Bad bad bad. I know, I have been MIA since, like, forever. Mea cupla. In my humble defense, I have been using every iota of willpower not to go crazy and have a what-the-hella worthy meltdown of my own. Because, you know, I do have a day job too.
But enough about that. What have I missed? Sarah Palin! Stock market crashes! A war between Russia & Georgia that the Western media covered in the most laughable fashion ever! Oh right, we don't come here to read about important things! We want our daily dose of stupidity!
No, no, I said this was not a political blog, so scratch that last....
How about this story, courtesy of no less an august body than the National Terror Alert Response Center?!? I know firsthand how scary buses can be (let's put it delicately....as a 14-year-old I took a cross-country trip on one to visit a boyfriend, a trip not exactly vetted by the parental units....) but this takes things to new extremes. I would like to know what these two men were arguing about that caused the situation to spiral down into....decapitation. I would also like to know whether malt liquor was involved.
Apparently not, according to reports of the incident:
"One moment, the quiet man near the back of the bus was minding his own business. The man hadn’t talked to anyone around him, and seemed to pay no attention to the younger fellow sitting next to him, who was listening to music on headphones The next moment, witnesses said, the older man stood up, still quiet, and repeatedly stabbed, then beheaded his younger victim."
Ooooo-kay. I too get pissed when talking to someone who refuses to tune out their I-Pod for a second, but...? The story gets even more absurd, culminating in the severed head being presented calmly by the "robot" murderer to the aghast bus passengers, much like a cat presents a dead bird or mouse to its disgusted owners.
You know, upon further reflection and after a really long Monday at the office, this story and its gory denounment isn't sounding so weird after all. Time for some self-medication...but I promise I'll be back, hopefully sans heads on a platter!
9.22.2008
8.26.2008
The sweet smell of hypocrisy
You'd think that a literary journal touting itself as the nation's leading poetry magazine would invest in some proofreaders, particularly when urging potential submitters to prepare their work carefully.
You would be very, very wrong. To wit: check the last line in the first paragraph under "how soon can I expect to hear...?" below.
I would love to have a timely response "insured". What, precisely, would be paid to me if a timely result was not delivered? Hmmmmm the legal possibilities are fascinating, truly.
You would be very, very wrong. To wit: check the last line in the first paragraph under "how soon can I expect to hear...?" below.
I would love to have a timely response "insured". What, precisely, would be paid to me if a timely result was not delivered? Hmmmmm the legal possibilities are fascinating, truly.
7.23.2008
Bear-y disturbing news from ze Motherland
Yet another update from the Motherland: visit Russia and you will get eaten by humongous bears. This is precisely what happened to two very unlucky mine workers in Kamchatka, a region in Russia's far east. The news release begins with this highly disturbing sentence: "A pack of enormous bears searching for food killed and ate two men." Yummy! Vkusno! The poor gigantic bears were tired of borscht, apparently. (I don't blame them. That stuff sucks.)
This brings back many memories of hanging out by the Winter Palace only to see some joker walk by with a bear on a leash. I would always think.....not such a good idea. And now, voila! Apparently exercising some good judgment for once, the local men refuse to go to work at the mines now for fear that they too will be devoured by the pack of 30+ hungry bears. Needless to say, this puts the kibbosh once and for all on my husband's plans to go hunting for bear in Siberia with some of his friends.
What disturbs me even more, though, is how this story relates to the Minnesota Zoo's latest creation, which the imported husband and I went to visit just a week ago. Russia's Grizzly Coast - yes, and now to truly experience life in Kamchatka, one must step through the cage and be devoured by a gigantic bear. Prekrasno!
This brings back many memories of hanging out by the Winter Palace only to see some joker walk by with a bear on a leash. I would always think.....not such a good idea. And now, voila! Apparently exercising some good judgment for once, the local men refuse to go to work at the mines now for fear that they too will be devoured by the pack of 30+ hungry bears. Needless to say, this puts the kibbosh once and for all on my husband's plans to go hunting for bear in Siberia with some of his friends.
What disturbs me even more, though, is how this story relates to the Minnesota Zoo's latest creation, which the imported husband and I went to visit just a week ago. Russia's Grizzly Coast - yes, and now to truly experience life in Kamchatka, one must step through the cage and be devoured by a gigantic bear. Prekrasno!
7.16.2008
To catch a predator
OMG. There's irony and then there's.....this. Today's reigning fucktard deserves WTH excoriation for the following act of idiocy: 33 year old Daniel Allen Everett of Clarkston, Michigan solicited a 14 year old girl for sex on the internet. That's creepy and wrong and, in itself, deserving of public shaming (although sadly such things happen too frequently to merit daily WTH shout-outs).
What really takes this debacle to the next level of fucked up is his choice of attire for the illicit rendezvous: a t-shirt bearing the words "World's Greatest Dad." The court is still trying to determine as of press time whether or not this scumbag has kids. I pray to the gods I don't believe in that he doesn't, but honestly....I wouldn't be surprised. Disgusted, but not one whit surprised.
What really takes this debacle to the next level of fucked up is his choice of attire for the illicit rendezvous: a t-shirt bearing the words "World's Greatest Dad." The court is still trying to determine as of press time whether or not this scumbag has kids. I pray to the gods I don't believe in that he doesn't, but honestly....I wouldn't be surprised. Disgusted, but not one whit surprised.
7.11.2008
You've got me all caught up inside....literally
Duuuuuuuuuuuuude....it's just way too easy to find WTH fodder in ze Motherland! Today, in my beloved former city of residence, St. Petersburg, a woman killed her husband by smashing him up inside a fold-out couch.
The couple was having an argument because the husband (in traditional klassno Russian man style) was drunk on the couch in his underwear and refused to move. So the wifey gets angry, kicks the couch, and "accidentally" trips the lever that causes the couch to retract. Ooops. Then she leaves for a couple of hours and returns to find....a folded up couch and no husband. But just like a Russian stacking doll, the husband is inside the couch - very much dead!! In the least surprising part of the story, reports say that the police are now investigating.
The couple was having an argument because the husband (in traditional klassno Russian man style) was drunk on the couch in his underwear and refused to move. So the wifey gets angry, kicks the couch, and "accidentally" trips the lever that causes the couch to retract. Ooops. Then she leaves for a couple of hours and returns to find....a folded up couch and no husband. But just like a Russian stacking doll, the husband is inside the couch - very much dead!! In the least surprising part of the story, reports say that the police are now investigating.
7.10.2008
Cover your belly buttons in the presence of heads of state
As a writer, I'm often told "write about what you know," so here we go - another post regarding bizarre-o life in Russia. In this case, a picture is worth a thousand words. The pic is from summer 2006 (July, if I recall correctly...the image is seared into my mind forever). Vladimir Vladimirovich was hangin' out at the Kremlin when, for no explicable reason, he decided to play nicey with some Russian citizens paying a visit to their nation's capital.
And....he expresses his affection by pulling up a little boy's shirt and kissing his belly button. I'm not saying anything but...that's just kind of.....weird.
And....he expresses his affection by pulling up a little boy's shirt and kissing his belly button. I'm not saying anything but...that's just kind of.....weird.
7.07.2008
The Bear & the Boor
Well this is a backhanded compliment if ever I heard one. Our soon-to-be ex-President Dubya was just in Japan for a G-8 meeting, the first with new Russian "President" Dmitri Medvedev in attendance. Dima & Dubya had time for a little heart to heart, after which America's Fearless Leader praised Medvedev as being - and I quote - "a smart guy who understands the issues very well."
Coming from Bush, I'm not sure intellectual praise is a compliment. The man can't think his way out of a wet paper bag. Dubya continues - "I'm not going to sit here and psychoanalyze the man." [Oh really? That's a shame. I'm sure Mitya would have loooooved to lie on a couch and tell you about his childhood!] "But I will tell you that he's very comfortable, very confident, and I believe that when he tells me something, he means it." [Oh-kaaaayyyyyy Candide. I too believe that when people tell me something, they always mean it. I also believe in the Tooth Fairy!]
The hilarious part, of course, is that Bush could have saved himself the trouble and directed his (admittedly ironic) praise toward Russia's Prime Minister, where it rightfully belongs. Mr. Putin is still running the show - Medvedev knows it, everyone knows it but Bush. Hell, the man won't even take down his presidential portrait from his own office, or relinquish the presidential pen or chair for Kremlin cabinet meetings! I'm sure Vladimir Vladimirovich was having a good laugh over Bush's unfortunate praise. Poor Dmitri, however, just looks uncomfortable as all hell.
Coming from Bush, I'm not sure intellectual praise is a compliment. The man can't think his way out of a wet paper bag. Dubya continues - "I'm not going to sit here and psychoanalyze the man." [Oh really? That's a shame. I'm sure Mitya would have loooooved to lie on a couch and tell you about his childhood!] "But I will tell you that he's very comfortable, very confident, and I believe that when he tells me something, he means it." [Oh-kaaaayyyyyy Candide. I too believe that when people tell me something, they always mean it. I also believe in the Tooth Fairy!]
The hilarious part, of course, is that Bush could have saved himself the trouble and directed his (admittedly ironic) praise toward Russia's Prime Minister, where it rightfully belongs. Mr. Putin is still running the show - Medvedev knows it, everyone knows it but Bush. Hell, the man won't even take down his presidential portrait from his own office, or relinquish the presidential pen or chair for Kremlin cabinet meetings! I'm sure Vladimir Vladimirovich was having a good laugh over Bush's unfortunate praise. Poor Dmitri, however, just looks uncomfortable as all hell.
6.30.2008
Viva Espana!
Confirming a long held suspicion of mine.....in Spain (and in pretty much every other country besides the United States, I can confidently wager), soccer is more important than sex.
Lest you think I kid, ponder this. A perennial crowd pleaser, the Erotic Film Festival of Barcelona usually draws crowds of over 50,000 to mingle with porn stars, strippers, and sex industry superstars and screen the latest flicks. But not this year. Spain's dazzling success in the Eur0 Cup 2008 (led by David Villa and the delicious El Nino) meant that Spaniards across the nation were glued to their tv sets - not for adult films, however, but for football matches.
Many Spanish wives are no doubt crying. "Football is one of the few things that can compete with sex," laments festival organizer Juli Simon. Given the stunning good looks of certain members of the Spanish team, however, one wishes that perhaps a compromise between the two activities could be reached....
Sssh, don't tell my husband. Oh, wait, he's got the game on! Nevermind.
Lest you think I kid, ponder this. A perennial crowd pleaser, the Erotic Film Festival of Barcelona usually draws crowds of over 50,000 to mingle with porn stars, strippers, and sex industry superstars and screen the latest flicks. But not this year. Spain's dazzling success in the Eur0 Cup 2008 (led by David Villa and the delicious El Nino) meant that Spaniards across the nation were glued to their tv sets - not for adult films, however, but for football matches.
Many Spanish wives are no doubt crying. "Football is one of the few things that can compete with sex," laments festival organizer Juli Simon. Given the stunning good looks of certain members of the Spanish team, however, one wishes that perhaps a compromise between the two activities could be reached....
Sssh, don't tell my husband. Oh, wait, he's got the game on! Nevermind.
6.26.2008
Word choice....it matters.
As I wait with bated breath to see the outcome of the Russia vs. Spain Euro Cup semifinals (my money - and my heart - are on Arshavin, Pavlyuchenko, & co......of course!), I have to share this little gem with you, courtesy of Wonkette.
Sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words. (Read the sashes if you're curious.)
But don't get the wrong idea here. The Faggot Family, as they're actually called, are really just fanatics of a traditional British culinary dish. The unfortunately named food is made from pig liver and other pork products (sounds mmm-mmmm delicious, no?) and dates back to the Middle Ages as a staple of English cooking.
You know it's going to be a good news article when the opening photo caption reads, "The Doody family hopes to raise the profile of faggots." If you are interested in learning more, you can even go out to your local bookseller and purchase the Good Faggot Guide.
This incredibly eager family has the following to say on the topic: "The great British faggot is full of flavor and a great belly warmer." Oooo-kay. I am trying to bite back a smart comment about Elton John. Perhaps most bizarrely of all, the Doody clan actually competed for the title of Faggot Family, undergoing a series of quizzes, mock commercials, and - most disturbingly - role plays.
On a timely, and perhaps topical note.....a little soccer photo to commemorate today's game:
Sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words. (Read the sashes if you're curious.)
But don't get the wrong idea here. The Faggot Family, as they're actually called, are really just fanatics of a traditional British culinary dish. The unfortunately named food is made from pig liver and other pork products (sounds mmm-mmmm delicious, no?) and dates back to the Middle Ages as a staple of English cooking.
You know it's going to be a good news article when the opening photo caption reads, "The Doody family hopes to raise the profile of faggots." If you are interested in learning more, you can even go out to your local bookseller and purchase the Good Faggot Guide.
This incredibly eager family has the following to say on the topic: "The great British faggot is full of flavor and a great belly warmer." Oooo-kay. I am trying to bite back a smart comment about Elton John. Perhaps most bizarrely of all, the Doody clan actually competed for the title of Faggot Family, undergoing a series of quizzes, mock commercials, and - most disturbingly - role plays.
On a timely, and perhaps topical note.....a little soccer photo to commemorate today's game:
6.20.2008
I'm sexy, I'm cute, I'm pregnant now to boot!!
An equally-minded friend (whose sense of empathy got shot off in the war, in other words) alerted me to this debacle of epic proportions. Granted, teenagers make lots of bad decisions. When I look back at some of the people I dated (and some of the styles I wore...), it makes me long for a stiff shot of brain bleach. But this goes well beyond the normal realm of teenage idiocy and straight into what the hella goldmine territory.
17 students at Gloucester High School in Massachusetts are pregnant. None is older than sixteen. That isn't the shocking part, though. [A sad commentary on the situation in and of itself.] It seems that these ninnies, far from being uneducated about the details of safe sex and contraceptives, actually made a pact together to get pregnant and raise their babies en masse.
Principal Joseph Sullivan says it "isn't all that shocking." With all due respect, Joe....what kind of crack are you smoking?!? Isn't shocking?! What ever happened to Truth or Dare? Spin the Bottle? Jesus H. Christ. Having a baby isn't like buying a Chia Pet! Our education system has failed these girls. Their families have failed these girls. Our government, which loves to spout its abstinence only drivel, has failed these girls. But you know what? These ignoramuses deserve their fair share of the blame brownie too. How fucking idiotic can you be? A pact to get pregnant at the ripe ol' age of 16, or 15, or 14?! The rationale? "They're so excited to finally have someone to love them unconditionally."
Get a therapist. Get some self esteem. Get a goldfish (upon further thought, I don't think these girls would be intelligent enough to care for one, so scratch that). Do NOT get pregnant. The kicker? Joe, the high school's fearless leader, comments on the parentage of one of the babies: "We found out one of the fathers is a 24-year-old homeless guy." Well isn't that precious??
17 students at Gloucester High School in Massachusetts are pregnant. None is older than sixteen. That isn't the shocking part, though. [A sad commentary on the situation in and of itself.] It seems that these ninnies, far from being uneducated about the details of safe sex and contraceptives, actually made a pact together to get pregnant and raise their babies en masse.
Principal Joseph Sullivan says it "isn't all that shocking." With all due respect, Joe....what kind of crack are you smoking?!? Isn't shocking?! What ever happened to Truth or Dare? Spin the Bottle? Jesus H. Christ. Having a baby isn't like buying a Chia Pet! Our education system has failed these girls. Their families have failed these girls. Our government, which loves to spout its abstinence only drivel, has failed these girls. But you know what? These ignoramuses deserve their fair share of the blame brownie too. How fucking idiotic can you be? A pact to get pregnant at the ripe ol' age of 16, or 15, or 14?! The rationale? "They're so excited to finally have someone to love them unconditionally."
Get a therapist. Get some self esteem. Get a goldfish (upon further thought, I don't think these girls would be intelligent enough to care for one, so scratch that). Do NOT get pregnant. The kicker? Joe, the high school's fearless leader, comments on the parentage of one of the babies: "We found out one of the fathers is a 24-year-old homeless guy." Well isn't that precious??
6.19.2008
Another Penn head case
More news of the bizarre from my beloved alma mater. A group of seven kids living in an apartment near Penn's campus recently moved out - but decided to leave a curio behind that left people, er, scratching their heads.
The crazy Quakers left in their wake a human skull. Although the po-po (having better things to do in South Philly than research the strange, potentially cannibalistic proclivities of over-privileged Ivy League kids, no doubt) don't suspect any foul play, the whole affair is rather puzzling. Is it a prank? A med school relic? Evidence of really poor taste in home decor? Or have our Penn friends been hanging out with my good friend and aspiring Mexican horror novelist-cum-felon?
Picking on Penn....it's just too easy.
The crazy Quakers left in their wake a human skull. Although the po-po (having better things to do in South Philly than research the strange, potentially cannibalistic proclivities of over-privileged Ivy League kids, no doubt) don't suspect any foul play, the whole affair is rather puzzling. Is it a prank? A med school relic? Evidence of really poor taste in home decor? Or have our Penn friends been hanging out with my good friend and aspiring Mexican horror novelist-cum-felon?
Picking on Penn....it's just too easy.
6.17.2008
But will he govern from his coffin?
Ah, Romania - land of attractive male gymnasts and the undead. Or sort of dead, if you look at things the way residents of a small Romanian village seem to see electoral politics. Apparently unsatisfied with the competition, townsfolk elected a dead man - intentionally - in this year's local mayoral contest.
Neculai Ivascu, mayor of more than two decades, died of liver disease during this year's electoral contest. Town members were made aware of this unfortunate circumstance...and proceeded to vote for him anyway. (This reflects really well on opposition candidate Gheorghe Dobrescu, lemme tell ya!) One such voter explains their logic thus: "I know he died, but I don't want change."
Wow....change we can't believe in, apparently! The legacy of Ceausescu's politics is alive and well.....er.....even today.
Neculai Ivascu, mayor of more than two decades, died of liver disease during this year's electoral contest. Town members were made aware of this unfortunate circumstance...and proceeded to vote for him anyway. (This reflects really well on opposition candidate Gheorghe Dobrescu, lemme tell ya!) One such voter explains their logic thus: "I know he died, but I don't want change."
Wow....change we can't believe in, apparently! The legacy of Ceausescu's politics is alive and well.....er.....even today.
6.16.2008
This is not art.
It must seem like I pick on conservatives a lot (but...but...it's so easy!). Well, today I'm sure I'll manage to offend a certain segment of the liberal latte crowd (Hillary's most ardent supporters?). Oops. Now, I like art. I am all for creativity, for pushing the envelope, for the avant garde. (OK, actually I hate modern "poetry" too.) But this is just.....hm, how do I say it?....fucked up.
I'm pro-choice. I don't think abortion is inherently evil. I'm 1,000% in favor of Roe v. Wade. But is there something sick and disturbed about a person who repeatedly becomes pregnant and then forces herself to miscarry, so that she can use the resultant video footage and - gag me - blood/tissue matter for her senior art project? At Yale? New Haven, we have a problem.
I mean, is this woman a closet right-to-lifer? Is she trying to empower the Moral Majority to point their fingers and talk about the abuse of abortion and the blatant disregard for life that such a spectacle - I refuse to call it "art" - embraces? The only other thing I can think of on par with this (upon reflection, I actually find the latter example even more categorically reprehensible) is that sick Nicaraguan fuck Guillermo Vargas tying a dog to a wall in an art gallery and letting it starve in the name of "art". What is wrong with people?
I have a message for you, Aliza Schvarts. Sooner or later, your 15 minutes of fame will wear off. If you have to resort to shock tactics to garner attention for your portfolio, you're probably not much of an artist anyway. What you are, however, is an insensitive, entitled agent provocateur who has managed to offend people from all ends of the political spectrum....congratulations. I can confidently say that we'll never find your work exhibited in the Louvre or the Hermitage.
I'm pro-choice. I don't think abortion is inherently evil. I'm 1,000% in favor of Roe v. Wade. But is there something sick and disturbed about a person who repeatedly becomes pregnant and then forces herself to miscarry, so that she can use the resultant video footage and - gag me - blood/tissue matter for her senior art project? At Yale? New Haven, we have a problem.
I mean, is this woman a closet right-to-lifer? Is she trying to empower the Moral Majority to point their fingers and talk about the abuse of abortion and the blatant disregard for life that such a spectacle - I refuse to call it "art" - embraces? The only other thing I can think of on par with this (upon reflection, I actually find the latter example even more categorically reprehensible) is that sick Nicaraguan fuck Guillermo Vargas tying a dog to a wall in an art gallery and letting it starve in the name of "art". What is wrong with people?
I have a message for you, Aliza Schvarts. Sooner or later, your 15 minutes of fame will wear off. If you have to resort to shock tactics to garner attention for your portfolio, you're probably not much of an artist anyway. What you are, however, is an insensitive, entitled agent provocateur who has managed to offend people from all ends of the political spectrum....congratulations. I can confidently say that we'll never find your work exhibited in the Louvre or the Hermitage.
6.12.2008
In a New York minute...you can get herpes, too!
You know, I've never been in love with New York City. It's a little too trendy, a little too faux hipster, a little too hectic and conspicuous and déclassé for my tastes. And now I have an even better reason not to want to visit - STDs!
The sad truth is, a recent medical survey reveals this stunning fact: one in four New Yorkers has genital herpes. Pause and reflect. One in four. That pretty much guarantees that at least one stockbroker in your daily latte line has herpes, the gift that keeps on giving. I fear for the Sex & the City gals....memo to Carrie: genital lesions clash with your Manolos! In fact, given the stats, one of those four fab females is carrying something a little extra - and I don't mean the newest lip gloss. Seriously. I know they say the dating scene in NYC is fierce, but this is ridic!
The sad truth is, a recent medical survey reveals this stunning fact: one in four New Yorkers has genital herpes. Pause and reflect. One in four. That pretty much guarantees that at least one stockbroker in your daily latte line has herpes, the gift that keeps on giving. I fear for the Sex & the City gals....memo to Carrie: genital lesions clash with your Manolos! In fact, given the stats, one of those four fab females is carrying something a little extra - and I don't mean the newest lip gloss. Seriously. I know they say the dating scene in NYC is fierce, but this is ridic!
6.11.2008
It's going to take a lot of Hail Marys to make up for this
Oops. A Roman couple caught in a moment of amore chose a very unfortunate place to express their desire for one another.....a confessional box in a Catholic church. While the priest was giving a morning Mass. Bless me Father, for I have sinned.....am sinning.....will continue to sin.....
As only an Italian could do, the bishop made peace with the couple under the stipulation that they'll refrain from expressing their carnal passion in church. (The article makes no mention of their marital status, so I'm going to assume they weren't married.....oops, I'm pretty sure adultery is one of the seven deadly sins....) Apparently the couple had been drinking the previous night and - this is the part that perplexes me - decided sex in the confessional was a good idea. To me, this begs an interesting question - did they go to the church with the intention of, uh, intimacy....or did they just sort of get carried away in the passion [paging Mel Gibson] of the moment?
Presumably to purify the church, the bishop recently conducted a "Mass of Reparation" to make up for the sacrilege. In times like this, it's important for passionate young Catholics to remember - the question is what - not who! - would Jesus do?
As only an Italian could do, the bishop made peace with the couple under the stipulation that they'll refrain from expressing their carnal passion in church. (The article makes no mention of their marital status, so I'm going to assume they weren't married.....oops, I'm pretty sure adultery is one of the seven deadly sins....) Apparently the couple had been drinking the previous night and - this is the part that perplexes me - decided sex in the confessional was a good idea. To me, this begs an interesting question - did they go to the church with the intention of, uh, intimacy....or did they just sort of get carried away in the passion [paging Mel Gibson] of the moment?
Presumably to purify the church, the bishop recently conducted a "Mass of Reparation" to make up for the sacrilege. In times like this, it's important for passionate young Catholics to remember - the question is what - not who! - would Jesus do?
6.10.2008
Putting your tax dollars to work!
Every Senate session, I know there are plenty of pork barrel bills passed, allocating funds for all sorts of useless and inane "pet" projects. But this, er, goes down to new depths of absurdity. A U.S. research base in Antarctica just received its final shipment of goods for the winter. What did said shipment include? Not clothes, not food, not fuel, not technology, not medicine....no, no, my friends - something far more useful while stuck in the frozen wastelands.
Yes, gentle readers - a supply flight just dropped off a shipment of condoms to last the research team throughout the winter.
While you ponder the unforeseen uses of your tax money, here's something that'll really rock your clock. How many condoms did the Uncle Sam-supported plane deliver? 16,500. How many researchers are there? 125. All I can say is.....I guess there isn't much to do down there during the winter. Priceless. Now we know why the polar ice caps are melting!!
Yes, gentle readers - a supply flight just dropped off a shipment of condoms to last the research team throughout the winter.
While you ponder the unforeseen uses of your tax money, here's something that'll really rock your clock. How many condoms did the Uncle Sam-supported plane deliver? 16,500. How many researchers are there? 125. All I can say is.....I guess there isn't much to do down there during the winter. Priceless. Now we know why the polar ice caps are melting!!
6.09.2008
Cue the banjo music
Oooh-kay. I try to stay away from politics on here since the topic saturates pretty much every other form of media one can find. But seriously, I can't ignore this topic. Now, although it's probably pretty clear where I stand on the matter personally - this isn't an argument for Barack Obama as President. I don't care (for the purposes of this discussion, anyway!) if you like him or hate him. What I am taking to issue today as an all too what the hella? topic is the attitudes expressed - openly! - in this disturbing news article.
I'm just going to go ahead and quote these idiots. Their comments are indictments of their beliefs more than any snarking I can provide (though I'm happy to do that too!) Welcome to the Wall of Shame:
"I don't think our country is ready for a black president." - Joyce Susick
"I don't think we're ready for [a black or female] one yet...Obama just hasn't impressed me...His middle name bothers me a lot." - Doug Richardson
"The Constitution should be amended so it will not let any colored people run for the White House." - Robert Miller [who, I should note, is living on government subsidies in government housing!!! um, memo to Uncle Sam: I do NOT want my tax dollars supporting this bigoted douchebag!!]
"Black doesn't bother me, but Muslim does." - Dixie Pebley [I don't even want to point out that Obama isn't Muslim, because the sentiment behind this comment is so distasteful]
I'm sure I could find even uglier things on the Internet in chat rooms and blogs, but what boggles my mind is that these quotes were provided by these individuals to a national news reporter.... They were totally comfortable signing their names to these opinions and having them shared with the nation and the world. Folks.....how far have we come? Seriously. I guess I've lived in a happy little bubble where I thought that bigotry was the ugly exception - but sentiments like these are insidious and, apparently, all too pervasive. What! The! Hella!
I'm just going to go ahead and quote these idiots. Their comments are indictments of their beliefs more than any snarking I can provide (though I'm happy to do that too!) Welcome to the Wall of Shame:
"I don't think our country is ready for a black president." - Joyce Susick
"I don't think we're ready for [a black or female] one yet...Obama just hasn't impressed me...His middle name bothers me a lot." - Doug Richardson
"The Constitution should be amended so it will not let any colored people run for the White House." - Robert Miller [who, I should note, is living on government subsidies in government housing!!! um, memo to Uncle Sam: I do NOT want my tax dollars supporting this bigoted douchebag!!]
"Black doesn't bother me, but Muslim does." - Dixie Pebley [I don't even want to point out that Obama isn't Muslim, because the sentiment behind this comment is so distasteful]
I'm sure I could find even uglier things on the Internet in chat rooms and blogs, but what boggles my mind is that these quotes were provided by these individuals to a national news reporter.... They were totally comfortable signing their names to these opinions and having them shared with the nation and the world. Folks.....how far have we come? Seriously. I guess I've lived in a happy little bubble where I thought that bigotry was the ugly exception - but sentiments like these are insidious and, apparently, all too pervasive. What! The! Hella!
6.06.2008
The serpent me beguiled and I did eat...this watermelon
Forgive the hiatus - I was enjoying the sunshine in lovely Charleston, SC. Incredible architecture, gorgeous ocean views, fascinating history, and great food - which brings me to today's topic. I like gourmet foods as much as the next snob, trust me. Truffles, caviar, champagne, a really nice Rothschild red....bring it on. But one has to draw the line somewhere, and here's where I draw mine.
In Tokyo, a watermelon was just auctioned for.....wait for it......$6,100. Said watermelon was not, you know, gold plated or filled with rubies. It's a watermelon...and nothing more. If you're waiting for the punch line, there isn't one - except, of course, that some individual actually shelled out more than six thousand smackeroos for a watermelon that probably won't even taste ripe in a week or so. Talk about diminishing returns!! And this follows a purchase last month of two cantaloupes for $23,500. ??!?!? Please, exotic produce purchasers - if you really don't have anything better to do with your cash, let me give you my phone number. I'm sure I can come up with a suitable wishlist - upon which, I guarantee, no watermelon will appear.
In Tokyo, a watermelon was just auctioned for.....wait for it......$6,100. Said watermelon was not, you know, gold plated or filled with rubies. It's a watermelon...and nothing more. If you're waiting for the punch line, there isn't one - except, of course, that some individual actually shelled out more than six thousand smackeroos for a watermelon that probably won't even taste ripe in a week or so. Talk about diminishing returns!! And this follows a purchase last month of two cantaloupes for $23,500. ??!?!? Please, exotic produce purchasers - if you really don't have anything better to do with your cash, let me give you my phone number. I'm sure I can come up with a suitable wishlist - upon which, I guarantee, no watermelon will appear.
5.23.2008
Disgruntled linguists make me laugh
I could provide a really long list of things that annoy me - they're not hard to come by - but rarely do I find them all sandwiched so snugly (and smugly!) together....and in an easily-disseminated format, no less!! The gods smile on me this fine sunny Friday. To wit: I abhor sanctimony, pretense, political correctness, and people who just need to clue you in on how intellectual they really are. (See also: Stuff White People Like for a full description of these sorts of folks.)
Yeah, I'm a bad liberal.
Anyway, the very order of the universe trembles at the existence of this blog. It boggles the mind. It makes me want to post immature things in the comments sections just because these morons are so......pedantic! (I couldn't help myself from posting in the comments section here. Guess which one I am?) The coup de grace? It's totally hosted by U-Penn. Ah, my wonderful alma mater (part one, anyway). Language Log, I salute you. You manage to make me feel dirty about being smart and good with words. Hats off, doucheballs!
Yeah, I'm a bad liberal.
Anyway, the very order of the universe trembles at the existence of this blog. It boggles the mind. It makes me want to post immature things in the comments sections just because these morons are so......pedantic! (I couldn't help myself from posting in the comments section here. Guess which one I am?) The coup de grace? It's totally hosted by U-Penn. Ah, my wonderful alma mater (part one, anyway). Language Log, I salute you. You manage to make me feel dirty about being smart and good with words. Hats off, doucheballs!
5.20.2008
A bird? A plane? No....a UFP!!!
This hilarious little episode incorporates pretty much everything I adore....Garry Kasparov, Russian politics, daring acrobatics, public embarrassment, chaos, and an unidentified flying phallus.
OK, not so sure if the last item makes the "Zhenya loves" list .... but it's damn good for a laugh! Such a thing would only happen at a political conference in Russia. Trust me on this one. Tol'ko v Rossie...
OK, not so sure if the last item makes the "Zhenya loves" list .... but it's damn good for a laugh! Such a thing would only happen at a political conference in Russia. Trust me on this one. Tol'ko v Rossie...
5.19.2008
Taking Cupid's task to a whole new extreme
Taking kinkiness (or poor decision making) to a new level, a very trashed and frisky Canadian couple almost experienced true heartbreak last week after a sex game gone terribly wrong. The intoxicated duo, reports say, decided it would be a good idea for the lady in question to carve a heart into the gentleman's skin above - you guessed it - his heart.
The game took a turn for the worse when the lady, a bit too enthusiastic for her own good, pressed a bit too hard with the knife - and pierced her lover's heart. Literally. Kind of makes the whole Cupid myth seem superfluous, no?
The fellow is expected to make a full recovery and the couple is sticking by each other.....giving a new meaning to the phrase, "those who play together, stay together." All the same, wouldn't a tattoo have been less difficult?
The game took a turn for the worse when the lady, a bit too enthusiastic for her own good, pressed a bit too hard with the knife - and pierced her lover's heart. Literally. Kind of makes the whole Cupid myth seem superfluous, no?
The fellow is expected to make a full recovery and the couple is sticking by each other.....giving a new meaning to the phrase, "those who play together, stay together." All the same, wouldn't a tattoo have been less difficult?
5.14.2008
Pope Benedict, phone home!
Oh, Pope Benedict. You are a funny guy. Thanks for making my job here at WTH that much easier!! The things that come out of the Vatican...priceless!! In the past they've given us funnies like exorcism, witch hunts, the Spanish Inquisition, a handful of wars & Crusades, anti-scientific polemics, really messed up views about astronomy, handy torture devices, stigmata, and a long list of banned books. The latest?
The Vatican officially says it's okay to believe in aliens. As the Jesuit Director of the Vatican Observatory, Jose Gabriel Funes (as is fun - es?...because lo es muy divertido!), puts it oh-so-succinctly: "Just as we consider earthly creatures as 'a brother,' and 'sister,' why should we not talk about an extraterrestrial brother?" Just to clarify, in case you were confused, "aliens would still be God's creatures."
Ok. I'm not laughing about the notion of extraterrestrial life. The universe seems awful big to house only us... But crikey! Per the Vatican, we're not allowed to believe in.....evolution, abortion, Sinead O'Connor or Madonna, birth control, Martin Luther and his pesky Protestantism, animals having souls, Buddhism, homosexuality, and divorce....but ET and his amigos are entirely hunky dory with His Holiness?
In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti...
The Vatican officially says it's okay to believe in aliens. As the Jesuit Director of the Vatican Observatory, Jose Gabriel Funes (as is fun - es?...because lo es muy divertido!), puts it oh-so-succinctly: "Just as we consider earthly creatures as 'a brother,' and 'sister,' why should we not talk about an extraterrestrial brother?" Just to clarify, in case you were confused, "aliens would still be God's creatures."
Ok. I'm not laughing about the notion of extraterrestrial life. The universe seems awful big to house only us... But crikey! Per the Vatican, we're not allowed to believe in.....evolution, abortion, Sinead O'Connor or Madonna, birth control, Martin Luther and his pesky Protestantism, animals having souls, Buddhism, homosexuality, and divorce....but ET and his amigos are entirely hunky dory with His Holiness?
In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti...
5.13.2008
This never happeed in Mr. Popper's Penguins, damn it!
I'm sorry......this is the best article ever. No contest. The headline alone says it all:
"A seal has been caught on camera trying to have sex with a penguin. "
Smile, you're on candid camera! Titillating, huh? It gets, er, more disturbing... "'At first we thought it was hunting the penguin, but then it became clear that his intentions were rather more amorous,' de Bruyn recalled today via email"
You know...the entire article merits quoting as WTH fodder. Go read it yourself. And laugh.
"Seal caught on tape molesting a penguin. Scientists study rare example of interspecies sexual harassment."
The lead sentence:"A seal has been caught on camera trying to have sex with a penguin. "
Smile, you're on candid camera! Titillating, huh? It gets, er, more disturbing... "'At first we thought it was hunting the penguin, but then it became clear that his intentions were rather more amorous,' de Bruyn recalled today via email"
You know...the entire article merits quoting as WTH fodder. Go read it yourself. And laugh.
The overpopulated shall inherit the earth (or what's left of it)
I'm probably going to get flak for this one (folks...hate mail doesn't bug me. It's really doesn't. But it does make me laugh!) Anyway, I don't care. I find this disgusting, reprehensible, and irresponsible.
I am all for respecting cultural practices....up to a point. Cultural practices that include eating dogs (check out Eight Dainty Dog Meat if you don't remember!), cats, or horses may gross me out, but I don't think it's morally wrong - provided the animals are killed humanely. I personally think that arranged marriage kind of defeats the point of marriage - but others don't, and that's okay too - as long as you're not marrying off 13 year olds to creepy old men, a la Warren Jeffs. (Douchebag.) Strange piercings, tattoos, and so forth - not my cup o' tea, but acceptable - although I think things like genital mutilation are wrong, period.
So, you get it. I'm pretty laid-back when it comes to cultural traditions and whatnot....but this, this I find inexcusable. I've wanted to do a post on the Duggar family for awhile now, and given their recent announcement that Michelle Duggar is pregnant - again - I thought this was an appropriate time.
Pregnant again.....with her eighteenth child. Folks, I'm sorry, no one needs 18 kids. It's fucked up from every perspective I can possibly imagine. From a good parenting perspective - how can you ever develop a strong personal bond with each of your children when you pop out a new one every 9 months? From a financial perspective - if something happens to one of the parents (or even if it doesn't), how are you going to afford to send them all to college? (Then again, Dad's name is Jim Bob, so maybe college isn't such a concern.) From a health perspective, I don't think it can be good for a woman's organism to pop out baby after baby after baby with no time for the body to recover. From a feminist perspective (and I am far from being a feminist, believe me), it seems a bit sick that, in this day and age, this woman's sole role in life is to be barefoot and pregnant 24/7/365. From a fairness perspective, it seems really ass to make the eldest children act as surrogate parents for their myriad smaller siblings when they're only kids themselves.
But the thing that irks me the most is that this is so fucking irresponsible. How many orphaned kids are there in this world - and just in America? - who need loving homes already? Have these people looked at a population growth graph anytime recently? (That would require being able to read & comprehend, so perhaps not....) I don't think I can make this any simpler. Finite resources. Population growth (particularly among subsets that can't afford it). Increased drain on financial pools. Increased burden on the health care system. Increased impact on the environment. People.....get a clue. You do NOT NEED 18 kids. I don't care if you think God is telling you to be fruitful & multiply...enough is enough. Quality, not quantity.
I have heard from actual acquaintences of these people that they're "nice." Fine, maybe they are...but that really isn't the point. They are irresponsible and prime examples if the government wanted to make a case for intervening in family planning matters more than they already do. Ugh!!!
I am all for respecting cultural practices....up to a point. Cultural practices that include eating dogs (check out Eight Dainty Dog Meat if you don't remember!), cats, or horses may gross me out, but I don't think it's morally wrong - provided the animals are killed humanely. I personally think that arranged marriage kind of defeats the point of marriage - but others don't, and that's okay too - as long as you're not marrying off 13 year olds to creepy old men, a la Warren Jeffs. (Douchebag.) Strange piercings, tattoos, and so forth - not my cup o' tea, but acceptable - although I think things like genital mutilation are wrong, period.
So, you get it. I'm pretty laid-back when it comes to cultural traditions and whatnot....but this, this I find inexcusable. I've wanted to do a post on the Duggar family for awhile now, and given their recent announcement that Michelle Duggar is pregnant - again - I thought this was an appropriate time.
Pregnant again.....with her eighteenth child. Folks, I'm sorry, no one needs 18 kids. It's fucked up from every perspective I can possibly imagine. From a good parenting perspective - how can you ever develop a strong personal bond with each of your children when you pop out a new one every 9 months? From a financial perspective - if something happens to one of the parents (or even if it doesn't), how are you going to afford to send them all to college? (Then again, Dad's name is Jim Bob, so maybe college isn't such a concern.) From a health perspective, I don't think it can be good for a woman's organism to pop out baby after baby after baby with no time for the body to recover. From a feminist perspective (and I am far from being a feminist, believe me), it seems a bit sick that, in this day and age, this woman's sole role in life is to be barefoot and pregnant 24/7/365. From a fairness perspective, it seems really ass to make the eldest children act as surrogate parents for their myriad smaller siblings when they're only kids themselves.
But the thing that irks me the most is that this is so fucking irresponsible. How many orphaned kids are there in this world - and just in America? - who need loving homes already? Have these people looked at a population growth graph anytime recently? (That would require being able to read & comprehend, so perhaps not....) I don't think I can make this any simpler. Finite resources. Population growth (particularly among subsets that can't afford it). Increased drain on financial pools. Increased burden on the health care system. Increased impact on the environment. People.....get a clue. You do NOT NEED 18 kids. I don't care if you think God is telling you to be fruitful & multiply...enough is enough. Quality, not quantity.
I have heard from actual acquaintences of these people that they're "nice." Fine, maybe they are...but that really isn't the point. They are irresponsible and prime examples if the government wanted to make a case for intervening in family planning matters more than they already do. Ugh!!!
5.12.2008
Journalistic veracity hits new lows
Now, I am going to eschew making personal comments on the matter (you can probably guess what they are, anyway....) and instead focus on this "journalist's" logic - or, in this case, conspicuous lack thereof.
You want to make political arguments for why Hillary should stay in the race? Fine. I don't envy you that position! But for Chrissakes, try to use logic that, you know, makes sense. When the esteemed Ms. Churchwell attempts to justify the continued presence of Madame Clinton in the Democratic nomination race....here is the brilliant logic she uses (bold emphasis my own):
"Yes, the general election is different from the primaries. But far from being an especially protracted Democratic primary, this one is right on historical track. June is actually the magic month, in which the Democratic nomination was clinched in 1992 by Bill Clinton; in 1988 by Dukakis (Jesse Jackson didn't withdraw until June); in 1984 by Mondale (who didn't officially gain the nomination until the convention in July); in 1976 by Carter; and in 1972, the first year in which the present primary system operated, by McGovern."
Whoa. Deep breath. Let's look at the "facts" this brilliant woman calls upon to justify Hillary's ongoing existence...er, I mean, presence in the race. Historical precedent - fine. But consider the outcomes. Of the 5 candidates she mentioned, who received their nominations in June...
Dukakis got his ass handed to him in the general election.
Mondale could barely win a single state.
McGovern didn't win either.
Carter won for one term and was so ineffectual that he was a lame duck before his second year in office.
And Mr. Clinton almost got impeached, and brought the nation to its knees with his questionable conduct in the Oval Office, and subsequent (let's face it) perjury about said conduct.
So basically.....Sarah, your logic sucks. If you want a candidate that will do shittily in the general election, and if they do get elected, manage to fuck it up royally - yeah stay in the race, Hillary! (This is per her logic, mind you. I have my own logic on the topic...but that is neither here nor there!!!)
I hate poorly argued, poorly researched polemics - especially ones that appear in so-called reputable newsmagazines. What the hella?
You want to make political arguments for why Hillary should stay in the race? Fine. I don't envy you that position! But for Chrissakes, try to use logic that, you know, makes sense. When the esteemed Ms. Churchwell attempts to justify the continued presence of Madame Clinton in the Democratic nomination race....here is the brilliant logic she uses (bold emphasis my own):
"Yes, the general election is different from the primaries. But far from being an especially protracted Democratic primary, this one is right on historical track. June is actually the magic month, in which the Democratic nomination was clinched in 1992 by Bill Clinton; in 1988 by Dukakis (Jesse Jackson didn't withdraw until June); in 1984 by Mondale (who didn't officially gain the nomination until the convention in July); in 1976 by Carter; and in 1972, the first year in which the present primary system operated, by McGovern."
Whoa. Deep breath. Let's look at the "facts" this brilliant woman calls upon to justify Hillary's ongoing existence...er, I mean, presence in the race. Historical precedent - fine. But consider the outcomes. Of the 5 candidates she mentioned, who received their nominations in June...
Dukakis got his ass handed to him in the general election.
Mondale could barely win a single state.
McGovern didn't win either.
Carter won for one term and was so ineffectual that he was a lame duck before his second year in office.
And Mr. Clinton almost got impeached, and brought the nation to its knees with his questionable conduct in the Oval Office, and subsequent (let's face it) perjury about said conduct.
So basically.....Sarah, your logic sucks. If you want a candidate that will do shittily in the general election, and if they do get elected, manage to fuck it up royally - yeah stay in the race, Hillary! (This is per her logic, mind you. I have my own logic on the topic...but that is neither here nor there!!!)
I hate poorly argued, poorly researched polemics - especially ones that appear in so-called reputable newsmagazines. What the hella?
5.09.2008
When idols topple
This is a sad day for me, but I can't resist calling this out as consummate WTH fodder. Apparently even fashion icons (whose jobs I covet....) make really...bad....decisions.
Like, when going to a gala at the Met.
Anna Wintour - shame, shame, shame! You know better! As editor-in-chief of Vogue, you have your finger on the pulse of the fashion world. Unfortunately, the pulse of this ensemble is very much DOA. You can get any frock from any designer anywhere....and you wear this? This???
Anna. Go to bad fashion rehab. I will be happy to step in and fill your Louboutins until your fashion sense returns. Because this? Quelle dommage...
Like, when going to a gala at the Met.
Anna Wintour - shame, shame, shame! You know better! As editor-in-chief of Vogue, you have your finger on the pulse of the fashion world. Unfortunately, the pulse of this ensemble is very much DOA. You can get any frock from any designer anywhere....and you wear this? This???
Anna. Go to bad fashion rehab. I will be happy to step in and fill your Louboutins until your fashion sense returns. Because this? Quelle dommage...
4.29.2008
What would Freud say?
I can confidently attest to the fact that today's WTH vignette has all the elements of a classic: reproductive organs, senseless violence, sorcery, and a liberal sprinkling of the absurd. My friends, today we discuss a very serious topic: lynchings in Congo due to penis theft.
Yes, penis theft. Kinshasa, the nation's capital (I take issue with the country's legal name, as it is neither Democratic nor a Republic...however, all sides seem to agree that it is, in fact, the Congo) is in an uproar over allegations that sorcerers have been using black magic to shrink men's penises or steal them altogether.
Let that percolate through your mind for a moment, if you will.... Taxi drivers with gold teeth (ah, it's the details that make it so utterly precious!) are being labeled as shamans and accused of trying to extort money from men. The threat if $$$ isn't coughed up? Penis theft. WOWZA. Even better, the article alludes to an episode in Ghana over a decade ago where - and I quote - "twelve suspected penis snatchers were beaten to death." Not to mock the deceased....but what precisely goes in the obituary in such an occasion?
"I'm tempted to say it's one huge joke," an official says. Joke or not, I'm laughing! But the minister's response is simply priceless: "But when you try to tell the victims that their penises are still there, they tell you that it's become tiny or that they've become impotent. To that I tell them, 'How do you know if you haven't gone home and tried it?'"
I have no words. Just......what the hella?!
Yes, penis theft. Kinshasa, the nation's capital (I take issue with the country's legal name, as it is neither Democratic nor a Republic...however, all sides seem to agree that it is, in fact, the Congo) is in an uproar over allegations that sorcerers have been using black magic to shrink men's penises or steal them altogether.
Let that percolate through your mind for a moment, if you will.... Taxi drivers with gold teeth (ah, it's the details that make it so utterly precious!) are being labeled as shamans and accused of trying to extort money from men. The threat if $$$ isn't coughed up? Penis theft. WOWZA. Even better, the article alludes to an episode in Ghana over a decade ago where - and I quote - "twelve suspected penis snatchers were beaten to death." Not to mock the deceased....but what precisely goes in the obituary in such an occasion?
"I'm tempted to say it's one huge joke," an official says. Joke or not, I'm laughing! But the minister's response is simply priceless: "But when you try to tell the victims that their penises are still there, they tell you that it's become tiny or that they've become impotent. To that I tell them, 'How do you know if you haven't gone home and tried it?'"
I have no words. Just......what the hella?!
4.25.2008
The perils of being precocious
This isn't precisely what the hella material, but it is food for thought. This girl, at 19, is becoming a college professor in Korea. Now, part of me wants to say, good for you. When I was 19 (actually 18....) I was invited to lecture in PhD-level Russian history classes. (The ruse worked until after one of my chats about Aleksandr Radishchev, my professor/adoptive grandpa/hero decided to announce to the class, "And now I will be taking Miss Zhenya out for lunch to celebrate her 19th birthday." Gee, thanks, pal.)
Anyway, clearly I'm not one to stand in the way of intellectual progress.... But, for argument's sake, I think this is a bad idea. It was something my parents struggled with when I was young, too. How many grades should she skip? Because I was spelling at 1 and a half, did that mean I should start kindergarten at 2? Because I was reading Melville at 6, should I bypass high school? Blah blah blah. And you know, I'm glad that they decided to keep me more or less with my peer group (ok, I was still always the youngest one in the class....but we're talking years here, not decades). There is so much more to maturity than the ability to rattle off equations or recite Dante or translate Arabic in your head. (I can do one of those three things, and it's a real hit at cocktail parties. Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate, and all that jazz!) It took precocious young moi a long time to realize it, but you know what? Sometimes those creatures called parents are right.
Do I doubt that this young woman is intellectually prepared for the rigors of developing a syllabus, instructing her pupils, conducting research, etc? Not in the slightest. But do I think that she's emotionally ready? Welllllll.......no. At 19, I still drove too fast, galloped around on unfamiliar horses, woke up with excruciating hangovers (ok.....that still happens sometimes), dated questionable men, and thought I was the only person on earth who really existed. I hate to admit that my parents were right, but age does bring some sort of wisdom - perspective, experience, all that esoteric stuff. Alia will have no trouble explaining historical eras to the cute 23-year-old in the second row, but how will she respond to his flirtation? Like a 19 year old, or like a professor? Hell, she's not even old enough to buy a drink.
Kids..... There's plenty of time. You don't have to save the world before you've even seen it. (Wow, am I becoming conservative in my doddering old age? Ahhhhhh!?!?) I feel for this girl, who may wake up when she's thirty and think, I never got to be a teenager. I feel for her even more because I suspect that moment may never happen at all.
Anyway, clearly I'm not one to stand in the way of intellectual progress.... But, for argument's sake, I think this is a bad idea. It was something my parents struggled with when I was young, too. How many grades should she skip? Because I was spelling at 1 and a half, did that mean I should start kindergarten at 2? Because I was reading Melville at 6, should I bypass high school? Blah blah blah. And you know, I'm glad that they decided to keep me more or less with my peer group (ok, I was still always the youngest one in the class....but we're talking years here, not decades). There is so much more to maturity than the ability to rattle off equations or recite Dante or translate Arabic in your head. (I can do one of those three things, and it's a real hit at cocktail parties. Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate, and all that jazz!) It took precocious young moi a long time to realize it, but you know what? Sometimes those creatures called parents are right.
Do I doubt that this young woman is intellectually prepared for the rigors of developing a syllabus, instructing her pupils, conducting research, etc? Not in the slightest. But do I think that she's emotionally ready? Welllllll.......no. At 19, I still drove too fast, galloped around on unfamiliar horses, woke up with excruciating hangovers (ok.....that still happens sometimes), dated questionable men, and thought I was the only person on earth who really existed. I hate to admit that my parents were right, but age does bring some sort of wisdom - perspective, experience, all that esoteric stuff. Alia will have no trouble explaining historical eras to the cute 23-year-old in the second row, but how will she respond to his flirtation? Like a 19 year old, or like a professor? Hell, she's not even old enough to buy a drink.
Kids..... There's plenty of time. You don't have to save the world before you've even seen it. (Wow, am I becoming conservative in my doddering old age? Ahhhhhh!?!?) I feel for this girl, who may wake up when she's thirty and think, I never got to be a teenager. I feel for her even more because I suspect that moment may never happen at all.
4.23.2008
It's me, honey! But with DD boobs!
What. the. hella??? I am a big fan of literature, and of encouraging kids to read...but this book is absurd on so many levels. What kind of message are you sending your children, Gabriela Acosta? Mom won't be happy with herself until she gets a tummy tuck, nose job, and face lift? And this is what you read your five year old as a bedtime story!?!
The plot is sure to instill a wonderful message in sons and daughters (especially daughters, I suspect) everywhere - you can only be truly happy with yourself based on what you look like! Sure, I'm vain. I like clothes, and mirrors too. But honestly, it's not even close to the top of the list of what matters to me in life. When I was five, I would have rather listened to Watership Down or The Call of the Wild or Black Beauty than.....My Beautiful [Shallow, Insecure, Selfish, Bad-Self-Image-Promoting] Mommy. Christ! And we wonder why so many young girls develop eating disorders and resort to airing YouTube beatings of girls they find prettier than themselves?!
Actual quote from the book:
The plot is sure to instill a wonderful message in sons and daughters (especially daughters, I suspect) everywhere - you can only be truly happy with yourself based on what you look like! Sure, I'm vain. I like clothes, and mirrors too. But honestly, it's not even close to the top of the list of what matters to me in life. When I was five, I would have rather listened to Watership Down or The Call of the Wild or Black Beauty than.....My Beautiful [Shallow, Insecure, Selfish, Bad-Self-Image-Promoting] Mommy. Christ! And we wonder why so many young girls develop eating disorders and resort to airing YouTube beatings of girls they find prettier than themselves?!
Actual quote from the book:
"My new nose won't just look different, dear - it'll look prettier!"
4.21.2008
Float like a butterfly, sting like a .... monk?
Easter, as far as I gather, is supposed to be a time of peace, harmony, and regeneration of the soul. (Oh yeah, and getting to enjoy meat/chocolate/booze after the Hell of Lent...) But for some Greek and Armenian monks, nothing says "let's celebrate the most sacred holiday in the Orthodox calendar" like a good old-fashioned fistfight. At Jesus' tomb, no less!
Wowza. The lion shall lie down with the lamb....and the monk shall deliver a really wicked left hook to the priest. It's like Celebrity Death Match meets The Passion of the Christ! Even better, this isn't the first time monks have started a scrape here! Honestly, though, I'm pretty sure Jesus talked about things like peace and loving thy neighbor and being a good Samaritan and all that... (Not quite sure where the whole holy war/witch -burning business came from though.) So I don't think He would approve of a down & out brawl at his tomb. The image of monks fighting, though, is pretty clutch....and beating police with palm fronds!? Um. Palm frond vs. Mace & pistols......really not good thinking, brothers. Leave the violence to people who are actually good at it.
Wowza. The lion shall lie down with the lamb....and the monk shall deliver a really wicked left hook to the priest. It's like Celebrity Death Match meets The Passion of the Christ! Even better, this isn't the first time monks have started a scrape here! Honestly, though, I'm pretty sure Jesus talked about things like peace and loving thy neighbor and being a good Samaritan and all that... (Not quite sure where the whole holy war/witch -burning business came from though.) So I don't think He would approve of a down & out brawl at his tomb. The image of monks fighting, though, is pretty clutch....and beating police with palm fronds!? Um. Palm frond vs. Mace & pistols......really not good thinking, brothers. Leave the violence to people who are actually good at it.
4.17.2008
Na zdrovie! Drink up & enjoy....
I could devote a whole WTH subset to strange Russian occurrences. Today's latest is as intoxicating as.....well, as a shot of vodka. (For the record, I prefer to drink Diplomat. Damned hard to find in the States, though. But if you can get your paws on it....enjoy!...and please call me.)
"We were drinking," the protagonist of our tale - Yuri Lyalin, an electrician from a small Russian town - proclaims, "and what doesn't happen when you're drunk?" Good question, moy milyi drug'. I have had many drunken evenings over the years - often due to vodka, my genetically predestined Vice of Choice - and I have woken up with odd bruises, scuffed clothes, strange men (...I kid, I kid! ....), but never with a knife in my back.
[Stops to make sure that this is true.]
Good. No knives protruding from my back (a bit surprising, really). Moving on then.... What the hella!? These guys were drinking on the job!! I hope to God they never show up to wire my flat in St. Petersburg, because if you're drunk enough not to notice you've been stabbed by a friend....well, you're probably too drunk to be playing with electricity, da? I've gotta say, though - this story is a testament to the value of enduring friendship. Most times, when a friend, er, knifes you in the back, it signals the end of the relationship. Not so for these two .... although one hopes that the phrase isn't always taken quite so literally.
"We were drinking," the protagonist of our tale - Yuri Lyalin, an electrician from a small Russian town - proclaims, "and what doesn't happen when you're drunk?" Good question, moy milyi drug'. I have had many drunken evenings over the years - often due to vodka, my genetically predestined Vice of Choice - and I have woken up with odd bruises, scuffed clothes, strange men (...I kid, I kid! ....), but never with a knife in my back.
[Stops to make sure that this is true.]
Good. No knives protruding from my back (a bit surprising, really). Moving on then.... What the hella!? These guys were drinking on the job!! I hope to God they never show up to wire my flat in St. Petersburg, because if you're drunk enough not to notice you've been stabbed by a friend....well, you're probably too drunk to be playing with electricity, da? I've gotta say, though - this story is a testament to the value of enduring friendship. Most times, when a friend, er, knifes you in the back, it signals the end of the relationship. Not so for these two .... although one hopes that the phrase isn't always taken quite so literally.
4.16.2008
Cat fights, crowns, and criminals.
Um, I can think of scads and scads of bizarre-o stuff I could write about gender roles in Ze Motherland, aka Russia, my former home. Living there, as a woman, was a constant adventure. I found out the hard way, for example, that any woman who sits on a bench outside of a metro station is a prostitute. I also learned the interesting medical fact that cold concrete can make a woman infertile. Other no-nos? Crossing one's legs, lighting your own cigarette, and stepping outside without 5 layers of make-up and sky high heels. (This last was surprisingly hard for me. Stateside, I get mocked for my couture addiction and absurd shoes, but Christ! There, women don't even step out to get the paper without lipstick, dangly sparkling earrings, and skin-tight miniskirts!) I had plenty of guy friends, but it was awfully hard to meet girls my age.
A lot of these weird traditions and quirks are cultural things; many more are due to the large demographic imbalance between men & women - Russia has the biggest male-female population gap in the developed world, and because there are so many more ladies than gents, it leads to an almost Darwinian struggle to find - and retain - a mate. But, of all the weirdness I encountered on my own in my life in Russia as a young lady, nothing quite compares to this.
Wowza. Barring all the other snark, the thing that really gets me is this: women, alas, tend to be catty creatures to begin with. Russian women - well, we have refined it almost to an art form. Beauty pageant contestants are notoriously competitive and have even resorted to bizarre capers (like pepper spray in evening gowns) to try and win the coveted crown. So encouraging a bunch of pent-up felons to compete for a title .... well, I don't think it will result in the crowning of Miss Congeniality. And if you look at the faces of the other contestants behind the woman in the video who wins the pageant - well, they look like they want to kill her, and among this swath of the population....it may not be such an empty threat! Bozhe moy.
A lot of these weird traditions and quirks are cultural things; many more are due to the large demographic imbalance between men & women - Russia has the biggest male-female population gap in the developed world, and because there are so many more ladies than gents, it leads to an almost Darwinian struggle to find - and retain - a mate. But, of all the weirdness I encountered on my own in my life in Russia as a young lady, nothing quite compares to this.
Wowza. Barring all the other snark, the thing that really gets me is this: women, alas, tend to be catty creatures to begin with. Russian women - well, we have refined it almost to an art form. Beauty pageant contestants are notoriously competitive and have even resorted to bizarre capers (like pepper spray in evening gowns) to try and win the coveted crown. So encouraging a bunch of pent-up felons to compete for a title .... well, I don't think it will result in the crowning of Miss Congeniality. And if you look at the faces of the other contestants behind the woman in the video who wins the pageant - well, they look like they want to kill her, and among this swath of the population....it may not be such an empty threat! Bozhe moy.
4.15.2008
"Gifts" that I hope Santa would never, ever bring me
Let me preface this with a disclaimer: I understand mental illness isn't a joke. I have people close to me with various psychiatric issues. (Surprisingly, the charming individual I see reflected in mirrors isn't one of them.) So please, don't tell me I am dismissing outright the plight of people with psychiatric illness.
That being said, what the hella? This is the lamest thing I have ever read:
MPG??? Multiple Personality Gift???? WTH? Um......where to even begin? So-called "people first" language? Gag me with a big ol' spoonful of politically correct bullshit. Sorry, but as a student of grammar, there really isn't a difference between saying "disabled individual" and "individual with disabilities." I get the point, okay? People don't want to be defined by their physical limitations/deafness/blindness/mental illness/whatever. Fine! Good, in fact! I wouldn't want to be thought of as no more than an extension of my so-called "disability" either, were I in their shoes. But for the love of Christ, inverting word order doesn't make a damn bit of difference. It really doesn't. If someone is describing me at a cocktail party, do I see any difference between saying "the red-haired girl" and "the girl with the red hair"? That would be a big fat no. Am I defined by my hair color .... or occupation ..... or race ..... or economic background ..... or the fact that I have a super rare brain condition that makes my eyes flicker slightly and gave me a photographic memory when I was little? Uh.....only if I let those things define me. So too with "people first" language. You wanna put yourself before your disability? Fabulous! Do it by acting like an individual who is, as all individuals are, a composite of many traits. But kowtowing to awkward, sanctimonious language in the name of political correctness makes me want to vomit on my Ferragamo loafers.
And more to the point - MPG? Multiple personalities as a gift? Shit, that seems a bit presumptuous. I have a relative who's schizophrenic, and I don't think he sees it as a gift. I'm sure he would love to change the chemical imbalance in his brain. He can't. But to call something that is often debilitating and most certainly frustrating for the person who has it a "gift" seems callous at best, and smug and offensive at worst. Multiple personality gift? What next? Cancer gift? Tuberculosis surprise? Depression present? I'm not diminishing the severity of the conditions; I'm mocking the morons that are so uncomfortable talking about tough conditions that they couch everything in bullshit, nicey-nice terms (and are ohsoquick to cry foul if you say anything on the topic whatsoever). You're not doing anyone a favor, folks: certainly not the people who are often described in such saccherine terms, people who (I would guess) would rather just think of themselves as, well, people....not recipients of bizarre "gifts" a la Sybil.
That being said, what the hella? This is the lamest thing I have ever read:
MPG??? Multiple Personality Gift???? WTH? Um......where to even begin? So-called "people first" language? Gag me with a big ol' spoonful of politically correct bullshit. Sorry, but as a student of grammar, there really isn't a difference between saying "disabled individual" and "individual with disabilities." I get the point, okay? People don't want to be defined by their physical limitations/deafness/blindness/mental illness/whatever. Fine! Good, in fact! I wouldn't want to be thought of as no more than an extension of my so-called "disability" either, were I in their shoes. But for the love of Christ, inverting word order doesn't make a damn bit of difference. It really doesn't. If someone is describing me at a cocktail party, do I see any difference between saying "the red-haired girl" and "the girl with the red hair"? That would be a big fat no. Am I defined by my hair color .... or occupation ..... or race ..... or economic background ..... or the fact that I have a super rare brain condition that makes my eyes flicker slightly and gave me a photographic memory when I was little? Uh.....only if I let those things define me. So too with "people first" language. You wanna put yourself before your disability? Fabulous! Do it by acting like an individual who is, as all individuals are, a composite of many traits. But kowtowing to awkward, sanctimonious language in the name of political correctness makes me want to vomit on my Ferragamo loafers.
And more to the point - MPG? Multiple personalities as a gift? Shit, that seems a bit presumptuous. I have a relative who's schizophrenic, and I don't think he sees it as a gift. I'm sure he would love to change the chemical imbalance in his brain. He can't. But to call something that is often debilitating and most certainly frustrating for the person who has it a "gift" seems callous at best, and smug and offensive at worst. Multiple personality gift? What next? Cancer gift? Tuberculosis surprise? Depression present? I'm not diminishing the severity of the conditions; I'm mocking the morons that are so uncomfortable talking about tough conditions that they couch everything in bullshit, nicey-nice terms (and are ohsoquick to cry foul if you say anything on the topic whatsoever). You're not doing anyone a favor, folks: certainly not the people who are often described in such saccherine terms, people who (I would guess) would rather just think of themselves as, well, people....not recipients of bizarre "gifts" a la Sybil.
4.14.2008
Win, place, show me some grammar!
Some astute readers have pointed me to Monday's pet peeve du jour (aside from finding out from my accountant that I owe the IRS a while bundle o' cash ....a what the hella moment of a decidedly different sort!!) I must say, this example combines one of my greatest loves (horses) with my grammatical raison d'etre.....
Yes, folks....not to, uh, beat a dead horse (!!!) but orientate once again rears its ugly head - this time, in potentially a very literal fashion. This lovely equine specimen (whose stud fees - the money owners of mares pay to breed their horse to this strapping fellow- are thankfully more than the money I owe the IRS) deserves owners who would pick a proper, dignified name, fit for a champion.
But, no. Instead, this unfortunate fellow (ok, his job is pretty much to eat and breed, so maybe not so unfortunate) wound up with a name designed to induce cringes in the hearts of grammar Nazis everywhere: Orientate.
WHY???? There have been plenty of unusual racehorse names in the past, many of which could cause a sane person to shake their head (adorned with a Derby day hat, preferably) and ask, "what the hella?" This delightful article highlights the inconsistent application of an old Jockey Club rule barring obscene or vulgar names from its books. (How then, you wonder, did horses with names like Blow Me, Go Down, Hard Like a Rock, Bodacious Tatas, and On Your Knees make it, er, out of the gate? Or how about the deliciously naughty-to-say names like Hardawn and Cunning Stunt?) And yet, my friends at the Jockey Club, how can you allow such an utter profanity of all things grammatical and right by registering a stud named ..... ORIENTATE???
I will resist the urge to spew off a string of horsey puns, but let it suffice to say, if this racehorse was gifted with Mr. Ed's unique abilities and was asked to comment on his own name, I'm sure the chap would be indignant enough to ask, appropriately, "what the hay-la?"
Yes, folks....not to, uh, beat a dead horse (!!!) but orientate once again rears its ugly head - this time, in potentially a very literal fashion. This lovely equine specimen (whose stud fees - the money owners of mares pay to breed their horse to this strapping fellow- are thankfully more than the money I owe the IRS) deserves owners who would pick a proper, dignified name, fit for a champion.
But, no. Instead, this unfortunate fellow (ok, his job is pretty much to eat and breed, so maybe not so unfortunate) wound up with a name designed to induce cringes in the hearts of grammar Nazis everywhere: Orientate.
WHY???? There have been plenty of unusual racehorse names in the past, many of which could cause a sane person to shake their head (adorned with a Derby day hat, preferably) and ask, "what the hella?" This delightful article highlights the inconsistent application of an old Jockey Club rule barring obscene or vulgar names from its books. (How then, you wonder, did horses with names like Blow Me, Go Down, Hard Like a Rock, Bodacious Tatas, and On Your Knees make it, er, out of the gate? Or how about the deliciously naughty-to-say names like Hardawn and Cunning Stunt?) And yet, my friends at the Jockey Club, how can you allow such an utter profanity of all things grammatical and right by registering a stud named ..... ORIENTATE???
I will resist the urge to spew off a string of horsey puns, but let it suffice to say, if this racehorse was gifted with Mr. Ed's unique abilities and was asked to comment on his own name, I'm sure the chap would be indignant enough to ask, appropriately, "what the hay-la?"
4.09.2008
A "very" "special" blog "post"
Wonderful. I love it. And I know my fellow Grammar Nazis will, too!
Now I need to make a collection of misused apostrophes - my all-time biggest grammatical pet-peeve (well, maybe except the your/you're thing - although I suppose it's kind of the same deal - and orientate, about which I have already shared my feelings!)
Every year at Christmas, when I get a card signed: "Love, the Smith's" it makes me cringe, and my respect-o-meter drops precipitously. (Usually such dunces get crossed off the list for following seasons....hey, you definitely can have too many friends.) It is my new life's mission to STAMP OUT the use of improper apostrophes, one damned false possessive at a time.
Now I need to make a collection of misused apostrophes - my all-time biggest grammatical pet-peeve (well, maybe except the your/you're thing - although I suppose it's kind of the same deal - and orientate, about which I have already shared my feelings!)
Every year at Christmas, when I get a card signed: "Love, the Smith's" it makes me cringe, and my respect-o-meter drops precipitously. (Usually such dunces get crossed off the list for following seasons....hey, you definitely can have too many friends.) It is my new life's mission to STAMP OUT the use of improper apostrophes, one damned false possessive at a time.
4.04.2008
A rant about child-rearing and (faux?) fuzzy animals
This article makes me very sad. Alas, it's not what the hella in a ha-ha way ... but the premise behind this smug New York cosmopolitan writer's article makes me grit my teeth and mutter those three immortal words (and other, less family-friendly ones) to myself nonetheless.
As a child, I had a definite love affair with stuffed animals. I had, by the time I was 9 and moved overseas to China, amassed a collection of every imaginable species, which overflowed my queen-sized bed, my window seat, and one of those child-sized cottage playhouses so you literally could not see the floor. My subsequent travels around the world spurred me to collect the newest specimen from each country I visited - a dingo from Australia, a gecko from Indonesia, a rare blue-winged penguin from the South Island of New Zealand. To this day, I - an otherwise-functioning, professional, sometimes cynical adult with little patience for treacle or overwrought sentimentality - still bring a small fuzzy horse with me as a pillow/diversion on business trips (ssh, don't tell my boss), and my postmodern black & white bed is still inhabited (I will confess) by Marmalade, my dirty, careworn orange tabby cat/childhood best friend.
So yes, this drivel struck a bit of a nerve. I think that - especially in the 21st century, where kids grow more and more divorced from nature and creative play and imagination by the year (why build forts or invent animal kingdoms or play tag when you can plop in front of the Internet, flick on some cartoons, or kill stuff on your X-Box?) - anyhow, I think there's some value in encouraging kids to play imaginatively. Caring for something, loving it - even if it's just a made-in-Korea mish-mash of polyester fur and glass bead eyes - encourages creative thought, teaches empathy, instills the desire to care for a creature dependent on you (a nice precursor to a pet or - dare I say? - a husband!!), and lets kids be kids....not these cynical mini-adults in designer togs that are watching David Lynch films and sipping black coffee at age 8.
So what message is this smarmy author sending, when she remarks (you can hear the cynicism and indignation dripping from each consonant), "...This would be an act of betrayal, because as every good child knows, you are supposed to love your stuffed animal no matter how worn and dirty, and reject any shiny cheap-date substitute." Maybe I'm extrapolating here, but this comment raises my hackles because it's a parallel (albeit on a very small scale) to the "everything's disposable" mindset of modern society. Don't like your marriage, your pet, your house, your job? Toss it away and get a new one, a shinier model - hell, buy it on credit! Don't bother developing attachments to things - it's not the relationship itself but the acquisition that matters.
Apparently for Ms. Bazelon, imaginative play isn't as "harmless" as it seems. Lose your beloved stuffed animal, one that you - as a child, mind you - have developed a bond with? No problem. Just hop on down to Toys 'R Us and get another one. Sure, I'm not a nutter - it is, after all, just an object. But the meaning a child invests in an object, I think, extends well beyond the fur and stuffing. I remember when my sister left her favorite stuffed animal - a small purple rabbit - in our hotel room in Bali, and how my parents worked tirelessly with the concierge, the Indonesian and Chinese post offices, etc. to make sure she got her special buddy back. Could they have gone out and bought another one? Uh, sure. But that wasn't the point, wasn't the point at all.
I wonder if this article's author disabuses her children of the notion of Santa Clause or the Tooth Fairy too, even when they're at an age when they still themselves believe, because it's simply too irrational and silly and, well, childish? And really, how hard is it to make the leap from 'eh, it's just a stuffed animal' to 'eh it's just a puppy?' In a few years, perhaps her son will go from wanting a Webkinz to a real-life pup. And when said pup (or cat or snake or pony or hamster or whatever) becomes a nuisance, shreds the rug because you've set no limits, pees on the carpet because you never bothered to housebreak him, jumps on the postman because you never socialized him. runs away because you didn't fence your yard - what then? Why, pop in to the pet shop (it's just a commodity - no need to research a responsible breeder or anything so taxing) and get a shiny new version, Puppy 2.0
It makes me ill. Let kids be kids. Let them love their fuzzy stuffed animals Let them imagine. Let them prefer their snotty-smelling, dog-eared, worn fur teddy bear to the new model you just bought them. Maybe then your child will grow up with an appreciation of things beyond mere commodity, maybe they'll grow up with empathy and responsibility and critical/creative thought and - dare I say?- the ability to invest themselves in something, to love? I may not be the perfect wife, the perfect daughter, the perfect friend, but every time I look in Marmy's glossy green eyes, I think how she was there with me as I grew up - a confidant, a friend - and how she helped me teach myself lessons that I draw on to this day. I feel sorry for your kids, Emily Bazelon. You've cheated them of something precious and formative.
As a child, I had a definite love affair with stuffed animals. I had, by the time I was 9 and moved overseas to China, amassed a collection of every imaginable species, which overflowed my queen-sized bed, my window seat, and one of those child-sized cottage playhouses so you literally could not see the floor. My subsequent travels around the world spurred me to collect the newest specimen from each country I visited - a dingo from Australia, a gecko from Indonesia, a rare blue-winged penguin from the South Island of New Zealand. To this day, I - an otherwise-functioning, professional, sometimes cynical adult with little patience for treacle or overwrought sentimentality - still bring a small fuzzy horse with me as a pillow/diversion on business trips (ssh, don't tell my boss), and my postmodern black & white bed is still inhabited (I will confess) by Marmalade, my dirty, careworn orange tabby cat/childhood best friend.
So yes, this drivel struck a bit of a nerve. I think that - especially in the 21st century, where kids grow more and more divorced from nature and creative play and imagination by the year (why build forts or invent animal kingdoms or play tag when you can plop in front of the Internet, flick on some cartoons, or kill stuff on your X-Box?) - anyhow, I think there's some value in encouraging kids to play imaginatively. Caring for something, loving it - even if it's just a made-in-Korea mish-mash of polyester fur and glass bead eyes - encourages creative thought, teaches empathy, instills the desire to care for a creature dependent on you (a nice precursor to a pet or - dare I say? - a husband!!), and lets kids be kids....not these cynical mini-adults in designer togs that are watching David Lynch films and sipping black coffee at age 8.
So what message is this smarmy author sending, when she remarks (you can hear the cynicism and indignation dripping from each consonant), "...This would be an act of betrayal, because as every good child knows, you are supposed to love your stuffed animal no matter how worn and dirty, and reject any shiny cheap-date substitute." Maybe I'm extrapolating here, but this comment raises my hackles because it's a parallel (albeit on a very small scale) to the "everything's disposable" mindset of modern society. Don't like your marriage, your pet, your house, your job? Toss it away and get a new one, a shinier model - hell, buy it on credit! Don't bother developing attachments to things - it's not the relationship itself but the acquisition that matters.
Apparently for Ms. Bazelon, imaginative play isn't as "harmless" as it seems. Lose your beloved stuffed animal, one that you - as a child, mind you - have developed a bond with? No problem. Just hop on down to Toys 'R Us and get another one. Sure, I'm not a nutter - it is, after all, just an object. But the meaning a child invests in an object, I think, extends well beyond the fur and stuffing. I remember when my sister left her favorite stuffed animal - a small purple rabbit - in our hotel room in Bali, and how my parents worked tirelessly with the concierge, the Indonesian and Chinese post offices, etc. to make sure she got her special buddy back. Could they have gone out and bought another one? Uh, sure. But that wasn't the point, wasn't the point at all.
I wonder if this article's author disabuses her children of the notion of Santa Clause or the Tooth Fairy too, even when they're at an age when they still themselves believe, because it's simply too irrational and silly and, well, childish? And really, how hard is it to make the leap from 'eh, it's just a stuffed animal' to 'eh it's just a puppy?' In a few years, perhaps her son will go from wanting a Webkinz to a real-life pup. And when said pup (or cat or snake or pony or hamster or whatever) becomes a nuisance, shreds the rug because you've set no limits, pees on the carpet because you never bothered to housebreak him, jumps on the postman because you never socialized him. runs away because you didn't fence your yard - what then? Why, pop in to the pet shop (it's just a commodity - no need to research a responsible breeder or anything so taxing) and get a shiny new version, Puppy 2.0
It makes me ill. Let kids be kids. Let them love their fuzzy stuffed animals Let them imagine. Let them prefer their snotty-smelling, dog-eared, worn fur teddy bear to the new model you just bought them. Maybe then your child will grow up with an appreciation of things beyond mere commodity, maybe they'll grow up with empathy and responsibility and critical/creative thought and - dare I say?- the ability to invest themselves in something, to love? I may not be the perfect wife, the perfect daughter, the perfect friend, but every time I look in Marmy's glossy green eyes, I think how she was there with me as I grew up - a confidant, a friend - and how she helped me teach myself lessons that I draw on to this day. I feel sorry for your kids, Emily Bazelon. You've cheated them of something precious and formative.
4.02.2008
It's not quite the Jeffersonian, but...
An alert (and like-minded) friend brought this gem to my attention, and it has me utterly tickled. We all know that one of the perks of being a president is that you get things named after you. JFK, Reagan, and Bush Sr. get airports. Lincoln gets the Memorial, Washington gets the Monument, and so forth. This begs a fascinating question - what will our soon-to-be ex president, Bush Jr., leave behind as his legacy? (Beyond, you know, 2 wars, skyrocketing national debt, and a cache of one-liner malapropisms that will live on well past his tenure in the Oval Office...) A ranch? A weapons facility? A school (I shudder at the thought!)
Good guesses, but no. Instead, the city of San Francisco currently has in development (pending a vote) another sort of memorial in store for Dubya, one that is eerily reminiscent of his legacy and "accomplishments" in office. Yes, ladies & gents, the good citizens of San-Fran are proposing renaming the Oceanside Wastewater Treatment Facility the George W. Bush Sewage Plant.
Genius.
Good guesses, but no. Instead, the city of San Francisco currently has in development (pending a vote) another sort of memorial in store for Dubya, one that is eerily reminiscent of his legacy and "accomplishments" in office. Yes, ladies & gents, the good citizens of San-Fran are proposing renaming the Oceanside Wastewater Treatment Facility the George W. Bush Sewage Plant.
Genius.
3.28.2008
Did I misspeak? No, moron, you L-I-E-D.
It's Friday, and I'm too lazy for a proper post. Mea culpa. Instead....we can watch someone embarrass herself (itself?) Ohhhhh how I love karma. Watch Senator Clinton's bravery under fire....snort, snort. This is just what American needs, right? More lying leaders! Woohoo!
3.26.2008
TSA = T&A?
Today I am going to dive into the deep well that constitutes my own personal reservoir of WTH moments. While researching flight options for my latest business trip, I took a moment to reflect on the joys of air travel. Growing up overseas, I was used to flying on planes even before I could walk. Big planes, little planes, well-constructed planes, malfunctioning planes - you name it, I've flown on it. I've flown over hurricanes (not fun), on flights where some of the plane's engines failed (thank you, China Air, for another memorable experience), and on planes where the food they serve rivals the food whipped up by the likes of Wolfgang Puck....merci beaucoup, SingaporeAir first class cabin.
But I digress. Many people have a fear of flying, but for me the biggest hassle is just getting on my flight. (My three day honeymoon spent waiting on the cold floor of JFK Int'l in New York last summer - sans luggage, of course - only reinforced this little truism.) But of all the weird things that have happened to me in airports, I think this one might take the cake. (And, no, I am not the woman from this article....I have more taste, at least.)
It was just after 9/11 when airport security was ramped up to absurd levels. I was flying back from Berlin, through Detroit, and I had to re-enter a metal detector (even though I'd just been on a plane for the past 9 hours and had never left the confines of the airport - good thinking, guys). My carry-on bags scanned fine, but when I walked through the metal detectors, they went haywire. The TSA agent, a friendly and (bless her) infinitely patient Southern woman of perhaps 55, made me remove my shoes, belt, jewelry, jacket, ad nauseum, and still we could not figure out the source of the beeping.
By this point, airport security is examining me with newfound interest, and they're getting ready to pull me off to one of these creepy little rooms....visions of strip searches danced unpleasantly through my head. The woman is now patting me down, as I stand there in jeans and a tank top, trying not to look concerned, while a crowd of gawkers (and pissed off travelers, I suppose) amassed to check our the Terror Suspect du jour. Finally, the woman's face lights up, and in a very relieved - and very loud - voice that showcases her definitely-not-from-Detroit Southern accent, she exclaims, "Good Lord, Heaven of Mercy, Chile', it's your bra!!!"
Oops. I survived my mortification long enough to unhook my bustier so it could be put through the x-ray machine....but an indelible lesson was left with me that day. Do not, my dear ladies, wear underwire bras on planes. It is a recipe for embarrassment, at best, and at worst, you could end up on one of the Homeland Security Department's endless list of Terror Suspects. Right along with, ya know, Cat Stevens.
But I digress. Many people have a fear of flying, but for me the biggest hassle is just getting on my flight. (My three day honeymoon spent waiting on the cold floor of JFK Int'l in New York last summer - sans luggage, of course - only reinforced this little truism.) But of all the weird things that have happened to me in airports, I think this one might take the cake. (And, no, I am not the woman from this article....I have more taste, at least.)
It was just after 9/11 when airport security was ramped up to absurd levels. I was flying back from Berlin, through Detroit, and I had to re-enter a metal detector (even though I'd just been on a plane for the past 9 hours and had never left the confines of the airport - good thinking, guys). My carry-on bags scanned fine, but when I walked through the metal detectors, they went haywire. The TSA agent, a friendly and (bless her) infinitely patient Southern woman of perhaps 55, made me remove my shoes, belt, jewelry, jacket, ad nauseum, and still we could not figure out the source of the beeping.
By this point, airport security is examining me with newfound interest, and they're getting ready to pull me off to one of these creepy little rooms....visions of strip searches danced unpleasantly through my head. The woman is now patting me down, as I stand there in jeans and a tank top, trying not to look concerned, while a crowd of gawkers (and pissed off travelers, I suppose) amassed to check our the Terror Suspect du jour. Finally, the woman's face lights up, and in a very relieved - and very loud - voice that showcases her definitely-not-from-Detroit Southern accent, she exclaims, "Good Lord, Heaven of Mercy, Chile', it's your bra!!!"
Oops. I survived my mortification long enough to unhook my bustier so it could be put through the x-ray machine....but an indelible lesson was left with me that day. Do not, my dear ladies, wear underwire bras on planes. It is a recipe for embarrassment, at best, and at worst, you could end up on one of the Homeland Security Department's endless list of Terror Suspects. Right along with, ya know, Cat Stevens.
3.19.2008
Illiteracy is alive & well, kiddies
The below news article, captured in all its idiocy for posterity, made me go utterly apoplectic with rage when I read it. Take a look and I'm guessing you can tell me why (and it has nothing to do with the content of the article....):
MSNBC - what were you thinking!?!? Have you ever heard of a copy editor? A proofreader? How about hiring journalists that understand the basic grammatical rules of English? Let me settle this duh-bate once and for all:
ORIENTATE is NOT A WORD!!!!!
The word is orient, as in, position something or gain one's bearings. O-r-i-e-n-t. Like what they used to call China, ya know? Not orientate. It's not a word - or at least, not a word in acceptable standard usage of English grammar. It's bad enough that it appears in the text of the article (as a quote, which could at least be chalked up to the incompetence of the interview subject....although you'd think a kind copy editor would at least correct this mistake). But they actually use it as a boldfaced headline!!?? What the hella??? GAH! Not even an altruistic dolphin can save us from the slow and steady erosion of the English language.....
MSNBC - what were you thinking!?!? Have you ever heard of a copy editor? A proofreader? How about hiring journalists that understand the basic grammatical rules of English? Let me settle this duh-bate once and for all:
ORIENTATE is NOT A WORD!!!!!
The word is orient, as in, position something or gain one's bearings. O-r-i-e-n-t. Like what they used to call China, ya know? Not orientate. It's not a word - or at least, not a word in acceptable standard usage of English grammar. It's bad enough that it appears in the text of the article (as a quote, which could at least be chalked up to the incompetence of the interview subject....although you'd think a kind copy editor would at least correct this mistake). But they actually use it as a boldfaced headline!!?? What the hella??? GAH! Not even an altruistic dolphin can save us from the slow and steady erosion of the English language.....
3.18.2008
This is just embarrassing.
Wow. How pathetic can you be? Apparently humanity's potential for suckdom has hit (quite literally, in fact) new lows. A New York businessman has apparently filed a lawsuit against a stripper who supposedly gave him "serious injuries" sustained during her lap dance.
Incredible. First, my take on the matter is.....you live by the sword (or in the case, perhaps "pole" would be the more appropriate term), you die by the sword. You pay for a lap dance, you suck it up when her stripper shoe hits you in the eye.....right? Apparently not. Instead, our asshat du jour Stephen Chang files suit. I have to ask....where is your sense of shame, Mr. Chang??? You are a securities trader. You can afford to be a member of an exotic dance club that is the self-described "Playboy Mansion of Manhattan party lofts" (excuse me while I grab my smelling salts and swoon with excitement). The court fees and retainer for your attorney alone will far exceed whatever damages you win - if you win, and who better to sway a jury (or a judge!) than a stripper, folks? - from someone who has to make her living dancing on a pole and in ugly men's laps.
My only guess is that Mr. Chang was a securities trader at the venerable financial institution Bear Stearns, and he thinks his only guaranteed source of income after this week is to abase himself by whoring himself out to someone in a more fortunate financial position than he is in.....kind of like a stripper does, come to think of it. Oh, karma is such a bitch.
Incredible. First, my take on the matter is.....you live by the sword (or in the case, perhaps "pole" would be the more appropriate term), you die by the sword. You pay for a lap dance, you suck it up when her stripper shoe hits you in the eye.....right? Apparently not. Instead, our asshat du jour Stephen Chang files suit. I have to ask....where is your sense of shame, Mr. Chang??? You are a securities trader. You can afford to be a member of an exotic dance club that is the self-described "Playboy Mansion of Manhattan party lofts" (excuse me while I grab my smelling salts and swoon with excitement). The court fees and retainer for your attorney alone will far exceed whatever damages you win - if you win, and who better to sway a jury (or a judge!) than a stripper, folks? - from someone who has to make her living dancing on a pole and in ugly men's laps.
My only guess is that Mr. Chang was a securities trader at the venerable financial institution Bear Stearns, and he thinks his only guaranteed source of income after this week is to abase himself by whoring himself out to someone in a more fortunate financial position than he is in.....kind of like a stripper does, come to think of it. Oh, karma is such a bitch.
3.14.2008
It can always get worse
Sorry for my French leave.....I've been living in a WTH delirium as of late, thanks to the dumbass that ran a stop sign and wrecked my beloved car on the way to work on Monday. I'm more or less okay - (the more or less depends on how many pills I've taken to address the ouchiness of my back/neck/spine/ribs) - but I suspect the real headache is just beginning.....insurance and the like.
Anyhow, this story cheered me up....sort of. More to the point, it reminded me that no matter how unpleasant things can get, they can always get worse. Case in point: this woman in Kansas has been sitting on a toilet seat for two years. No, that is not a typo. After 1 year and 11 months, her boyfriend calls the sheriff to report that "something is wrong with his girlfriend." Ya think!!?? Um, she had been there for so long that her skin had grown into the plastic seat. (This, in a yucky but funny way, reminds me of the iconic tongue on flagpole scene in the holiday classic A Christmas Story...)
When the po-po arrived, the woman insisted "that she was OK and didn't want to leave" - if your definition of OK includes having atrophied leg muscles, mental disorientation, open sores on your ass, and a toilet seat stuck to your posterior, then I suppose she was right as rain. Luckily for Kansas (a state that loves to teach creationism in public schools....go figure), the wisdom of the police prevailed and the unfortunate woman was whisked away to the hospital, toilet seat still hanging from her derrière.
Now the sheriff is recommending that this woman's boyfriend be charged, although it isn't exactly clear to me what statute would apply here. The boyfriend insists that he tried to cajole her out of the bathroom each and every day, and her reply was always, "Maybe tomorrow." (Paging Scarlett O'Hara...)
The most disturbing part of this case - aside from the obvious - is the comments made by some of the citizenry. "She obviously wasn't keeping herself up," the sheriff notes with stunning insight. But the creepiest comment of all comes from a long-time acquaintance of Toilet Woman. "It really doesn't surprise me," her friend Ellis says. Uh.....um......I may be jaded, but not that jaded, because this story rates pretty damn highly on my what-the-hella-meter.
Anyhow, this story cheered me up....sort of. More to the point, it reminded me that no matter how unpleasant things can get, they can always get worse. Case in point: this woman in Kansas has been sitting on a toilet seat for two years. No, that is not a typo. After 1 year and 11 months, her boyfriend calls the sheriff to report that "something is wrong with his girlfriend." Ya think!!?? Um, she had been there for so long that her skin had grown into the plastic seat. (This, in a yucky but funny way, reminds me of the iconic tongue on flagpole scene in the holiday classic A Christmas Story...)
When the po-po arrived, the woman insisted "that she was OK and didn't want to leave" - if your definition of OK includes having atrophied leg muscles, mental disorientation, open sores on your ass, and a toilet seat stuck to your posterior, then I suppose she was right as rain. Luckily for Kansas (a state that loves to teach creationism in public schools....go figure), the wisdom of the police prevailed and the unfortunate woman was whisked away to the hospital, toilet seat still hanging from her derrière.
Now the sheriff is recommending that this woman's boyfriend be charged, although it isn't exactly clear to me what statute would apply here. The boyfriend insists that he tried to cajole her out of the bathroom each and every day, and her reply was always, "Maybe tomorrow." (Paging Scarlett O'Hara...)
The most disturbing part of this case - aside from the obvious - is the comments made by some of the citizenry. "She obviously wasn't keeping herself up," the sheriff notes with stunning insight. But the creepiest comment of all comes from a long-time acquaintance of Toilet Woman. "It really doesn't surprise me," her friend Ellis says. Uh.....um......I may be jaded, but not that jaded, because this story rates pretty damn highly on my what-the-hella-meter.
3.07.2008
Asshat of the Week Award
I've always thought that golf was kind of boring (except when Tiger Woods plays, mostly because he's pretty foxy). However, I would prefer boring to morally depraved any day of the week. That's why, the Asshat Award goes to Mr. Tripp Isenhour (an asshat name if e'er I've heard one).
This PGA pro golfer got annoyed while filming a golf show [insert zzzzz here] by a hawk that was, apparently, commenting on his golf game. Its squawking, he alleges, upset his swing, so he commenced hitting balls at it where it sat in a tree 300 yards away. Now, let me note, this would be dumb enough if it was a live tournament or something, with no do-overs. But this was being filmed for a tv show....all they had to do was roll tape again, no harm, no foul. But apparently it's more fun to hit birds with golfballs.
When the hawk flew closer (wanting revenge? I know I would), the golfer remarked, "I'll get him now!" and, a few shots later, hit the hawk in the head, where it fell to the ground, bleeding out of both nostrils. It died shortly thereafter. How people can take pleasure or amusement by tormenting animals always puzzles me, but this is especially ass. In his defense, the awkwardly named Tripp says, "There was no deliberate intent to hit the hawk. I was merely trying to scare it into flying away." Let me get this straight. For a living, your job is to aim small white balls at small targets hundreds of yards away. You're apparently good enough at this to do it as a day job. And I'm supposed to believe that you don't think you're capable of hitting a larger target from well under driving range distance? Either you have serious self image problems (I would too with a name like Tripp) or you're a lying rat. Let me guess which I believe....
No bad deed goes unrewarded, though, and in addition to getting his bitch self fined, I think that - in his case - revenge will look something like this:
This PGA pro golfer got annoyed while filming a golf show [insert zzzzz here] by a hawk that was, apparently, commenting on his golf game. Its squawking, he alleges, upset his swing, so he commenced hitting balls at it where it sat in a tree 300 yards away. Now, let me note, this would be dumb enough if it was a live tournament or something, with no do-overs. But this was being filmed for a tv show....all they had to do was roll tape again, no harm, no foul. But apparently it's more fun to hit birds with golfballs.
When the hawk flew closer (wanting revenge? I know I would), the golfer remarked, "I'll get him now!" and, a few shots later, hit the hawk in the head, where it fell to the ground, bleeding out of both nostrils. It died shortly thereafter. How people can take pleasure or amusement by tormenting animals always puzzles me, but this is especially ass. In his defense, the awkwardly named Tripp says, "There was no deliberate intent to hit the hawk. I was merely trying to scare it into flying away." Let me get this straight. For a living, your job is to aim small white balls at small targets hundreds of yards away. You're apparently good enough at this to do it as a day job. And I'm supposed to believe that you don't think you're capable of hitting a larger target from well under driving range distance? Either you have serious self image problems (I would too with a name like Tripp) or you're a lying rat. Let me guess which I believe....
No bad deed goes unrewarded, though, and in addition to getting his bitch self fined, I think that - in his case - revenge will look something like this:
3.04.2008
Sort of like Russian stacking dolls ...
What. The. Hella. ??? If you knew a gigantic snake was stalking your wee yippy little creature, wouldn't you think to - oh, I don't know - supervise your Chihuahua mix? Especially if you knew the snake had been stalking your dog for several frickin' days??!
Now, I am intimately acquainted with animals that digest strange objects. I joke that my beast of a Sheltie, Pushkin, is the $10,000 Dog - because the intestinal surgery that he had to have following ingesting a small piece of plastic while at a boarding kennel cost precisely that much. A few weeks ago, when I turned my back on him for 20 seconds (literally), he swallowed 2 socks and had to go to the vet to barf them up. Just....swallowed them, no chewing, no shredding. So the whole "animals eating weird stuff" phenomenon is nothing new to me. But WTH....if you knew your pup was being stalked by a predatory snake, wouldn't you take some precautions??
As a side note, I'm glad the snake wasn't killed and is being re-released into the bush (presumably away from domestic pets....) It isn't the damn snake's fault that Fido went down the hatch - it's rotten luck or, more likely, poor supervision of one's pets.
Now, I am intimately acquainted with animals that digest strange objects. I joke that my beast of a Sheltie, Pushkin, is the $10,000 Dog - because the intestinal surgery that he had to have following ingesting a small piece of plastic while at a boarding kennel cost precisely that much. A few weeks ago, when I turned my back on him for 20 seconds (literally), he swallowed 2 socks and had to go to the vet to barf them up. Just....swallowed them, no chewing, no shredding. So the whole "animals eating weird stuff" phenomenon is nothing new to me. But WTH....if you knew your pup was being stalked by a predatory snake, wouldn't you take some precautions??
As a side note, I'm glad the snake wasn't killed and is being re-released into the bush (presumably away from domestic pets....) It isn't the damn snake's fault that Fido went down the hatch - it's rotten luck or, more likely, poor supervision of one's pets.
It ain't what ya do ....
I don't think I even need to explain this., which was brought to my attention elsewhere and is too good not to highlight here. It's both funny and self-evidently what the hella fodder. I know my fellow equestrians will get why this is so bad, but my inkling is that even those of you WTH fans who have never so much as sat on a carousel horse - let alone ridden in jumpers shows - can see that this is not the way good riding looks. Also, extra points for the music.
More later. I may have a WTH moment to share with the greater world this afternoon, Christ knows.
More later. I may have a WTH moment to share with the greater world this afternoon, Christ knows.
2.29.2008
When bad fashion strikes!
I'll admit it, okay? I am a shameless fashionista. My closet is colour-coordinated. I own more shoes than Imelda Marcos. I put more thought into my outfits than I do into dinner. Many times, I am told that my shoes "aren't practical." True. But compared to these beauties, my 4 in. hot pink BCBG heels (the latest greatest acquisition) seem like, well, hiking boots.
Yeah. Wow. I thought prerequisite numero uno of high heels was, uh, having heels. Take it from one who knows - those shoes would be uncomfortable even with a heel. Sans heel? Agony, pure and simple. I really like how the designer (a man, of course...won't see him tottering about in these, now!) describes them as "dainty." Now where have I heard that before?
Oh right - China, about a century ago. Binding women's feet was also considered dainty - like a lotus flower. Yeah, and that turned out really well. But of course the rich and tasteless will (and already are) snapping these bad boys up like Percoset. The phrase "fashion victim" exists for a reason, after all - and in this case, victim could be quite literal, as I'm pretty sure the laws of physics would simply prohibit walking down a flight of stairs in these particular shoes. "They're not dangerous," the designer insists. Methinks the lady (...) doth protest too much - when else do you buy footwear with such assuring words?
Apparently they were inspired by postmodernism. Right. I'm sure Derrida would be duly impressed. The style resemblance, after all, is uncanny.
Yeah. Wow. I thought prerequisite numero uno of high heels was, uh, having heels. Take it from one who knows - those shoes would be uncomfortable even with a heel. Sans heel? Agony, pure and simple. I really like how the designer (a man, of course...won't see him tottering about in these, now!) describes them as "dainty." Now where have I heard that before?
Oh right - China, about a century ago. Binding women's feet was also considered dainty - like a lotus flower. Yeah, and that turned out really well. But of course the rich and tasteless will (and already are) snapping these bad boys up like Percoset. The phrase "fashion victim" exists for a reason, after all - and in this case, victim could be quite literal, as I'm pretty sure the laws of physics would simply prohibit walking down a flight of stairs in these particular shoes. "They're not dangerous," the designer insists. Methinks the lady (...) doth protest too much - when else do you buy footwear with such assuring words?
Apparently they were inspired by postmodernism. Right. I'm sure Derrida would be duly impressed. The style resemblance, after all, is uncanny.
2.28.2008
Looking a gift horse in the mouth
First, I apologize for my absence as of late. My workload (what, I don't just leisurely spend my days looking for WTH fodder?!) has been approaching critical brain explosion levels - so something's gotta give. My sanity, perhaps?
This story, though, is definitely food for WTH thought. My fellow FHOTD war demons will especially appreciate, and understand. (See Fugly Horse of the Day for more than you may have ever wanted to know on the topic of horses and horsecare.)
Getting a horse as a tip. Oh boy. I can think of ways in which this would be a good thing....if one was, oh, say, independently wealthy, had a beautiful, under-populated horse property, and had the patience and know-how to deal with a just off-the-track racehorse. A racehorse with apparent health issues who's, in the wise words of his trainer (scoff gag), "too sored up" to race anymore.
Fugly acolytes need no explanation, but I know plenty of non horsey types are WTH junkies, so let me be very clear here. Owning a horse is a gigantic responsibility. Buying it is truly the cheapest part. This waitress, who we learn in the article is "struggling to make ends meet", is a really bad candidate for ownership. Far from being a tip, this "gift" is more like passing along mortgage debt, or a disease - gifts that keep on giving! - except a horse is even more work, because it requires not just an ongoing investment in cash, but also attention, somewhere to live, hoof care, wormer, vet care, equine knowledge, specialized equipment, and, yes, companionship and affection. An off-the-track racehorse (5 years old, no less!!!) needs even more specific care, particularly one suffering from health/lameness issues. All I can say is, thank God he isn't a stallion.
So, goodbye spare time, goodbye income, goodbye peace of mind, Miz Carroll. Indeed, the waitress is 71....stop for a moment to reflect on brittle bones and the sort of health ailments one faces at such an age. I've owned an OTTB (former racehorse) before. I was fearless, 19, and an accomplished equestrian - and I still had my work cut out for me! I somehow don't see Miz Carroll riding off into the sunset on her placid mount. Maybe being run off with into the sunset...or into the nearest barn door.
So, this is just bad news all around. And who will probably end up suffering? Poor Mailman Express. I hope someone out there will look out for him, because a situation like this has "bad news" (not to mention "what the hella?") written all over it. In sum, Mr. Big Tipper sounds more like a Big Douchebag to me.
This story, though, is definitely food for WTH thought. My fellow FHOTD war demons will especially appreciate, and understand. (See Fugly Horse of the Day for more than you may have ever wanted to know on the topic of horses and horsecare.)
Getting a horse as a tip. Oh boy. I can think of ways in which this would be a good thing....if one was, oh, say, independently wealthy, had a beautiful, under-populated horse property, and had the patience and know-how to deal with a just off-the-track racehorse. A racehorse with apparent health issues who's, in the wise words of his trainer (scoff gag), "too sored up" to race anymore.
Fugly acolytes need no explanation, but I know plenty of non horsey types are WTH junkies, so let me be very clear here. Owning a horse is a gigantic responsibility. Buying it is truly the cheapest part. This waitress, who we learn in the article is "struggling to make ends meet", is a really bad candidate for ownership. Far from being a tip, this "gift" is more like passing along mortgage debt, or a disease - gifts that keep on giving! - except a horse is even more work, because it requires not just an ongoing investment in cash, but also attention, somewhere to live, hoof care, wormer, vet care, equine knowledge, specialized equipment, and, yes, companionship and affection. An off-the-track racehorse (5 years old, no less!!!) needs even more specific care, particularly one suffering from health/lameness issues. All I can say is, thank God he isn't a stallion.
So, goodbye spare time, goodbye income, goodbye peace of mind, Miz Carroll. Indeed, the waitress is 71....stop for a moment to reflect on brittle bones and the sort of health ailments one faces at such an age. I've owned an OTTB (former racehorse) before. I was fearless, 19, and an accomplished equestrian - and I still had my work cut out for me! I somehow don't see Miz Carroll riding off into the sunset on her placid mount. Maybe being run off with into the sunset...or into the nearest barn door.
So, this is just bad news all around. And who will probably end up suffering? Poor Mailman Express. I hope someone out there will look out for him, because a situation like this has "bad news" (not to mention "what the hella?") written all over it. In sum, Mr. Big Tipper sounds more like a Big Douchebag to me.
2.25.2008
It's, like, higher education, man
Many parents worry about sending their children off to college. Free-flowing liquor, promiscuity, reckless behavior, and, of course, rampant pot smoking seem to define the perception of collegiate life for all too many concerned parents.
But a university in Oakland is taking things to an entirely different level. In fact, you could say they really take to heart the notion of "higher education".
Yes, ladies & gents, Oaksterdam University is dedicated to producing hard working graduates to staff the cannabis industry. I am sure that a diploma from this laudable institution will get you far - like, say, a visit from a DEA official. On the upside, barring jail time, you'll probably never be out of work. But seriously, folks. What the hella?
But a university in Oakland is taking things to an entirely different level. In fact, you could say they really take to heart the notion of "higher education".
Yes, ladies & gents, Oaksterdam University is dedicated to producing hard working graduates to staff the cannabis industry. I am sure that a diploma from this laudable institution will get you far - like, say, a visit from a DEA official. On the upside, barring jail time, you'll probably never be out of work. But seriously, folks. What the hella?
2.22.2008
Warm & fuzzy thoughts....from the war zone, no less
I'm going to break with form a bit and actually post something...nice. I'm not in any way a mushy person, but I do have an incredible weak spot for animals, and this story really moved me. It's not completely abandoning the WTH tradition - the story of this dog's life has many moments that make you stop and think "what the hella?" (for me, those moments are followed by a burning desire to inflict the same treatment on the asshats who hurt the pup to begin with) - but every once and a while, it's nice to hear a story with a happy ending.
Plus, in a time of cynicism and political turmoil and election year hoopla, it's great to hear a story that makes you, I don't know, feel good about something. I've been a vocal critic of the war in Iraq, and I oppose a lot of the current Administration's foreign policy decisions staunchly - so it's doubly nice to hear a story from the war zone that isn't tragic or infuriating or hollow. And I'm confident that the pup, Nubs, will be living la dolce vita in sunny California....something that, after months of snow here, makes me a wee bit envious!
So, without further ado, the tale of a pup's international exploits, and of the man who decided to do good by him. Hats off, Maj. Dennis.
Plus, in a time of cynicism and political turmoil and election year hoopla, it's great to hear a story that makes you, I don't know, feel good about something. I've been a vocal critic of the war in Iraq, and I oppose a lot of the current Administration's foreign policy decisions staunchly - so it's doubly nice to hear a story from the war zone that isn't tragic or infuriating or hollow. And I'm confident that the pup, Nubs, will be living la dolce vita in sunny California....something that, after months of snow here, makes me a wee bit envious!
So, without further ado, the tale of a pup's international exploits, and of the man who decided to do good by him. Hats off, Maj. Dennis.
2.19.2008
A cautionary tale from the spelling Nazis
I am by no means a great speller. This flaw was brought into crystalline focus in high school, to my embarrassment and the amusement of others. We had to do some sort of classroom activity that involved writing three adjectives that described ourselves on the whiteboard. One of the three words I chose was, unfortunately, intelligent. Even more unfortunately, I spelled it i-n-t-e-l-l-e-g-e-n-t. Oops. Luckily my sense of irony (and lack of shame) was more well-developed than my sense of spelling.
I work in the writing profession nowadays, though, so I am keenly aware of the importance of spelling. The ironclad rule is always - spellcheck, read through, and send to a proofer. For some odd reason, I seem to be uncannily able to identify misspelled words, even if I can't always spell them properly on my own. This serves me well, though, and also makes for some amusing moments.
Case in point: if you're a national news outlet, you'd think a crew of editors, proofreaders, etc. would be employed to ensure your news releases are grammatically correct and, at bare minimum, properly spelled. But as today's WTH moment illustrates - no such luck. I was perusing the news on Yahoo! a few days ago, and came to this picture and its caption. The caption struck me as odd, and the more I looked at it, the more certain I became that the opening sentence contained - what else? - a typo.
Oops. Kiddies, I remember this one from grade school. The plural of moose is moose....the plural of deer is deer.....the plural of wolf is wolves. Not "wolfs" as in "wolfs down this amusing spelling error with glee".
I work in the writing profession nowadays, though, so I am keenly aware of the importance of spelling. The ironclad rule is always - spellcheck, read through, and send to a proofer. For some odd reason, I seem to be uncannily able to identify misspelled words, even if I can't always spell them properly on my own. This serves me well, though, and also makes for some amusing moments.
Case in point: if you're a national news outlet, you'd think a crew of editors, proofreaders, etc. would be employed to ensure your news releases are grammatically correct and, at bare minimum, properly spelled. But as today's WTH moment illustrates - no such luck. I was perusing the news on Yahoo! a few days ago, and came to this picture and its caption. The caption struck me as odd, and the more I looked at it, the more certain I became that the opening sentence contained - what else? - a typo.
Oops. Kiddies, I remember this one from grade school. The plural of moose is moose....the plural of deer is deer.....the plural of wolf is wolves. Not "wolfs" as in "wolfs down this amusing spelling error with glee".
2.18.2008
Confucius say, taste great!
I was so inspired by the Chinese alphabet blocks from a previous post that my mind turned to other misadventures in the Land of the Great Wall. Chinese food over there is not what you pick up for takeout on a Friday night here. I loved much of the cuisine in Shanghai, but so-called staples like sweet-and-sour chicken, chow mein, and Moo Shu pork were nowhere to be found. There were plenty of other food items you could find, though - many of them floating in your soup!
In my three years over there, I ate some pretty weird things. Snake blood (fresh from a skinned snake, the honours done right in front of Yours Truly), fish eyeball, drunken shrimp that were still alive and wiggled on the way down, eel soup, chicken hearts, etc. The best rule of thumb was to not think about what was going down your gullet, and wash it back with some good beer.
I'll never forget the first time our cook, Helen, proposed some menu options for supper. She had come from a chef's position at a local restaurant, and was a fantastic cook - and to make the household assimilation process easier, she had brought a book of menus translated into English to our house. My mum and I thumbed through it with growing horror, and finally stopped at "Three Snake Fricassee with Cat." We glanced from our furry cat Rocky (brought over from the States with the rest of us) to Helen, and had to emphatically insist, "no food containing cat." Rocky survived the Shanghai experience intact, but given that she was a huge Maine Coon cat (weighing around 18 lbs.), whenever locals would come over to our house, they would eye her with interest, and I knew they were thinking that she could feed a family of three, easily, for a week.
The all time best food encounter, though, is described below. I've scanned the package so you can appreciate the hilarity in its original splendour, but as the writing is quite small, I'll provide an exact transcription below. All typos, of course, are as-is.
A Big Eat of Game
Eight Dainty Dog Meat
Liangshan is surrounded by Eight hundred Liwater area. rare birds and animals are numerous.long ago, when Shuihu heroes got together ,they used kinds game to make delicious dishes ,Eight Dainty Dog meat is one of these dishes.It is said that "The smell of dog meat can't be resisted. "It con-tains, Ptotein.vitamin ect.Which can nourish liver and kidnny.
In modern times,it is a real delicacy.
Ingredients: dog meat, astragalus membranaceus, ginseng, lycium Chinese, slender acanthopanax skin, ophlopogen, japonicus,aniseed,ginger,soysauce,refined salt.
Direction: Eat soon after opening, cool or hot will OK.
If you find the dag to expand don't eat
EXP: 8 months Net weight:250g
A big eat of game Shandong Liangshan Food Factory
Wow. Kind of gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "walk ... er, I mean, wok ... your dog."
In my three years over there, I ate some pretty weird things. Snake blood (fresh from a skinned snake, the honours done right in front of Yours Truly), fish eyeball, drunken shrimp that were still alive and wiggled on the way down, eel soup, chicken hearts, etc. The best rule of thumb was to not think about what was going down your gullet, and wash it back with some good beer.
I'll never forget the first time our cook, Helen, proposed some menu options for supper. She had come from a chef's position at a local restaurant, and was a fantastic cook - and to make the household assimilation process easier, she had brought a book of menus translated into English to our house. My mum and I thumbed through it with growing horror, and finally stopped at "Three Snake Fricassee with Cat." We glanced from our furry cat Rocky (brought over from the States with the rest of us) to Helen, and had to emphatically insist, "no food containing cat." Rocky survived the Shanghai experience intact, but given that she was a huge Maine Coon cat (weighing around 18 lbs.), whenever locals would come over to our house, they would eye her with interest, and I knew they were thinking that she could feed a family of three, easily, for a week.
The all time best food encounter, though, is described below. I've scanned the package so you can appreciate the hilarity in its original splendour, but as the writing is quite small, I'll provide an exact transcription below. All typos, of course, are as-is.
A Big Eat of Game
Eight Dainty Dog Meat
Liangshan is surrounded by Eight hundred Liwater area. rare birds and animals are numerous.long ago, when Shuihu heroes got together ,they used kinds game to make delicious dishes ,Eight Dainty Dog meat is one of these dishes.It is said that "The smell of dog meat can't be resisted. "It con-tains, Ptotein.vitamin ect.Which can nourish liver and kidnny.
In modern times,it is a real delicacy.
Ingredients: dog meat, astragalus membranaceus, ginseng, lycium Chinese, slender acanthopanax skin, ophlopogen, japonicus,aniseed,ginger,soysauce,refined salt.
Direction: Eat soon after opening, cool or hot will OK.
If you find the dag to expand don't eat
EXP: 8 months Net weight:250g
A big eat of game Shandong Liangshan Food Factory
Wow. Kind of gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "walk ... er, I mean, wok ... your dog."
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