imp_perfect

Hmm.

2007-06-14T13:53:00.001-07:00

Strange things are afoot at the Circle-K.

I think.

Just in time for Oscar season...

2006-02-23T08:51:00.000-08:00

My movie-influenced list makes McSweeney's.

Smart Sequels and Spinoffs That Failed With the 18-to-34-Year-Old Demographic.

They're such backstabbers! (Or, you always declare war on the ones you love.)

2006-02-03T10:36:00.000-08:00

Again, our current administration urges us to do battle with people (and "people") that it once befriended:

First it was Rumsfeld and Saddam with a cordial handshake before Rummie left Saddam to rot in prison in his skivvies.

Now, Bush is declaring war on the whole race of human-animal hybrids, but in the above photo, he looks awfully cozy... In fact, I can't even see where his hands are.

And, judging by the image above, it looks like this slutty man-bear has made the rounds with the whole Bush family.

Shutting the Hell Up

2006-01-26T08:41:00.001-08:00

What phrase is it a priority I fully eliminate from my conversational repertoire?

No, it's not anything that will get you a penance of 10 "Our Father"s and a "Hail Mary" in the confessional. Everyone knows confession is for wusses.

And it's not, "Do you think the FBI is listening to this conversation?"

To find out, visit Zulkey.com, where closing pleasantries are so passé.

No, Canada

2006-01-23T10:40:00.000-08:00

Conservative Win in Canada Could Help Repair Ties to U.S.

He would have put her in a manger, but he couldn't get her legs to shut...

2005-12-10T11:12:00.000-08:00

A man in Rhode Island ditched his 8-foot inflatable Frosty the Snowman -- which appeared to be engaged in lewd behavior with its carrot nose -- to do this on his front lawn:

Man Creates Paris Hilton Christmas Shrine

For Easter, he's planning emaciated starlet Nicole Richie nailed to a cross.

Some Assembly Required: Your Christmas Army

2005-12-06T20:50:00.000-08:00

Of late, the search terms drawing the most people to imp_perfect are "Christmas sweaters" and "matching Christmas sweater" (and "Jennifer Aniston topless" but that doesn't work for my purposes.) Normally, I refrain from using that combination of words in any sentence, but this post is likely what's bringing them here in droves. Or, at least, dozens.

Still, you might wonder, what can account for such a need to for these garments?

Well, haven't you heard? There's a war on Christmas.

And now Christmas' soldiers are fighting back:

When we began the Christmas season this year, we were all very much aware that a war was being waged by the Christmas grinches -- the American Civil Liberties Union [ACLU], Americans United for Separation of Church and State, and other secularists, to steal Christmas from America. To not only take Christ out of Christmas, but to remove Christmas totally from the American scene. I am happy to announce today that we are winning the Christmas war. -- Jerry Falwell

And they're going to need the proper attire to do so.

Those entrenched in this war need all the Bedazzled cardigans they can get.

So, here goes, a handy chart of Christmas themed knitwear.

For your Foot Soldiers:

This number features durable Astroturf trim, capable of letting wishes for "Happy Holidays" roll right off you. The neckline carries a dozen Christmas light bombs, for pelting secularists and anyone who shuts the door in your face when you come a'caroling. The Santa Claus adornment, while seemingly not Christ-y enough for a Christmas army actually shoots gut-slicing laser beams from his so-called "twinkling" eyes. And just what is the Jolly Old Fellow doing to that Christmas tree? Ha! Almost fooled ya, didn't it? It's a holiday tree and Santa is busy making it the submissive bitch it rightfully should be.

For your Southern troops:

Noah would be so proud. A pair of Flamingos, upholding all that is good and holy about this holiday. Popular with Operation: Take Back Christmas war wagers from Florida senior living communities, you shan't let the cheerful colors on this one dupe you. A detachable faux-fur collar actually transports several vials' worth of deadly chemical agents. Meanwhile, those charming Christmas socks clutched in the flamingos' beaks? They unleash a powerful wallop of bird flu but troops are urged to avoid collateral damage by only releasing the agent when they're sure to be surrounded by "holiday" revelers and not Christmas celebrants. Try a Target store.

For Special Ops:

You never know when one of your deadliest weapons will be battling against the forces of all that is unholy (or secretly holy but not all up in everyone's face about it) and will need to blend in with ... a bunch of zebras. This sturdy garment is unparalleled for its versatility. When carrying out missions against other matronly appareled shoppers, wear it with a turtleneck (pictured) to fool your opponents into viewing you as a threat to nothing more than their ability to secure the last Hickory Farms Beef Jerky Tied With a Bow gift pack. But go sleeveless when you want the thrill of secular blood splattering against your bare skin as you rip to shreds their non-offensive carcasses.

For the Fearless Leaders:

Let's be honest. This is what it all comes down to. When you're awash in the most deadly of battles, how better to say, "Jesus made me do it" than to have his baby likeness pictured right on your 100 percent acrylic war vestment? Your underlings can take Santa and shove him. Only the few, the proud and the rabidly evangelical are daring enough to show their fervor with a glitter-dusted testament to the New Testament. This is your way of sticking it to every Alzheimers-infected Walmart greeter who dares breath the words, "Happy Holidays" in your presence. Deck their solar plexi with boughs of holly and tell 'em to get wise, man. Are you shoving your Christianity down non-Christians' throats? Hell, yes. And you hope they choke on it, bitch. In Jesus' name... You prey.

Where in November was I?

2005-11-29T23:29:00.000-08:00

Doing this, of course.

Won again, though my wordy book is still without an ending. But I reached the requisite 50,000 words and this is my virtual pat on the back. Sort of like those T-shirts, "I was a Texas senator and all I got was this lousy indictment," but sort of more honorable than that.

To think of the shopping mall tramplings I had to miss in order to meet my targeted word count. I, too, could have been a participant in Black Friday bloodshed and the proud owner of a Tickle Me, Elmo! if not for my dedication and vigor these last few weeks. (Oh, Tickle Me, Elmo! was the big toy five years ago? Wow, I really can't account for THAT lost time.)

My National Novel Writing Month profile is here. And, because I am done a FULL DAY EARLY, I will get to watch the Veronica Mars with TWO endings in peace tomorrow. (Seems unfair, though, that she gets two endings and I don't even have one.)

Breaking News! New D.C. Trend: Pity Exits

2005-10-30T11:31:00.000-08:00

Am I supposed to feel sorry for Harriet Miers, leaving the White House Thursday while biting her lip to hold back the flood of tears because she can't be a Supreme Court Justice to "OMIGOD, like, the most brilliant man ever!," George Bush?(Her words, certainly not mine.) It seems likely that more than one woman exited the Skull and Bones house with similar shame back in the Prez's Yale days.

She's too weak with sadness to even extend her arm all the way for this wave. And then she has to sink her head down into her jacket, as though retreating into its fabric, a precursor to her soon-to-come inability to eat due to depression. Harry, you were a Lotto commissioner. You know what will make you feel better? Go buy a whole roll of scratch-off tickets and see if you break even or come out ahead (cause hint hint, you were the Texas Lotto commish.) And then, go spring for some permanent eyeliner, since the thick application you favor must take you the better part of every morning. Yes, the tattooing process will be painful, but not nearly so painful as all your flattering, apologetic notes to the President coming back with 'Return to Sender' stamped all over them. And think, all that extra time can be spent feathering your bangs!

Harriet's sad, crumpled wave at least seems more truthful than I. Lewis "Scooter" Libby's sympathy prop:

Scooter, the vice president needs those crutches to keep his balance during suprise heart attacks in his knees!

Maybe it's the post-modernist in me but I think if Scooter had zipped out of the White House on a Segway, the photo op would better have symbolized the murderous farce (how often do you see those words strung together?) this administration has become.

One of several reasons you should not hire me as your decorator

2005-10-21T14:57:00.000-07:00

... Because I find the object pictured below far more charming than a beaded throw pillow or other object d'art....

Want one? Archie McPhee.

Impin' Ain't Easy: "Cocked"

2005-10-18T11:15:00.000-07:00

Impin' Ain't Easy is a semi-regular feature wherein I endorse a product, service or medium of entertainment that I like very much. This feature garners me no money whatsoever and has been developed for the satisfaction I derive from broadcasting the superiority of things that I like.

Live in the Chicago area and need quality entertainment to tide you over until the White Sox win Game One on Saturday?

See "Cocked: A First Shot at Crime," making its South Suburban debut at 9:30 p.m., Thursday, Oct. 20, at Marcus Theatre in Orland Park.

This is my brother's second feature film, the first of which, "Born for Death," featured chitlings used in a non-conventional way and no female actors (possibly due to the chitlings use.) In "Cocked," look forward to more violence, a female co-star, stunt-acting featuring a bicycle and a sandwich and another Paul Konerko first-inning home run. (Oh, sorry, that's my Sox game prediction.)

Coincidence or Prophecy?

2005-09-30T10:38:00.000-07:00

Tagged.

2005-09-23T06:46:00.000-07:00

I've never been tagged before.

Here are the instructions:

1. Delve into your blog archive.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag five people to do the same.

But a majority of us took George W. Bush back.

From a post called Dumped On.

As if you needed a reminder.

Tagging:

Planet Dan
Master B.
Tequila Red
Rebecca Blood
Neil Gaiman (Hey, what the hell? He's responded to weirder inquiries.)

What if I just want to read the articles?

2005-09-22T15:27:00.000-07:00

Recruits sought for porn squad (Washington Post)

Impin' Ain't Easy: Sensa Cloud 9 Pens

2005-09-22T15:10:00.000-07:00

Impin' Ain't Easy is a semi-regular feature wherein I endorse products and services I like very much for no money whatsoever and solely for the satisfaction of broadcasting their superiority to other things I use regularly.

The Sensa Cloud 9 Pen is an unparalleled writing tool that's also pretty. I lose mine quite often and am emotionally distraught and poised to buy another when I find my original charmingly buried at the bottom of my purse.

Who said complainers never offer solutions?

2005-09-16T15:05:00.000-07:00

Slate's David Wallace-Wells mentions my Sept. 13 imp_perfect post badmouthing the Times' Times Select today in his 'today's blogs' column.

"The Edsel. New Coke. Times Select," intones conservative GT at Civilized Invective. Others are equally skeptical. At imp_perfect, Iva-Marie Palmer writes the package is overpriced and suggests a scaled pricing system by which readers could purchase access to as few or as many columnists as they'd like. "What Business Is The New York Times In?" asks Jeff Lang of URBANintelligence. "Doesn't the Time's value come from the spread of it's ideas?"

I don't know how I feel about being mentioned in the same graph as a conservative, but I do know how I feel about being mentioned: Pretty cool.

Leader of the Pee World

2005-09-15T15:19:00.000-07:00

Not only does George W. Bush lack curiosity, compassion and the ability to thoughtfully consider outcomes before taking action on false pretenses ....

But he's got a weak spincter too!

(via Planet Dan who more-responsibly-than-me links to the page with Reuters' caption: U.S. President George W. Bush writes a note to Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice during a Security Council meeting at the 2005 World Summit and 60th General Assembly of the United Nations in New York September 14, 2005. World leaders are exploring ways to revitalize the United Nations at a summit on Wednesday but their blueprint falls short of Secretary-General Kofi Annan's vision of freedom from want, persecution and war. REUTERS/Rick Wilking)

Opinions? Yes, everybody's got one. But not all are free.

2005-09-13T12:22:00.000-07:00

The New York Times is rolling out its Times Select package, which will charge an annual fee ($39.95 if you join by Sept. 18 and $49.95 thereafter) to those who want to read online columns by sage commentators like Frank Rich, Paul Krugman and Maureen Dowd. Trying to sweeten the deal, the ability to read up to 100 archived articles per month (normally costing $3.95 each) is included with purchasing access to the op-ed pieces. They're also promising exclusive online discussions with certain columnists, videos and access to anticipated Sunday articles before they're posted to the Web site. A last selling point is perhaps most disturbing:

Reader Interaction Reach out to the columnists with your opinions and questions.

This might mean Times Select subscribers receive special interactive privileges with the writers. But, by charging to read its opinion pages (either through a traditional and very price-y subscription to NYT in print or through Times Select), the Times is eliminating even the possibility of its non-paying Web readers from commenting at all.

I do love the Times, but I think $40 and up per year is pushing it. How many people will end up paying the subscription fee just to be able to read one or two columns a week? How many people will likely never use the other features promised? I understand that paid online content is likely to be key to traditional newspapers' future survival, but I think the Times could have planned its new program with a more fair eye toward its less-flush-with-funds-and/or-time reader base. (Namely, me.)

I mean, how about:

- $15 a year allows you to pick two of your favorite columnists (Krugman might get axed by me in favor of Rich and Dowd) and grants you access to 10 archived pieces per month?
- $20 a year gets you three columnists, 30 archived pieces a month and access to some of the multimedia features?

And so on.

Newspapers -- and their Web sites -- have a right and a need to want to be profitable. But part of what has always purported to keep newspapers at a nominal cost (thereby allowing greater numbers to become readers) are the ads. Salon.com has figured out a way to sponsor free access to content: You have to watch an ad to get to the piece you desire; if you find that too inconvenient, you pay. The NYT model seems to be lacking in value, elitist and possibly destined to fail.

Just thank your lucky stars that in an age where you have to pay for some people's opinions, I will never ever charge you for mine. (Though donations are happily accepted.)

Umm, what's that word again? Oh, yeah, hubris.

2005-09-07T09:01:00.000-07:00

President Vainglory and his favorite PR-machine-posing-as-legitimate-media get all mixed up. But not really.

The more-technologically-adept-than-I Planet Dan has the screenshot to illustrate.

Fair & Balanced at last.

Tears for Waterworld

2005-09-02T08:59:00.000-07:00

We knew this would happen.

"They did anticipate breaching of the levees, that the pumps wouldn't work," said Natural Hazards Center Director Kathleen Tierney. Louisiana and New Orleans "couldn't get the federal assistance they needed. They knew they were living on a time bomb." (from L.A. Times)

After the first big national emergency, what did we do? Um, made a colorful chart and started making people take their shoes off at airports.

America pays people to think thoughts that defy imagination, though it then often ignores their recommendations. In early 2001, experts with the Federal Emergency Management Agency set out to rank the likeliest, most catastrophic disasters facing America. According to the Houston Chronicle, they were a terrorist attack in New York, a major earthquake in San Francisco and a major hurricane in New Orleans.

In this case, two out of three is bad.

"It is our job at FEMA to think the unthinkable in terms of disasters, and to prepare for those that will become catastrophic," Joe Allbaugh, FEMA's then-director, told a conference of the National Emergency Management Association four years ago. "I want our most vulnerable communities to plan for the worst. ... A major earthquake or Category 5 hurricane in an urban area would stretch our current response and recovery capabilities to the breaking point."

The date of this conference: Sept. 10, 2001.(via St. Louis Post-Dispatch)

And, oh, yeah, started a multi-billion dollar war, diverting money from one of those other "unthinkable" -- but entirely, apparently possible -- disasters:

Bush administration funding cuts forced federal engineers to delay improvements on the levees, floodgates and pumping stations that failed to protect New Orleans from Hurricane Katrina's floodwaters, agency documents showed on Thursday. ...

Since 2001, the Army Corps has requested $496 million for that project but the Bush administration only budgeted $166 million, according to figures provided by the office of Louisiana Democratic Sen. Mary Landrieu.

Congress ultimately approved $250 million for the project during that time period.

Another project designed to shore up defenses along Lake Pontchartrain was similarly underfunded, as the administration budgeted $22 million of the $99 million requested by the Corps between 2001 and 2005. Congress boosted spending on that project to $42.5 million, according to Landrieu's office. (via Reuters)

But we're so damn capable and prepared. We don't need any damn international help.

Jamaica was among the nations offering what help they could. But the Kingston embassy, while stating its appreciation for the support, politely declined the offers, saying in a statement: "The United States Government is not yet requesting international assistance at this time."(from Jamaican Observer)

Just new shoes.

Just moments ago at the Ferragamo on 5th Avenue, Condoleeza Rice was seen spending several thousands of dollars on some nice, new shoes (we’ve confirmed this, so her new heels will surely get coverage from the WaPo’s Robin Givhan). A fellow shopper, unable to fathom the absurdity of Rice’s timing, went up to the Secretary and reportedly shouted, “How dare you shop for shoes while thousands are dying and homeless!” Never one to have her fashion choices questioned, Rice had security PHYSICALLY REMOVE the woman. (via Gawker)

And a picture for the presidential scrapbook.

Here, the president wonders if daughter Jenna will have to miss Mardi Gras this year.

But rest assured, some more dollars for the suffering rich. 'Cause they really earned it.

Washington (Sept. 2, 2005) - With Congress preparing to reconvene in early September, Senate Majority Leader William H. Frist said a vote to fully repeal the estate tax will be tops on the to-do list.

Frist, a Tennessee Republican, has not wavered publicly from statements that the either the first or second bill of the September session would be a vote on a bill to repeal the estate tax beginning in 2005 -- meaning a vote is scheduled for the week of Sept. 6.(via WebCPA)

But rebuilding a poor people's city? Eh.

One question already on the table is whether it is wise for the federal government to fund the reconstruction of New Orleans, a city built mostly below sea level in a location that has proved vulnerable. House Speaker J. Dennis Hastert (R-Ill.) expressed reservations about that in an interview with an Illinois newspaper published Thursday.

"It doesn't make sense to me," the Daily Herald of Arlington Heights quoted Hastert as saying. "And it's a question that certainly we should ask." (via L.A. Times)

But, Denny, some people don't think so:

New Orleans is one of the nation's most iconic cities, and after the calculable costs of Hurricane Katrina are tallied, after they count the casualties and the destroyed houses, it will be time for a different kind of accounting. Some of the places and pieces that make this city irreplaceable will have to be replaced.

"This is a special place. It sounds funny, but there are a lot of mornings when I walk outside and look around and think, 'I am lucky to live here,' " said Sylvia Atkins, 42, who was born and raised in the working-class neighborhood of Gentilly. "We'll miss that. I still feel lucky. But it's going to be a while before I do that." (from L.A. Times)

She said, 'a while,' not 'never again.' It will be hard, but the Big Easy deserves new life, though it will have to come from someone not so unfeeling.

Different situation, same story:

But this president does not know what death is. He hasn't the mind for it. You see him joking with the press, peering under the table for the weapons of mass destruction he can't seem to find, you see him at rallies strutting up to the stage in shirt sleeves to the roar of the carefully screened crowd, smiling and waving, triumphal, a he-man.

He does not mourn. He doesn't understand why he should mourn. He is satisfied during the course of a speech written for him to look solemn for a moment and speak of the brave young Americans who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country.

But you study him, you look into his eyes and know he dissembles an emotion which he does not feel in the depths of his being because he has no capacity for it. He does not feel a personal responsibility for the 1,000 dead young men and women who wanted to be what they could be. (E.L. Doctorow, The Unfeeling President, via truthout)

Today in spam

2005-09-01T10:02:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, after sitting in a meeting with an individual so boring you can hear your brain begin to crumble between your ears, some nonsensical spam email can act as jumper cables for the mind.

If I decode this, I think I get a tour of the Wonka factory:

Why do topless dancers say that the parasites are suspected of being
child prodigies? Hot dog vendors belittle the elephants. Lower primates
are thought to be heathens. It is said that the flatworms live with
Macintosh users. Ballroom dancers are destined to become hot dog vendors. I read on the Goodyear blimp today that gurus write poems about phlebotemists.
Bodybuilders supervise the compulsive gamblers. Geeks secretly admire the
rodeo clowns.

So, from the logic expressed above, the ballroom dancers -- after fulfilling their hot dog-vending destiny -- will belittle elephants. I'm sure those damn pachyderms deserve it.

Dr. Stupid World (Or Why I Hope We're Still Evolving Because Our 'Intelligent Designer' Is Kinda Dumb) -- No. 2

2005-08-31T11:37:00.000-07:00

I should have known that cataloging the actions of stupid, unevolved people would have given me ample fodder to post every minute on the minute.

The Columbia Christians for Life studied radar patterns of the Hurricane Katrina and have decided that they resemble a fetus in the early weeks of gestation. The press release they opportunistically released Monday as hurricane victims struggled to literally stay afloat (some of them trying to find their ALREADY BORN children) states:

The image of the hurricane above with its eye already ashore at 12:32 PM Monday, August 29 looks like a fetus (unborn human baby) facing to the left (west) in the womb, in the early weeks of gestation (approx. 6 weeks). Even the orange color of the image is reminiscent of a commonly used pro-life picture of early prenatal development (see sign with picture of 8-week pre-born human child below). In this picture, and in another picture in today's on-line edition of USA Today*, this hurricane looks like an unborn human child. (via Eva's Apple

It's right to assume that the Columbia Christians for Life also want to force the teaching of 'Intelligent Design' in our public schools. Funny that an intelligent designer would free up so much brain space in his/her creations as to cram in a lot of ignorance.

Now, from Charles Darwin, who might be on to something, especially in light of this sorry use of a national crisis as an opportunity to further one's political goals (hmm, when have we seen that before?):

The highest possible stage in moral culture is when we recognize that we ought to control our thoughts.

Chuck, as you're rolling in your grave, let me make an addendum to that, "The highest possible stage in moral culture is when we recognize that we ought to control our thoughts (my part is next) ... and, from time to time, shut our mouths."

Dr. Stupid World (Or Why I Hope We're Still Evolving Because Our 'Intelligent Designer' Is Kinda Dumb) -- No. 1

2005-08-30T19:01:00.000-07:00

Consider this feature to be the textbook the Kansas Board of Education wouldn't let you see. Each edition of Dr. Stupid World will bring you more reasons to hope that we're still growing as a species and not at the magic touch of some "intelligent designer" because -- if such a designer exists -- (s)he got his/her education from one of those courses they advertise on late-night TV.

This week's reason I would rather still be a monkey combines a little religion and a little politics, just 'cause I'm celebrating this new feature:

Creature Preacher

Do you have proof we've not evolved all the way yet? Post a comment or email me.

And I thought the ones that sold lip gloss and fake tattoos were cool...

2005-08-26T02:54:00.000-07:00

I love vending machines. Ever since I was six and randomly pushed a button and got a free TAB from a Best Western motel machine (yes, I drank TAB at six, which may explain why I frequently trip on flat surfaces and scare quite easily), I've loved the idea of viewing a colorful array of goods behind glass. I love that you can have a transaction without human contact (course, now I can shop on the Internet.) And, though I have to say I rarely actually BUY any snacks from the machine at work, when I go to get myself a Diet Coke, I always like to take a peek at the snack machine: Just knowing that I CAN get yogurt-covered raisins (which I can't fathom ever, ever wanting) makes me feel good. It must be my survivalist instinct: If I get trapped in my building, so long as I have correct change, I can dine for weeks on pretzels, peanut M&Ms, Sun-Chips, cinnamon buns and Hershey bars. (I'd probably draw the line at pork rinds, though they might be good for starting a fire if the heat goes out.)

But leave it to the French to give me a case of vending machine-envy. I love books. I love mechanical arms that pick things up and drop them nicely into a chute, like this machine purports to do. And I love vending machines.

So how much do I want to return to Paris right now to buy a copy of "The Flowers of Evil" or "The Wok Cookbook"? Or the French translation of "Alice in Wonderland"? (By the way, the French translation of the slogan on the machine is "Books at any hour!" Pretty much my ideal world.)

FYI, I liked the French before this, so it's not the TAB talking when I say we should take a cue from them on this one. Easily-bought books available at public transportation stops make so much sense it's funny they've not been available before now. And in an age where people want DVD players in their minivans and ESPN on their cell phones (there's a post coming on that later), the idea of something as simple as a vending machine seeming like an innovation of the future is sort of, um, novel?

(The pun? That was the TAB talking.)

Call me. I know a guy...

2005-08-15T13:36:00.000-07:00

(via memepool)

PokerFaceBook.com 'bumvertising' campaign is either the most socially-responsible or the most exploitative advertising mechanism in years.

I think you'll all know what view I take when I tell PokerFaceBook.com that my finder's fee is small: I'll be glad to lead you to the most ubiquitous bums in downtown L.A. Though the one I have in mind might need a sandwich-board sign, as his hands are full holding up his burlap pants.

Oh, so it can be done....

2005-08-15T09:47:00.000-07:00

Ron Gremban has probably been working on this "plug-in" Prius long before gas prices became an issue.

And what about Prof. Andy Frank?

University of California, Davis engineering professor Andy Frank built a plug-in hybrid from the ground up in 1972 and has since built seven others, one of which gets up to 250 mpg. They were converted from non-hybrids, including a Ford Taurus and Chevrolet Suburban. (via CNN.com)

1972. It's nearly a quarter-century since Frank built his first plug-in car. And it's been four years since he and his students participated in the first friendly U.S. competition (called Challenge Bibendum) to compare advanced-technology vehicles. Compare! That means -- and I'm speaking to you, President Bush and all those talking solely about hydrogen-based technology (speaking to you without making eye contact because your blinking makes me dizzy) -- there are multiple possibilities for hybrid vehicles. But even though this competition's been held since 2001 (since you took office, Bushie, by coincidence or on purpose?), has the Crawford Cowboy even scheduled a photo-op at Bibendum, much less paid attention to it?

It amazes me that Americans really could have given a shit about hybrids and electric cars until they had to forgo their 7-11 Slurpee because gas prices topped $2.50 a gallon. Oh, wait, that doesn't amaze me at all. Our wallets, our leisure, our pleasure, our "need" to hog the road, pollute the sky and get the luxury SUV so the kids don't have to sit too close together in the backseat are far more important in the here-and-now than what might happen to the earth in the then-and-later.

There are some of us who -- while the savings on gas would be a sweet bonus -- actually would like to drive and advocate a fuel-efficient, possibly hybridized, car because it might keep the planet in about the same condition it is right now and, oh, give us one less thing to go to war over.

Instead, as Frank says, Bush turns the focus to distractions, like hydrogen cars, which, while not a bad idea, is a long way off.

"They'd rather work on something that won't be in their lifetime, and that's this hydrogen economy stuff," Frank said. "They pick this kind of target to get the public off their back, essentially."

Instead, to keep us in the dark, our 'bright' leaders are giving us a little more light:

Daylight savings time may leave kids in the dark (via Boston Herald)

Another bonus for Bush & Co.? The darkness is one more way to explain our students' low test scores. At least teaching 'intelligent design' (HA! An intelligent 'designer' would have figured out the fossil fuel question long ago...) is more simplistic than evolution...

Bob Novak outed as shady asshole. Oh, wait, we knew that already.

2005-08-05T10:41:00.000-07:00

Beware: The pundit/administration suck-up/old codger is angrier than usual. Guess that's what happens when you try to defend the indefensible.

Watch the video at Media Matters.

Even the way he's leaving the table reminds me of a cranky old man who's just been told he's ten minutes late for the Early Bird Special.

"This is bullshit. My cranky ass hates that. Forget you guys, I'm going home."

Please Sir, I Want Some More ... Wholly Inappropriate Ideas for Theme Parks

2005-07-28T20:59:00.000-07:00

Come for the cold porridge, stay for the petty theft and bone-harrowing sweatshop work.

Dickens' London Indoor Theme Park

People need people ... but not that bad.

2005-07-28T15:46:00.000-07:00

Apparently, German twenty-something loneliness is a trend. (Blame Hitler.)

But, see, that guy over there, that's Paul. He's not posing for a stylized online personal photo. He's wallpaper.

When you're living alone and can't stand your own company and you're sick of sitcom laugh tracks being the closest thing you've got to human interaction, you stick one of this company's two-dimensional "roommates" up and, voila! Talking to yourself just got more depressing.

As someone who, after seeing a horror movie, even a really poorly made one (most, these days), will jump even upon catching a peripheral glimpse of my reflection in the mirror -- thinking some doom-bringing body has entered the room --- I don't know what to make of this, the latest trend (Oh God, I hope not.) for solo apartment dwellers.

It's gotta be a joke, right?

Maybe.

But each of these wall-people serves a different purpose. "Paul" likes watching TV. "Priscilla" is the party queen (who never moves -- but also never needs her drink freshened!) "Christine K." will advise you on what to wear. And those voices in your head will tell you how to tie the noose.

As someone who lived alone for a good deal of time, I can attest to the positives (no splitting the phone bill, no being questioned on why you're hogging the TV to replay the finale of Buffy for the third time, no weird odors that you can't identify that must be attributable to someone else) and the negatives (not having some to reassure you that the Mothman from that bad Richard Gere movie is not outside your window.) Yet, no matter how empty your apartment seems with just you in it, I can't imagine a glossy German is going to make you feel like you're not whipping up Rice-a-Roni for one.

And how weird would it be to introduce the company you do occasionally have to your Photoshopped wallmate?

What make me wonder the most, though, is: Who are these people posing to be substitutes for actual friends? I mean, don't they find it disconcerting to know that their likenesses are serving to further reclusiveness? Won't they wonder what lonely urbanites are saying to them in the middle of the night? Isn't it a bit weird to knowingly partake in one-sided conversations? To imagine that day your permanently-reclining-and-silent form will likely be dumped for wallpaper half-chosen by a roommate with a pulse? To know that, for now, you're being used?

I mean, wouldn't it be a lot like going on, say, the Web, to read someone else's thoughts and opinions and never necessarily getting a chance to air your own and just allowing that person a forum for self-indulgence and an audience and ...

Oh.

-ster crazy

2005-07-24T11:53:00.000-07:00

You know your pretentious yet easily-categorized "scene" is coming to an end when you can purchase a novelty handbook about you and your peers.

Cases in point:

The Official Preppy Handbook (published 1980)

The Official Slacker Handbook (published 1994) -- Only one left on Amazon.com but more are on the way for nostalgic Gen-Xers.

And, most recently:

The Hipster Handbook (published early 2003) -- Buy it used on Amazon and see where an early hipster spilled cappucino ... on the page about overpriced coffeehouse syndicates!

A Field Guide to the Urban Hipster (published late 2003, as a habit common to hipsters is "reading," there came a need for two books.)

The LA Times this week ran an article pointing out a "trend" toward defecting hipsters: The un-hipsters? The hip-less? The Who Cares?

According to the article, to be a hipster is a lot of work. A ton of effort, really, just to keep ahead of the only semi-hip Joneses. What with the Internet, the blogosphere, the proliferation of still-edgy-and-underground-but-could-get-mentioned-on-The-O.C.-any-day-now-killing-their-"hip"-factor webzines, music, movies and books; the constant barrage from supposed trendmakers divulging that what you wore five minutes ago is, um, so five minutes ago. And why would you want to go back to five minutes ago? Five minutes ago is so 1987, Heather. (Oops, just been told pop culture references are decidedly unhip.)

To be a true hipster, you can't like what you like if even a mini-majority of someone elses already like it. You've better be on the prowl at all moments, finding the newer because the new is old.

As much as the article holds some truth -- I mean, why cultivate your hipsterdom if even your leisure time ends up feeling worklike -- it sort of misses the point.

That being, there is no "hip."

Originating from the word "hep," hip's definition is

characterized by a keen informed awareness of or involvement in the newest developments or styles (Merriam-Webster)

And the word "hip" was not invented to describe the hipster as they were defined earlier this decade.

However, there is pretty solid agreement that the word "hip" is a variant of "hep" meaning "wise to" or "informed." During the 1930s, some of the big-bands of swing, like Benny Goodman's and Count Basie's, were called "hep," meaning the musicians and arrangers were "in the know." A later phrase of similar meaning would be "in tune with." Jazz devotees were called "hep-cats" although the term was not popular among the musicians themselves. (Straight Dope)

Going by the dictionary definition, hip could as easily be used to describe someone well-informed and in the know with regard to the latest trends in kitten sweatshirts or Franklin Mint collectors' plates. ("Wow, Betty, I haven't even seen this Dale Earnheart memorial plate in the Pennysaver yet and you've already got that one and the Pope Benedict and Justice John Roberts commemorative plaster statues. You are so HIP!")

You could be a hip gardener. A hip stamp collector. A hip hypochondriac. ("I think I have a rare and nearly undiscovered disease common only in squirrels." "Well, Earl, that's cause you're so dang HIP!")

Because, really, all hip requires is that you be a bit better than well-versed on whatever it is that interests you. Which is potentially pretty cool until you realize that you can't be a hip devotee of network television, blockbuster movies, major league baseball or classic rock because those things are all purposely omitted from the true hipster repertoire.

The "hipster," as it were, is just yet another social construct. Something probably invented by a group of marketing executives to simplify, categorize and underexplain a new youth culture. A handy checklist of traits, characteristics and concrete "must-haves" (from an ironically out-of-touch slogan T-shirt to a pair of ugly-chic eyeglasses to a vintage-look record player to a copy of Adbusters magazine to wrap around a decidedly unhip copy of US Weekly) to make an attempt at an all-encompassing "trend" that really doesn't suit everyone that they're trying to reach.

No matter what the construct, eventually there will come a backlash, a defection to something more simple or more complex. The LA Times piece goes on to say how that virtual stomping ground of hipsters, CraigsList, has gone from a holding place of ads for apartments in hip neighborhoods and jobs in hip industries, now features an activities section for unhip activities, from bowling and lacrosse to badminton and chess.

The movement toward these old-school hobbies will likely gain a name like Sincerism and its denizens be called Sincerists. Never once is it considered just a natural progression of time, that the original hipsters have matured and just like what they like, hipness be damned.

As someone born in 1977, just between the end of Generation X and the beginning of Generation Y, sort of in between "slacker" and "hipster" -isms, maybe it's easier for me to comment as an impartial outsider. Maybe those of us to enter our 20s at the tailend of a decade -- notice all those aforementioned handbooks are published at the outset of the 80s, 90s and 00s -- are able to escape quick categorization.

And, well, that's pretty damn cool, don't you think?

Pardon My Dust

2005-07-08T19:24:00.000-07:00

When I started this thing more than a year ago, I really thought I'd write daily, getting pissed off or laughing so hard at the state of the world that -- every time I sat at a computer with no goal in mind (translation: sat, eyes glazed in my Batcave-like cubicle feeling decidedly like my scheduled work for the day was meaningless and at least by blogging I might be rewarded by a comment or two) -- I would write endlessly, expound profusely (and possibly profanely) and therefore have this virtual log of my take.

Yeah, but you know better.

At least I've been up to something, I guess. If you've noticed, I've got a new address, and not just in the Webverse. We've moved from Oak Lawn, Illinois to Los Angeles, California (well, Burbank, California, to be specific.)

So, okay, what does that mean to you, dear reader?

To be honest, I don't know.

The election's over, and my hopes for the electorate changing its mind one blog entry at a time has been proven erroneous.

Lindsay Lohan has proven she can shrink her breasts as fast as she can grow them.

Vanity Fair beat me to outing Deep Throat.

And Harry Potter continues to be one of the nation's last hopes for literacy and not "just waiting til they make a movie of it."

So maybe I've gone wrong, trying to focus on the big stuff. Maybe there's something in the little stuff.

Guess we'll see...

Blogs need love, too

2005-04-07T07:38:00.000-07:00

If this blog were my child, I'd certainly be a deadbeat mom.

It's been about a month and a half since I've fed it anything.

I've paid slightly more attention to my other child, Girlz on Film.

But, really, what would the neighbors think to see I've left them unattended?

You'll see more here in the next several weeks. Is that a promise? Eh. Maybe.

In the meantime, I welcome suggestions on topics that would interest my (three) readers. Post a comment or email me.

Remember, I'm not a web journaler. I'm not interested (and neither should you be) in a chronicle of my daily foibles -- Oh, Goodness! I'm wearing two different socks and I missed a dentist appointment! -- or listing my complaints on my job, senior citizen drivers or the tardiness of my magazine subscriptions (Far too easy; I'm looking for a challenge...)

R.I.P. HST

2005-02-23T13:30:00.000-08:00

I don't have much to add to the myriad writings about Hunter S. Thompson's suicide on Sunday.

I think a thank-you is in order to my junior year English teacher, Jerry Astrauskas, who fully supported my wish to write a term paper on Hunter's experience with the Hell's Angels. The freedom given me to read HST and later, Mike Royko in Mr. Moonier's senior year English, well, let's just say I liked it a helluva lot better than the requisite Hawthorne and Steinbeck.

Between Royko and Thompson, I learned that an opinionated, angry and unapologetic journalist is a lot more valuable to a reader than one who throws up his or her hands and claims, "that's just the way it works." A good journalist probes why it doesn't work, gnaws on the question and washes it down with whisky before he just "Aw, shucks"-es and let's it go. A good journalist is unafraid and owes nothing to no one. A good journalist is ... a species that's dying out.

So many have waxed nostalgic about how sorely HST will be missed. But we live in a country where, now, a liberal may as well be a leper. To be too angry at the state of things that we should be livid, rabid, venomous about ... It's not just unpatriotic; it's treasonous. Why can't we all just get along? As long as getting along means planting a big wet one on the overfed cheek of the majority party. Sorry, but it's a sad state of affairs when even your strongest voices just tread contentedly somewhere in the middle. Handshakes and grins and backpats and thumbs-up and concilitory speeches and compromises and deals. God, we're so good at getting along we forgot how to fight.

People bandy about the words, "skeptic," "cynic" and "critic" like they're bad things. My theory is children in their formative years from 2001 onward (or at least until something changes) will be terrified to rail against institutions, question authority and take on the establishment. Better to be fair and silent than to risk being on the losing side, or, worse yet, no side at all.

Some have wondered since Sunday if a new HST will emerge. All surmise it's not likely. At least not anytime soon. And to blame for the lack of a new Gonzo anti-saint? Enfeebled journalism schools. The FCC. Corporate media. Thompson himself would have chewed those theories up: You can't blame institutions when they elect not to create anti-institution journalists.

Nope. It starts at home. Where parents make kids wear helmets to ride a tricycle down the driveway. Where we worry about our stress levels and our water intake and our Recommended Daily Allowances but not about dishonesty, pollution, corruption and morbid, contagious obesity. Where the only time we engage in anything extreme is when we purchase the latest "X-treme" sports drink, video game or SUV. Where a hyper child is one who needs his or her meds because God forbid a kid realizes their teacher is a big fat B-O-R-E. We're muddled. Middling. Oblivious. Of course we're not going to find the next Rebel with a Cause (and Pints of Wild Turkey and a Drug Habit and a lot of Guns) because such personalities are poster children for the Life Too Lived. Better stick to the Safety Zone than stick your neck out.

Somewhere, I hope there's a parent teaching some cherub-faced tot how to give the finger every time George W. Bush comes on TV. His first word is "Liar." Better yet, "Shitface Liar." (Okay, first two words.) He gets to run around naked and without shoes or sunscreen every once in a while. He doesn't have to sit still through a "Baby Einstein" tape if he doesn't want to. The kid, let's call him Tommy, learns to scrape a knee. No one covers his eyes and sues the NFL when he sees a boob get flashed during the Super Bowl. "Yeah, Tommy, that's a boob. Nice, huh?" He can crayon devil ears on Mickey Mouse without Mom and Pop calling in an exorcist. He learns that being smart is more than filling in the right bubble on a multiple-choice test. When given lemons, he doesn't have to make lemonade: He can hurl the lemons right back. That the best revenge isn't violent; outwitting the other guy is far better. He'll realize that freedom isn't yet even all that free but is a heck of a lot better than the illusion of safety. That being a loud, tough fighter is the only way to head toward partial inner peace.

For now, R.I.P. Hunter S. Thompson. Thank you. Please come again.

Talkin' about girls other than the Gilmore ones

2005-02-01T08:29:00.000-08:00

Oh, but yes, I'm looking forward to tonight's new episode. And, after recently reading a New York Times interview with the show's sharp-witted creator, Amy Sherman-Palladino, I've been thus inspired to create a new blog, Girlz on Film, to be officially launched at this spot at a date in the semi-near future.

The GOF site will include links to articles on and interviews with females working in the film and television industries, as well as pieces by female members of the media, whether they write or critique facets of the industry. I also hope to include original content in the form of interviews with women (and men -- just not Michael Bay) who make, write or love feature films and television. I am looking to line up subjects now, so if you have suggestions, please write to me at imp_perfect88 at yahoo.com.

Oh, and if you would like to be notified about the Girlz on Film site's official launch, or would just like to receive periodic updates about new content on this site, please enter your email address in the NotifyList box on the right.

Amidst crushing poverty, ignorance and toothless smiles, Alabama legislator proposes the one measure to save his state: Ban some books!

2005-01-30T09:25:00.000-08:00

In Alabama, Johnny can't read. And neither can his 'special friend,' Joey.

Gerald Allen, a representative in the Alabama state legislature, is squealing like a pig to pass a ban on "the purchase of textbooks or library materials that recognize or promote homosexuality as an acceptable lifestyle."

I'm not for banning books but how about a ban on states like Alabama where racism, discrimination, ignorance and general backward thinking -- in the name of moral values -- are recognized and promoted as acceptable lifestyles?

Said Allen to Guardian writer Gary Taylor:

"Traditional family values are under attack," Allen informs me. They've been under attack "for the last 40 years". The enemy, this time, is not al-Qaida. The axis of evil is "Hollywood, the music industry. We have an obligation to "save society from moral destruction". We have to prevent liberal libarians and trendy teachers from "re-engineering society's fabric in the minds of our children". We have to "protect Alabamians". LINK

Protect Alabamians from critical thinking, culture and that destroyer of minds -- reading.

Should this bill pass this week, Alabama's likely already-barren library shelves -- Allen's targeting any library that receives public funding, so universities, public schools and public libraries -- will contain an even greater dearth of materials.

I mean, they'll have to get rid of things like "Heather Has Two Mommies," in addition to works by Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote, Alice Walker and Joel Schumacher ("The Lost Boys" and "St. Elmo's Fire" gone forever). Allen doesn't mention that removing "The Color Purple" from library shelves not only saves Alabamians from destructive homosexuality but conveniently eliminates a book about blacks, as well.

Will his ban also eliminate subscriptions to newspapers and magazines that write articles about 'dem gays'? Current events must also be part of this evil scourge sweeping society, so maybe Allen will supplant new editions of periodicals with 1950s issues that promote squeaky clean morals while concealing deep hatred, repression and fear.

And what about music by Elton John, Queen and K.D. Lang? I take it the show tunes selection will quickly diminish as well.

What does Allen think the state should do with these Weapons of Homosexual Yearning (WHY)?

Well, bury them of course. The same thing people like Allen probably do with their latent homosexual tendencies:

Allen said that if his bill passes, novels with gay protagonists and college textbooks that suggest homosexuality is natural would have to be removed from library shelves and destroyed.

"I guess we dig a big hole and dump them in and bury them," he said.

Not to be crude, but I bet Allen's inner self is really looking forward to seeing that big hole. If the bill passes, I suggest a group of well-oiled gay dancers digs the trench as Allen looks on in repressed mouth-watering hunger. Costumed mascots dressed as Sponge Bob and Teletubby Tinky Winky can dance around the hole as Bert and Ernie argue over who gets to throw copies of "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" into the gaping chasm.

Meanwhile, on the bare shelves of public libraries, new materials can replace the homosexual ones: George W.'s favorite, "My Pet Goat (Makes Funny Noises When Anally Violated)," the complete works of Ann Coulter (til Alabama legislators discover she's a man in drag) and the Christian Coalition's two-page version of "The Joy of Sex." (First sentence: "Good Christians know there is no joy in sex." Next page follows with instructions on how to procreate in the shortest order possible.)

Those Alabamians who have evolved past mouth-breathing are trying to stop Allen's messiah-like mission. The Alabama Library Association, long-suffering in its mission to spread the disease of literacy, passed this resolution in opposition to the bill's passage.

Meanwhile, I say instead of burying the books in the big hole, send 'em on over to the already morally-soiled and literate people in the blue states. After all, we paid for them.

Inaugurate This!

2005-01-20T20:38:00.000-08:00

Not invited to today's inaugural festivities?

Too bad, bucko, seeing as your tax dollars will help pay for at least some of it:

The Department of Homeland Security has designated the inauguration as a National Special Security Event, which makes the high-profile gatherings eligible for federal money and heightened security overseen by the Secret Service. LINK

How cold. It's like being asked to bring beer to a party but then being told you can't drink any of it and, hey, leave the bottle opener and, thanks, but can you go home now?

You'd think the Republican Party People could at least send you an official King George paper crown (Bearing one of three popular second-term catchphrases: I'm a Mandate Man; Who Ya Callin' Dumb This Time? and Under God, But Still On Top, Be-yatch!) and one of those spinny noisemakers.

But don't let it get you down. I mean, losers can make their own fun. What do you think imaginary friends are for?

Need suggestions for an Inauguration Day Do-It-Yourself Celebration?

Pretend like you're at the America's Future Rocks Today and play the decidedly un-rocklike music of Hillary Duff, Ruben Studdard and 3 Doors Down. When your ears stop bleeding and your sense of taste returns, pepper your sentences with phrases like "Good clean fun!" and "Now that's an American idol!"
Dance. I recommend you do the Condi: Wait 'til someone lobs a particularly tough question at you and then dance around it. (No rhythm required.)
Call a tsunami survivor and tell them you're sorry Americans couldn't come up with more donation dollars for relief efforts. Our charitable money, they should know, is going to support crucial efforts like keeping inaugural-goers 'fulled up' with shrimp and canapes. Tell them you'll send them a signed photo of George and Laura as a consolation prize.
Pull out your John Kerry paraphernalia -- shirts, buttons, limited edition Hot Wheels Swift Boats. Let your salty tears saturate these symbols of what could have been. Proceed to burn all items, save for those bearing the slogan, "Don't Blame Me, I Voted for Kerry." You'll need them later.
Get friends together to debate the morality of Sponge Bob and other 'homosexual' cartoon characters who likely have no sex organs.
Umm, start counting the seconds til November 2008?

Doing Good Just Comes Naturally To Me: I Read Star Magazine So You Don't Have To, Edition 1

2005-01-06T19:52:00.000-08:00

I've been gone for a while and, for that, I don't apologize.

I retreated to a solitude-i-nous cave, wherein I contemplated the myriad ways I could better the lives of humankind.

Since I can't build houses for the poor (They wouldn't want to live in them; Those diorama things you made in grade school? The trinket-laden shoeboxes I made frequently collapsed.); heal sick birds with a touch of my magical fingers (FACT: My childhood parakeet committed suicide by flying repeatedly into a window.); cure cancer, the common cold or athlete's foot (All best left to professionals) or teach the world to sing (Have I mentioned being one of only two girls in my sixth-grade class to not make the chorus?), I've decided to do something I know I can manage.

This year, I will read Star Magazine for you.

"What?" You ask. "I can read just fine, thank you very much. I'm reading right now, so how the hell does she think this will help me? I'd much rather she help cure this itchy foot thing. Just send me some Gold Bond in the mail."

But see, the public service potential of my new project is, well, let's say HUGE.

Star Magazine -- with its promise of Breaking Celebrity News First! -- can potentially suck away gigantic portions of your life (especially if you do the fairly easy but jumbo-sized crossword at the magazine's tail end.) With my pledge to you, think of the many better ways you'll be able to spend your time as I toil over Star Magazine and provide you highlights and commentary on what the publication deems passable reporting.

So finish that work project. Spend more time with your family. Meditate. Read one of the classics. Finish your cross-stitched Home Sweet Home welcome mat. And leave the rest to me.

Just to ensure you don't miss anything, we'll start with this year's first edition of Star, dated Jan. 3, 2005, even though by Jan. 3, the magazine had been out for nearly two weeks.

On the cover, Star sucks you in with promise of an exclusive six-page photo album of the second honeymoon of Nick (Lachey) and Jessica (Simpson). Gone are the days when tabloid paparazzi had to skulk behind coconut trees waiting for the celebrity wife to go topless. In this case, Nick and Jessica -- likely desperate for some post-Newlyweds' attention -- just brought the magazine on honeymoon with them. Also featured on the cover is Star's first use of its teaser device, Hot News, tantalizing the slack-jawed convenience store shopper with what's in store: a fake lip expose, the real-life homes of Desperate Housewives, wedding news from Ben and Jen 2.0 and oh, so much more.

INSIDE:

Pages 4 and 5: In Star Shots, the magazine goes behind the scenes of Kimora Lee Simmons' spring ad campaign for Baby Phat apparel, of which she's CEO. Kimora, wife of Russell Simmons, not only had her daughters on the set, but also requested a baby elephant, a python, a llama, a parrot and a 14-month-old chimpanzee. The campaign's inspired by Kimora's travels to exotic places:

The print, the fabrics, the silk, the colors -- even my hair -- it's all very Pocahontas.

Funny, somehow I don't see Pocahontas leading John Smith around with a monkey mascot on her shoulder.

Pages 6 and 7: Girls, ya better start baby-making. All the cool celebrities have one: Kate Hudson, Gwenyth Paltrow, Christy Turlington, Courtney Cox, Debra Messing, Sarah Jessica Parker and, oh, soon-to-not-be-single-anymore dad Jude Law. But more important than the bundle of joy itself is the uber-stylish Bugaboo stroller you can purchase for $900.

Pages 10 and 11. Speculation on Ben (Affleck) and his new Jennifer (Garner). Set to wed? Or just set to fill two pages of Star for the next several months?

Pages 12 and 13: Anna (Kourni-whatchamacalit) and Enrique (Iglesias) are the Mystery of the Week! Are they married? Um, new mystery: He was famous for, like, five seconds when that Hero song came out and she pretty much sucks at tennis, so why bother?

Pages 14-16: Couples News -- Just a bunch of B-listers getting together or dumping one another. Really only useful for Star to get the words canoodling and Splitsville in the magazine, possibly to fulfill quota for double-consonant words.

Page 21: EXCLUSIVE! As if having Gilmore Girls interrupted by Sarah Jessica Parker twirling in Gap's holiday gear wasn't enough, Star devotes a whole page of unpaid editorial to Gap's new accessories store, Love. What I'd really love are more photos of Mariah Carey.

Pages 22 and 23: Omigod! It's Mariah Carey! In a two-page spread on her Disney Christmas special. The toy soldiers look frightened.

Pages 24 and 25: Paris (Hilton) and Nicole (Richie) are interviewed about going to work for The Simple Life 3. In their interview, Paris does all the talking while Nicole practices her bird calls.

Pages 40 and 41: Paris (Hilton again) and Lindsay (Lohan) engage in fisticuffs (okay, a screaming match) over a booth at Brent Bolthouse's birthday party. Paris won, getting the booth. The question remains: Bolthouse?

Pages 42 through 83: The Jessica-and-Nick honeymoon (I give them another year, tops.), Brad (Pitt)-Jennifer (Aniston) woes and pictures of sparkly makeup and dresses the stars love and you can't afford anyway.

Page 84 and 85: Jen (Schefft), of Bachelor and soon Bachelorette fame (?), signs autographs for preteen boys in New York. Oh, year, those will sell for enough to put you through college.

Page 86: Star TV Pick of the Week: The Daily Show: The Five Most Important Half-Hours of TV Ever. Well, I could have told you that.

Page 94: Answer to Star Crossword clue for 70-across --RADIUM.

Hush Little Baby, Don't say a Word, Daddy's Gonna Buy You a ... Clay Aiken Calendar? What the Hell?

2004-12-08T08:09:00.000-08:00

Happy Day After Hannukah Eve, everybody.

How does that work, anyway? With eight days in the Hannukah holiday, it's like the first seven are all Eve days.

I guess I would know if I were Jewish, but seeing as I'm not, I got to spend my Sunday shopping for Christmas presents -- forgoing frankenscence and myrrh to purchase electric nose hair clippers and Hickory Farms' cheese/sausage/defibrillator combo baskets.

To challenge ourselves, my husband and I visited Woodfield Mall, a different mall than our usual shopping stomping grounds, figuring that we could prevent early onset Alzheimer's if we played tricks on our brain -- like doing the New York Times crossword puzzle but more expensive and while clutching flimsy shopping bags as you navigate your way through a haze of body odor and food court-induced halitosis.

In the process of all this, I couldn't help but notice a few things as I struggled not to topple, breathless and disoriented, over the upper level mall railing.

Number of women wearing Christmas sweaters: Approximately 68 (several of the sweaters caused me to recoil in horror, so I realize I'm missing a few.)

Number of those sweaters that featured three-dimensional Christmas designs (snowman hands, fuzzy reindeer, google eyes, blood-lusting elves bursting from the snowflake pattern): Approximately 35

Number of those sweaters that featured "spirit of the season" sequins: Too many; no one should wear sequins in broad daylight.

Number of those sweaters accesorized by a pair of matching reindeer antlers (the fake kind): 1

Number of the sweater wearers who seemed likely to have real reindeer antlers included in their holiday decorating scheme: At least 4

The power by which wearing a Christmas sweater increases the quality of gift purchases made by the wearer: -471

Increased likelihood a Christmas sweater wearer is buying someone on their list one of the following -- a Princess Di calendar, a fruitcake, a gross of bath beads or a Christmas sweater: 470 percent

Number of minutes I pondered how I'd react if given such a sweater: 16

Number of minutes I devoted to memorizing the speech I could give to express gratitude for a sweater with "Ho! Ho! Ho!" emblazoned in red yarn over the head of a ruddy-faced Santa: 2 (a peppy, "I've always wanted one of these! My desire to wear attire specially crafted for the Christmas holiday and featuring the slang term for prostitute is as strong as my desire to wear a garment that makes the wearer look like a lumpy mass of Yuletide tumor!")

Number of wide-eyed young men in the 18-34 year old demographic who stepped on the back of my shoes as they wandered dazed and zombie-like in search of the perfect gift for their significant other: 4

Number of those who picked up a Clay Aiken calendar and debated purchasing it, figuring such a gift would make them look sensitive to their significant other, but then put it down, fearing that their own manhood was no match for a guy named Clay: 4

Number who know better than to buy their significant other a Christmas sweater: 2

Number of Clay Aiken calendars available at the Waldenbooks in Woodfield Mall, as of 12/6/04: 17 (right next to the Princess Di calendar and below the NASCAR calendar)

Number of Clay Aiken calendars available today at the Waldenbooks in Woodfield Mall: 24 (due not to returns but to spooky overnight multiplying)

Number of Clay Aiken calendars projected to burst like a tidal wave from Waldenbooks onto the mall's floor in a never-before-seen-the-likes-of-this natural disaster that on Dec. 26, 2004 will injure and/or kill and/or inflict serious paper cuts on no less than 67 post-Christmas shoppers, all wearing Christmas sweaters that have seen better days (better days being Christmas itself, the only day when wearing of such a garment is even mildly excusable): 300,658

Gangs of people wearing identical leather Hard Rock Cafe/Chicago jackets while striding through Woodfield giving superior glances to those of us in plain outerwear: 1

Number of minutes I later spent debating whether I should have purchased a similar Hard Rock Cafe/London jacket while spending time in the city: 0

Numeral ranking of my wish to right now learn whether the Hard Rock jacket wearers had on Christmas sweaters beneath their souvenir outerwear: 1

Number of times I wished I had a camera phone while surveying the human landscape at Woodfield Mall: A couple, I won't lie.

Number of times I'd use the camera phone: 2 on purpose (to take sneaky photos of people wearning Christmas sweaters); 148 accidental (when I press the button and get a photo of my shoe)

Can I quit my day job yet?

2004-11-30T21:25:00.000-08:00

Yes, I finished. The smiling bunny is inviting publishers to come-a-calling.

I've officially become a 2004 National Novel Writing Month winner. And I have just enough energy left over to self-promote. At this location, I'll be posting juicy excerpts from my completed book that's still without an ending but met the NaNoWriMo criteria of 50,000 words, weighing in at a hefty 50,631. (Those additional 631 were added to put my novel officially out of novella territory.)

I'm expecting Random House to come knocking at my door as soon as it's daylight. Yup, any minute now...

How about I-666?

2004-11-25T06:47:00.000-08:00

This Thanksgiving, aren't we grateful for this country's new path of shielding us from immoral and dangerous things like .... NUMBERS? (Cue the bump-and-grind music here.)

An Indiana congressman has mounted a campaign (that's from the real headline, folks) to change the name of an Interstate 69 extension to a less sexual digit.

I wonder what he's going to do when he finds out that, by taking the name of their first pet and the first street they lived on, every American gets a free porn star name?

According to that formula, I'm Indy Lynwood (I don't think my first cat had a name; The second one was Indy til we took to calling her Shithead.) but maybe with this Congressman's wildly pointing moral compass, that too will be changed to something like my social security number followed by the amount of my tax rebate.

Dig in to your afternoon's feasts knowing you're protected from the moral reprehensiveness of our numeric system....

Haiku and you

2004-11-24T21:08:00.000-08:00

The Guardian -- quite possibly the best newspaper in the world, and now easily my favorite newspaper -- has chosen my haiku as one of its best entries in a daily topical haiku contest. Read my entry and the many others right here.

Actually, because I believe The Guardian only leaves these on its site for a few days, this is my entry:

Clinton's library:
Presidents who read get one.
Bush's? "My Pet Goat."

The contest mandates only that the entry follow the five/seven/five syllable structure of haiku and that the submission make some reference to a recent event or topic.

Thanks, Guardian. I love being chosen....

Validation is
sweet, even for seventeen
syllable works. Yay!

Zulkey, Turkey

2004-11-24T20:27:00.000-08:00

Zulkey, site of fellow Chicagoan Claire Zulkey, has hosted a Thankgiving Sound-off. I've waxed poetic on turkey basters and the act of basting. Read to the bottom to see mine.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. And be careful moistening the bird. Someone could lose an eye. Or flesh.

I can say Mission: Accomplished without lying

2004-11-20T14:43:00.000-08:00

I'm halfway done with my NaNoWriMo novel. Of course, the month's more than half over, but I've just surpassed 25,000 words and figure I can pass at least 30,000 by the weekend's end.

I'm posting smaller chunks to my novel blog, so read here if interested.

Dumped on

2004-11-20T11:30:00.000-08:00

Wow, it's been a while, huh?

Part of me's been throwing myself at this month-long novel-writing thing and part of me's been stewing in post-election fury, marinating in W.-through-2008 self-pity and cooking in my own juices of optimism gone wrong. (See my Nov. 1 post.)

I incorrectly said that America would dump the W. this year in favor of a candidate with class, brains and care.

But a majority of us took George W. Bush back.

To continue with the break-up analogy I started with, let's just say George W. is America's boyfriend. On Nov. 2, 2004, we reached a crossroads in our relationship: It looked like America was ready to part ways with W. and already had a new, much better significant other waiting in the wings, in the form of John Kerry.

Instead, we took Bush back.

In break-up terms, here's what that says.

George W. Bush is like America's boyfriend (or girlfriend) who:

--Raids America's bank account and distributes its hard-earned money to his already-rich friends, laughing at America behind its back for being stupid enough to give him access to its account.

--Crafts elaborate schemes to turn an overwhelming number of America's family against people he was once friends with and then gets a bunch of these people hungry to kill those former friends, even though he and his money-loving buddies never have to get their hands dirty but profit off the battle nonetheless.

--Tells America its skirts are too short or it watches too much porn. Makes America feel like a lesser human being because its not 'born-again Christian'. Only takes America to movies featuring a G or PG rating or Jesus Christ enduring torture.

--Lies about America's potential new significant other (John Kerry) by telling it Kerry changes his mind too much, even though W. is too stubborn to ever admit he might be wrong about something.

--Can't pronounce the names of most of the people he counts as "friends," unless their names are three syllables or less.

--Is in bed with people who basically would piss on America's landscaping, put America's kids in harm's way and would refuse America the right to check certain books out of the library.

--Can't carry on a decent conversation because he refuses to read the newspaper.

--Used most of America so he could jump back into the satin sheets with his richer, more powerful friends.

--Would let other people -- old, highly conservative people -- decide what's best for America, America's gay neighbors and pretty much everyone else but the elite friends he keeps protected.

--Believes that -- because a majority of America's acquaintances said he and America should get back together -- he and his staff have a right to pretty much trample America's rights and yell, "I'm not listening!" whenever any part of America disagrees.

--Has not, in the past four years, shown the slightest bit of aging or worry on his blank, smirking face. While America's almost-new boyfriend John Kerry looked worried and concerned over the course of a campaign and aged as he considered the fate of America if it didn't pick him as its new boyfriend, Bush trots along without a care in the world, his face unetched by the trauma he's caused.

It seems like most of America should pick up this book, because let's face it, George W. is just not that interested in us.

George W., I want my stuff back

2004-11-01T21:22:00.000-08:00

At the end of a relationship, the wronged party often writes a long letter to the other, jerky party, enumerating exactly what it was that person did to so thoroughly screw up.

Now, in its presidential endorsement, The New Yorker has more than dumped our current (though not rightfully elected in 2000) president and -- by making its laundry list of faults, flaws and outright lies public -- has effectively given reasons why no one should go out with him ever again.

What I like about the magazine's endorsement, aside from its beautifully worded list of George W. Bush's myriad failures, is that it gives the nod to John Kerry not just because he's not Bush, but because he's at the opposite end of the spectrum from Bush in terms of work ethic, the ability to re-evaluate decisions (and admit when he's wrong), decency, thoughtfulness and strength.

Bush best be ready to get dumped ... by America.

It has begun!

2004-11-01T15:04:00.000-08:00

The ultimate literary throwdown, if ever such a thing has existed.

I am talking about National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo for those of your participating. (And for at least two of you, I talked you into it.)

This year, the organizers are trying something new. NaNoBlogMo, or National Novel Blogging Month, is set up for NaNoWriMo types to actually blog their novel as they complete it.

I have established a novel-blogging page here. I've not yet decided whether I will post the whole book or just excerpts.

A novel this bad might be stealable or inspire other acts of crime.

Well, I'm off and typing. Or, actually, I'm emailing myself the 1,000 odd words I've typed from the comfort of my office cubicle. What else are these temporary walls for if not typing away at my secret masterpiece on company time?

Thanks to NaNoWriMo's group o' organizers. By the end of November, I might be unable to make with the gratitude seeing as I'll be pretty sick of typing.

And away I go.

Protect yourself ... and democracy

2004-11-01T14:18:00.000-08:00

Just a quick link to Rebecca Blood's site where she's compiled a handy list of voter resources.

Find your polling place, go to the polls and make sure no one tries to turn you away.

Oh, and if you've got the punch-card ballot, it pays to double-check your work. Unfortunately, the touch-screen machines don't give you a receipt. I'm hoping upon hope for an election that doesn't feel like highway robbery.

Last-minute costume ideas here

2004-10-31T11:53:00.000-08:00

Want your child to be unique and relevant all at once? Well, put down that Spider-Man mask and save the Cinderella gown for next year.

Instead, take you kid door-to-door in one of these ensembles. Pay special attention to those homes that boast a Bush-Cheney support sign on the chemically-treated lawns. Lawns that must conceal some frightening secrets. Lawns where they must have buried their hearts, brains and souls to be voting for the most nefarious duo in America's history. Lawns where these voters will soon tred to uproot the signs in defeat after Bush-Cheney lose on Nov. 2, as they deserve.

Consider my optimism your treat in lieu of mini candybars. It's healthier for you and, oh yes, America's future.

Stake that, George Bush!: 'Buffy' creator joins the John Kerry 'Fray'

2004-10-19T13:55:00.000-07:00

The above subject line may be the stupidest-sounding "Buffy" reference I've ever made, but I'm incredibly heartened to see John Kerry support coming from Joss Whedon, creator of my favorite television show of all time. Whedon has agreed to do a nationwide conference call to all those who host home-based fundraising parties for Kerry-Edwards. If you have a party, your guests pay a minimum of $35 at the door and then get to hear from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" creator Joss Whedon.

There was a time I worried a little about Mr. Whedon when, in the seventh and last season of "Buffy," my favorite Chosen One started rounding up potential vampire slayers to pre-emptively strike a group of uber-vampires living beneath Sunnydale. Some of Buffy's rhetoric sounded similar to what was coming less articulately out of the mouth of George W. See below for an example.

Buffy : You're right. We don't know how to fight it. We don't know when it'll come. Can't run, can't hide. Can't pretend it's not the end 'cause it is. Something's always been there to try and destroy the world, and we've beaten them back. Well, we're not dealing with them anymore. We're dealing with why they exist. Evil. The strongest. The First.
Giles : Buffy, um, I-I know you're tired...
Buffy : I'm beyond tired. I'm beyond scared. I'm standing on the mouth of hell and it's gonna swallow me whole. And it'll choke on me. We're not ready? They're not ready. They think we're gonna wait for the end to come, like we always do. I'm done waiting. They want an apocalypse? We'll give them one. Anyone else who wants to run? Do it now, 'cause we just became an army. We just declared war. From now on we won't just face our worst fears, we will seek them out. We will find them and cut out their hearts till the First shows itself for what it really is. And I'll kill it myself. There is only one thing on earth more powerful than evil, and that's us. Any questions?

I thought, NO! Joss cannot support this war in Iraq. He cannot support this president. Joss, after all, is a decent, thinking person who creates great television.

I'm glad for liberal Hollywood. I'm sick of the beating actors, directors and writers take when they throw their support behind a particular cause or candidate ... well, if that cause or candidate is a liberal or Democratic one. Charlton Heston can advocate that every U.S. citizen gets a rifle at birth, but Martin Sheen marches in a few protests and he's told to mind his own business.

Sorry, but the issues -- and especially this election -- are everyone's business. Don't tell me that Sean Penn or Susan Sarandon or Tim Robbins shouldn't talk about voting because they don't know the issues or what's going on.

These people are still parents. They see what world their kids will get stuck with under four more years of the Bush regime. These people travel the world for their work. They certainly know better than Joe Suburbia what other nations think of America right now. They're Americans and, granted, privileged Americans at that. But they have the visibility to start discourse in this country about the issues and attitudes that need to be addressed.

I'm guessing that the Right Wing gets upset about the celebrity endorsements mainly because their lists of celebrity supporters is so small and the celebs they do have as backers are so INCREDIBLY LAME: I mean, Ricky Martin, Ted Nugent, Don King, Jim Nabors? (I'm admittedly a little disappointed that Buffy-embodier Sarah Michelle Gellar appears on the list, but I'd rather have the show's creator.)

I mean, the right-wing celebrities don't draw flak for their views: How many times do I have to watch Mr. Heston caress his guns? How many times do I have to hear Toby Keith singing about putting boots up terrorists' asses? Why did I need to know that Jesus freak Mel Gibson wanted to kill Frank Rich's dog?

Well, actually, none, none and I don't (though hearing Mel Gibson talk about putting someone's intestines on a stick and killing the same person's dog was great, considering he released the quote while publicizing a Christ movie.)

I turn away. And if you're a right-winger that just can't stand your favorite celeb is taking an impassioned stand for something, you can do the same if it means that much to you. And be proud, cause Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen are still on your side.

Friday night nepotism

2004-10-15T22:08:00.000-07:00

Those who've read over the past couple days probably believe I'm fiercely political.

I'm also fiercely proud of my brother, an independent filmmaker who's nearly done with editing his second film, "Cocked: A First Shot at Crime." A preview is up right now.

Shot against the lush backdrop of Oak Lawn, and produced by Brandt Street Studio (also located in glamourous Oak Lawn), "Cocked" is a must-see ... when it officially releases.

My brother also wrote, directed, shot and edited "Born for Death" (again, filmed in Oak Lawn), which won an award and accolades at the Chicago Horror Film Festival. You can buy the DVD here.

No Hollywood egos, trite endings or focus-group controlled cinema here, folks. Just a true love of good film ... and lots of fake blood.

And hey, you can say you were among his first fans, and I know how people love that kind of stuff.

I can't wait to read this!

2004-10-15T14:19:00.000-07:00

The Believer's October issue has an interview with John Kerry. Not only that, but the mag ditched it's usual four-image cover to give the entire front over to the Great Dem Hope!

Sharing is good.

2004-10-15T13:27:00.000-07:00

You can now email posts from my blog to your friends. Note the little envelope icon at the tail end of each entry; communicate away, good souls.

The O'Reilly ( ... Ohmigod, get your) Factor (away from me!)

2004-10-14T13:50:00.000-07:00

The Smoking Gun has posted text from a lawsuit a former FOX NEWS employee filed against Bill O'Reilly for sexual harassment (as opposed to his usual brand of harassment -- against anybody who disagrees with him.)

They've highlighted the best bits, but read the whole thing to get an idea of where the narrow-minded pinhead is coming from. (Oh, not like that ... )

Didn't O'Reilly bash Clinton for his extramarital affair? Here, O'Reilly talks about how he's looking forward to an Italy trip for more than the pasta.

I especially like the part where he tells the complainant that's she's got no chance if she files suit against him because he has more money to retain legal counsel than she does and therefore she'll have no chance at winning.

Wonder what he'll be doing with his tax cut?

More on "Stolen Glory"

2004-10-14T09:32:00.000-07:00

Richard Roeper of the Chicago Sun-Times writes briefly about the Sinclair issue today: He and I are on the same page ... Republicans serve up outrage better than liberals. If Sinclair was airing a Michael Moore flick, Rush and Annie (Coulter) would need bigger dribble cups to scoop up their excess foaming-at-the-mouth. (Yes, just used that phrase as a noun.)

Writing fever ... coming soon.

2004-10-13T19:16:00.000-07:00

That's me; writing a novel in a month. But, um, if you want to learn more about National Novel Writing Month, go to the links column and click on the icon there. Once the month is under way, I'll post a link or two to excerpts from my (Written at) Great (Speed) American Novel.

"Stolen Honor" rips off democracy

2004-10-13T07:45:00.000-07:00

Usually, I try to be funny on this page (don't know if I succeed, as I don't get many comments ... hint, hint), but this is a topic severely unfunny. Read at your own risk.

I'm glad John Kerry won't accept Sinclair Media's invitation to respond to the airing of a negative documentary, "Stolen Honor: Wounds that Never Heal" on his Vietnam service. If you haven't heard, Sinclair is demanding that all 62 of its stations -- many in swing states -- must air the documentary, with no commercials. Worse yet, Sinclair isn't billing the film as a documentary -- which at least would imply that it contains some opinions -- but instead it's billing this film as news. This article details further Sinclair's actions, which should seemingly be provoking outrage across the country.

Can't anyone do outrage anymore?

Granted, what passes for journalism these days -- especially in the television broadcast arena -- is little more than regurgitated press releases from our leaders and newsmakers. For a reporter to ask a tough question somehow leads to charges that said reporter is biased.

But Sinclair is using corporate power to deny fairness.

This is the same company that pulled "Nightline" off the air the day Ted Koppel was to read the names of the service men and women killed in Iraq.

But they're airing this film, claiming their basis to be that "John Kerry has made his Vietnam Service the foundation of his presidential run." Excuse me? Yes, the man is proud of his service, his three Purple Hearts and his later activism, but they're overlooking the countless issues he's brought up in the debates, in his speeches and on his website.

In other words, Sinclair is using a fallacy to justify pushing its stations to give free attack time to Bush & Co.

I haven't seen the film. It won't change my vote. Basically, though, the documentary comprises interviews with Vietnam veterans who say their Vietnamese captors used John Kerry's 1971 Senate testimony, in which he recounted stories of American atrocities, to prolong their torture by making them feel betrayed.

Not to be glib, but I'd bet you could play episodes of "The Andy Griffith Show" or "Happy Days" to POWs and, every time they saw Opie or the Fonz for the rest of their lives, they'd feel pretty tortured by the images. If torture was doled out with a tasty steak following every mental or physical trauma experiment, I bet the POWs would come back with a taste aversion to beef. It's called the power of association.

Here, in the text of Kerry's testimony , I see honesty, conviction and more eloquence than most people of 27 years (John Kerry's age in 1971) could hope to possess. Whether you agree with his activism or not, a man coming home from war to speak honestly before his nation's leaders about what he and many of his fellow soldiers viewed to be the wrong action seems to be just that: speaking honestly and with purpose. Bush & Co. have dared to say that John Kerry's actions at age 27 were simply so that he may one day launch a political career and run for office. Doubtful. Granted, Kerry was an infinitely more sentient being at 27 than our current president, but as someone at what I consider to be a smart age 27, it's hard to figure out what our big aspirations will be. Especially when you're part of a world as fucked up as the one we've got now ... or the one they had in 1971.

At any rate, and whatever side of the debate you're on, I urge you to ignore this film. During election years more than ever, network execs need to take precaution to uphold at least the appearance of fairness (while still asking tough questions -- something only Jon Stewart seems to know anything about.)We know Sinclair Media Group benefits from the Bush administration's support for loosening of FCC ownership standards and we know that Sinclair vice president Mark Hyman makes regular one-minute commentaries on-air -- and in most of these, he bashes Kerry. (Hyman, by the way, also compared Democrats to "Holocaust deniers" for comparing the free airing of the anti-Kerry POW film to in-kind advertising for Bush.)

Hyman has said that Sinclair will give Kerry the opportunity to respond, but what idiot would willingly subject himself to the "response time" provided by a media group that's clearly out to harm his chances? For him to take Sinclair up on its offer would be like RuPaul agreeing to sing at a Pat Robertson sermon.

What can we do? Writing this has been only slightly better than throwing my hands up in disgust.

Here's a list of Sinclair's advertisers. Write to them. Boycott them. And maybe throw a Fahrenheit 9-11 party on the night "Stolen Honor" airs on your Sinclair affiliate.

What if...?

2004-10-11T14:44:00.000-07:00

A woman is elected U.S. President?

Maybe not likely to happen in my lifetime, but someday it's gotta, right? (Let's pray it's never the likes of her or her.)

So my question is: If the United States (male) President's mate is a First Lady, what would we call a female U.S. President's (male) spouse? Obviously, a female partner or spouse for a president with two X chromosomes would still be a First Lady. And wouldn't that piss off the neocons?

Is the answer to this conundrum somewhere within our national documents? Would Ms. President's spouse be First Man? (That's kinda biblical for my tastes.) First Gentleman? (Sounds like she paid for an escort.) First Husband? (Does that imply that, because this mystery woman will be president, she will have a second husband?) First Mister? (Sounds kind of pervy, don't ya think?)

If we're ever going to have a female president, I think we need to settle this matter soon. Fixing up the rules to apply to our debut Ms. Prez can only encourage more women to seek the office. One day.

Otherwise, do away with the whole First Lady title. How white-gloved and Stepfordized can a title get? (Oh, wait, it's become ever more Stepford-ized with each and every photo and appearance of the plasticine Ms. W.B. Creepy.)

How can we lose?

2004-10-04T11:43:00.000-07:00

Click here for just one more piece of evidence that Democrats are smarter and funnier than Republicans.

How do you say "In Yo' Face" in Presidential Candidate-ese?

2004-10-01T07:22:00.000-07:00

Ha ha.

Based on the early evidence (and isn't it weird that both parties are allowed to spin the outcome of the debate to their sides, shouldn't it just be judged as a stand-alone piece), Kerry kicked W's ass. Even conservatives were afraid to say that Bush did any good because they'd then have to be tested for stupid genes. Oh, wait, conservatives don't believe in that gene therapy stuff.

I mean, the best W could come up with was telling people being president is "hard work" and Kerry "flip-flops"? Even following Kerry's nuanced (oh, that's become a bad word in the Bush administration) explanation on the method Bush & Co. employed to start the Iraq War is what he disagreed with, they still tried to fault the guy and, on "The Daily Show" afterward Rudy Guiliani sounded like your old, senile aunt who can't remember if you're a boy or a girl. He even kept going back to the flip-flop thing, as Jon Stewart tried to help Rudy redeem himself.

(This dialogue is an approximation:)
Jon: Well, don't you think Kerry was saying he didn't agree with the way we went into Iraq?
Rudy: No. He just wasn't being consistent.
Jon: Well, I thought it sounded like he said that, yes, Saddam may have been a threat but we should have exhausted every possibility diplomacy-wise and inspection-wise before our pre-emptive strike.
Rudy: Well, Jon, here you have a candidate who wants more allies on our side but is saying we're doing the wrong thing. What's up with that, bro?
Jon: Okay, what are you doing even talking about the debates? You were mayor of New York and suddenly became Expert Numero Uno because you were in office on Sept. 11? I think you should go back to sweeping up Times Square.
Rudy: John Kerry is inconsistent. I like New York. And cheese. Consistent cheese. Where am I?

So, anyway, in the next two debates, John Kerry should give us more of the same so that we as a nation can have something vastly different from the last four years.

Jon Stewart should hire me.

2004-09-30T10:00:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I have a crush on the man or just want to work for him. (My link to "The Daily Show" site at right should count for something...) But we need more people who can be incredibly smart and yet self-deprecating and funny simultaneously. And do all that stuff while on TV, which is sorely lacking in simultaneously funny, smart, self-deprecating types (yet another reason TV in general should hire me, that and I need a new job soon since I'm typing blog entries and fantasizing about writing for TV while I should be hammering out a press release that makes my organization sound way better than it is.)

An interview with The Jon is here. Read it, but I've got first dibs on the next opening at "The Daily Show."

Things Kerry Should Bring Up in Tonight's Debate but Won't.

2004-09-30T07:56:00.000-07:00

The reason Kerry's message gets mixed is because he has so much potential fodder against George W. and his messed-up neocon army that he doesn't know what to use first.

I'm afraid for my man Kerry at tonight's debates. He hasn't mastered the say-nothing platitudes that the Bush administration so effectively uses to woo a great deal of the American populace who just want to get back to watching "Fear Factor. "Kerry needs to come out swinging his wind-surfing toned arms and say, "Hey, you can claim to fight terror all you want, but you royally screwed up on September 11." I mean, they had warning in the form of a "historic" memo distributed not long before Osama bin Laden -- who, according to the memo, was "determined to attack inside the United States -- and his forces waged murder on thousands before our very eyes. Kerry could say a billion things about broken promises, squelching of people's First Amendment rights, shitting all over our environment and cowtowing to the rich and the rabid Christian Right. We could vote to impeach Bill Clinton over lying about a blow job but we can't even get enough votes to shout a collective "You're Fired!" at a guy who lied and misled and fearmongered to send thousands of troops to go die and kill innocents in a war that should have never been.

So John Kerry, go here. McSweeney's has made it easy to come up with succinct daily evils of Bush & Co. that effectively convey the myriad reasons these Teflon-coated psychotic clowns need to go.

Oh, and buy this book while you're there.

Hey, Mac! Britney can't stay married Furlong

2004-09-20T06:42:00.000-07:00

Britney Spears got married. That crazy bitch. Five minute ceremony, intimate locale and a tiara instead of a trucker hat. It's a proud day for the sanctity of marriage. Yes, if gay couples were allowed to tie the knot, they'd certainly destroy the very thread that runs through this hallowed sacrament.

Too bad Edward Furlong wasn't invited: He was arrested Sept. 15 for allegedly attempting to lift lobsters from a tank at a Kentucky Meijer store. Furlong was reportedly very drunk, which made both the lobsters and hanging out in Kentucky seem like good ideas. But if he'd read his invite to fellow child star Britney's wedding carefully, he would have known that crab cakes were have been available in abundance. I guess those Terminator 2 residuals aren't as good as one would be led to believe.

Macaulay Culkin also was arrested last week, on Sept. 17. Pulled over for speeding on an Oklahoma City highway, Mac was found with 17.3 grams of marijuana and prescription drugs minus the prescriptions.

Three once-promising -- or at least wildly rich -- child stars cut down in their prime. Okay, post-prime.

And now .... a haiku. (Because when I began writing this entry, I truly believed I'd come up with an inventive and clever way to tie these three together but then I began a self-flagellation process because I'm writing about celebrities instead of things that truly matter like former cokeheads who became president...)

Britney and Kevin
hitched; Macaulay and Ed nailed.
I fear for Hanson.

MmmBop and I'm out...

Carried by Kerry

2004-06-28T12:46:00.000-07:00

If only I could close my eyes momentarily.

Not because I'm tired. Well, that too.

But because, if given the chance to sleep, even for a few minutes, I'll be visited by John Kerry.

The visits started after I saw "Fahrenheit 9/11" on Saturday. Like a good liberal, I made time on the opening weekend -- my fiance and I contributed about $18 to Moore's latest flick's $21.8 million gross.

It's a film you can't say you "liked." Because, if all the bloodshed, treachery and corruption hadn't occured, Moore couldn't have made the movie. It would be nice to live in a world so problem-free that there'd have been no fodder for this piece of work.

But the bloodshed, treachery and corruption do exist -- thanks a great deal to Bush, Dick, Colin and a whole array of villainous sidekicks. So I'm glad for a film that does a better job than corporate media at covering the issue, even if said film is "opinion based on fact." (Moore's words.)

Anyway, back to my Kerry visit.

After my teary-eyed viewing of "Fahrenheit 9/11," I slept surprising well.

And I dreamt.

Okay, it started with a dream in which two engaged friends got married in the middle of a busy intersection in Chicago's south suburbs. But, the way dream story-telling goes, the wedding ended with no collisions and I was suddenly part of a crime-solving duo with John Kerry.

It wasn't Nick & Nora-esque. The partnership was chaste, with nothing untoward taking place. John Kerry was a good guy to have on my side.

I don't know the nature of our investigation.

It could have been The Case of the Missing Jobs. Or, The Mystery of the Non-Existent WMDs. Maybe it was The Curse of the Disappearing Civil Liberties.

I didn't sleep long enough for Kerry and me to actually solve any of these befuddling and disturbing "cases." But I do remember that he wore a long trench coat and didn't talk a whole lot.

We toured apartments and office buildings, gathering clues. At one point, I stepped ahead of Kerry's lead. I nearly fell into a hole of some sort. His reflexes were fast; he grabbed my arm and pulled me away from that drop to a sorry fate.

His arms were strong, but not bulging. His grip was good. I felt oddly comforted. Safe might be the word.

It might have been Kerry's confidence, his sureness. He led without being dictatorial. He was resourceful. He didn't put me in harm's way, especially without checking it out first by himself.

Those are pretty good qualities for a detective. They seem like even better qualities for a president.

I guess I can live with the comic-book scenarios of my subconscious for a while longer. Say, til November 2.

But I would feel a lot better if the president/detective of my dreams got to seize a good grip on reality.

Maybe then, this waking nightmare would end.

I blog, therefore I ... eh.

2004-06-25T09:04:00.000-07:00

Just because you have a blog, does that make you a blogger?

I'm debating this internally because the work I could do at my day-job isn't as appealing as this jumble of activity in my brain.

But the question is along the lines of that thing about the tree falling in the forest, no one around to hear it, does it make a sound, etc. It's like, if I sit here and type, but no one bothers to read it, does it really count as a blog or I as a blogger?

Answers to both questions:

Yes, the tree makes a sound. A sound that takes place with no ears to witness it does exist; it's just a matter of the tree falling and the sound it made won't exist in a person's perspective or memory. But certainly the reverbrations the sound releases into the atmosphere eventually reach us in imperceptible ways. So really, we hear it somehow, even though not conscious of it.

As to the blogging, sure I can type away, and my blog exists, but if no one is around to read it, why should I be recognized as a blogger? I could just be typing into a MS document and saving it on my hard drive seeing as I'll probably be the only one to read the things I've posted. But, would the things I write if only I were to read them be of the same subject, content and style if I didn't write them with the notion that someone else might indeed read them?

What I really should start thinking about are topics to ponder here that are far more interesting than these 'if-then' questions?

Next time: Which came first -- chicken, egg or Colonel Sanders' DNA?

Who is imp?

2004-06-24T08:34:00.000-07:00

Do you really care?

I'm fearful of creating a purposeless blog. I have blog-envy when I read other bloggers' robust posts in which they devote themselves wholly to a topic of supreme importance.

I will tell you what I'm not:

--I am not a famous, slightly wacky comedian claiming I faked my death a few decades ago.
--I am not trying to raise money for an artistic or business venture, seeing as that would require a plan and plans aren't my strong suit.
--I am not trying to urge you to random acts of kindness in which you throw some dollars my way so that I can dig myself out of debt. I do, however, have debt. But seeing as I got myself into it, why should you dear readers (are there any of you?) get me out of it?
--I am not somewhere important, writing defining insights on the world we are living in. I am not in a wartorn desert, nor am I in the dusty bowels of the U.S. capital, observing the ravages of the current administration. I read the news, so you might not escape a political rant or three, but if you agree or disagree, just realize you're neither identifying nor scorning anyone of real power or influence. (Well, that one vote, which is important.)
--I have no friends in cool, up-and-coming bands, I don't partake in much exciting celebrity-laden nightlife and I don't have contacts in the publishing industry. However, I have good taste in music and friends in several undiscovered and cool bands. I do read celebrity-laden journalism (who doesn't?), and I would thrill to actually make some publishing contacts -- if not to publish my stuff than at least to give me free promo copies of books.

What I hope for imp_perfect is to show what it means to have an imp in one's life. An imp, you see, is mischievious and gets into everything. Maybe imps are a bit fickle, but they never run out of interests and curiosity. This isn't to prop myself up in any way, but more just to let potential readers know that, if they want a day-after-day dissection of subjects that fall into the same general topic area, well, forget it.

Perhaps, too, you'll realize that imps could be a little more dedicated to the task at hand. And they could be a little more consistent. I may piss you off. I may see deep into your soul one day and yammer on about unflattering (not naked) pictures of Paris Hilton the next. I may be a picture of grammatical correctness, well, a lot of the time. But I may be the antithesis of an organized writer. I may prattle on endlessly. Or I might end things too abruptly.

Okay...

2004-06-23T14:59:00.000-07:00

I'm starting this thing. It may be the best or worst decision I've made in my lifetime. I don't plan to dissect any one given aspect of the culture, nor do I want to bore anyone with details of my mundane life, any collections I've cultivated or the nuances and hardships of planning a wedding -- something I'm trying to simultaneously do and ignore.

I might devote a lot of space in this blog to things I discover when I should be working, but not until I'm sure none of you can figure out where I work and what it is I'm supposed to be working at. Oh, and to clarify, these things I discover will have nothing to do with actually working.

In fact, I'm about to leave the dayjob, but just wanted to get something out in to cyber space. I hope as my posts continue, they'll grow more insightful or at least more humorous. If any fellow bloggers have recommended reading for me, I'm game to hear about it.

imp