Thursday, March 27, 2008

Wednesday, March 26, 2008 Decidedly Way Funnier Than Me

This is the hot link I've been forwarding like mad: Paris Hilton Brings African Orphans The Bikini Headshots They So Desperately Need

If the headline doesn't reel you in, (outside of there being no way to save your humorless soul) perhaps this quote can prod you out of your deep, dark (annoying) depression,

"...she signed a stack of photographs featuring the humanitarian star of The Hottie or the Nottie striking a seductive pose in a white bikini. (A gesture which only confused some of the younger children, who proceeded to gnaw on the headshot, assuming it was was some kind of flatbread ration.)"

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

Hollywood Royalty Love to Talk of Earth-Saving, Do Not Save Earth Ever

John Travolta? No, he probably doesn't have it, PRIVATE JET FUEL is quite costly these days. Leo DiCaprio owns a Prius, and poisoned altruism in general as he led the humanitarian lip-service paid by Hollywood in Earth Day sound-bytes and Gap Ads, maybe he could cough up the 8 mill. Isn't Barbara Streisand against fur? That might be Sharon Stone... Oprah? Hell, that guy who won an Oscar for Good Will Hunting is always runnin' his yapper about liberal-minded shit... god, what was his name again? Paris Hilton likes Africans... both kinds... Brangelina -- quit buying children and pay some of America's goddamn bills already!

Anyways, my taxes are tied up in war costs and medicare pharmaceutical supplements, can't an exorbitantly-paid celebrity just pay the money to preserve the lands at Yellowstone? It would give them weeks of shower-nozzle masturbation material... "I can act AND I give generously AND I bought six pairs of shoes this week... I am good... so good... mmmmm...which car should I take later?... which stroller should I use?... LUPE! LUPE! Where's my banana smoothie???"

Jerri Lor-Lor and I had a discussion along these lines at breakfast on Saturday. Isn't it about time that the rich and useless actors of the world start taking care of some shit? THE US TREASURY DOES NOT HAVE THE MONEY. Education was cut in San Francisco to the tune of 500 TEACHER'S JOBS. And the Guardian posed the legitimate question: Why can't some wealthy hoarder just pay the fucking bill? We allow the upper one percent of the tax bracket to get away with MATERIAL GREED AND EXCESS - like to a RIDICULOUS DEGREE - but no one calls them out on it? They attempt to quell their innate embarrassment for such undeserved wealth by donating comparatively small sums to faceless charities, but why can't they be guilted (or bullied) into giving up real cash to supplement federal and state-funded programs that affect regular folks? I say the grassroots backlash should begin. Allow me to be the first anti-celebrity: Quit publicly sucking your own vagina, Oprah, and save Yellowstone already!

Thursday, March 20, 2008

It's 3:17; That Means I Plan To Stay at Work For One Hour, 39 Minutes More

And really, I wish it was time to go now. I can admit that. But some assholes in my office love say shit like this: Oh! My! It's already THREE O'CLOCK!?! Where did the time go? How did that happen? How will I ever get this done?
And all the while, I'm thinking: It's THREE O'CLOCK, bitches! Let's call off early.


I Don't Know What You're So GD Happy About

Today, I woke up in a good mood; who knows how these things happen. Grabbed coffee at my local shop and sat down to enjoy a few sips before my chi could be ruined by the artificial lighting in my "office".

Lucky me! I read this shallow-ish, yet poignant piece (hey, it resonated with me) from yesterday's SF Chronicle, by Robert Scheer (when you don't BUY newspapers, you get it a day late, ok?). He pretty much sums up my anger with George Bush in the paper version's title: Why is George still smiling?

"Once again, there was our president, presiding over disasters, in part of his making and totally on his watch, grinning with an aplomb that suggested a serious disconnect between his worldview and reality. Be it in his announcement that Iraq is being secured on a day when bombs ripped through that sad land, or posed between his Treasury secretary and the Federal Reserve chairman to applaud the government's bailout of a failed investment bank, President Bush was the only one inexplicably smiling."

It reminded me of how arrogantly unaware the Bush clan seemed when they "acted" in that propaganda video of the Presidential dogs joining up to be Park Rangers at the height of the holiday season when real people had no money, and potentially wouldn't see their kid because he or she was sucking up sand in Iraq. People in the world, in the country he claims to GOVERN, were suffering physically, financially, emotionally, and he's chortling all over the White House lawn like a total goon on spring break.

And honestly, I don't really care about his foreign policy positions. I mean I care, but I'm more concerned with how he presents himself. His policies could be argued for if he had well-reasoned, persuasive arguments. Instead, he pontificates with condescending rhetoric-laden sound-bytes, and his actions cater to too many special interest groups/old boy networks. What he really needs? A good debate coach and a good life coach. Hey Georgie! Me and Sweet B can be on the next flight to DC...

...ah fuck it, eight years of giggle-N-spend are nearly over.

Who's up next? Suckers.

Read the article on SF Gate

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Five Years in Iraq

Since I work in arguably the most liberal city in America, San Francisco, I couldn't deem my reaction as "surprise" when I was told protests would be happening just a hundred yards from my office today... past the Starbucks, and the Subway, near the McDonald's and beneath the towering Citibank and Wells Fargo buildings... at Market and New Montgomery - an intersection which pretty much symbolizes the heart of the Financial District.
At lunch, I got on the phone with Sweet B, and headed over there to witness history happening in real time. Market was mobbed with protesters and police in riot-gear. That's something I've never seen before, outside of a picture or a film. The distinct contrast between the black military issue uniforms, helmets and beatin'-sticks set against the hoi-polloi with makeshift signs and protest clothing was rather beautiful. And as a person who is easily irritated by street noise, the absence of cars and trucks drudging along suggested peace even when the faint voice of a hippie on a megaphone could be heard begging for some. I rather liked it, to be honest. I liked how it looked, how it felt. I liked that these people are mad as hell and aren't gonna take it anymore and they let their community and government know it.
Well, there was no way I was getting through that crowd to get to Walgreens, where I planned to buy a throw-away digital camera, knee socks and a birthday card for my grandpa. So I turned around and went to another Walgreens.
The irony isn't lost on me. I get that the Walgreens of the world are part of the problem. Consumer greed and laziness fueled by corporate greed and disassociation. I get it, but I'm also a creature of practicality and utility, and I needed some fucking shit.
I also get that the vapid bitch fest I unleashed on Sweet B was even more shallow than it would have usually been in light of the events of the last five years, and I took care to forewarn her that it would be. And I get that too, but it didn't keep me from telling her about the dumb fight I had with Copper Crotch about the existence and/or need and/or possible fashion faux-paus of wearing or making footless knee high socks.
I get it.
I did buy my burrito at an independent shop, so I think my cred was partially restored by the time I made my way back to Market. But only partially.
That cred took a real nose-dive when I hung up with Sweet B and entered the crowd to take pictures.
Standing and moving among the angry citizenry, I noticed some disgusting things about myself.
Number 1: I felt afraid to take pictures of the police -- and I didn't at first. How easily would I be coerced into abandoning my rights for order? It sickens me now as I type this.
Number 2: I carried my Walgreens-emblazoned bag into the crowd, without an air of embarrassment. A protester shouted, "Yah, go buy some more shit." I knew she was talking to me, and I felt overwhelming shame.
Number 3: When the hippie on the megaphone started a chant, just two feet away from me, "No More War", I didn't even consider joining in. And then when I realized my mouth was shut, I couldn't bring myself to open it.
I was a by standard, a fucking photo journalist for the local paper, a fucking paparazzo for the politically-aware. I hardly felt like an American. I hardly felt like an American who has real opinions and real passion for anything outside herself.
I felt like a spoiled, greedy, selfish, blow-hard ass, and I am part of the problem. And the hippie, the hippie who I chastise constantly, he's the rabble-rouser. He's the actor. He's the person who inspires others to change. His spirit is mighty and my spirit is dead.

No More War

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

The Fifteen Starbucks On Your Block Expect A Profit (Profit: A Fancy Word for "Money")

This N Y Times article is so funny! I can't believe that, uh, Jeff Leeds took the time to write actual words on this subject. Is he trying to become a comedy writer?

So "people" are pissed that Starbucks abandoned their original vision to sell/promote underground music in their stores (sorry, I can't stop laughing at seeing "Starbucks" and "underground music" in the same sentence). Hey! It turns out STARBUCKS was just interested in MAKING MONEY, so now they sell the mainstream GARBAGE like A. Keys and J. Blunt! ZIP YOUR LID, Jeff! I don't believe you!

The No BullShit Zone: If you're corporate monopolistic swine, just BE corporate monopolistic swine, don't act like you have some kind of indie-art cred. Of course, all of the cattle suckling at your latte-teet don't know the real difference anyhoo! SO JUST CONTINUE FILLING THEIR BOWELS WITH CANCER-CAUSING SUGAR AND DAIRY UNTIL THE END. PERHAPS THE COUNTER-CULTURE I KNOW EXISTS WILL SURVIVE THE APOCALYPSE JUST LIKE COCKROACHES AND WE CAN QUICKLY REPOPULATE THE PLANET WITH PEOPLE WHO THINK FOR THEMSELVES AND WHO FIND THE CONCEPT OF "STATUS" AS GROSS AS A FRAPPACINO.
Sorry, my laughter turned angry super quick! My bad.

Monday, March 17, 2008

I Do Think Having Children Is Nuts... But I'm Not A Legislative Body

I was wary of the Health Ranger's point of view on The Mother's act when he referred to America as "our great nation" but then he brought me back when he referred to the classification of pregnant women as mentally ill to be "a bogus pile of crap". This is one granola-boy you can't accuse of being humorless!
Link to Branding Pregnancy as Mental Illness: Immediate Consumer Action Needed to Stop Mothers Act

Thursday, March 13, 2008

A Pictoral Representation of My Wounded Ego

Designed by Little Brown Brother
Inspired by My Actual Wounded Ego (which was inspired by Little Brown Brother)

Homo Sapien Happenings in Your Town

You see people all day, and rarely wonder what their lives might be like outside of that ten seconds it takes for them to pass in front of your face. Usually I just sense they are around me, especially during rush hour; we're all cattle running to the same slaughter -- camaraderie. More often than not, I'm angry at over-population -- where did you come from? why are you walking slowly in front me? On a good day, I find myself scanning for someone attractive to glance at... look away... glance at... look away... More so, lately, I find myself staring at someone old, and the distinct awareness of my own mortality rushes through me like ice water.

Today, I noticed quite the character: Mr. Unlucky. He made his presence known by sidling up next to me on the corner and coughing loudly...twice. At first I thought it was a German Shepherd in a car, but then Mr. Unlucky passed by me and barked again. The cough was unsettling enough for me to physically wince. Soon his pace overtook mine, and he enraptured me with his tragic ballet. Wearing a navy blue suit coat and black slacks, in three steps he hit a puddle, kicked a half-eaten hot dog bun, then stumbled into vomit. He looked down, but his speed only quickened. Just then my attention meandered to the right when a tall Jim Halpurt-type passed me. My eyes rolled over his shoes, his ass, his bag, his haircut -- you know, the stuff that makes a man. Then he left me for the bank. Right at the moment, Mr. Unlucky paused for a new puddle and strategically rested both shoes in it. I deduced: to clean off the hot dog bread and the vomit.

Where was that guy going anyway?

My Little Brown Brother sent me this whopper of an article yesterday: Who is this woman who refused to leave the bathroom? Who refused to move her ass from the toilet? Who sat on her throne for TWO YEARS? HER SKIN WAS STUCK TO THE TOILET BOWL. Who are these people everywhere around us?

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Some Interesting Articles in Today's N Y Times... Finally

An Arkansas woman was left in a court's holding cell for FOUR DAYS without food or water. The best parts of that article, 1) She DRANK HER OWN URINE and 2) She used her shoe as a pillow. Of course, the article tried to spin it into a racial issue, but really I think old Bailiff Jenkins just "...flat forgot about her." Arkansans, can you quit propagandizing your own stereotypes? LINK

W.R. Grace & Company was ordered by the feds to pay them $250M for clean-up, since the arrogantly irresponsible bastards gave everyone in Libby, Montana lung cancer. Blah blah blah. I'd like to point out that this SAME COMPANY also gave people diseases in Massachusetts years ago. The drama was detailed in one of my fave books, "A Civil Action", by Jonathan Harr and then RETOLD by John Travolta in the movie adaptation. Why can't W.R. Grace & Company give themselves or John Travolta cancer? LINK

Allen Kozinn does his best Captain Obvious schtick with this nugget of wisdom regarding May Pang's new John Lennon photog release, " the pages of 'Instamatic Karma' — the title is a play on Lennon's song 'Instant Karma...'"... NO SHIT?
In the bigger picture though, I can't wait to see this book, and I should really take more photos of people I know who have the propensity to be famous one day -- so I can capitalize on their fame by dumping my hard drive onto a publisher when I'm 50, and they're dead. LINK

Friday, March 7, 2008

The Craig's List Post I Vow Never To Publish, Bitches

Look, I can't catch a break. Every guy has a bubble-butt girlfriend he sucks at the teet of all day long, and that leaves me with the porn-sex seekers, the emotionally damaged (my heart! my heart!), the slightly deranged cosby sweaters, the DJsmakinbreakinbeatsyo, the balding lawyers who love to bike and adore The Big Lebowski which kind of tricks you into thinking they might be cool and then you find out they also wear hiking shoes around town like they're regular shoes and own hoards of North Face gear and SKIS, oh, and lesbians.

The options for meeting these folks are even more tragic. Have you ever tried one of these legitimate dating websites? The Sincere Loser seeks the mother of his children (and most likely his self) will woo you by offering "You're Cute." Oh, really? Will you tell me to keep my nose out of your trashcan later? The Humorless Intellectual whose vocabulary has been cultivated via years of insanely boring reading (have you ever had cause to use "laconic"?). IF YOU'RE SHOWING OFF YOUR VOCABULARY, IT IS MOST LIKELY ALL YOU HAVE TO SHOW OFF. And to be honest, I could barely pass the "credit check" for Yahoo because the site is controlled by a totalitarian regime of love-police who think using the F-word in her ad means she's not serious about love... and after being CENSORED like eighty different times I said So Long Assholes Enjoy Your Surveillance and moved along to the Onion. Jesus. Just because people LIKE funny shit, doesn't mean they ARE funny. And as a general aside, if I see another arbitrary use of ellipses, I'll kick my own ass; I'll pulverize it in protest.

This brings me to my point.

I'm tired. I'm tired of writing these ads and reading the responses. I'm tired of blah blah blah I'm from the Midwest and I've been divorced blah blah blah I love sushi too! You like that band? I hate that band! That band sucks! See you later. blah blah blah blah blah Let's meet up! Drinks? Where should we go? blah blah blah emails. So many emails slowly chipping away at my soul. Do you know how many people in the Bay area know I like The Office -- especially the UK version? Do you know how sad that makes me feel? Assholes that I hate think they know me because I mentioned I like The Office. Well, I do like The Office so now you know too.

Ok, THAT brings me to my point.

This is my last effort. I'd prefer to meet people through normal channels, but it just doesn't seem to happen for me. I'm on my second glass of whiskey and I'm just going to put it all out there.

This is who/what I am looking for: A casual, sexual relationship. One where I'm not up your ass and you're not up mine. I have a lot going on and I have very fulfilling familial and friendly relationships. I am very much "whole-ish" without you in my life. Now, I'm not discounting the possibility of love. Shit, if I want to love you then I will, but don't expect it. I'm not looking for something I think no one understands. I'm not looking to feel some counterfeit version of what you think love is or looks or feels like. Uninterested. I don't want to be your girlfriend. I want to hang out and have fun and have sex and not think about the sex just have it. Is this do-able? Am I unreasonable? I don't think that I am. And if you don't think that I am, then you may have a fighting chance to indulge in the easiest relationship of your entire adult life.

Calm down, I don't want to just have sex with any person. I want to want to talk to you after it's over. My type: creative, funny, self-deprecating, a kind asshole, independent, a thinker, doesn't care about status, has good taste. I am those things too. If you found this post "saucy" or "spicy" or "spunky" or "hot" or something along those lines and your brain did not compute as I belong to COUNTER-CULTURE YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT but you feel intrigued because you're an unaware misogynist, DO NOT CONTACT ME. If you can legitimately identify and associate with the my voice because it's a voice you recognize and maybe have even used, then you should contact me.

Befuddlement, The Nature of News

Via my daily NYTimes email...

This headline: Bombs Kill 54 and Wound 123 in Baghdad


this headline: A Man’s 6-Pack Can Serve as His Castle

were about six inches apart. I didn't read the articles, I just noticed the small amount of space. I could go on, but I got other shit to do.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

The Case for the Canonization of Patrick Swayze, Relative to Me

I first noticed Pat's star power, as a sex-god nose-crinkler (take or leave the dancing) circa 1987. This saucy film settled into heavy rotation in my slumber party circle for the majority of sixth grade. I thought that would be enough to satisfy my needs a la for e ver. And it did for several years... until... a memorable SNL performance involving Chippendale's dance moves, Tina Turner-esque tresses, and playing sweetheart to my boy, Chris Farley, curb sided the sexual hotness. It was then he moved from sexual to asexual. His likability remained HIGH, just not sexy-high. I simply re-catalogued him as a tiny-wasted goof-ball. Finally, Donnie Darko was revealed to me (like ten fucking years after everyone else saw it) (thanks "friends" for recommending good movies to me, NOT) and the viewing experience finally solidified Swayze's ACTUAL acting craft. My respect for him had come full circle. Beef-cake fantasy... total dork... exceptional thespian... the layers which construct the complexity of all human beings.

And honestly, I didn't even hate his crappy song "She's like the wind". He was a bit tone-deaf... but who isn't?

Yes, he invented my puberty, stepped-up my sense of self-deprecation and challenged my judgements, and finding out he has terminal cancer? Well, it nearly breaks my heart.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

The War Rages On, and The City of Oakland Continues to Bend Me Over

The strangely proficient City of Oakland Parking Enforcement (quite possibly the ONLY sect of city government even remotely capable) ticketed my fucking car again. Gazing up, I located the hidden parking sign... Angr.r.r.r.y.y.y.y. Walking to public transportation, I pissily pass by newly built condo eye-sores and ABANDONED buildings with you know, CHARM, and wade through GARBAGE and HUMAN PISS, I calculate my reluctant monetary contributions have probably paid an entire year's salary to one of these city employees, and I realize PARKING will be the end of Oakland and certainly the end of San Francisco and it's all derived from this same sick cycle of greed and laziness. Consumerism. Cars. Fuel. Iraq. Condos. Gentrification. Kitch. Marketing. Fucking bicyclists wearing spandex in public. And I threaten to move to Canada, but that's too predictable for a white person to threaten.
Oh, shut it! Elly. Eat your locally grown chemical-free juicilicious Satsuma, hypocritically continue to locate parking for your gas-pillaging car, and UNDERSTAND! it could always be worse, and somewhere in the world, possibly in Canada, it is.

Link to Stuff White People Like

Monday, March 3, 2008

This Screws Up My Whole Understanding of Right & Wrong and Good & Evil

My heart attack was brought on by this nug from Jezebel. Salute your shorts, Veronica.