Even my 10 year-old self appreciated a good mystery apparently

Running across the following book covers sent me down one of those spiraling time-travel tunnels from Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure:

I can still taste the cinammon red-hots that the owners of our favorite little bookshop on Holly Place would leave out on the counter for us to munch on.

that's all,

gretch

Sometimes These Posts Write Themselves

Just tooling around in the news this morning, and learned a few things:

~ Sarah Palin will be hosting a show called Real American Stories on Fox tonight, in which she will interview rapper/actor LL Cool J. Wait, what now? UPDATE: The show has dropped LL Cool J after he complained. The clips they were showing in commercials were apparently from an interview he gave to someone else a couple of years ago.

~ The latest chapters in Jesse James' sordid not-so-secret life include "sexy" photos with a Nazi theme, and another paramour named Skittles Valentine. Skittles. Valentine. Are we just going with the names we came up with when we were six? Please, call me Taffy. Taffy Sunshine.

~ Though Tiger Woods apparently stayed in $5000/night Vegas hotels, and played at $30,000/hand tables, he only ever bought tramp and former Perkins waitress a chicken salad wrap at Subway, and only then because he was stopping there for a bite before going to her place. And she was sleeping with that. Used to be, whoring around with rich married men was more lucrative. From what I understand. (I chose this bullet over the one about the used tampon that the Nat'l Enquirer obtained after he'd had car sex with some other woman.) You're welcome.

Jenny

PS: Just stare at this for a minute. You'll feel better.

Prunes: They Help you Poo

Careful, People. The freaks in the prune industry seem to think they've found a way to make eating prunes cool. It's not enough that they lock in the 60-and-over crowd, now they want our little kids!

Beginning around '00, the growers made a push to rebrand prunes as "dried plums." This didn't really work, since apparently only some of the 1000 or so plum cultivars are even called prunes in the first place; many are already called dried plums. That clears thing up. Thanks, English Language!

In any case, that having failed, ten years later these regular poopers are pressing on. Now the angle is that these delicious, healthful sweet treats are perfect for children (as if children don't poop enough already.) And to make this fact irrefutable, they have individually wrapped each prune. It's a colossal earth FAIL, but every kid loves to undo a slimy, crinkly package 'o prune, so I can see where they're coming from.

I'd like to suggest another plan of attack, leveled on the Activia industry (bifidis regularis, my arse.) Since they are determined to make every woman in the world break down and admit - while patting her tummy just so - that she's a victim of occasional irregularity, how's about you step in and remind folks about nature's most natural, not to mention immediate, fiber-rich remedy? I should not have to think of these things for you.

Just so we're clear, prune juice is disgusting. Prunes are good. Individually wrapped prunes are insulting but still tasty. Activia is stupid.

Jenny

From the Sunsweet testimonials page:

"I just loooove you're sunsweet prunes.. soo delicious. I went to fat camp last year with a bad attitude and a sweet tooth. Your prunes changed my outlook on eating healthy and now i've lost 29 pounds and now have more confidence in myself all because I love your prunes. Thank you for saving my life, I just praised the lord baby jesus everyday for you and your prunes to lift me up from this life of fatness... and i could not be more thankful!"

--Belle, Beaumont, TX

Masters of Terror

Wes Craven, the film director, is sometimes called The Master of Terror.

I think Osama Bin Laden would have something to say about that.

Don't you?

I think Osama has done a much better job being The Master of Terror.

Kurt

What is BORBA?

With names like Pomegranate Clarifying and Guanabana Fruit Firming you'd think BORBA was a fragrant lotion.

Wrong.

With a price of $3.29 you'd think BORBA was a new line of reasonably priced shampoos and conditioners.

Nope.

With slightly metallic opaque green and orange colors you'd think Borba was a line of body wash.

Uh-uh.

It's "water." It's cloudy, grossly expensive, skin balancing water.

Is this why the rest of the world hates us?

gretch

Coming Soon

I was driving down Beverly today and I see that Tyler Perry has a new movie coming out.

I have not seen any of his films and I cannot deny his success, and I am happy for him and for all of the people that he is employing.

So, I wanted to predict some upcoming titles that would suit the paradigm that Tyler has already set up:

Let's try these...

Tyler Perry's: Hi and Dry
Tyler Perry's: Their for More
Tyler Perry's: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Time
Tyler Perry's: Beautiful Hare
Tyler Perry's: Careful on the Stare's
Tyler Perry's: 20 Carrot Ring
Tyler Perry's: Loch and Key
Tyler Perry's: Need Deep
Tyler Perry's: Hole Life
Tyler Perry's: Eye Need Ewe
Tyler Perry's: A Chord of Wood
and don't forget...
Tyler Perry's: Plain Trip

Kurt

Reality Bites...If You Make Crap Decisions

If you haven’t made it to the end of Reality Bites in the last fifteen years (and why would you have?) let me remind you of what happens…

Our heroine, Lainie, must choose between her two suitors:

Michael: Though he’s slightly awkward and dorky, he is driven and smart and open and honest. He is quick with a smile and kind word; he’s excited about the future in general and their relationship specifically. He believes so deeply in Lainie’s art that he’s equally crushed when the MTV producers mess with her documentary. He goes above and beyond to make things right (um showing up with tickets to New York counts as a sweeping romantic gesture) and doesn’t make her feel bad about her Big Gulp addiction.

-or-

Troy: A conceited, angry, emotionally retarded deadbeat who constantly takes advantage of Lainie’s generosity and laundry quarters. He repeatedly bruises Lainie’s heart without remorse and makes her question her intelligence, beauty and deservedness of love. He smells of BO and cigarettes and spoiled milk and does not practice safe sex with his countless partners.
Who does she choose?

TROY!



WHAT?!
This movie was everything my friends and I aspired to be in high school. How in the hell we are in normal relationships today is beyond me. Film studios really do need to be more responsible with the messages they’re sending to young men and women out there. The least of which should be that daily showers aren't something to be frowned upon.


Et tu, Lisa Loeb?
gretch

Rooked

A few days ago I found out that due to the year of my birth I am a Baby Boomer.

Yes, I am thrown in with all of those people that rioted and protested wars and went to Woodstock or couldn't wait to get to San Francisco with flowers in their hair.

Okay, then I totally got rooked.

When all of that free vagina was being thrown around in the sixties I couldn't enjoy it.

Then when I get old enough the free vagina faucet is turned off.

Rooked.

Kurt

Fear of the Marketplace

I go to the Farmer's Market, because I know I should, and because there is good food to be had that's healthy and good for you, and also didn't travel across the entire country to get to you. I dislike the parking, the shopping for stuff part, the choosing, and the exchange of money for goods. But I do it anyway. It's For The Best.

Still, I bought leeks 10 days ago, and they are still waiting/rotting. The huge tomato is no longer an option, edibly speaking. I've never made chard before, so what on earth made me buy it? I suspect that this has to do with my deservability issues. I know in my head that I can and should buy good food for myself, but still have a ways to go in the "it's okay to prepare said food" department. I will endeavor to work on this.

Organically grown and sourced, for the most part,

Jenny

Viva Las Na'vi

Empty bladder: check.

No consumption of liquid thus far today: check.

Light breakfast of a beer braut and slice of sourdough bread: check.

I am now ready to sit through the Avatar marathon.

I finally went to see the movie today with two good friends.

In 3-D.

I really enjoyed the movie and I didn't feel the urge to look at my watch once which is a high compliment coming from me... like a Vulcan from Star Trek telling you your work is acceptable.

I totally bought it and I'm not going to get into the meaning of the story and the parallels to our country.

But, in the sequel, I expect us to return to the Na'vi and there will be Na'vi Casinos everywhere.

Check.

Kurt

Ew…ew ew ewewew

My mom recently sent me a box of books, included among which was a story of mine she’d found while going through an old bookcase. I read the first sentence and promptly threw it in my bag, refusing to read it out of sheer embarrassment.

I made myself read it today.

I’m going to make an educated guess that it was written around 1993 as it was printed using what appears to be early Canon Bubble Jet technology. Plus, I’m sure the subject is meant to be Dominic Miller, and I was going through a mild-to-moderate obsession with him around that time. Who in the hell is Dominic Miller? This is Dominic Miller.



He was Sting’s guitarist on “Ten Summoner’s Tales.” I’m so ashamed, for so many different reasons. I blush, I cringe, I have to share. Here a few brief excerpts.

… and remembered how I hated cappachino (sic) and dreaded the thought of having to pretend to drink what I considered over-rated coffee bean piss.
I really hated coffee back then.
His eyes were a soft brown that are impossible to describe but easy to recognize.
Huh? Guess I’ve always been a lazy writer.
He wore these amazingly tight fitting black jeans that only he could wear, and a loose silk shirt. When he played, the shirt would slip down and reveal his bare and perfectly formed chest…
Ew…ew ew ewewew
Nor do I believe he knew how good he looked in those pants or how the women in the room would become breathless when his shirt would slip down.
I’m so thoroughly embarrassed, I can’t even tell you. It’s like watching in horror as my 16 year-old self practices French kissing on her own hand.

I left it unfinished at 2 1/2 pages. Thank God.

(shudder),
gretch

Parking

I was just in the parking lot at the AAA and how ironic is it that no one knows how to drive or park a car.

People backing up three times to turn around when a simple U-turn would do.

I even walked behind a car so an elderly woman could pull up, but of course she almost hit me when she decided to back up at the last minute.

As we used to say on the construction site: "If you don't know how to drive it... park it."

Kurt