Devo 2.Oh-oh

Today I was looking for a song in I-Tunes and misclicked to the children’s section. There was a banner for the next big thing in tween music: DEVO 2.0

DEVO 2.0 is all the original hits of DEVO (Whip it and …. uhm… Whip It) and a bunch of other DEVO songs (I would conjecture) remade by what appears to be a tone-deaf 12 year old girl.. While the music was actually physically painful (to say the VERY least) I found the customer reviews to be quite entertaining. I read 78 reviews of the CD “DEVO 2.0,” as recorded by the band DEVO 2.0. (It seems as though these kids have never heard of the band Big Country or they might have seen how this is gonna go down.) Here are some excerpts from my favorite customer reviews (not changed in any way):

-This Music Is Like The Originals But It Is Like Crazy Frog. I Listen to It Every Day

-Ever wonder what DEVO would sound like if all its members were pre-pubescent children? Yeah, me neither.

-Bottom line: it sucks, the apocalypse is coming!

-I’m speechless. Just listening to the previews was proof enough that this is the worst piece of garbage that I have ever heard. DEVO was pure genius. Dressing up spoiled rich kids to make them look “new wave” is an insult to my intelligence….

-I guess this is ok… not!

-Shoot me. What’s next? NIN 2.0? Please, Disney, PLEASE stop! What’s wrong with kids listening to the original artist? Last time I checked, Devo didn’t drop too many f-bombs in their catalogue. This album is a sign of the apocalypse.

-The horror. A Devo cover band devoid of irony. This is horrendous. I can’t say how much I detest this piece of devolved excrement.

-WOW. This is some craptacular carcrash… it’d totally open up that coveted canine demographic. This is landfill. Treat it accordingly.

-Way to RUIN Devo.

-I’m going to try to forget that this exists.

-I am in peace when I hear Devo, but I am in hell when I hear DEVO 2.0; so if you want to get this waste of time (not to be rude) you should really get Devo!!!! Because there are some kids willing to do anything for money, just like these kids!!!

-This is a complete rip off and they have nothing in common musically with the actual band. (Devo)

-My ears are throwing up.

-I would give this no stars if I could.

-Tee-hee. This is funny. I think I like it, and that scares me.

-What hath Disney wrought. This is a horrendous mockery of the Devo name.

-DEVO is one of the most influental new wave bands there ever was. To think that a bubblegum pop girl and her friends could give DEVO the respect they deserve was thinking too much. This is like kids bob for nerds.

Canadian, Hooker, Cowboy.

William Shatner

Although best known for his role as Captain James T. Kirk in the popular “Star Trek” television series and movies, William Shatner has appeared in dozens of productions, ranging from “Judgment at Nuremberg” to “Miss Congeniality.” He brings his unique presentation style to “Extinction!” as the show’s narrator.

The Montreal native was graduated from McGill University and began his acting career in 1956. He appeared in several movies before earning fame as leader of the “Star Trek” ensemble cast and, later, in the title role of the police-themed television series “T.J. Hooker.” He currently stars as lawyer Denny Crane on “Boston Public.”

Shatner has hosted TV’s “Iron Chef USA,” “Rescue 911” and “Saturday Night Live.” He has appeared in Broadway productions, recorded music and created the “Tek” series of science fiction books, which became a Canadian TV series. He is also CEO of Core Digital Effects, a Toronto-based company that has produced digital effects for movies.

In 1999, Shatner received an Emmy Award for his guest appearance on “Third Rock from the Sun.” He earned a Golden Globe Award in 2005 for his performance on “Boston Public.”

In addition to his work in the entertainment industry, Shatner owns a horse farm in Kentucky, where he shows American Saddlebred and Quarter horses. He and his family live in California.

William Shatner, You Crafty Bastard!

As an Aside, I would LOVE to mention that the title of this picture file was "extinct_shatner." When I clicked to view where Google Images took the photo from, I found it intriguing that the Moorehead Planetarium chose William Shatner to narrate a show called "Extinction!" Below it was an interesting biographical note (which I shall post momentarily.)

Have you seen this? The William Shatner DVD Club. A banner ad for it was running over some garbage I was reading on the interweb. This is one of those DVD subscription programs except you get "Exceptional movies for the Sci-Fi fan!"

Major slogan: "Own the Underground Hits No One Else Has!"

"Join the William Shatner DVD Club and Discover Great Movies! William Shatner has culled the thousands of films he has seen into a collection of the best Sci-Fi, Horror & Fantasy movies available."
"Proprietary Playlist- Only members can enjoy expert selections from the William Shatner DVD Club. We never publish a list of our constantly evolving collection.
Memorable Titles- Members receive stimulating movies selected from the classic Shatner Collection or one of his most recent finds. "

Some movie examples:

I've actually seen this one. On accident. I swear. Ginger Snaps
"Caustic and refreshingly twisted, Ginger Snaps is a frightening fable that puts a credible and modern spin on the traditional werewolf movie. Sisters Ginger and Brigitte are ostracized by their town and classmates because of their morbid inclinations. After being attacked by a wolf, Ginger begins to exhibit some bizarre behavior while embracing a new lust for life. Brigitte is caught in the awkward position of deciding between saving her past self and joining Ginger in her transformation."

I think that I saw this one too. I believe it was called Ghost Busters II. Or was it Stargate? Gosh, I've seen so many movies! The Immortal (Immortel ad Vitam)
"Based on the French graphic novel by Enki Bilal, Immortal was one of the first films to use an entirely digital backlot to create a stunning fantasy world where gods, mutants, mortals and aliens converge. A floating pyramid has emerged in the skies above Manhattan in 2095, inhabited by ancient Egyptian gods who have come to pass judgment on one of their own, a falcon headed god named Horus. Horus must find a human host body to inhabit and a mate to preserve his immortality. In his quest he becomes irrevocably entwined with a blue haired girl embarking on an analogous journey. Stunning visual effects meld with poetic surrealism in the telling of this epic fantasy."

And of course the stunning:Dragon Storm
"Dragon Storm was developed and commissioned as a Sci-Fi Channel Original Picture. Set in the Dark Ages, the bitterly opposed rulers of two neighboring kingdoms put aside their rivalry to combat an alien-dragon menace. A team of fighters must brave death and destruction to defeat the fire-breathing dragons and ensure the future of mankind."

Featured Directors:
Stuart Gordon Born 1947 Illinois, USA – Notable Films Directed: King of the Ants (2003); Dagon (2001); Fortress (1993); Re-Animator (1985).
David DeCoteau Born 1962 Oregon, USA – Notable Films Directed: The Brotherhood (I-IV); Leeches (2003); Wolves of Wall Street (2002); Puppet Master (III / VI / VII)

Shatner's personal message:
"There is nothing quite as exhilarating as discovering a Sci-Fi, Fantasy or Horror classic-to-be that has gone unnoticed by the general movie watching population. I've personally chosen a select group of movies that were entertaining, original, and memorable to share with you. I hope that you enjoy them as much as I did [baby]." William Shatner.

I think my favorite part of the website is the "Weekly Poll: Which was William Shatner's finest Star Trek performance? ST2, ST3, ST6, or ST5." I can't believe that ST4 wasn't even listed! You know it's the one where they travel back in time to rescue a whale and Spock teaches a young punk on the bus the value of conformity via Vulcan Death Grip. Or was it the one where they traveled back to feudal Japan? Wait, no that was the Ninja Turtles.

I can't decide what to think of Good Ol Billy. He has spun an entire career off of a shortlived 60's TV show where the main plot device was him trying to touch alien boobies. He is either a complete joke or frighteningly brilliant.

Word of the day: Initiaivity

So guess who has 54 things on her 101 things list? Look Ma I am moderately less mediocre
That's right, I am once again doing things. Walking the lake, doing my hair, shopping, applying for Grad School. Perhaps, once again updating my blog? I think so.
To celebrate the doing thingsness that I have recently reclaimed I give you the most precious of my gifts:




Yes, this is a bunny with a Belgian waffle on its head. God, waffles are AMAZING. Thanks Google Images!

You gotta know when to hold 'em... and know when to run.

A family friend, my aunt, and two of my cousins and I were playing cards and my aunt was very very tired. She admitted that she would rather just go to bed than stay up and play any longer. We told her to go, but she hesitated. I said, "What you think we're going to run to the liquor store and pick up some booze and cigars?" Just then my youngest cousin, now 11, pipes up with "And nail polish." We are all staring at him like what the hell, our minds immediately swooping back to the time we all got grounded for painting his nails, when he clarified, "To sniff it."
Of course then I have to open my yap and say "You can't huff nail polish."
Great now two of us are in trouble.

Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places

Today I was browsing through the songs available to upload to my new phone.
I had carefully browsed each category until I arrived at "90's." I opened it up and was shocked to find that there were only two songs in it. Apparently the music of the entire decade can be summed up by the following two songs.

Song One:

Pump it up

Song Two:

Pump it up (remix)

Incidentally, I am sorely tempted to pick Mrs. Robinson as my mother's song....

You Better Work

Today I read this great article that postulated a new and exciting theory as to why our mainstream kids are falling behind: they're lazy bastards.
I couldn't agree more.

Ben Stein = sexy beast.

What follows is the transcript of an editorial that Ben Stein wrote for the December 18, 2005 CBS Sunday Morning.


Here at this happy time of year, a few confessions from my beating heart. I have no freaking clue who Nick and Jessica are. I see them on the cover of People and Us constantly when I'm buying my dog biscuits. I still don't know. I often ask the checkers at the grocery stores who they are. They don't know who Nick and Jessica are, either. Who are they? Will it change my life if I know who they are and why they've broken up? Why are they so darned important? I don't know who Lindsay Lohan is either, and I don't care at all about Tom Cruise's baby. Am I going to be called before a Senate committee and asked if I'm a subversive? Maybe. But I just have no clue who Nick and Jessica are. Is this what it means to be no longer young? Hm, not so bad.

Next confession: I am a Jew and every single one of my ancestors was Jewish, and it does not bother me even a little bit when people call those beautifully lit-up, bejeweled trees Christmas trees. I don't feel threatened. I don't feel discriminated against. That's what they are — Christmas trees. It doesn't bother me a bit when people say 'Merry Christmas' to me. I don't think they're slighting me or getting ready to put me in a ghetto. In fact, I kind of like it. I shows that we're all brothers and sisters celebrating this happy time of year.

It doesn't bother me one bit that there's a manger scene on display at a key intersection at my beach house in Malibu. If people want a creche, fine. The menorah a few hundred yards away is fine, too. I do not like getting pushed around for being a Jew, and I don't think Christians like getting pushed around for being Christians. I think people who believe in God are sick and tired of getting pushed around, period. I have no idea where the concept came from that America is an explicitly atheist country. I can't find it in the Constitution and I don't like it being shoved down my throat. Or maybe I can put it another way. Where did the idea come from that we should worship Nick and Jessica and aren't allowed to worship God as we understand him? I guess that's a sign that I'm getting old, too. But there are a lot of us who are wondering where Nick and Jessica came from and where the America we used to know went to.


I like Ben Stein. The snarkiness is pretty hot.

Un-Intelligent Design

So I read this article this morning about how piles of money are shockingly not greatly improving the lives of lottery winners. Why ever might that be? Could it be that people who pay a dollar a week for a one in a billion chance at unearned riches are not amazing money managers?

The lottery is the only system of welfare paid for exclusively by the people who can least afford it. The lottery is wrong. Your lotto ticket buying grannies are subsidizing under-funded programs that should be paid for by funded state mandate. Supporting the lotto is encouraging our government to tax the poor for social programs designed to benefit the poor (while the rich buy yachts and pinch bottoms in St. Barts.) Furthermore, allowing the poor to elect one person to be rich obviously doesn’t benefit the community and also doesn’t benefit the newly moneyed individual. Most folks who have the capacity to earn reasonable wealth are doing so and are not spending money on the lotto.

Winning the lottery is kicking Darwin in the nuts. It’s setting up a survival of the least fit situation. I can give my dog a flux capacitor, but he’ll just piss on it; it takes a Doc Brown to stick it in a DeLorean and err… popularize rock and roll. Can we please stop giving these dogs flux capacitors? Can we please leave Darwin’s nuts alone?

Another example: warning labels. You mean I shouldn’t tip a soda machine onto myself? I shouldn’t drink Drain-o? Au contraire, I say. If I have the God given American right to be an asshole, I think I should have the right to accidentally kill myself, should I be a complete idiot. Think of the babies people say. What of it? When was that last time you saw a baby trying to jiggle a Snickers out of a candy machine. When was the last time you saw a baby reading Dostoevsky? How about a Goodnight Moon? No? Well then what are the stickers for? Adults. Stupid adults. Mr. Yuck stickers are for kids. ‘Don’t jump into lion’s enclosure’ signs are for their moron parents.

Let idiots be idiots; how about instead of granting million dollar settlements to people who spill coffee on themselves, and allowing legalized gambling to fund our schools, we ask everyone (including corporations) to contribute towards better schools and hospitals. This way we don't have to give any old idiot a million dollars to put up his nose for ten years before he's back in the government cheese line, just to partially fund full day kindergarten for a year.

Baby Beluga

After my sudden realization of the finite nature of life and my wasting of said life I came to the conclusion that I need to do more. Instead of laying about the house reading this weekend, I needed to do something. It seemed to me that the hole in my life could easily be filled with polar bears. I LOVE polar bears; they’re my favorite animal which could easily tear off my arm. (Favorite animal that won’t tear of my arm: the tapir.) After only a small amount of arm twisting even my tough guy 11 year old cousin will admit that they are the “cutie-est.”

I decided to take said cousin to the Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium in Tacoma to witness cutie-est-ness in action. Neither of us had ever been, and soon we’d persuaded my aunt and uncle to join us. It was a nice winter day- by Seattle standards- crisp, grey, and cool. Bundled in mittens and hats we traveled from area to area, giving each animal its own cartoon voice. Mostly, it seems that the animals are bored, and would also like to eat us- even the tapirs.

I’d been worried that because it is winter, there might not be much to see. It turns out there is a lot to see at this time of the year. A LOT. A lot of penises to see. Everywhere we went all the animals were going at it, like uhm… animals. “Oh look red wolves…” I would say. “Oh my,” I would say shortly thereafter.

The worst (and by that I mean the worst thing I have EVER seen in my entire life) were the beluga whales. It started out innocently enough with the two whales playing with a floating hoop. They played keep-away and swiftly swam around dragging the hoop and swimming through it halfway like bloated, albino, ballerinas. Cute, happy, bloated, albino, ballerinas. It was like he was smiling. I bet he was smiling, the pervert. After a while I decided to go into the observation room below the water level and there is was. The scariest thing I’ve ever seen. A beluga whale penis. It was terrifying in ways I refuse to describe. Let me just say that if I was a lady whale I’d beach myself.

Unbelievably, my cousin didn’t even notice the 2 foot long erect whale penis. This is the same kid who at like 5 was watching Friends and turned to me and said, “What’s a condom?” I sat there for a second and then said, “I think those are for married people.” “What, so you don’t know,” he said giving me the look that said ‘you naïve, provincial thing.’ “Well, I’m not married yet. I think they’re for boys….” I said smugly going back to my reading.

Fajita sleeves

Yesterday I was eating lunch at my desk. Happily eating a fajita in one hand and clacking away with the other. Suddenly I catch motion out of the corner of my left eye. A huge chunk of fajita was sliding down my arm. Stunned I watched it fall into my sleeve. I have little to no feeling in my left arm (due to the removal of a nerve tumor a few years back) so apparently a tiny fajita juice lake had been pooling in the elbow of my sweater.
Now if that isn’t sexy I don’t know what is.

You May Be Right, I May Be Crazy...

"Self-respect is the fruit of discipline."
Abraham Heschel

I've always been obsessed with this concept. It's as though I really believe that if I am disciplined and work hard, and do everything right, I can be perfect and safe. But where is this taking me?

A while ago I tried to make a list of 101 things that I wanted to accomplish in the next 1001 days; the list was infested with things like "look into further retirement preparation," "re-prioritize investments," "build additional savings," "organize recipes," "organize holiday materials," "pay off student loan." Shouldn't I have first thought, "paint pottery," "learn how to crochet," "go to France," "skydive."

"Build additional savings?" For what? Plastic bins for my Easter shit?! Furthermore, I could only come up with 16 things. How terrible is it that the majority of my goals involved alphabetization or Consumer Reports? This is what I want in my published list of personal goals, "research and purchase a dining room table?" For the love of God, I'm researching furniture. I think I am finally losing it!

And of course my journal this year lists "New Years Resolution: Lead a more disciplined life."

Can you get more disciplined than having a will at 25? I even have a Porn Buddy. A designated friend with keys to my apartment, so that in the event of my death she will remove a bag with items I would prefer my grandmother not think I possess. I have a file labeled "In the event of Quiana's death," inside it is my will, a sheet of paper with all my account numbers and companies that need to be dealt with (insurance, bank accounts, etc.), and a list of music not to be played under any circumstances at my funeral (mostly angel related music).

Shouldn't I be scrapbooking shit? Or arranging flowers, or something? Instead of making earthquake kits and lecturing my parents on the value of renter's insurance??

Is it possible to be too prepared or is being neurotic and morbid simply my idea of fun? Is it ok to enjoy preparing for the worst that life has to offer?

You tell me.

The Horse Whimperer

This morning I was on the phone with Steve and I asked what his girlfriend and he had planned for the weekend. It turns out that his girlfriend has horseback riding lessons this Saturday. "Oh, riding lessons, cool. Is she learning western style or dressage?" I asked excitedly.
"Uhm... I don't know, I hate horses."
"How could you possibly hate horses?"
"Horses are vicious animals that will kill you on accident." said Steve.
"Hell Steve, I could kill you on accident."
"Well, you're not as big."
"But I bet I could still trample you to death."
"Probably not on accident."

Well, Steve I think that's the jury's job to decide.

Why should I change? He’s the one that sucks!

Today I attended a training entitled “Working with Difficult Behaviors (Including Your Own).” Yes kids, sensitivity training. Nice.
While I can’t fathom why I would like to learn to aid and abet assholes by tacitly agreeing that I don’t deserve to be treated with respect or professional behavior, I was quite curious as to what would be said about dealing with one’s own assholic attitudes. Also, the training was required.
I knew there would be trouble when I entered to find that the very very ethnic-y sounding named lady that would be leading the course was in fact one of those white people who’ve forgotten that every culture (including the various pale ones) have interesting aspects and provocative histories, thus have adopted whichever (though possibly a jumble of several) “Eastern” culture is readily available. She had a gong (hey onomatopoeia) and a Chinese printed Nehru jacket.
BONG! It begins.
Of course in the obligatory opening remarks we got down to the business of making shit up about feelings. We were told to always use “I Statements.”
Example of an “I Statement:” I feel bad when crazy-ass bitches yell at me over the phone because they failed to correctly complete and return their paperwork, despite numerous messages and emails before the deadline, which they’ve known about for literally 5 years.
Here’s an even better “I Statement:” I have a hard time taking my presenters seriously after they use the phrase “don’t let your life-fire die.” May I mention that the only thing burning inside me is the desire for Joaquin Phoenix and some Reflux Disorder symptoms.
Speaking of throwing up in my mouth…
First exercise of the day: write down the advantages to learning to more skillfully work with difficult behaviors. A good translation: how will taking it in the ass and learning to pretend that you like it improve your life at work?
Which leads me to this thought: the ENTIRE purpose of the meeting was to forcibly remove any expectation of personal or professional accountability from our peers.
Ok, I know you’ve all heard this a million times from me, but where the hell did accountability go?
Example of lack of accountability when negatively enforced:
I left my apartment a few weeks ago and as I walked to my car (parked on a quite narrow one-way street) I overheard two gentlemen talking. Gentleman #1 was saying to his friend, “I can’t believe some asshole hit my truck! They didn’t even leave a note with insurance information or anything!” Gentlemen #2, “What the hell is wrong with people these days?” I should mention that the man’s huge truck was a good 3.5-4 feet from the curb. Of course it did not occur to either gentleman that perhaps his truck got hit because it was parked in the middle of the fucking road! Why should someone stop to pay for damage that was caused to a vehicle illegally parked in the damn road? I might also mention that this road is the main access to the old folks home, tap studio, and architect studio on my street. I suppose the fact that customers, deliveries, and, oh say, emergency vehicles may need to, oh say, drive right there never occurred to this guy. While he was completely clueless as to the fact that his truck was likely hit due to his own stupidity, perhaps next time he will park closer to the curb.
Example of lack of accountability when positively enforced:
My cousin works for a very large luxury retail boutique corporation. She works the complaint line. (Her life must rock.) Anyway, one day she gets a call from some guy who parked at one of the locations and when he returned to his brand new Jaguar (HELLLLLLLOOOOOOO you just paid 50 grand for a FORD) someone has backed into it causing a rather steep garage bill and he “wants to know what VLLRBC is going to do about it?” He actually expected them to pay for damage that his car sustained from a non-employee while parked in their parking lot. Well, she tells him to go to hell, as nicely as possible. Well later this guy calls back, gets her boss on the line and VLLRBC agrees to pay for his car repairs and sends him a $150 gift card. What does this tell him? I yell, you pay.
Ah, the American Way.
Why should I positively reinforce abusive behavior, by being conciliatory and perky towards people who casually trample societal mores, office rules, and the law? Screw that, when people call me and start abusing, I have no compunction in interrupting to demand an email cc’d to both of our supervisors. Shaming people into appropriate behavior was your mama’s job, but if she couldn’t manage it I’m always happy to help.

What Would Tyler Durden Do?

Check out this website, it's my newest favorite.
Actual quote:
[Britney,] what the hell does it take for you to snap, to get angry and stun KFed in the side of the head with a cider jug and then strangle him with your rope belt. I promise you, no one is gonna care. Cops hate wiggers like dogs hate cats.

Insult + Injury

Last week I was very sternly instructed to stay home Friday and stay off my stupid foot all weekend. So I stayed home Friday; but I was in my apartment from Thursday at 6 until Saturday morning and I felt that if I sat in my apartment for even one more moment I would actually die.
Pajama clad, on crutches, in pig-tales and a Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy hoodie, I began my two block pilgrimage. I made it all the way to my beloved Albertsons (which was closing it's doors for good that very day) and I gazed upon it's beautiful convenience. Sighing, I turned towards the street, and put my hands in my hoodie pouch to get my netflix returns and letter to Charles. There in front of me was a completely empty patch of dirt. Let me clarify. In highschool, there was a mailbox there; in college, also a mailbox; last Wednesday, a mailbox; Saturday, a patch of dirt. Was my mailbox stolen? Did high school kids show up and throw it the back of their truck? Were they, at that very moment, watching people's netflix and reading their birthday cards? Did the Post Office show up and just remove it because Albertsons was moving? Surely mailbox locations are not contingent to Albertsons locations.
I was standing there staring at the ground when a beautiful young fellow came jogging past. Slowing to a stop he said, "Are you ok?" I said, "Yes, but my fucking mailbox is completely gone." As opposed to partially gone. Good job Q! "Oh, well I guess you can mail it at home." Here I am in Underdog jammy pants and a hoodie, on CRUTCHES, what does he think I'm on my morning constitutional?

For Gluttonous Sloths:

http://taquitos.net/

Stephen Colbert Thinks I’m Hateful.

Oh yea Colbert? Well I think you’re… hot.
Damn it.
In the most recent issue of The Onion Stephen Colbert (or Cuddle Buns as I prefer to call him) asserted that:
Jon [“Love Muffin,” Stewart] couldn't say on camera that he thinks Rosa Parks was overrated, because that's a hateful thing to say. But this character [Stephen Colbert’s character on the Colbert Report] can get away with it, because the audience on some level knows [he doesn't] mean it.
What?! Stop judging me!
Ok, so I may have said that I think that Rosa Parks is over-rated. But I did this huge research project on the Bus Boycott and it was a planned event. Yes, Rosa Parks was a good woman, brave and willing to face up to many dangers. But it wasn’t as though one day she was just not gonna move. She’d previously refused to move and had no negative repercussions. The Civil Rights movement didn’t just fall into place because people decided to randomly make changes. The Movement was carefully orchestrated by very intentional people who needed a figure like Rosa Parks.
Rosa Parks should be admired, but not for the reasons you think. Rosa was brave enough to face the potential consequences that went far beyond jail time. There's a difference between a fireman saving a baby from a burning building and a civilian doing the same.
Rosa Parks didn't stumble upon icon status by accident, it wasn't her feet that were tired of sitting in the back of the bus.

Bad Blogger, Bad

Ok see here's the deal. I'm grouchy and I broke my foot. Well, ok it turns out that I didn't break it. I did something crazy to it and my Doctor says there's nothing to be done about it and not to walk for basically a month. So I've been hobbling around and laying about with my foot up. Since I've been at home every day I've been doing the following:
Weeping.
Reading a lot.
Writing angry letters to Albertsons.
Watching embarrassing TV.
Hey food channel.
Obsessing about money.
Obsessing about my telephone.
Obsessing about why people with legitimate exercise induced foot injuries have to park in the back of the parking lots, but people who can't walk because they're fat get to park in the handicapped spots.Looking forward to mobility.
Obsessing about my foot.
Not having anything exciting happen to me to blog about. (I don't even need to bitch about the weather, seeing as I can't go anywhere.)

Wanna hear a funny foot story? Well a funny my grandma tries to murder me regularly story? Sure ya do.

So my grandmother really believes in homeopathic medicine. So she's always giving me horrible remedies for things.
Ex. 1. When I was tiny she made me take these stinky brown liquid vitamins. Picture my mom tearing around the house and pinning cute little Quiana in piggy-tails to the ground and jamming a full dropper in her mouth mostly missing. Even though each bottle was 2 months worth Grandma always sent one a month... just in case. (She continues this tradition to this date, when I last moved I threw out 8 bottles of vitamins.) One day my mom was lecturing me about behaving like a baby when it was vitamin time. I told her “if you like the vitamins so much, why don’t you take them?” She said "fine, I will." She put a drop on her tongue and then hurled everywhere.
Ex. 2. The dust infused with positive energy. So I was having some serious health problems a few years back and (as usual) was hiding them from Grandma. Well, when she got wind of my illness she came bustling over with this little tub. It was filled with dust. This dust was a mix of mud and ground crystals that were "infused with positive energy." Basically she was trying to get me to consume magic dirt. "It's from Wyoming," she assured me. "Oh, I see, Wyoming is healthy and magical, it must be the dirt! Wyoming, the Magic Dirt State.") It had cost her a bundle but I threw it away; wasn't it this very same woman who admonished me for playing in the dirt as a child? Even 4 year old Quiana knew not to eat mud pies. Later I was at the airport watching CNN and they were busting homeopathic frauds. Wait for it… wait… wait… ok. Turns out that eating dirt is not good for you. I know, “jump back, I shouldn’t eat dirt. OOPS!” If I had been dutifully drinking this dirt water it might have killed me. (My liver probably couldn't have handled another strain.)
Given this empirical evidence, I knew that when Grandma pressed the bottle into my hand I should've thrown it away. It was a liniment ("to heal your foot, it worked great on Daisy[her schnauzer].") I don't recall what it was called, but it sounded ominously like "Balrog," which we all know is a fiery demon. Hmmmmmmmm... a fiery demon for my foot... sounds awesome. I didn't want to lie to my Grandmother and I figured a liniment probably couldn't cause liver failure, so I decided try it. And in any event, my foot had been really improving, so what could it hurt? Baby blue and completely opaque, it looked like Smurf Jam and smelled like the bastard child of a tube of mentos and some necco wafers. I put it on my foot. It tingled and made my foot feel cold. I thought "either this is working or my foot is about to fall completely off." As I sat reading Calvin and Hobbes, my foot became quite numb. At some point I got up to brush my teeth. The next day I could barely walk.
That woman is a hazard.

Well, it's not raining men... damn it.

Happy 26th day of rain.


I'm seriously going to get trenchfoot soon.

Please inspect the page of galoshes, one pair shall go on me tootsies. Let me know what you think. I'm leaning toward the westies or ooze, although leopard-print is also appealing.

Co-workers know worst.

My CoWorker's (Very Knowledgable in the Arts of Things that Suck) Suggestions for Worst Song Ever:

Lou Bega, Mambo Number Five (Eeep!)
Having My Baby, Paul Anka (Yipes!)
Starland Vocal Band, Afternoon Delight (GROSS!!!)
Cherry Pie, Warrant (I LOVE this song)
Danny’s Song, Loggins and Messina (Even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey....) ( I also LOVE this song)
She’s Like the Wind, Patrick Swayze (Is this really THAT bad?) (Ok she's like the wind through my trees... that is pretty bad.)
Zager and Evans, In the Year 2525 (This song is BOMB. Screw you guys.)
William Shatner’s rendition of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds
Maxwell Silver Hammer, The Beattles
Michael Bolton’s rendition of When Man Loves a Woman (Bullet to the brain, shark infested waters, 10 minutes with Michael Bolton? I vote brain, though sharks are quite fascinating.)
Memories from Cats
Every song from Phantom of the Opera

Ground Control to Major Tom, David Bowie (I saw the Labirynth... everything about David Bowie is awesome... in size.)

Worst song ever

I submit for your approval, the worst song ever:
Haddaway, What is Love?

Baby don't hurt me.

Second Runner Up:
Captain and Tenile, Muskrat Love

Nibbling on bacon, one would think I would be all over this.

Followed Closely by:
Aqua, Barbie Girl

Made of plastic, it's fantastic!

And who could possibly forget:
Everything ever recorded by Avril Lavigne.

Why'd ya have ta go and make things so complicated?

And of course my most hated song:
Who Let the Dogs Out

Ruff, rufff, ruff, ruff, ruff.

I would actually rather listen to Celine Dion than ANY of these people.

Incidentally, I read an article in (I think) Blender that stated that Eddie Murphy's My Girl Wants to Party All the Time was the worst song ever recorded. FALSE. That song changed my life.

True story.

Spelunking

I was just cat-sitting for a very nice coworker and friend of my aunt. She has a lovely apartment, sparse, but everything in it is top quality. She even has one of those fancy smart-foam mattresses. This mattress cost thousands of dollars. Now if you see the commercial you see that a blandly attractive woman can jump on one side of the bed and the walk over to pick up a glass of water on the other side of the bed… wait for it… the glass didn’t move the whole time she was jumping. Now what they didn’t show in the commercial is when the girl steps forward to get off the bed and sprains her ankle in the hole left by the glass of water in her hand.
I have a methodology to sleeping. When you are an insomniac you have to take extra care in all the little rituals. First I start out on my back, reading till sleepy, then flipping off the light. Now at a certain point I will want to adjust to sleep on my side like a sensible girl. However, when on a smart foam mattress the mattress forms around the curves of your body. Thus when you try to move the mattress is still in the shape of your curves, as they were positioned 15 seconds ago. 15 seconds doesn’t seem like a long time, but the depression in the mattress caused by my butt disappears at just a slow enough rate that I can’t flip over onto my side. Talk about depression. I turn over, but with nothing to support my hindquarters I just flop ineffectually back into the same position. I am trapped in my own butt divot.
I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to shell out 2 grand to buy a mattress that traps me in my own asshole.

Darby O’KILL and the Little People

I’ve had this fear of dwarfs, well little people in general since this one time in a bar. I was living in a tiny town in the big empty side of the state with a friend of mine. I was blissfully slumbering curled up with my roommate’s cat when my door flew open. “Wake up! We’re going out!!!”
“It’s Wednesday, Renee.”
“Don’t ca-are.”
“I was asleep.”
“Don’t ca-are.”
“I hate you.”
“I’ll buy your drinks.”
“Ok.”
We skittered down the street in the chill of nighttime in the desert. The place was pretty empty… not unusual for a summer weeknight in a college town. Renee went to chat with the bartender, a frat brother of one of our closest friends. That day the bar had gotten its first Digital Juke Box- I was mesmerized. It had every song I’d ever heard so naturally I chose Wilson Phillips, “Hold On” as the inaugural song.
People began drifting in and the best seats began to fill up. From our spot at the bar we could peruse the entire room. And that was when I made my error, inadvertent eye contact. With this uhm… dwarf. Now to make this abundantly clear, in spite of the fact that my friend Loren and I watched a three our documentary on little people one Saturday night, I have never had any curiosity about and certainly no fear towards little people of all varieties. In fact growing up one of my mother’s friends and colleagues was a dwarf and I’d always been fond of him as a child. But this guy, he was not freaky because he was tiny, I mean a lot of dwarves are not that much shorter than I am. This guy was freaky because he looked like a dwarf from Deliverance. Actually if you put the Leprechaun from the five Leprechaun movies in a trucker hat, plaid shirt, acid wash jeans and white hightops—that’s the guy.
Renee was chatting up some guys playing pool and I was playing cards with the bartender. The dwarf ambled up and nimbly climbed the bar-stool. He ordered Pabst. Shudder. Then he stared. I hoped he would say something. Really anything, but really I hoped for something awful. Then I could act scandalized and strut off without feeling like a bigot. But he didn’t say a word, he just leaned close and stared. He had the sharpest teeth I have ever seen, they were broken and jagged like Gollum’s.
When the bartender got called away I must have looked panicked, alone at the bar with the silent, staring dwarf. A stranger walked up and said, “Hey there pumpkin, we’re all in the back.” He led me off and quite frankly I couldn’t have picked a more adorable fellow if I’d been trying. But by the time I had joined his little party at the back of the bar I already felt terrible. I was a bigot. I was a homely-phobe and a dwarfo-phobe.
And then I turned back to look for Renee- she wasn’t there, but he was. He had followed me from the bar to the tables and had sat a discreet distance of three feet from me. The fellow, Brian, I think (they are always named Brian, always) seemed perplexed, not wanting to come off as an asshole he just pulled my chair closer and put his arm around my shoulders. Eventually I turned again to find the dwarf had scooched his chair closer to me, I think he was sniffing me. I declared that I needed to go home. Brian offered to walk us home and I agreed. As we left the bar the dwarf exited behind us. We sped up. Brian offered to have us to his house for a night cap to wait out the dwarf. We agreed. He seemed to be nervous, maybe he’d seen The Leprechan too. Later, when Brian was driving us home, he looked in the rearview mirror a lot.
Ever since that night I’ve been kind of freaked out by dwarves. Plus that obsession some folks have with them (think The Man Show or midget porn) definitely doesn’t decrease my worries.

I hate repeats

Well kids, it's been raining for 19 days. NINETEEN! Now let me say that, yes, Seattle is pretty grey a lot of the time, and fairly consistently drizzly throughout the winter. But it has been actually raining, raining like it rains in other places. I have been carrying an umbrella. An UMBRELLA!
I just looked at weather.com.
Ok, are you ready for the 10 day forecast?
1/6 Rain
1/7 Rain
1/8 Showers
1/9 Rain
1/10 Showers
1/11 Showers
1/12 Showers
1/13 Showers
1/14 Showers
1/15 Rain/Snow

I'm going to buy some galoshes.

"If this Christmas doesn't blow, I'll eat my hat."

I'll have that hat cooked medium rare. After all my usual fear and loathing, Christmas this year was "fine." In any other family that would be kind of "meh," but for my family it's a pretty damn good year if nobody gets in fight. People were eerily pleasant. Pod people? Affable zombies? Who cares? Not I; looking a gift horse in the mouth is not my style.

I even received a spectacular gift: The Complete Calvin and Hobbes
I was soooo excited, especially to read the 20 page introduction by Bill Watterson. Watterson basically never grants interviews and I am eager to read what he has to say about Calvin and Hobbes. The set weighs roughly a billion (22.5) pounds though. Interestingly, today's Foxtrot was about just that:

Happy Birthday!!!

Merry stupid Christmas.

Ok, National Department Store of Doom and Misery, I surrender.

In a particularly underhanded act Nationwide Mega-Store Hell has yet again shown me that they are too large and too evil to fight.
The preternaturally evil and devious weasels who run this shadowy company pushed back my schedule from 3-11 to 3:30-11:30 at the very last minute giving me an additional hour of nothing to do before work. A mere day after unilaterally declaring to my co-workers that Ever After was the worst non-ironically intended movie ever made, as a “treat” to the workers, Our National Department Store of Ever-Lasting Torture rented a movie to show in the break room. Being the kind souls they are, they looped the film to increase the likelihood that one could view it in its entirety. The sound of Barrymore’s abysmal accent distracted me so badly that I incorrectly filled in 4 sudoku puzzles before giving up and playing Tetris on my phone.
Ever After, showing ALL DAY at your local Vile Department Store of Eternal Damnation, is set in France, where the people all have English accents (the exception being Barrymore). Barrymore, who apparently was rendered so broke from her failed marriage to Tom Green (thanks Canada), that she could not afford the elocution lessons which could have provided her with a moderately non-retched English or even, dare I suggest it, French accent. Although since she lacked the follow-through to hold her own indeterminable accent through an entire sentence, much less an entire scene, I don’t suppose it matters anyway. Beyond the general outlandishness and predictability of the film, Barrymore’s revoltingly horrible accent manages to cause Ever After to out-suck even Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. In the movie’s favor, the writing is not obviously awful, the acting was actually quite good (if one can overlook Barrymore’s acting), and really it’s a quite visually pleasing film. Having Barrymore in it undoubtedly increased the throngs of America’s Top Model Viewing Morons, but killed any possibility of it being a kind of cutsie but overall satisfactory film. Worse yet is the fact that Barrymore’s accent and lack of theatrical uhm… talent manages to render one of the most beloved fairy-tails in the lexicon of frightening children’s stories completely toothless. Gregory Maguire’s Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister managed to rejuvenate Cinderella, so we can’t really blame the story.
While I believe the worst aspect of the movie was Barrymore’s distracting accent, most people at Nationwide Department Store of Unceasing Sorrow found the presence of Leonardo da Vinci in France the most irritating. In a fine twist, the most seemingly outlandish part of the movie is the only realistic part. In 1515 da Vinci was in France under the auspices of King Francis.

Darwin Award Winner Unjustly Denied Prize

I am addicted to yet another show on the Discover Channel. It is called "I Shouldn’t Be Alive." It shows dramatizations and interviews with people who have faced deadly circumstances and have used cunning to overcome them. The first one I saw was the story of Chris Moon (Kidnap in the Killing Fields). Moon was a retired British military man volunteering in Cambodia as a de-miner. He and his colleagues were kidnapped by the Khmer Rouge, but Moon used his courage and wit to rescue his group. The next one (Jaws of Death) was the story of Greg Rasmussen, an Australian working to preserve African wildlife. Rasmussen displayed amazing strength and wisdom in his efforts to survive a plane crash in the middle of an African game preserve. In fact Rasmussen survived with no food, water, or radio in spite of his shattered legs and broken hips.

However, the next episode was about Saul and Larry (Swept Away). Saul and Larry decided to go on a kayaking trip through the San Juan Islands, in dangerous waters, in November. (Is this a good juncture to mention that the water in the Puget Sound is approximately 52 degrees in November… or that the waterway they picked to cross is famous for its forceful tides?) In a cascading series of awe-inspiringly stupid acts the kayaker who had NEVER been in a kayak before, Saul, ended up being swept out to sea (surprise). This forced Larry to abandon him in order to paddle to shore to mount a full scale rescue attempt. Eventually Larry’s only good decision resulted in Saul being rescued despite his best attempts to get himself killed.

While Moon and Rasmussen were thrown into life and death situations by volunteering to do remarkably selfless things in only moderately safe environments, Larry and Saul were thrown into their life or death situation by their overriding need to go to a nude hot-spring. They nearly died to ogle boobies. And they admitted so on national television. Furthermore, while Moon and Rasmussen used their smarts to get out of their situation, Saul (at least) made every wrong decision possible. He even admitted that he knew what the right decisions were but decided to gamble. Now if I acted like a complete bone-head and nearly got myself killed so that I could go to a nudie hot-spring, the last thing that I would want to do is have it dramatized on the Discovery Channel.

Which leads me to my point, which is that the Discovery Channel needs to have two survival TV shows. One should be called "I Shouldn’t Be Alive": the true stories of people who used wisdom and courage to survive life and death situations. The other should be called "I Don’t Deserve to Be Alive": the true stories of people who survive life and death situations in spite of themselves.

The Penis Mightier

Recently I was on a date with a nice fellow. He was hands down the most interesting person I have been on a date with in ages, except… he happened to mention that he was at the WTO protests that turned into a riot in Seattle a few years back. He was going on about this amazing use of his right to protest and all I could think was “Golly, it’s a good thing that you were around to march in the streets, otherwise that WTO would still be out there.”

As I’m sure you are aware, I am all about the use of our civil rights, but let’s pause for a moment and think about this. What is more effective 2,000 people screwing up traffic and breaking the windows of Starbucks OR 2,000 well-written letters arriving at the office of their Senator? Something tells me that the pen is mightier than the idiots dressed as turtles.

I think you do, Trebek!

Divine Intervention

God does not want me to work.

The signs are clear.

Sign1:
I have been sick for like a month. The Black Death? Typhoid Fever? Bird Flu? I'm not quite sure with what, but I've woken up every morning feeling like something that cat dragged in. Every day I wake up (face encrusted with drool) with my nose completely stuffed. Perhaps a pair of Nasal Hamsters has decided to nest in my sinuses. Respiratory rodents?! Thanks Jesus, that's just what I wanted!

Sign 2:
God trapped me in my apartment. Last Thursday I awoke from bed still sick, but determined to make it into work. Finally, armed with laundry and lunch I turned my deadbolt. Kachunk! I thought, "Hmmmm 'kachunk' is not the expected noise." I turned the handle and lo, my door was still dead-bolted. I tried turning the deadbolt back to locked but it would not move. I was trapped. I went to my window and opened it, pushing the screen gently. Nothing. Rather than break my screen I decided to call my manager. Not home. Called the emergency line, they said they would call back. They didn't, I called again, they asked if it could wait till 9. "Nein."
Chuck Norris style I kicked out my screen and clamored out onto the sidewalk in my skirt, running my stockings. Thank God nobody called the police over a disheveled thief (pink underwear displayed) escaping from a first floor apartment, arms full of loot. I was over an hour late to work that day. In the car I left a somewhat snarky message for my manager demanding a new lock by that day as I had a house guest flying in from Wisconsin that day and I really could not expect her to clamor in and out of my window with her luggage. It turns out that Thursday morning is when he has his Vietnam Vet Support Group Meeting and that's why he wasn't there. Thanks for making me feel like an asshole, God!

Sign 3:
This morning I arrived at my car to find it completely frozen shut. What the hell? I finally got the trunk open. First I pulled out the stuff for charities that had been accumulating in my trunk. Then I crawled in and after pushing my way into the cab managed to use my legs to get the passenger door open. I then threw my laundry (didn't get finished last week) onto the driver seat, crawled into the passenger seat and maneuvered my laundry into the back. Then I scraped the windows and crawled back in through the passenger door. By the time I got into work the driver side door was defrosted. Yay! Unfortunately in my excitement in exiting my car through the customary door I was not cautious about the icy sidewalk and promptly fell on my ass. It was awesome.

A New Hope

Stick with me as this entry is more convoluted than a Lucasfilm production.

In addition to John Edwards, Colin Powell, and John Sydney McCain III, I have a new political crush. On a lady this time (hey, I went to Bryn Mawr, don't judge me). The lady, Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf is known as the Iron Lady. No, she is not the newest member Steve Harris' metal band. She is the new President of Liberia. She seems like such an excellent choice: Harvard educated, a believer in the UN, former employee of the World Bank, someone who has bravely faced a corrupt government in order to attain great things for her nation. SO exciting.

And yet I feel nervous. Nervous that all this is too good to be true. I feel like Africa is cursed. That no matter how good the situation seems, it will all end with underfunded UN troops discovering mass-graves on CNN.

But Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf gives me just a glimmer of hope for Africa, for women, I guess even for human kind.

I know that this will sound revoltingly geektastic, but there is this part of Terminator 2 where Eddie Furlong and the Governor of California are watching two little boys pretending to shoot each other and Eddie says "We're not going to make it are we? People I mean." And the Governor responds "It is in your nature to destroy yourselves."

Which brings me right around to Charles Taylor, remember that one time when George W. Bush forced his resignation? Yea, well he is still out there. He is in hiding in Nigeria, and they won't turn him over. Charles Taylor is on Interpol's Most Wanted list, noted as possibly being dangerous, and is wanted for "crimes against humanity, grave breaches of the 1949 [4th] Geneva Convention." (And now you know what happened to Charles Taylor.)

Which brings me right around to the pot and kettle. You remember that whole Bush thinks that torture is super ok, well this is a bit of a problem with that crazy [3rd] Geneva Convention.

Choice bits of the 3rd Geneva Convention:
(Art 13): "Prisoners of war must at all times be humanely treated."
(Art 13): "...Prisoners of war must at all times be protected, particularly against acts of violence or intimidation and against insults and public curiosity."
(Art 17): "No physical or mental torture, nor any other form of coercion, may be inflicted on prisoners of war to secure from them information of any kind whatever. Prisoners of war who refuse to answer may not be threatened, insulted or exposed to unpleasant or disadvantageous treatment of any kind."

To answer your unasked question, there are a total of four Geneva Conventions: The first regarding treatment of casualties of war, the second regarding war at sea, the third about the treatment of POWs, and the fourth about the treatment of civilians.

Apparently all Geneva Conventions are not equal. Or perhaps all Geneva Conventions are equal, but some are more equal than others.

Porn Title or Torture Location, YOU be the judge!

Jason Jones, "Daily Show" Senior Human Rights Correspondent, on anti-torture legislation negotiations: "It works like any negotiation.... Both sides go in overreaching with their best-case scenario going forward, knowing they're probably not going to get exactly what they want. McCain has opened with no torture, any time, any place. The administration has countered with, we want to do whatever we want,whenever we want, to whomever we want, and we don't want anybody knowing about it. So they're not really that far apart. There's some wiggle room there. And if you know anything about torture, you do not want to spend any time in the wiggle room" ("Daily Show," ComedyCentral, 12/8).

What a Feeling!

Last weekend at nation-wide department store I was placed in my new home department, department 0305, the department known as Mecca to some and as the Coach Counter to others. As I walked teary eyed with wonder into the back room to hunt down the morning’s first sale (a large black signature soho hobo bag, style 8635) I rounded the corner to find shelves up to 12 feet high and as many as 20 feet long completely stuffed with Coach handbags. There were so many handbags, in fact, that there was a pile 2-3 feet deep on the floor at the foot of the shelves. And I thought to myself “Dare I?” I did dare. I shuffled delicately into the wading pool of soft-tanned leather, their protective garments tickling my ankles and ruffling my skirt. I climbed onto the step ladder and reached up reading each style number “8601, 8609, 8620, 8625, 8634, 8635.” I gently pulled the corner of a bag to free it from its niche. All around me, onto my head, my shoulders, my toes, handbags tumbled down from their lofty perch. I briefly imagined my self as the scantily clad vixen from Flashdance, dancing my iron-welding heart out and in the grand finale of my exotic dance routine heavily throwing myself into a chair and pulling a cord, releasing not water, but hundreds of Coach bags.







My pilgrimage to Mecca will be short, I am only at nation-wide department store hell for a month more, but now I know that like Jennifer Beals, even if it is for just a brief moment, I can really have it all.

I guess you can have an opinion too...

Seattle Umbrella Conspiracy will now allow comments, but try not to suck, Ok?

… signifying nothing.

So, some of you are upset by my lack of updates recently. The reason for this sudden fall in bloggish amusement is that I HAVE NO LIFE. I have picked up a second job to pay off my car. Shockingly, when you work between 60 and 70 hours a week nothing interesting happens. Starting at the first of the year I swear I will have plenty of grousing but unless you want to hear about my trials and tribulations at un-named major department store-- and trust me, you don’t—relax, sit back and read Goats instead.

I'm so lonly.

So today a coworker asked me, "How do you spell barron? One 'r,' what do you think?"
I said, "I don't spell on command."
"You don't... spell?" she asked.
"Yes. Haven't spelled since 1988."
"Why's that?"
"Lost the third grade spelling bee. Lonely, forgot the 'e.' I was heartbroken."
Then another coworker popped up, "Lazy, I spelled it 'lassie.'"
The the first co-worker said, "Mahogany, I missed mahogany."
Well shit, I still can't spell mahogany. She must have gone to a better school than Pahrump Elementary.

"And special thanks to Wingy...

who gave his life so that we might beat our own world's record from last year."
So yesterday I heard a story about these guys in the Netherlands who shot a sparrow that flew into the building where they were working on their dominos to beat the world's record. Being an Okie I thought, "damn straight." Then I heard they might be making a memorial or dedication to the bird. And still being an Okie I thought, "It's a bird, you stupid hippies!"
Well it turns out that the bird is an endangered species. Is it really hilarious, or am I a total bastard?
My favorite part of the article is when the environmentalist website was urging people to break into the building and knock over their dominoes in retribution.
That'll show 'em.

God bless your tiny soul.

The Axis of Evil

Henceforth to be known as the Nazgul:

1. Senator Wayne Allard (R-Colorado)
Committees:
-Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs
-Committee on the Budget
-Committee on Appropriations
- Chairman of the Subcommittee on Legislative Branch.
-Subcommittee on District of Columbia (That makes TONS of sense since Colorado is very close and similar to DC.)
-Subcommittee on Energy and Water
-Subcommittee on Homeland Security
-Subcommittee on Interior and Related Agencies
-Subcommittee on Military Construction and Veterans' Affairs.

2. Senator Kit Bond (R-Missouri)
Committees:
-Chairman Transportation, Treasury and Housing and Urban Development
-Agriculture, Rural Development, and Related Agencies
-Commerce, Justice, State
-Defense
-Energy and Water
-Foreign Operations

3. Senator Tom Coburn (R-Oklahoma)
Committees:
-Chairman of the Senate Homeland Security
-Chariman of Governmental Affairs Subcommittee on Federal Financial Management

4. Senator Thad Cochran (R-Mississippi)
Committees:
-Chairman of the Appropriations Committee
-Member, Subcommittee on Homeland Security
-Subcommittee on Agriculture
-Subcommittee on Defense
-Subcommittee on Energy & Water Development
-Subcommittee on Interior
-Subcommittee on Labor, Health and Human Services & Education

5. Senator John Cornyn (R-Texas)
Committees:
-Armed Services Committee
-Chairman Emerging Threats and Capabilities Subcommittee
-Readiness and Management Support Subcommittee
-Strategic Forces Subcommittee
-Judiciary Committee
-Chairman Immigration, Border Security, and Citizenship Subcommittee
-Constitution, Civil Rights, and Property Rights Subcommittee (NICE)
-Corrections and Rehabilitation Subcommittee
-Intellectual Property Subcommittee
-Terrorism, Technology, and Homeland Security Subcommittee
-Budget Committee
-Small Business and Entrepreneurship Committee
-Joint Economic Committee

6. Senator James Inhofe (R-Oklahoma)
Committees:
-Chairman of Committee on Environment and Public Works
-Committee on Armed Services

7. Senator Pat Roberts (R-Kansas)
Committees:
-Intelligence Committee Chairman
"As Chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, my job is to ensure that our Intelligence Community has the ability to protect the nation from threats at home and abroad. It is my goal to see that our intelligence agencies have cutting-edge collection capabilities and perform accurate analysis of intelligence information so that we can win the war on terrorism."

8. Senator Jeff Sessions (R-Alabama)
Committees:
-Senate Armed Services Committee
-Subcommittee on Strategic Forces
-Subcommittee on Airland
-Subcommittee on Strategic Forces (Chairman)
-Subcommittee on Readiness and Management Support
-Senate Judiciary Committee
-Subcommittee on Administrative Oversight and the Courts (Chairman)
-Subcommittee on Crime, Corrections and Victims’ Rights
-Subcommittee on Immigration, Border Security and Citizenship
-Subcommittee on Terrorism, Technology and Homeland Security
-Senate Health, Education, Labor, and Pensions Committee
-Subcommittee on Retirement Security and Aging
-Subcommittee on Education and Early Childhood Development
-Subcommittee on Employment and Workplace Safety
-Senate Budget Committee
-Senate Republican Steering Committee
-- Chairman-Congressional Joint Economic Committee
-International Narcotics Control Caucus

9. Senator Ted Stevens (R-Alaska)
Committees:
-Committee on Appropriations
--Subcommittee on Defense
--Subcommittee on Commerce, State, Justice
--Subcommittee on Interior and Related Agencies
--Subcommittee on Labor, Health and Human Services, Education
--Subcommittee on Legislative Branch
-Committee on Commerce, Science, and Transportation
--Subcommittee on Aviation
--Subcommittee on Communications
--Subcommittee on Oceans and Fisheries
--Subcommittee on Science, Technology, and Space
--Subcommittee on Surface Transportation and Merchant Marine
-Committee on Governmental Affairs
-Committee on Rules and Administration
-Joint Committee on the Library of Congress

These are the 9 Senators who voted for torture. Is anyone else concerned with this? Chairman of Senate Committee on Homeland Security?! These men are not schlubbs. They are important people with great power. And look at what these ass-clowns are doing!

I'm sure these guys are good huntin' buddies, but wouldn't you, after seeing how this was going to go down, have decided to vote with everyone else? Who wants to look like an asshole? This is my theory as to why so many congressmen voted to go to war-- who wants to look unpatriotic and uncaring towards the families of the victims of 9/11? I guess these guys are ok with looking like assholes. But I guarantee this is going to come up and bite them in the ass later. Ok I don't guarantee that. But I would like to think that Americans want to live in the America where people are not tortured. Where foreign citizens are not detained without trial indefinitely. (And let me clear something up. POWs are held until the war is over, then depending, they go to trial. Well, terrorism isn't ever going to end. EVER. Are we going to just hold these guys till they die? With no trial?) I guess it's not a big deal now to raise your head high and say "I think torture is completely OK." This is who people want running things? Hitler was surely efficient, but wasn't 6 million Jews a bit steep to keep the trains running on time? How many people are we going to torture for our information? Is 6 million too many? I guess there are a lot of Muslims. Oh, it is so hard to decide.

Isn't it fairly obvious that torture is wrong? What the hell is wrong with us? I want other people to care and I want them to vote. But they don't. I want people to care about Africa more then they care about tires. But they don't. I want people to care about the land they live on. But they don't. I want people to stand up, look around and see what we are actually doing. Look at us like everyone else can, and I want them to stand up and say, "No, that is not the way I will live." But I don't think they ever will.

Wouldn't it have been amazing if the Senate of the United States of America had stood together and said, "America will not stand for torture." I want to live in that America, the America that we tell our children we live in.

Dear Bushy,

Dear Mr. President Sir,
I was browsing BBC news today and found a fascinating article about White Phosphorus, an incendiary weapon that we said we didn't use in Iraq but we really did. My point is not that burning people to death is kind of yucky. And I know we didn't sign that treaty saying we wouldn't use incendiary weapons, so we can use them. So, why do you need to say we are not using White Phosphorus when we are? Didn't you think that since so many people knew, it would be a difficult secret to keep. You were the ones who called for embedded reporters. So why are you painfully un-sneaky?
My point is that I would like you to stop getting caught lying. Everyone fibs, but your administration is miserable at lying. "Oh we didn't leak that... ok we did." "We don't torture... well, only at our secret gulags. But we're not breaking the law... ok we're cutting it close... but don't worry we're going to get that law changed." "Saddam Hussein was totally in cahoots with the 9/11 bombers... ok he wasn't but we didn't know... ok we knew... but he was really really scary."
Just quit getting caught. You are totally embarrassing me.

If a picture paints a thousand words...

then this one could have saved me about 50 pages of my thesis.




















Thanks to R.K. Milholland, who won't be suing me for printing this without permission, because I'm so damned cute. And look a link, I'm sweet too.

Oh Jon Stewart you sexy, sexy man.

"Last month, the Senate voted for a ban on torture 90-9. You heard me correctly, nine United States senators refused to vote against torture. Those senators included Illinois Democrat Thumbscrews McGee, Iowa's Cattleprod von Analpair, and of course, Ted Stevens of Alaska.... The vice president is lobbying to keep torture an option. That's the guy not running for office in 2008"
("DailyShow," Comedy Central, 11/8).

Burning with Shame

Geeky thought for those who read comics. So the mayor of NYC is actually a two years term in office. Now where does this leave the comic Ex Machina after Mayor Hundred uses his two years? Re-election, back to super-hero work or a presidential bid?
Ex Machina, if you don't read it... you should.

Ahhhhhh... so this is compassionate conservatism.

Yesterday (I think) in Panama our president was asked about torturing POWs. Bush replied: "Any activity we conduct is within the law. We do not torture and therefore we are working with congress to make sure that as we go forward we make it more possible to do our job."

Good golly Miss Molly. That's one interestingly phrased answer. It took just a minute to figure out what that means: Any "torturing" we do is perfectly legal and doesn't count, however we are working towards legalizing torture as soon as possible.

What kind of sick bastard would like to go down in history as the guy who thwarted John McCain's "Anti-Torture Amendment?" Well, I guess now we know.

Additionally, I wish people would stop referring to these men as "foreign detainees." These people are POWs.

Four hours after the president's astonishingly honest comment on torture, Jeff Bingaman (NM) addressed the Senate with the following statement: "It's a sad day when an American president has to assure allies in Latin America that the US does not contemplate torture."

I think that it's worse that the White House is willing to make it abundantly obvious that the US absolutely is contemplating torture.

Charles in Charge

So I was reading about Liberia yesterday. Yea, do you remember a couple months ago when Charles Taylor fled Monrovia? Yea, me neither, you know why? Because after that one news blurb we never heard about it again. Why? Because America does not care about Liberia-- but they should.

You might remember Liberia from that one time when we (America/Quiana’s ancestors) were like, “You know what would totally make life easier? Making other people do all the crappy jobs.” Then we kidnapped or bought a bunch of folks from Africa (Quiana’s other ancestors) and made them do all the crappy jobs. Which was apparently going really great until some other people (more of Quiana’s ancestors) said, “Doesn’t this seem, I don’t know… wrong?” which caused everyone to blow the hell out of each other.

And once they had killed as much as they could a bunch of folks were worried about the ex-slaves being pissed-off so they thought, “I know we’ll just return them. This is going to work great.” So they put a bunch of ex-slaves on some boats with some pox-filled blankets and some beads and then the ex-slaves used those to buy a big chunk of land from the natives. Then the natives who used to live there were pretty pissed when they realized that all these dudes were showing up and taking all the good land and all they got were some crappy-ass beads. Then there were some problems because the folks who came from the states were all hoighty-toighty and were fighting with the others a lot and they got all the good stuff which made everyone else pretty pissed. And there was war and coups and the fancy constitution some smarmy Yale guy wrote for Liberia never got used. Then there were some weapons (and money) that some guys (Reagan/Bush) kept giving the evil dude in charge, because it was the cold war, and Quadafi was all up in our shit, and there was this really profitable tire factory there. Then the evil guy was captured and tortured to death on film in a really really nasty coup.

It was Charles Taylor’s coup and he is basically twice as evil as Dick Cheney but an eighth as sneaky. And then he fled and now you know twice as much about Liberia as all of your neighbors combined.

But I bet you still don’t know whatever happened to Charles Taylor.

Dick Cheney you are evil

I could barely believe what I heard on NPR yesterday. They said that you, Dick, traveled to Arizona to try to persuade Senator John Sydney “drank my own pee for five years” McCain III to get behind your campaign to exempt the CIA from the Geneva Convention. Naturally he refused for several reasons, not the least of which is that torture is absolutely wrong. Dick Cheney, are you made of stupid? Did you honestly think that a man so dedicated to playing by the rules that he refused to leave the POW camp ahead of other soldiers in spite of gruesome injuries and conditions was going to just say, “Hey, let’s go torture us some POWs?” I can't understand how you thought that you'd persuade McCain to turn his back on his beliefs by rescinding a law that he, personally, created.
I want to live in a safe country, but not if it is made safe by the murder of POWs. Dick, do you really think that our fellow nations will respect us if we torture POWs? Do you actually believe that our enemy nations would treat our POWs with respect if they know that theirs are being tortured? That we would be able to trade for our POWs if theirs die in torture cells?

You disgust me.

Clouds in my Coffee

March of the Penguins was an awesome movie but I hear that in the original French, they had actors playing the roles of a male, female and baby penguin. Apparently it was decided that this wouldn’t resonate with American audiences when it was test shown with subtitles and the people laughed hysterically. The lines were apparently “hilariously French.” For example, describing penguin sex: “They danced the dance, the dance of love, the dance that will go on all night.” (In America it should have read “giggity giggity.”)

In the theater I saw the penguin sex and I looked over at my friend and whispered “Is this penguin porn?” And he looked at me as if to say, “Are they having sex, because it doesn’t look very good.” And he was right, Kevin Bacon had more fun dancing his forbidden dance in Footloose than these penguins seemed to be having during the only time over the course of an entire year that they get to dance the dance, the dance of love, the dance that will go on all night.

This desire to insert emotion into everything is so French. I dated a Frenchman once. I know. I know. I met him at a ski resort in Japan during Christmas. He was good looking and charming in a Frenchy kind of way. His name was Jimmy. No, I am absolutely not making that up. Anyway, Jimmy was a wine importer. I don’t drink wine. Jimmy simply could not fathom my not drinking wine. It was like him telling me that he was an oxygen-importer and me saying, “You know I’m just not into that sort of thing.” He described wine like sex. He described shoes like sex. Actually everything had an emotional intensity to him. I think he likened my dislike of wine to my emotional distance (mostly due to my North American-ness.) He would open increasingly expensive bottles when we’d hang out, as though if he could train me to love wine, he could train me to have feelings and talk about them to him as we smoked tiny cigarettes and cuddled in trendy cafes. All the bottles of wine tasted equally terrible, though each one was soured with an increasing amount of guilt.

The white sweaters, the constant romantic gestures, the gifts, it all struck me as… French. Too French. I began to resent his ridiculously expensive squishy cheeses and wine; even his accent which had so intrigued me on our ski trip began to wear on my nerves. My roommate Galvin, who seemed to have a crush on Jimmy, would say, “He can’t help it, he’s just French.” The Frenchman’s flaw was not his devotion to me, his beautiful body and face, his money, or his complete head of hair, it was his very Frenchness.

I think he was beginning to sense my growing anglophilia and started to react in the Frenchiest possible way. One night we were watching soccer in a pub downtown and a Canadian I knew came in with some Aussies. The Canadian was a typical expat: white, not terribly attractive, and positively fanatic about Asian women. I didn’t know him incredibly well, but we’d been at some of the same parties and shared a love of hockey and other Canadian things. Jimmy, sniffing the English fluency wafting about Rod’s tiny potbellied Canadian frame began to feel threatened. Being French, Jimmy used his most powerful weapon: seduction. He scooched close to me, placed his arm around my waist and watched me intensely. Rod and I were discussing the lack of American president and other political excitement and out of no where Jimmy turned to me with francophonic intensity and said, “Make for me a kiss.” I blushed and hid my face in his beautiful neck as the Australians laughed. He pushed the bottle of wine he’d been drinking into the center of table and got up to leave. I stayed seated. He said “very well” put his scarf around his neck and sulked out of the bar.

His scarf, it was apricot.

So let’s do it like they do on the Discovery Channel

Yesterday I was watching Myth Busters, one of my favorite shows and they were trying to bust the urban myth that in a car collision, your tissue box in the back seat can become a lethal projectile. They tested a whole bunch of stuff that they said might be in the back seat of a car… a bobble head, a fire extinguisher… an axe… a bowling ball. Later that day my friend Monica and I were running to the store real quick and I was telling her about the show. I was going on “Well unless I was returning from a fruitful trip to Crazy Frank’s Axe Emporium I couldn’t imagine why I would have an axe in my back seat. And the bowling ball…” At that crucial moment heard a clink and thud. That would be the sound of the bowling ball rolling around my backseat.
Ok, Jamie, you win that point but I still think that the axe is a bit much.

Tender Morsels

So NPR ran a story on Morning Edition this morning about how chimps are selfish bastards. Apparently this study was done where there were chimps in cages that shared walls. One chimp had two ropes it could pull. Rope one would feed him banana chunks. Rope two would feed him AND his neighbor banana chunks. The results showed that out of the tested chimps, only 40% of food releases came from pulls to the second rope, in spite of the chimps in the neighboring cages begging and pointing to their mouths going “Ahh, ahh!” So, even though they had nothing to lose the chimps still wouldn’t help their neighbors out. After the initial story ended another scientist protested that he’s seen kindness among chimps and that maybe they were just really excited about the banana. Well, I hear that.

But this scientist must not have cable because my buddy Steve watched this documentary The Dark Side of Chimps or as Steve calls it, Chimps are Bastards the Movie. He told me that chimps in their natural state eat monkeys and baby monkeys most particularly as they are more tender and delicious. So when the monkey’s habitat got destroyed and they left/died off, the chimps went for the next best thing, human babies, which are also tender and delicious.

The moral of the story: watch out for Steve.

I guess they didn't all make it onto the ark....

Today at a rather tedious meeting about a new program, the woman running it, who I am quite fond of, kept referring to the elusive 'asstrich'.
Yes, you see that the fields on this form that have an asstrich must be filled out before you can click 'submit.'
Yes, I see that is quite clear. Now if an ostrich is a large flightless bird; then is an asstrich a large flightless ass? Does this then imply that somewhere out there (I would conjecture Africa, as that is where ostriches live) there are large flying asses?
Patrick, you live in Africa, please do some research on this.


Jim or Ron, you folks are artsy, this is the perfect place for the artist's rendition of the asstrich in it's natural environs.

Watch it.

Ong-Bak

Here he fights while on fire.
















That is barbed-wire, jumps through it at a full run.
















Tuk-Tuk chase scene.
















They didn't use any wires in this movie.


















Look, he fights these badasses....
















Best marital arts movie ever made, hands down.

Bon Appetit, asshole!

So, Married Guy at Work Who Sucks at Adultery, you’ve realized I’m mad at you. Good job! Apparently, you haven’t figured out why. I’ve determined this by your kind invitation to lunch. The invite came at the end of a long series of emails that you were too lazy to follow up on and asked me to follow up on for you. Thanks for the invite, I wasn’t sure I’d be free for lunch this Saturday, but I forwarded your email to your boss, my boss, the teacher who asked the question you were too lazy to answer in the first place, and her boss, just in case they could make it.

Work is for Suckers, Where's my Sugar Daddy?

Dear colleagues,

Do not imply that I am prettier than you in a nasty way. Do not tell me that I don’t need to be on a diet. I’M NOT ON A DIET. I like salad. Perhaps if you liked salad you would not need to be on a diet. Additionally, I’ve gained nearly 30 pounds since college so if I want to go on a diet, you should understand. I am 50 or more pounds lighter and 20 years younger, I’m going to be cuter. I bet when you were 25 you were pretty cute too.

Please do not disparage my cute outfits. Yes I have nice clothes and accessories. Due to the availability of self-esteem and cheap birth control methods in this modern age I have been able to not get pregnant. The dearth of piano lessons, Abercrombie Kids denim minis, and orthodontist bills keeps my lifestyle nice and cheap. I can spoil myself, not my children, so don’t act like I’m behaving selfishly. We all make choices in life. I bet you wouldn’t trade your rug-rats for a Coach handbag so don’t act butt-hurt about no having one.

I don’t want your wastrel nephew, son, or godson. If nobody else wants them I assure you that I am not going to buck the trend.

I also don’t need to be reassured about not being married. I’ve been dodging that bullet for years, so don’t bug me. I don’t know if I will get married and it is certainly not your business to discuss my fictitious children. It is up to my fictitious husband and myself to determine whether or not we want to face the immense life-long responsibility of parenthood, or to simply get a dog and spend a lot of time traveling and buying cute shoes.

PS- Don’t touch me.
PPS- Don’t hit on me.
PPPS- Don’t sneak up behind me in my cube.

Steve drives me crazy, and I can't help myself, hoo hoo-ooh.

Steve just said "I know what drives men crazy."

Give Mama Some Sugar

Look Nosey Old Lady at Work, I could overlook the day when you said “does somebody have a case of the Mondays?” hell I could even over look the times you have tried to hug me and I had to go into Emergency Human Contact Avoidance Mode; but when you threw out my chocolate pudding cup, you crossed the line.
Granted that very same pudding cup was in the fridge two weeks and the Fridge Dictator, un-shockingly you, made Fridge Residencies of over 1 week illegal. However, as it was a sealed Jello Pudding Cup, I had thought it would qualify for the Condiment Dispensation Act.
It’s a Jello Pudding Cup for Christ’s sake, it is not going to go bad. Possibly ever. In fact, during the end days it will be cockroaches and pudding cups square dancing on our graves.
The only thing that gets me through the day is my two o’clock treat break. It is 1:45 and I have nothing to look forward to and nothing is more dangerous than a woman with nothing left to lose.

"Where am I?"

The Pit of Despair! Don't even think... (hacks phlem) don't even think about trying to escape. The chains are far too thick. Don't dream of being rescued, either; the only way in is secret. Only the Prince, the Count, and I know how to get in and out.

My friend Gail invited me out to her lawyer’s 40th birthday party. Now, in her defense, she did warn me that it might be a bunch of middle aged rednecks, but I thought, hey, come on, this is Seattle, we’re pretty low on red neck lawyers….
We arrive in West Seattle (which I’ve been to twice prior to this) and as we pull up to the bar I could tell right away that my night was going to be very different than usual.
I was dressed in jeans, heals, and a satin tank top. Or maybe I should say over-dressed. The people there were wearing un-ironically intended trucker caps, free t-shirts and fake nails. Gail walked up and hugged a normal looking middle aged fellow. He immediately spotted me and said, “Gail, you didn’t have to bring me a present. Well, Present, what’s your name?” I thought better of calling myself “KiKi” my family name which is easy to remember and spell for morons, and went with my full name. He then shook my hand in what I can only describe as a sleazy manner.
The table where the birthday boy was sitting was full so Gail and I decided to belly up to the bar for a drink. The bartender gave Gail a beer and then eyed me and said, “Sweetheart, are you old enough to be in here?” I couldn’t decide if she was asking me if I was 21 or if I really intended to loiter about in a disgusting dive bar with a bunch of over-paid, over-sexed, middle-aged ass-clowns. I gave her the eyebrow and handed over my ID. She studied it for an unnecessarily lengthy amount of time before asking me what I’d like. I gave her a huge smile and said “Sprite, please.” She gave me the stink eye and I carefully observed her pouring my Sprite. (Might I add as a parenthetical side, that Washington State specifically makes easily recognizable IDs, where the under 21 ID is vertical and the over 21 ID is the traditional horizontal.) When we turned back around to face the abysmally terrible trio ruining the songs of marginally decent bands we saw that Gail’s Lawyer had cleared space for us across from him at the table. Goody.
We sat down and Gail’s Lawyer introduced us to what seemed to be every redneck cop and lawyer on this side of the mountains. “Bob, this is my good friend Gail and this is my Birthday Present.” I was feeling uncomfortable on more than one front, first off, he kept mentioning unwrapping this present; worse yet, I was feeling a little bit like the One Ring as he seemed eerily like Gollum.
Eventually, we got around to a couple further down the table. The husband looked like someone had inflated the brother-in-law from Arrested Development, Dr. Funke, with cheesecake. He had this mustache. I asked him if he was a cop. He said no. I wanted to ask him if he was Hitler. Gail wouldn’t let me. “Bu..bu..bu.. but Gail, he needs to know that mustaches are for cops and Hitler.” Next came his wife. As Gail’s Lawyer introduced her I was so startled by this woman’s appearance that I didn’t hear anything said for quite some time. This is what she looked like:








No serious, she looked like that. But Fatter. White frizzy hair. White blotchy skin. Scarey swollen lips. And to top it off… she had fey eyes and sharp, unnaturally long, overly pale French tipped acrylic nails.
I was afraid that I was staring. I looked down. I wasn’t staring… she was. She looked at Gail and me with predatory intensity. In my nervousness tradition, I shot her a double plus extra smile. She made a completely incomprehensible facial expression back at me. It was some form of showing her teeth. And those were some chompers; solitary dwellers, none touching their neighbors, inhumanly uneven and jaggedly sharp, clearly designed to rend raw flesh from bone. I didn’t know if that was a smile or not. I decided to look the other way. The fat middle aged man way, YIPES.
After being propositioned with the following:
“Hey my buddy thinks you’re hot, so let’s make it happen.”
“Make what happen?”
“How many drinks would it take?”
“I’m on the wagon.”
“Can I borrow your present when you’re done?”
“You can’t afford this present.”
“Ever been with an older man?”
“You remind me so much of my father.”
Eventually, we made our escape having no phone number or bodily fluid exchanges. Gail’s Lawyer seemed to think that I would actually go home with him. I should mention that his wife is 27. 25 is not much of an upgrade, though to be fair, she outweighed me by at least 75 pounds….

So I'm here till I die?
Until they kill you, yeah.

Welcome to the Seattle Umbrella Conspiracy

That’s right, I’m smiling at you. Here we are jogging or walking around the lake. It’s sunny or raining or gray. And I am smiling at you. You think I’m nuts, or hitting on you and you look down. And you looked down yesterday. That’s fine because I don’t have to share my secret smile with you. It’s a secret that only a few of us know. I’ll share it right now though, since you might miss it otherwise.

That sunset. That one there, over the lake and the trees and the joggers and strollers and the puppies. That one. Today’s sunset. It is the most beautiful sunset that I have ever seen in all of my life. And I am amazed to be happy, healthy and alive to see it. Every day.