I know this is old news, but I’ve been dying to write about it. Apparently, Mitt Romney, of the sacred underwear and failed presidential bid, wants you to know that he’s not afraid to get jiggy. Or down. Or hood. Or crunk. Or whatever word you think he should use to make him seem more urban. Or relevant.
It seems that a rapper type in the seat in front of him refused to put his seat in the full, upright and locked position prior to take-off. Being the fine, upstanding Republican (who probably prefers his seat back to be in the full, upright and locked position throughout the flight in order to keep the stick up his ass) conservative that he is, Mitt felt that he should step in and rectify the situation. By placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder.
But apparently, he picked the wrong muthafuckin’ attention whore publicity hound to go off on. You see, this wasn’t just ANY wannabe, this was Berry Motherfuckin’ Gordy’s nephew. That’s right. NEPHEW. Which makes him Rockwell’s cousin, if that’s of any interest to you guys. You remember Rockwell . . . he was the one-hit wonder who got his one hit by singing the verse no one remembers around Michael Jackson’s uncredited (but completely unmistakeable) chorus. “I always feel like . . . somebody’s watching meeeeeee.” And cue the money with the googly eyes.
Of course the entire altercation was about as white bread as you can possibly get. And honestly, it just gave the rich nephew even less street cred than he already had (which is apparently putting him into the negative).
Police were called, of course. Romney did his best Ward Cleaver impression, while the most likely overeducated rapper, after reciting the ubiquitous, “Get off me man!!, pulled the officers aside and explained his relevance and dire need for publicity of this kind.
Oh, BTW--his name is Sky Blu, which is only sliiiiightly more street than his real name, Skyler Gordy. Bwahhahahahahaha. Sorry. And his group? LMFAO. No, that’s the name of the group. Yes, that’s what I’m doing, but that’s really the name of his group.
Apparently, all was forgiven. Romney managed to get his “garments” out of his crack and no one has heard from Gordy since. And I’m sure it will stay that way.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Where Ladies Who Like Ladies Go On Vacation
California living has been quite the adventure. Still exploring, and probably will be for years. Our little hamlet is very well situated for access to city, mountains, ocean, bay, wine, garlic and bad drivers.
A couple of weeks ago, the offspring came out for his birthday weekend. (OMG, y’all—only one more year left before the TEENAGES—crikey!) We decided to head up to the mountains for a bit of snow skiing.
On the way home, we were trailing a couple of lipstick lesbians in a cherry-red Mercedes convertible. Even thought it was the middle of winter, they had the top down. To be fair, it was a bit warm for winter and, you know, lesbians are tough like that.
Since it was just a little two lane road through the mountains, I was paying close attention to the activities of all the other drivers, especially the ladies, who were directly in front of me. As we approached an intersection, our ladyfriends made a sudden deviation in course, deciding to hang a quick left at this random intersection in the middle of nowhere.
As they turned, I saw a sign and it all became clear. Apparently, this is where one turns to go to Moaning Caverns.
I see.
A couple of weeks ago, the offspring came out for his birthday weekend. (OMG, y’all—only one more year left before the TEENAGES—crikey!) We decided to head up to the mountains for a bit of snow skiing.
On the way home, we were trailing a couple of lipstick lesbians in a cherry-red Mercedes convertible. Even thought it was the middle of winter, they had the top down. To be fair, it was a bit warm for winter and, you know, lesbians are tough like that.
Since it was just a little two lane road through the mountains, I was paying close attention to the activities of all the other drivers, especially the ladies, who were directly in front of me. As we approached an intersection, our ladyfriends made a sudden deviation in course, deciding to hang a quick left at this random intersection in the middle of nowhere.
As they turned, I saw a sign and it all became clear. Apparently, this is where one turns to go to Moaning Caverns.
I see.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Faking My Olygasm (or LOLympics)
OMG. Thank God the Olympics are over. (I’m sorry, I mean the “winter Olympic games.” Technically only the SUMMER games can be called the Olympics. But only Jacques Rogge and some Dutch woman with a wooden shoe in her ass actually insist on the distinction.)
Yesterday, I spent the better part of two hours watching a tape delayed telecast of a marathon on skis. WTF? And of course, there’s no counter-programming. No one even bothers to put ANYTHING else on TV for the two weeks. Being a sports fan in general, though, it was seriously disappointing to know the results of every event before the telecast even began.
So I guess my beef isn’t so much with the Big O’s as much as it is with NBC. The laziness with which they covered these games was appalling. They had obviously identified the “stories” of the games, built their packages and rammed ‘em down our throats, regardless of the outcomes of the races. Lindsey Vonn is the BEST BLONDE SKIER EVER!! Doesn’t matter that one of her teammates (whose name I can’t remember) actually out skied her. LINDSEY VONN!
And I totally get rooting for the home team, but the O’s are supposed to transcend borders. Yet, NBC’s team would go to any length to get the AMERICAN story in each event.
“Uter Hundrlinr has just shattered the world record!!! But look at that AMERICAN, young Jimmy Whippersnapper! He said himself that anything better than a 30th place finish would be a personal triumph. And he’s at 28!!!!! WHAT A STORY!!!” Yeah, there's a headline for you.
Unless of course it was the Austrian skier who had almost died or something and here he was now winning everything. Uh . . . dudes? Just because you’re broadcasting this during the day doesn’t mean it has to be like daytime television.
And how many fucking hours of curling did you broadcast? Sweet Jesus. When I saw that funny commercial about the broadcasters getting all psyched for curling, I thought it was a parody. I didn’t realize there was this pent-up demand.
And then there was Apolo OHNO HE DI-INT. Yes, 8 medals is amazing. But he didn’t skate all that well and got two of his medals because other people fell in front of him. Not exactly the kind of achievement you want to skate around the rink holding up your counting fingers for. Didn’t see Michael Phelps do that. And he won that many GOLDS. In one Olympics. But he does have a great ass. I’d give him a medal for that.
Yesterday, I spent the better part of two hours watching a tape delayed telecast of a marathon on skis. WTF? And of course, there’s no counter-programming. No one even bothers to put ANYTHING else on TV for the two weeks. Being a sports fan in general, though, it was seriously disappointing to know the results of every event before the telecast even began.
So I guess my beef isn’t so much with the Big O’s as much as it is with NBC. The laziness with which they covered these games was appalling. They had obviously identified the “stories” of the games, built their packages and rammed ‘em down our throats, regardless of the outcomes of the races. Lindsey Vonn is the BEST BLONDE SKIER EVER!! Doesn’t matter that one of her teammates (whose name I can’t remember) actually out skied her. LINDSEY VONN!
And I totally get rooting for the home team, but the O’s are supposed to transcend borders. Yet, NBC’s team would go to any length to get the AMERICAN story in each event.
“Uter Hundrlinr has just shattered the world record!!! But look at that AMERICAN, young Jimmy Whippersnapper! He said himself that anything better than a 30th place finish would be a personal triumph. And he’s at 28!!!!! WHAT A STORY!!!” Yeah, there's a headline for you.
Unless of course it was the Austrian skier who had almost died or something and here he was now winning everything. Uh . . . dudes? Just because you’re broadcasting this during the day doesn’t mean it has to be like daytime television.
And how many fucking hours of curling did you broadcast? Sweet Jesus. When I saw that funny commercial about the broadcasters getting all psyched for curling, I thought it was a parody. I didn’t realize there was this pent-up demand.
And then there was Apolo OHNO HE DI-INT. Yes, 8 medals is amazing. But he didn’t skate all that well and got two of his medals because other people fell in front of him. Not exactly the kind of achievement you want to skate around the rink holding up your counting fingers for. Didn’t see Michael Phelps do that. And he won that many GOLDS. In one Olympics. But he does have a great ass. I’d give him a medal for that.
Slumber of the Sleepy Bear
YAWN!!! Streeeeeetch! Growl. Aw, c'mon. You know bears hibernate in the winter. Plus, this bear had to find a new cave in a different forest. But spring is almost here. The trees are starting to bloom. And this bear is ready to shake off the lethargy and get back to business.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Lowered Expectations
My proscrita del norte shared this with me. Not sure whether it was because of the UTexas loss or because I hate stupid people. But it's nice to be reminded every once in a while that not EVERYONE is an idiot.
60 yard pass
by Charles Bukowski
most people don’t do very well and I get discouraged with
their existence, it’s such a waste:
all those bodies, all those lives
malfunctioning: lousy quarterbacks, bad waitresses,
in-competent carwash boys and presidents,
cowardly goal-keepers inept garage mechanics
bumbling tax accountants
and so forth
yet
now and then
I see a single performer doing something with a
natural excellence
it can be
a waitress in some cheap cafe or a 3rd string
quarterback
coming off the bench with 24 seconds on the clock
and completing that winning
60 yard pass
which lets me believe that
the possibility of the miracle is here with us
almost every day
and I’m glad that now and then
some 3rd string quarterback
shows me the truth of that belief
whether it be in science, art, philosophy,
medicine, politics, and/or etc.
else I’d shoot all the lights out of
this fucking city
right now
60 yard pass
by Charles Bukowski
most people don’t do very well and I get discouraged with
their existence, it’s such a waste:
all those bodies, all those lives
malfunctioning: lousy quarterbacks, bad waitresses,
in-competent carwash boys and presidents,
cowardly goal-keepers inept garage mechanics
bumbling tax accountants
and so forth
yet
now and then
I see a single performer doing something with a
natural excellence
it can be
a waitress in some cheap cafe or a 3rd string
quarterback
coming off the bench with 24 seconds on the clock
and completing that winning
60 yard pass
which lets me believe that
the possibility of the miracle is here with us
almost every day
and I’m glad that now and then
some 3rd string quarterback
shows me the truth of that belief
whether it be in science, art, philosophy,
medicine, politics, and/or etc.
else I’d shoot all the lights out of
this fucking city
right now
Jazz Hands!
One of my thoughts upon moving to California was that I could use the transition to drop a few (well-earned) lbs. My Beloved has a company gym which has spousal privileges (snicker) and they offer a bevy of classes to pique your fitness interests. Since I’ve noticed that my cardiovascular condition has been somewhat lacking, I wanted to do something aerobic in nature. I actually have fond memories of aerobic classes from the 90’s, but those all seem to have been supplanted by Krav Maga or Cardio Kickboxing or HipHop Dance. And seriously, you DO NOT want to see a fat bald white man in his late 40’s bustin’ a hip hop move.
After looking over the schedule, I chose something almost as comical. Jazzercise. That’s right, bitches! Motherfuckin’ JAZZERCISE!!! I mistakenly thought this would be some sort of contemporary retelling of the genre, but I was woefully mistaken.
In walked Chris, our perky instructor. Based solely on her age, I had to check the door to see if she had brought her walker along. But sister was fit, fit, fit. Mostly because, as she shared with us, she has been teaching Jazzercise for 25 YEARS!!!
The first thing I noticed was that this room obviously employs funhouse mirrors to motivate you. Surely I have not actually let my body morph into something resembling an Idaho potato. But I pulled up my leg warmers, adjusted my braided Olivia Newton John headband and began doing my headrolls, shoulder rotations and other warm-ups, all the while pretending I was about to audition for So You Think You Can Dance.
I wasn’t really intimidated, since the small class seemed full of newcomers. Then in walked the willowy thin fella WEARING HIS JAZZERCISE T-SHIRT. Seriously. I would have been intimidated if I hadn’t fallen on the floor and laughed so hard I farted.
Chris introduced her prize pupil to the class and informed us that HE had been doing Jazzercise for 15 years, so if we had trouble following her, we could always watch him. Wiping away my tears and fanning my flatulence toward the skinny fit girl to my left, I prepared . . . to MOVE.
Chris was appropriately perky and had me wheezing like the fat old man I am in a matter of seconds. Soon, the sweat was pouring down my bald pate, with only my sparse eyebrows to fend off the torrent. Unsuccessfully I might add. My eyes began to sting as my lungs began to burn, which I’m sure is what caused me to falter on the choreography. And just as I was about to give up and go sit in the locker room and watch guys change clothes to get my heart rate up, I decided to watch Mr. Jazzercise himself.
OMG, he sucked! He was completely uncoordinated and graceless. Maybe there was hope after all. Maybe I was . . . JAZZERCISING. I managed to make it through the hour without a cocktail or a coronary. And I realized that everyone else had taken the class in the spirit of good fun. We all sucked. But none of us cared. We bounced and stepped, sometimes heading the right direction, sometimes not. And yes, we even occasionally used our jazz hands.
Now I’m just waiting for the dryer to finish. I’m going to need that headband again tomorrow night.
After looking over the schedule, I chose something almost as comical. Jazzercise. That’s right, bitches! Motherfuckin’ JAZZERCISE!!! I mistakenly thought this would be some sort of contemporary retelling of the genre, but I was woefully mistaken.
In walked Chris, our perky instructor. Based solely on her age, I had to check the door to see if she had brought her walker along. But sister was fit, fit, fit. Mostly because, as she shared with us, she has been teaching Jazzercise for 25 YEARS!!!
The first thing I noticed was that this room obviously employs funhouse mirrors to motivate you. Surely I have not actually let my body morph into something resembling an Idaho potato. But I pulled up my leg warmers, adjusted my braided Olivia Newton John headband and began doing my headrolls, shoulder rotations and other warm-ups, all the while pretending I was about to audition for So You Think You Can Dance.
I wasn’t really intimidated, since the small class seemed full of newcomers. Then in walked the willowy thin fella WEARING HIS JAZZERCISE T-SHIRT. Seriously. I would have been intimidated if I hadn’t fallen on the floor and laughed so hard I farted.
Chris introduced her prize pupil to the class and informed us that HE had been doing Jazzercise for 15 years, so if we had trouble following her, we could always watch him. Wiping away my tears and fanning my flatulence toward the skinny fit girl to my left, I prepared . . . to MOVE.
Chris was appropriately perky and had me wheezing like the fat old man I am in a matter of seconds. Soon, the sweat was pouring down my bald pate, with only my sparse eyebrows to fend off the torrent. Unsuccessfully I might add. My eyes began to sting as my lungs began to burn, which I’m sure is what caused me to falter on the choreography. And just as I was about to give up and go sit in the locker room and watch guys change clothes to get my heart rate up, I decided to watch Mr. Jazzercise himself.
OMG, he sucked! He was completely uncoordinated and graceless. Maybe there was hope after all. Maybe I was . . . JAZZERCISING. I managed to make it through the hour without a cocktail or a coronary. And I realized that everyone else had taken the class in the spirit of good fun. We all sucked. But none of us cared. We bounced and stepped, sometimes heading the right direction, sometimes not. And yes, we even occasionally used our jazz hands.
Now I’m just waiting for the dryer to finish. I’m going to need that headband again tomorrow night.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Quick! Someone Call a Wedlocksmith
GRRRRRRR. I thought we were done with this shit when President Bornagain left office. The link to the Ticker on CNN said, “WH Aide Admits Out-of-Wedlock Child.”
What is this, Ye Olde Shoppe? Give me a fucking break. “Out of Wedlock.” I feel nauseous. Especially after reading that basically the guy had a baby with the woman he had been in a long term relationship with, but unfortunately they broke up before the baby was born and now he’s engaged to someone else.
The right squawkers will I’m sure use this as further “evidence” of the faulty moral compass of the President.
I’m just like, “Do you people NEVER leave your house? Do you not know ANYONE? Do you not get cable?”
Of all the scandalous goings-on in our government, this isn’t even a blip. It’s unfortunate that the parents’ relationship didn’t work—for THEM. It has nothing whatsoever to do with our country. Or US. It’s none of our fucking business.
So, why oh why is CNN suddenly getting all FOXy on us? I blame Kathy Griffin and her New Years Eve potty mouth. Oh, and the guy is now engaged to an ABC correspondent, so there could be some professional monkeyshines at the network as well. I’d be curious to see if the CNN reporter had any history with the ABC fiancée.
But mostly, I’d just like for us all to grow the fuck up and get our noses out of other people’s business.
What is this, Ye Olde Shoppe? Give me a fucking break. “Out of Wedlock.” I feel nauseous. Especially after reading that basically the guy had a baby with the woman he had been in a long term relationship with, but unfortunately they broke up before the baby was born and now he’s engaged to someone else.
The right squawkers will I’m sure use this as further “evidence” of the faulty moral compass of the President.
I’m just like, “Do you people NEVER leave your house? Do you not know ANYONE? Do you not get cable?”
Of all the scandalous goings-on in our government, this isn’t even a blip. It’s unfortunate that the parents’ relationship didn’t work—for THEM. It has nothing whatsoever to do with our country. Or US. It’s none of our fucking business.
So, why oh why is CNN suddenly getting all FOXy on us? I blame Kathy Griffin and her New Years Eve potty mouth. Oh, and the guy is now engaged to an ABC correspondent, so there could be some professional monkeyshines at the network as well. I’d be curious to see if the CNN reporter had any history with the ABC fiancée.
But mostly, I’d just like for us all to grow the fuck up and get our noses out of other people’s business.
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