Saturday, August 30, 2008


From Riley.

Past Perfect

Oh dear. I seem to have a new hobby.

Have you ever wondered what you would have looked like a generation or two earlier? Wonder no more.

For inspiration, here's how my friend Marty might have appeared had he been born 30 years earlier. As a girl.


Shades of Grey

Revisiting the Beales.


Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Today's Top Story


Name That Accent

I think of myself as fairly worldly, but I scored a pathetic 32 on this fascinating quiz.

Sent by Peggy (score undisclosed) and Derek (44).

Role of a Lifetime

Last week I watched a riveting Lifetime movie called The Truth About Jane. It starred Stockyard Channing as the world's best mother - until her teenaged daughter announces she's gay, at which point Mom loses her shit. No doubt she was drawing on years of watching her crazy Aunt Carol.

Their lovely home a-crackle with tension, young Jane turns to the only other gays she knows: her mother's friend Jimmy, played with sassy sensitivity by RuPaul, and her English teacher, who looks like Josie Bissett but isn't. At least they didn't make her a field hockey coach.

Mom begins to relent after a few PFLAG meetings, and you know she's onboard at the end of the movie when she shows up at a gay pride rally. Good times.

Second link from Clark.

From Colleen.

Monday, August 25, 2008

Today's Top Story

[R]aids on Igor Kenk’s house and myriad storage places revealed crack, cocaine and pounds of marijuana … as well as a stolen bronze statue of a centaur and snake in the heat of battle. How that fits in is anyone’s guess.

The Bermuda Triangle and Parts South

There are many close shaves on the road to Rio. Best to have a guide.

From Derek, who declares: "I now, officially, know too much."

Best of Neatorama

How did I live without any of these?

A group of ladies drinking coffee on the frozen surface of the Welsh Harp
in Hendon, London, during a break from ice skating, February 1912.
(Topical Press Agency/Getty Images)

From Riley.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Today's Top Story

It seems not all of the pole vaulting takes place on the field ...

From Derek, a different kind of Olympic hopeful.

Cat Scratch Fever

Dogs beware!

From Kristine, soon to be married and always thinking ahead.

Lessons in Etymology

Ever wonder where the term dickhead came from?

Thanks to Mike, who always edifies.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Snot Enough

Some days I feel more handicapped than others. Today I feel like a rutabaga.

I’d been so fixated for so long on the prospect of needing someone else to wipe my ass* that a different loss snuck up on me from the other side: the ability to blow my nose.

The dilemma: What do you do when you’re home alone and that constant, annoying little tickle at the back of your throat turns into one of your scary protracted can’t-breathe coughing fits, which inevitably makes your eyes run with tears that burn like carbolic acid before merging with the torrents of snot streaming down your unshaven face, reminding you of how opossums drool profusely to deter predators?

The answer: You do the best you can. Which in this case meant swatting clumsily at the unsightly mess with a small forest’s worth of Kleenex and a washcloth. I could have just waited for Nicole to arrive, but it felt nasty on my face. Besides, the way I looked, she probably would have run screaming out the door.

Several hours later, alone once again, I’d almost recovered from the morning’s trauma when I felt the urge to sit down on the turlit, something I almost never do without assistance. I had another coughing jag while thus ensconced, but this one was mercifully brief - just long enough to imagine an Elvis-style checkout.

After I “dropped the kids at the pool” and had a refreshing tonic, I went to get up ... and couldn’t. I tried every approach I could think of (you might be surprised), but the situation seemed hopeless. I managed to get hold of my cell phone – which may or may not work in that bunker of a bathroom – and was about to call Dan when I decided to give it one last try.

I don’t know how it worked, but it did.

When Dan came home this evening, he wondered why I was lounging around in my bra and panties. I’m too tired to explain, I said; you’ll have to read about it on the blog.

* It hasn’t happened yet, but thanks for caring.

I Remember Mama

But not very well.

(Dis)courtesy of Kristine.
©2008 Dan Iglhaut

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

MJ + Ingmar: 2gether 4ever

No new chariot for this gladiatrix.

Knowing that the officially designated lifespan of a power wheelchair is five years, I'd naively been assuming that I would get a new one more or less automatically when Ingmar reached retirement age. Wrong!

It's a good thing I like this chair, because it turns out I have to wait until: (a) I become so disabled that I can no longer operate it as is, or (b) it develops a problem severe enough that repair would be less cost-effective than replacement. That makes sense from an insurance company's mercenary point of view, but considering how long it takes to get a new chair approved and delivered, I could very well be grounded for months in the interim. Another joyful prospect to contemplate.

The happy discovery was made last week at the ALS clinic. Though they encourage quarterly visits, this was my first appearance in over a year, and more than two years had passed before the previous one. I like to think the scarcity adds to my aura of mystery. So does the incomprehensible speech, although this time I brought my new talking computer.* (At this point, I'm lucky if Dan or Nicole can figure out what I'm trying to say. I weep to think how much trenchant commentary will go unuttered, all that wit and snark lost forever. But perhaps it's time for a kinder, gentler season.)

The morning's other discovery was a miraculous improvement in my breathing. My "professional" team set up an impromptu betting pool in the hallway, none of them guessing that I would score 50 percent. I'd have been more excited had the figure not pinballed over the past five years from the low 50s to the 70s to the upper 30s and now back to 50. There's obviously much room for error - and since I can neither hold my breath nor form a seal with my mouth, despite a long and active fellatial career, I frankly don't know how they get a read at all. Of course, skepticism notwithstanding, I'd rather get a good number than a bad one.

Ingmar, Zap, and I were newer and shinier five years ago.
Well, maybe not shinier.

* Thanks to Pat, Carlos, and of course Jerry.

Thursday, August 07, 2008

"Drawing on my fine command of the
English language, I said nothing."

Robert Benchley

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

Today's Top Story


Steady as She Goes

Many years ago, my friend Derek and I were on a train from Frankfurt to Prague. It was the old-fashioned kind that used to be the norm in Europe, with separate compartments along a narrow corridor.

We wondered why most people kept their sliding doors shut, but figured it was for noise and privacy. Alone in our pod, we sat opposite each other by the door, which we left open. Before long I dozed off.

Shortly thereafter, Derek heard a rhythmic sound that seemed to be growing nearer: tap tap, tap tap, tap tap. He was puzzled for a moment, but then a blind woman tottered into view, feeling her way along with a white cane.

She was doing quite well until she reached our compartment, at which point the train lurched to one side, propelling her through our open doorway. Derek gaped in horror and fascination, sure she was about to land in my lap, but then the train swayed the other way, flinging Fräulein Keller back out the door. She continued on without missing a beat: tap tap, tap tap, tap tap. And Derek wisely closed the door.

Had our roles been reversed, I would have burst into hysterics, waking him up immediately. But Derek is more mature and waited for me to stir before telling me about my near miss.

Best of Neatorama

Ming the panda taking a photograph of photographer Bert Hardy's
son, Mike, 1939. (Bert Hardy/Picture Post/Getty Images)

From Riley.

Monday, August 04, 2008

Sunday, August 03, 2008

They're Called Republicans

"There will always be a part, and always a very large part
of every community, that have no care but for themselves,
and whose care for themselves reaches little further
than impatience of immediate pain, and
eagerness for the nearest good."

Samuel Johnson

Bless Their Hearts

But the U.S. doesn't have a corner on the kook market. See?

Thanks to Riley for the first link.

Jack of All Trades

"You don't have to be a pimp to have bitches;
you just have to be a man."

Kenneth the Intern's three-part guide to livin' the gangsta lifestyle.

From Caroline, the Heloise of the 'hood.

Saturday, August 02, 2008

Today's Top Story

Sounds like a feel-good story, don't it? Until you read this:

George ran toward the street in the rain, and flagged down the third car she saw.

"Thank God it was a lady," she said. "All I had on was bikini underwear and a tank top."

From Riley.

Roman Holiday

My 'puter was out of commission for so long, I'm still wading through the email pileup a week and a half after the new machine arrived.

Among the backlog was this funny link sent by Peggy, who noted that the whole site was quite interesting. After a little exploration, I concur.

Feats of Clay

I've never watched "American Idol," but that didn't stop me from appreciating this.

From Caroline.
Actor Adam West, best known for his TV role as Batman, with a great
Dane he called 'Batdog,' circa 1967. (Hulton Archive/Getty Images)

From Riley.