up-- and i can't find anything!"
--Thomas Dolby, "She Blinded Me With Science"

SciBlog seems like such a good idea; but there's only two entries so far, and it doesn't look like it will be updated anytime soon...

beautiful day... and some cancer too

it was so gorgeous today, i couldn't wait to get outside. i opened all the windows to let the fresh air in while i was gone, and went to run some errands. i drove to the video rental store. as i entered, the clerk said hi. i said "hi" in return.

then he did something that shocked me. he said, "is there anything i can help you find?"

"oh, i'm just looking. but thanks."

"well, if you have any questions just give a shout."

"thanks!" i smiled. i walked over to the New Releases section in sort of a daze. wow, i've never witnessed anything like that before in a video store! maybe they just don't get that much business at noon on a weekday.

i picked up a couple of "easy-on-the-brain" flicks that i thought my jet-lagged boyfriend might enjoy. then i went to KFC, where i tried some of the new "Blazin' Strips"-- ai yi yi, those things are spicy! but it doesn't hit you right away. imagine sitting in traffic, munching on your chicken, and suddenly, your mouth begins to burn. good thing i ordered that huge Mountain Dew to go with it. i almost dumped it over my head. i'm serious, i was sweating from this chicken.

in other news, there's this mole on the side of my face, near my ear, that has suddenly gone completely black, and looks sort of swollen. i wouldn't be so worried about it if i hadn't heard so many nasty stories about skin cancer. it bothered me the whole time at work tonight, i kept looking at it in the mirror. i haven't paid much attention to cancer research lately. que sera sera-- at least i can say i've lived a pretty interesting, eventful life, to be only 25.

the forwardable horror-movie survival guide. i especially like: "As a general rule, don't solve puzzles that open portals to Hell", and... "Don't fool with recombinant DNA technology unless you're sure you know what you are doing."

Ed vs. the motorist

"this guy is seriously on crack."

...it just reaffirms my belief that the over 70's should retake their driving tests, and not be allowed to drive if they fail."

yep, i'll second that-- if only to clear my path of those wizened folk who drive 15mph everywhere, then slow down to go over the speed tables. (i guess new shocks for Buicks are hard to come by on a fixed income.) and if it happens to impede the more demented of the lot from driving to the polls and voting for people like Dubya, then i guess that's a plus, too ;-)

liberated text

something that no self-respecting "Yippie" in the 21st century should be without-- a fully transcribed online version of Abbie Hoffman's out-of-print classic, Steal This Book!

(thanks, Firda!)

no wonder the local strip club here always looks like it's packed... they have a buffet.

the teeth dream

(my latest REM adventure, as loosely transcribed from my dream notebook entry from this morning:)

...i find myself lying on my back, legs spread while this gorgeous chick is eating me out. it feels good, but it's obvious that she's way more into it than i am at the moment-- so i look around, and realize that we must be in some sort of stark hotel room, with a single dim lamp next to the bed, lots of beige and yellow tones. the room itself seems to be round, no corners. the bed is made and we are lying on top of a thin bedspread. i'm not entirely sure who this chick is. i seem to recall she might be a friend of my cousin.

i look down at her and see that she's naked, but i have my shirt on. i stare at the curve of her back and i have a nice view of her ass, and i start to get really turned on. i lay back and go with it. suddenly i have this weird feeling in my mouth. i poke my finger at my lower bicuspids(?) on the right side, and feel that one is *very* loose. i grasp it with my thumb and index finger and just pluck it out. the tooth is all black on one side and the roots are black, as if it just rotted out of my head. wtf, i think; i brush my teeth twice a day. does flossing really make *that* big of a difference? i poke again and another tooth comes out. i wonder if this can be easily fixed. i'll probably need a dental bridge now, i think to myself. i start to get up, go to the bathroom to look in the mirror, when i glance at the digital clock by the bed-- i'm going to be late for work!

i say to the chick, "baby, i'm really digging this... but i have to go." i throw on my jeans and head for the door. i stop in the bathroom to look at my teeth. i open my mouth and see that i have rows of tiny sharp teeth coming in behind my permanent ones, like a shark's teeth. oh, it'll be alright then, i think-- doesn't look that bad.

i stumble outside to the sidewalk below, and start running as fast as i can towards work-- and see my boss walking straight toward me! i blurt out, "i know i'm late, but i'm on my way, i'm really sorry--" but she just smiles at me and says, "you're not late, today is Sunday!"

(end of transmission)

where's Sir Ian McKellen when you need him?

last night we were watching one of my favorite shows, Politically Incorrect (an avant-garde discussion forum hosted by Libertarian/comic Bill Maher), in which they discussed a "gay tolerance" program recently introduced to schools in Marin County, California. it was an interesting discussion, especially since one of the guests on the panel happened to be openly gay-- but it wasn't until they mentioned that the program targeted students as young as eight, that certain questions began to pop into my head.

instinctively, it is my strong feeling that this sort of thing should be the responsibility of a child's parents, not the school. but due to the overwhelming evidence that seems to suggest there is some pretty crappy parenting going on nowadays, i can hardly blame anyone for valiantly attempting to fill in the gaps, however over-the-top this program might be. then, interestingly, add to this mix the mention that there were indeed "opt-out" forms that parents could sign if they didn't want their child to participate in the program, but the forms were conveniently "lost". so, what is the real agenda here?

beyond that, it had never really occurred to me that eight-year-olds were so concerned about homosexuality in the first place. i can't recall the concept crossing my mind all that frequently when i was eight; but then again, i had only recently learned the "facts of life" at the age of seven. indeed, it wasn't until i was around ten that my grasp of homosexuality began to expand further than the vague notion that a lesbian, for example, was simply a woman who kissed other women on the lips. so is a "gay tolerance" program really necessary for second-graders? are kids today really all that different? you might think so, when we live in a world where a nine-year-old is charged with "sexual assault", and the massive amounts of growth hormones in our food are causing girls to get their periods as young as eight, but i'm not so sure. but then again, i can be pretty old-fashioned.

for more information and a better description of the gay tolerance program in question, check out this article. (it's actually from a conservative Christian 'zine, but ironically, it was the most informative article i could find on this subject.)

ai-yi-yi, what it must be to raise a kid in these times... i say, i'm quite happy to "opt-out" of the "parenthood tolerance" program. i'll stick to cats, thank you very much.

GODDAMMIT! those pop-up ads that don't have a "close" button-- they just kind of spring up right in the middle of the fucking window, get in your face and you're just expected to wait until they've finished their crappy little animated ad... what motherfucker came up with this idea? i want their name and phone number. whoever they are, they deserve Chinese water torture.

most recent downloads

Massive Attack - I Against I

Chemical Brothers - Denmark

Lene Marlin - Unforgiveable Sinner

Rinocerose - Dead Flowers

Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Bang

Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Art Star

Quarashi - Tarfur

Quarashi - Mr. Jinx

Alanis Morissette - So Unsexy

Alanis Morissette - You Owe Me Nothing

Bjork - AIFOL (Infinite Degrees Of Freedom Mix)

Bjork - AIFOL (Comtemplation Mix)

is there a Sensation Zone opening in your neighborhood soon? to find out, you'll have to pass a crazy math quiz. but once you get there, you can rest assured that "complimentary non-alcoholic drinks and light snacks are available."

and of course, be sure to review the F.A.Q.:

Q: What if I am overweight and unattractive?

A: It won't prevent you from getting great sex. Not in the Sensation Zone.

haha-- this is great: the McDonald's Employee Simulator. if you're really persistent, you can click all the way from "wake up, take shower" to "sleep without dreams".

(link via Shakespear's World.)

i just discovered that the link to the Telegraph.co.uk news story i posted below redirects to a login. sorry about that. just go to Rotten.com and click on "daily news"; scroll down until you see "parents offended by corpse art".

Edina: "It's a dead body, Pats."

Patsy: "Yes, but is it art, Eddie? "

--Absolutely Fabulous, Series 2, "Death"

i had to re-read this article twice before i finally picked up on what the "Alder Hey parents" are on about. so let me see if i get this: they're up in arms over an art exhibition featuring human corpses which were donated willingly to this project-- which does NOT display any children's bodies-- because their dead children had their body parts taken without permission, in some completely unrelated scandal. am i missing anything?

i have seen bits and pieces from this exhibition before, and i think it's beyond art-- it's fascinating. the technique is called plastination, and it's not new. a French guy called Fragonard pioneered it in the 1700's, using an experimental combination of embalming fluid and wax, and you can still see his works on display in the Musee Fragonard de L'Ecole Vétérinaire d’Alfort in Paris. i've actually been deeply interested in visiting the Fragonard Museum for quite a while now.

fortunately, the Body Worlds exhibition will not be blocked, and will open in London March 23rd. (you lucky Brits! you get all the good stuff over there.) and there's a simple solution if you happen to find this sort of thing an "insult" or "in bad taste"-- don't go.

for more info about plastination, go here. meanwhile, i think i might give these guys a ring and makes some enquiries about donating my pod, once i've shuffled off this mortal coil ;-)

i believe in peace, bitch.

and, according to this, i'm fun-loving, colorful and energetic to boot. it must have been my preference for rhinestones that did it:

Which Rock Chick Are You?

go ahead and take the quiz-- it's pretty funny; and it explicitly states that you don't have to be female to take it. and yeah, before anybody asks... i can kick Celine Dion's arse.

i just now edited the post below a bit, to make it slightly more coherent. i kind of fired it off quickly without thinking and posted it in haste, and didn't pay attention to how my sentences were running together.

Opportunistic WTC Widows Satirized in Editorial Cartoon, Widows Get Huffy-- and since NO ONE ELSE IN THE WORLD EVER DIED IN A TRAGEDY, the New York Times acquiesces, and pulls it.

i don't see a problem with the cartoons in question. i see it as tit for tat. after all, these women were the ones who went on national television, hair coiffed, nails gleaming and cardies knotted neatly around their shoulders-- pissing everyone off with their "1.7 million is an insult" bullshit. to use a common Bostonian expression, they got in our faces. and now that they find themselves in the kitchen, they can't take the heat.

yes, now that the dust has settled, people are starting to question things. most notably: of the thousands of people who lost loved ones that day, what exactly entitles these gals to multi-million dollar payouts and an exemption from income tax for two years? Joe the Janitor left behind a wife and kids too, but they carry on the best they can without a People magazine cover story-- and because they're not white or upper-class, it appears that nobody really gives a shit if they lose their house or not.

and let's not forget that many victims of the attack were non-Americans. and let's not forget that those hijackers were people too. in short, let's not forget that WE'RE NOT THE ONLY FUCKING COUNTRY ON THE PLANET!

and keep in mind, dear reader, that the author of this post herself was not left unscathed by this-- i lost my cousin that day. my aunt lost her only child, and a husband lost his wife. my grief is just as valid as anyone else's, but the difference is, we don't expect jack from anyone.

this tiny handful of Westchester bitches have managed to embarrass the crap out of every other American who has to live on this planet. and frankly, i'm sick of it. shut your goddamn cakeholes, but not before i issue this final edict:

Buffy, get yourself together, now. sell the McMansion; look for a smaller home. explain to your daughter that ballet lessons are definitely out of the question, at least for right now. think about getting a more economical vehicle. and look into getting yo' ass a job! for Christ's sake, that MRS degree from Bryn Mawr has to be worth something! you can take comfort in the fact that you're not the first woman who's had to scale down her lifestyle, and i dare say you won't be the last. and if you're not willing to wake up and smell the asbestos, and your single unwavering goal in life is to maintain this lifestyle you've become "accostomed" to, then at least find yourself another dipshit man to fund it, and get the hell out of the working taxpayers' hair.

well, i guess i can clear Absolute Madonna out of my bookmarks now-- they've started requiring a login just to view the latest news. what's up with that?

it seems there's a lack of good, original Madonna fansites recently-- perplexing because there used to be so many good ones. there was Madonnanet, the original Madonna webring created for fans by fans, which yielded some pretty dynamic sites until it suddenly went bust. some of the sites managed to rebuild somewhere else, but never really regained momentum. DJ Flange's Madonnamix disappeared, then reappeared, then disappeared again. and what's left of the reliable news sources all seem to copy the same basic format.

i realize it's a difficult job running a site devoted to an international pop star. i realize it takes a certain amount of commitment and talent to keep any good website up to scratch, so i'm not coming down on anyone here. but having said that, i'm going to go ahead and plug some of the Original Gangstas of the Madonna fansites that have managed to carve an impressive niche in the past few years:

Madonnapower dot com-- the news n' information source by which all other standards are set (as in, wanna start a Madonna news site? well just copy Madonnapower's source code and change the color scheme a bit!);

Sindri's Madonna Page, the creation of a lovely Swiss fellow who is also a talented Web designer (he changes the intro page and layout monthly) and a cat lover to boot. if he wasn't gay, i'd probabaly marry him. his site has news too, but also loads of other features;

lastly, there's Madonna's Ashram, a Madonna multimedia site that specializes in rare audio and video downloads. (i just discovered it's temporarily off the air-- uh oh.)

i finally got to hear some India.Arie for the first time today. i don't think she's really my style (i'll have to listen to some more of her stuff), but "Video" is kinda catchy and upbeat, and the lyrics are interesting.

your honor, the defendant would like to enquire if she is permitted to laugh. no? carry on then.

instead, i'll just say... this is really bizarre: lil' markie's diary.

leave the seal-uh-cants alone

how cool would it be to see living coelacanths at the bottom of the sea? i think it would totally rock, since i've only had the pleasure of seeing one coelacanth in my lifetime, and it was long dead and mounted in the Museum of Natural History in New York.

i'm not so sure about South Africa's plans for potential "tourist submersibles", tho. i'd be very concerned about disturbing the coelacanths' natural environment.

relevance?

just incase you've been under a rock (or don't live in the U.S.), there's currrently a big to-do going back and forth concerning the fate of ABC's Nightline. Nightline, which has been boring the shit out of people for 20+ years now, is under serious threat of being replaced by David Letterman.

the biggest fuss seems to be Ted Koppel's revelation that ABC was in negotiations to replace him long before he was aware of it. in essence, they went behind his back, and probably wouldn't even have let him know he'd gotten the ax until after he showed up at the payroll office with, "um, excuse me, but i didn't recieve my paycheck this week..." for the latest on the saga, go here, and read about Koppel's criticizing of ABC for daring to question Nightline's "relevance" in this day and age.

[snip]"I would argue that in these times, when homeland security is an ongoing concern ... when, in short, the regular and thoughtful analysis of national and foreign policy is more essential than ever -- it is, at best, inappropriate and, at worst, malicious to describe what my colleagues and I are doing as lacking relevance," Koppel wrote.[/snip]

do you want my take on it? here you go:

ax it. what "relevance" is Koppel alluding to? relevant to whom? there are dozens of talk-news-commentary-analysis programs out there that are better than Nightline. i can think of a dozen shows i can turn to for a "regular and thoughtful analysis of national and foreign policy", some of them even on network. that said, we've got about six 24 hr. news channels on basic cable alone, dude. that's just how we operate now. nobody, except those who still use a rotary phone, is going to wait until 11:30 at night for a digest of the daily news.

that over with, now i'm going to get rudimentary here. Nightline is plain dull. Ted Koppel is tedious. i don't think the format has changed one iota since 1981. Charlie-fucking-Rose has more charisma than this, and he's on PBS! furthermore, it's always cutting into Politically Incorrect; this annoys me. if i've got time and inclination to sit down for PI, i don't like to find it's been usurped because Ted and The Gang had to continue their circle-jerk for another half hour.

get rid of it. it will only confirm my suspicions that Ted Koppel is actually an android. maybe we could replace it with something better than Letterman, but let Nightline go the way of the rotary phone.

i do sort of feel bad for old Ted, though. i do admit that going behind his back like that, after 20 years, was pretty (make jerking-off motion with me now) dick.

this mental diarrhea was sponsored by Smashing Pumpkins' Machina II/The Friends & Enemies of Modern Music, Coca-Cola, and the letter B.

Victims are tied into you and stretched inch by agonizing inch, until they are either rent limb from limb or they confess. Or hey, maybe both. Not as bad as some people, someone tells you what you want to hear you'll feel better.

What torture would you be?

this is hella cool-- interactive art. it's kinda like being stuck in "The Cell"... or Yoko Ono's brain. the music's creepy, though.

prone to seizures? stoned? stick with the Kaleidoscope Painter. it sort of reminds me of this thing i had when i was little called Spirograph. seconds-- no, minutes of pure fun.

he's got bitches in the livin' room gettin' it on, and they ain't leavin' til six in the mo'-nin

no, it's not Pete Wacky Brit-- it's Snoop Doggy Blog.

for boog

this one goes out especially for boog, 'coz God knows he deserves it:

"The temptation and teasing ends this summer."

BUS-TED!

i wanted to link this earlier, but until now i could only find it at the New York Times which requires a log in:

A Boy Genius? Mother Admits Faking Tests

this is sort of OT, but i'm always amused at how vehemently people take IQ test results as the gospel. i'm not disputing that they can be an accurate measure of "intelligence", but i'm a bit suspicious of them. i was once given two tests on two separate occasions, and while one test measured my IQ to be fairly average, the other gave me an IQ of 70!

years later, i decided to take one of those online IQ tests (just for a laugh) and again, came out with a below-average score. listen people, i've never claimed to be Einstein, but i can pretty much guarantee you that if my IQ was truly 70, i certainly wouldn't be sitting here writing this right now. so, my advice to anyone interested in measuring their IQ-- take any results you get with a grain of salt.

they're coming to get me

i told you all before, but no one would believe me! now i have proof: they're on my trail!

in the news

cool! too bad they're going to eat it. :-(

and:

"i think i'll go down to Spring Break and get sloppy drunk and take off my clothes... but if it ends up on tape, i'm suing!"

and last but not least:

high school wrestling coach teaches his students a *great* lesson (not): maiming small creatures is innocent FUN! (choice quote: "it was unprofessional... but nobody was hurt.")

the cardigans (not the band)

i bought a black cardigan yesterday. i don't know what i was thinking. i already have about thirty-something cardigans. i have so many cardigans that they've almost become some sort of trademark with me. you'll almost never see me without one.

i have black cardigans, one white cardigan, blue cardigans, pink cardigans, gray cardigans, a rainbow striped cardigan. i have long cardigans that reach my ankles; i have short cardigans; i have cardigans with rhinestones on them and some with tiny beads on them.

i have cotton cardigans and knit cardigans. some with buttons, some with snaps, some with zippers. i have cardigans with hoods and some with fur on them.

i get my cardigans from different places, but my favorite ones come from vintage shops or are hand-knitted.

don't get me wrong-- i adore handbags, and to a lesser extent shoes. i just happen to indulge my cardigan fetish a bit more frequently. i don't know why i like them so much; i think... they're terribly retro, and functional, and extremely ladylike in a cunning way-- all combined into one. that appeals to me. i'm obsessed with function. and i'm the sort of person who manifests this obsession in the smallest ways-- matching the polish on my fingers and toes, for example, when nothing else on my person matches; lining up the silverware exactly, even though it's plastic and we're about to have barbecue-- small ways that might not be visible at a glance.

i suppose part of it is conditioning. New Englanders learn to dress in layers. it's a hard habit to break.

many people think that i wear cardigans all the time because i don't want anyone to see the huge scar on my left arm. that is partially true, but it's not because i'm ashamed of my scar or think that it's ugly. it's more to do with politeness and privacy. i don't always relish the idea of strangers on the street looking at my scar and getting perturbed, or drawing all sorts of crazy conclusions about it. besides, i don't always wear a cardigan 24/7; if it's just me and friends out, then the cardigan is off and they know about the scar, and nobody thinks about it.

anyway, i thought about returning this cardigan i got yesterday, but i don't know. it's kind of cool. it's made of this stretchy material and has these tiny snaps all the way down and snaps on the sleeves, too. it's black, and i have too many black cardigans already. maybe i should exchange it for a different color. i'm going to go count my cardigans now.

perfect morning

awake at 7. drizzling rain. drive to McDonald's. home, eat. back to sleep.

Oscars be damned: The Fellowship of the Ring is named Best Libertarian Film of 2001.

the one and only

yay! technical difficulties be damned: the fabulous MLVC dot org is back on the air.

the best online quiz ever, courtesy of CryVillage:

are you in labor?

i think i'm going to write an online quiz called, "are you dying?" questions might include, "are copious amounts of blood currently shooting out of your subclavian aorta? yes, no? if so, how far is the stream? three feet, six feet, ten feet? (if ten feet, you *may* have a few extra seconds to dial 911.)"

or maybe less technical questions like, "have you been in close contact with a freight train within the last hour? was it moving?" "do you see any bright lights?"

yeah, i know. lame.

ay-yi-yi, what a long day. and another one ahead of me tomorrow-- partly because BF wants to go shopping in Freeport at, like, the bloody crack of dawn or something. maybe i can still convince him that even if we get started closer to noon, the world will not come to an end. he's got some bee in his bonnet about a pair of corduroy (sp?) trousers; he wants to find a pair for himself, or exchange a pair he got earlier that doesn't fit-- or both; i'm not sure. the man's barely coherent at the best of times.

anyway, why this has to include me, i don't know. i'm in no particular mood for shopping at this point in time. who knows, maybe i'll feel differently in the morning.

and that, i guess, is the extent of my rambling tonight. i think i'm just going to visit with the telly for a few minutes and go to bed. but, i WILL be posting tomorrow night, so i'll see you then.

mad tv

while i wouldn't have touched it with a ten-foot pole while it was known as "The Nashville Network", TNN has undergone an interesting makeover lately. best of all, they have started showing back-to-back repeats of Mad TV weeknights at midnight.

NBC should get a clue. Saturday Night Live is dead and buried.

presented for your amusement: the Worst of the Worst Very Bad Music... although i admit that "Lincoln's Ghost" by The Singing Psychic (torture factor: a perfect "10") pretty much takes the cake, take my advice and skip Sandy McClurg's cover of "I Will Survive" (torture factor: 8). it nearly caused me to have a seizure.

let the sunshine in

i was awake and hard at work by 9 this morning. yes, folks, it's spring cleaning time. about 6500 loads of laundry to do, for starters. i'm serious-- i've got a load in the washer right now consisting of just my underwear. scary stuff.

i think we all know each other pretty well by now, so i feel comfortable sharing this with you: my bedroom looks like a refugee camp. yes, i am ashamed. i have been one hell of a slacker these past couple of months-- although i admit that my definition of "slacking" still borders on the Joan Crawford-esque for most other people. okay, the room's not *too* bad. rather, let's just say it fails to meet my usual standards.

the rest of the house is impressively devoid of chaos, and dust-free. i credit my domestic partner for 50% of that. the only real problems we encounter in that department is the unreal amount of bills, junk mail, receipts, and other random paperwork that tends to accumulate on the kitchen table. like dust, this particular nemesis of mine is amazingly consistent.

i usually clean out and re-organize my closet every six months. but just to be safe, i examined my closet this morning-- and decided there is no real need for alarm just yet. yay.

february is over, people. this is the end of that dark, depressing, dragging, yucky month. it's spring now (at least on my calendar), so time to open windows and get some fresh air. i'm tired of stuffiness. i'm tired of gloom. no more morose music-- bring in the disco.

as they say in Hair... let the sunshine in.