Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
That Was Then
January 27, 1934: An example of the wire cage which East Poplar boroughcouncil in London proposed to fix to the outside of their tenement windows
so that babies could benefit from fresh air and sunshine. (Getty)
From Peggy.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Just Do It
Take your hatred. Your mindless bigotry. Your fear. Your mindless anger at things you don't understand.I loves me a good rant.
Take it, and get out.
From Robert.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
La Dunce Vita
Antonio Sabato, Jr.: So impossibly handsome. So hopelessly dumb.
His new "reality" program, "My Antonio,"* is my latest guilty pleasure. I've always disdained those competition shows, but I decided to make an exception for him. I mean, look:
It was just as cheesy as I expected -- possibly more -- but I found myself sucking it down even though I knew I'd feel sick afterwards.
The himbo is presented with a baker's dozen of bimbos, and he's to winnow down the pack until he ends up with his best match. (Isn't that how you date? That's why it's called a reality show.) Unfortunately for Antonio, the women seem to have been picked for their artificiality, cunning, and ruthlessness. Fortunately for us, this makes for riveting entertainment: See the harpies fight for the pretty man's attention. See them nod sagely at his every vapid utterance. See them tremble in the presence of his fire-breathing mother. See them tear out each other's throat.
I'm ashamed of myself for watching, yet I'm powerless to stop. He is my Antonio.
*Willa Cather is rolling in her grave as surely as death came for the archbishop.
His new "reality" program, "My Antonio,"* is my latest guilty pleasure. I've always disdained those competition shows, but I decided to make an exception for him. I mean, look:
It was just as cheesy as I expected -- possibly more -- but I found myself sucking it down even though I knew I'd feel sick afterwards.
The himbo is presented with a baker's dozen of bimbos, and he's to winnow down the pack until he ends up with his best match. (Isn't that how you date? That's why it's called a reality show.) Unfortunately for Antonio, the women seem to have been picked for their artificiality, cunning, and ruthlessness. Fortunately for us, this makes for riveting entertainment: See the harpies fight for the pretty man's attention. See them nod sagely at his every vapid utterance. See them tremble in the presence of his fire-breathing mother. See them tear out each other's throat.
I'm ashamed of myself for watching, yet I'm powerless to stop. He is my Antonio.
*Willa Cather is rolling in her grave as surely as death came for the archbishop.
Color Me Grey
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Home Truths
Evidently Twitter isn't the total wasteland I'd assumed it was.
"My flight lands at 9:30 on Sunday...You want to watch what? What the fuck is mad men? I'm a mad man if you don't pick me the hell up."From Terry.
Holding Up the Rear
Sometimes the solution is worse than the problem. (High-larious video, though.)
Here's another possibility.
From Christines K and S.
Here's another possibility.
From Christines K and S.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Island Color
One day, we were neighbors with a skinny, goateed guy who had a rather crude, full-sized Confederate flag on his back that looked like it was the work of the chief tat artist in Chino State prison. Most of the time, he stayed passed out on his NASCAR beach towel getting a third degree sunburn, but every once in a while, he’d suddenly spring to life and treat his fellow beach goers to a little show by undulating his back and yelling, “Do y’all see my mother*&in’ flag wavin’? Well do ya, bitches? How cool is that shit? Damn, people!” Then he’d grab his crotch and crash onto his towel again. It was like the island version of “Hee-Haw.”
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
No Regrets
Conservatives think apologizing is a sign of weakness. It's what liberal pussies do, when they're not busy driving electric cars and feeling empathy. When in fact it's the weak and the scared who are too insecure to apologize. Apologies are actually a sign of strength. That's why six-year-olds hate them.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Overheard in the Holler
"I'm on Michael Jack right now."
Ryan Gosling-looking wheelchair tech, on radio to dispatcher
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Life in Short
Texts From Last Night(321): I wish Michael J Fox could read me bedtime stories
(239): He could rock you to sleep
(716): Worst part was I had to fart super bad and didn't want to ruin the room so I farted in a pillow and threw it under the bed.
(803): Reach down the front of your pants and feel around for a while. When you find your balls, leave the library and meet me at the bar.
(405): You need Jesus like Tony Danza needs another hit show.
(404): What are you wearing to our high school reunion?
(678): I don't know, What kind of dress says "I feel sorry for you people?"
(847): I wish I could google chicago male strippers on my work computer but I don't feel like talking to HR today
(541): we're drinking boxed wine and eating string cheese. It's like a wine tasting for poor people.
(209): kindergarten is hard when you're hung over.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Lordy!
Be careful what you ask for.
From Betty Bowers, who suggests perhaps "it would have been more prudent to ask for talent instead."
From Betty Bowers, who suggests perhaps "it would have been more prudent to ask for talent instead."
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Sweating and Furious
So the birthers, the anti-tax tea-partiers, the town hall hecklers -- these are "either" the genuine grass roots or evil conspirators staging scenes for YouTube? The quiver on the lips of the man pushing the wheelchair, the crazed risk of carrying a pistol around a president -- too heartfelt to be an act. The lockstep strangeness of the mad lies on the protesters' signs -- too uniform to be spontaneous. They are both. If you don't understand that any moment of genuine political change always produces both, you can't understand America, where the crazy tree blooms in every moment of liberal ascendancy, and where elites exploit the crazy for their own narrow interests.From David.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
Set for Life
It's been decades, but I still remember the first pair of moobs I saw. They belonged to a guy up the street, a lawyer who was probably about the age I am now. He was mowing his lawn shirtless, and I thought with a start: Oh my God, Mr. Metz has titties! They were pointy, and they jiggled as he went about his task.
I've seen acres of saggy manflesh since then, but you never forget the first time.
I've seen acres of saggy manflesh since then, but you never forget the first time.
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Today's Top Story
As American Christians, Jesus and I both believe that when a child gets healthcare, an angel loses its virginity — or, worse, its concealed weapon. Redirecting dollars from arming bombs to vaccinating arms is clearly the work of a wicked, hateful Socialist Satan! (Or is that a Fascist Fallen Angel? Honestly, as Republicans, we don’t get all liberal-elite, fact-obsessed when it comes to what pejorative labels for unfashionable ideologies really mean!)
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Today's Top Story
We should forget town halls, and replace them with study halls. There's a lot of populist anger directed towards Washington, but you know who concerned citizens should be most angry at? Their fellow citizens. "Inside the beltway" thinking may be wrong, but at least it's thinking, which is more than you can say for what's going on outside the beltway.From Larisa.
Friday, August 07, 2009
Truths and Consequences
The late infomercial pitchman Billy Mays' OxiClean powdered miracle cleaner? Really just sodium percarbonate. A standard chemical you can buy in bulk right now at your local swimming pool supply shop. Whitening toothpaste? Just regular toothpaste with extra grit. Red Bull? Massive shot of caffeine and a megadose of sugar combined with whatever they can squeeze out of the pituitary gland of dead rats. I might be wrong about the rats. But maybe not.Take a deep breath and count to 10.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Today's Top Stories
Forgive the pun, but the third tale seems more than a little fishy. I'm not buying it.
From Laura.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
Monday, August 03, 2009
Book 'Em
A year into the experiment, I've developed a certain appreciation for Facebook. There is something nice about being in touch, however tenuously, with so many people. Yet there's one feature that irks me to no end: the status update.
What's on your mind?
Asked of the wrong person, that simple question can be as risky as handing a microphone to a politician. A few of my friends are as witty on Facebook as they are in real life, and others are consistently interesting. By and large, though, the rest are a stultifying parade of inanity.
There's enough saccharine on Facebook to supply a Pepsi plant for a year. Some days it's like reading a rack of Hallmark cards or a Family Circus collection. After half an hour, I stagger away sweaty and jittery, my temples throbbing.
It's strange how often people post about food: what they just ate, what they're about to eat, what they wish they were eating. One friend, during a period of unemployment, passed his time making elaborate dinners and posting descriptions thereof. I thought his updates would gain interest when he found a job; alas, he turned into a human calendar: "Another week begins..."; "looking forward to a productive and quick Tuesday"; "Productive Thursday at work. Hope Friday's as good."
And then there are the ones who change their status several times a day, as if subconsciously determined to prove their lives duller than everyone else's. This is what I imagine Twitter to be like. And Hell.
Recently, as I lovingly stroked the remaining shreds of my sanity, I made a life-changing discovery: You can make a personal blacklist, secretly blocking offenders' posts from your home page. Salvation!
When I was little, my mother advised: "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all." I didn't take it to heart, obviously, but that won't stop me from suggesting a paraphrased version for Facebook: If you don't have something interesting to say, sit on your hands until the urge to share has passed.
What's on your mind?
Asked of the wrong person, that simple question can be as risky as handing a microphone to a politician. A few of my friends are as witty on Facebook as they are in real life, and others are consistently interesting. By and large, though, the rest are a stultifying parade of inanity.
There's enough saccharine on Facebook to supply a Pepsi plant for a year. Some days it's like reading a rack of Hallmark cards or a Family Circus collection. After half an hour, I stagger away sweaty and jittery, my temples throbbing.
It's strange how often people post about food: what they just ate, what they're about to eat, what they wish they were eating. One friend, during a period of unemployment, passed his time making elaborate dinners and posting descriptions thereof. I thought his updates would gain interest when he found a job; alas, he turned into a human calendar: "Another week begins..."; "looking forward to a productive and quick Tuesday"; "Productive Thursday at work. Hope Friday's as good."
And then there are the ones who change their status several times a day, as if subconsciously determined to prove their lives duller than everyone else's. This is what I imagine Twitter to be like. And Hell.
Recently, as I lovingly stroked the remaining shreds of my sanity, I made a life-changing discovery: You can make a personal blacklist, secretly blocking offenders' posts from your home page. Salvation!
When I was little, my mother advised: "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all." I didn't take it to heart, obviously, but that won't stop me from suggesting a paraphrased version for Facebook: If you don't have something interesting to say, sit on your hands until the urge to share has passed.
Pupils of South Harringay Primary School in north London and their headmaster view the eclipse of the sun, 30 June 1954. Millions of people witnessed the total eclipse of the sun as the moon cast its shadow from America through Europeand on to Asia. For people in Britain, it was the first time they could see
this natural phenomenon since 1927. (Fred Morley/Getty Images)
From Riley.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Blame Game
Considering how much of my life has been spent watching crime shows, you'd think I'd be better at this.
From Kristine.
From Kristine.
Saturday, August 01, 2009
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