Overstanding Jah

There's something physically creepy that happens to your body when you hear your 16 year old son say, "Mom, I met a girl." Something like cold shivery nausea, starting in your throat, kicking and screaming it's way through your stomach, then quickly making it's way to your asshole. This happened to me about a week ago.
This afternoon, the same, once innocent and beautiful son of mine asked for some help putting on a Rasta friendship bracelet this girl gave him. While I was trying to tie it, he asked me if I knew what the colors represented. I said something like the green probably stands for pot, which he better not be fucking smoking. Not that I'm against marijuana, I just would prefer that his brain stop growing before he fucks with it, which I've explained to him many, many times.
Then I asked him who this chick was that gave it to him. Of course it was some name that I can't pronounce, spell or remember, and she's "really cool." Eeeek.
So then I considered saying that red stands for the blood from abortion, or the bloody pulp that will be the remains of his body if he even thinks about having un-safe sex, but I found a nicer way to put it. I'll spare the details. Anyway, when I finally shut up, he told me what the colors meant.

Red symbolizes the blood of the people, yellow stands for gold, and green stands for the land.

After our talk, I realized that I don't know much about Rastafarians, so I spent some time tonight reading about the religion. I learned a lot about it, but I'm really tired and I've got new, yummy sheets on my bed.
Here's a pretty informative site if you're interested in reading more about the concept of oneness. It's totally "irie."

Rastafarianism

Too Close for Comfort

This morning I got a call from my friend Lala on her way to Vegas (without me bitch!) to tell me how bad traffic was (karma) because of a melted freeway near the airport. After I got all the details, I nearly had heart failure. A few blocks away from the gas tanker explosion is my good friend Bruce's house, where I'd just been celebrating his birthday (among other enjoyable experiences) until about 2:30am.

About an hour before this fucking disaster happened, my Colonel was on this road coming to pick me up after his show. We missed the explosion by an hour coming back home.

My friend lives just off the West Grand Ave. exit.
One little hour. It makes me sick.

Dongle-ing Around

Well, I'm happy to say that words flowed like diarrhea from my ass last night, and again this morning. I had no idea what my column would be about when I went to bed last night, but as a sign that I'm doing exactly what I should be doing, a story happened before breakfast. Since I was out lounging in the morning sun when it happened, I grabbed my notepad and started scribbling.
An hour later I ran into a few wireless issues while transferring the story from laptop to desktop, but thankfully my Colonel is a computer dork and helped me out by, "You can use my dongle if you need to." Of course you know when he said that I thought he was trying to get more of my fantastic action, so he was confused when I said thanks and dropped my pants. Just kidding. But I did laugh and ask for an explanation.

A dongle (which I'm sure everybody in the world but me already knows) is a little device like this picture here that's used to prevent software piracy. Certain programs now can be installed on your computer but not used without the dongle plugged into a port.

Technically, he doesn't possess a real dongle, but some people refer to those little flash drive keychain things as such. He does have something very similar sounding though, and I know exactly what that is.

Deadline Demon

When I woke up this morning, I was so happy it was Friday. The work week was nearly finished and I had nothing to do but socialize for the next few glorious days.

Then around 5:30 this evening, my editor calls. Not only do I have to submit another column by Monday morning, but I've got to re-write the last one I was so proud of. By 11am tomorrow morning no less. It's not that it was bad (so he says), but they want to use it as a cover story and it needs some "clean up and expansion." Since I'll be at one of my favorite annual gatherings tomorrow night and won't be home until at least 4am Sunday morning, that also means I better learn-and-blog good and early tomorrow as well. So what did I learn today?

I've got a shitload of words to crap out my ass in a pathetically small amount of time.

It'll be like Ron Jeremy fucking Yoko Ono. Too much in too little.
I need juice baby. Juice.

Thanks to Tom Richmond for this drawing that so perfectly portrays Mr. Editor Howell, who had the nerve to just call me (after hours of drinking) and ask me to come downtown to party. You know I need it baby, but I'm dedicated. Aren't you proud?

More *SALT Please

Today, thanks to JMB, I learned what an ICBM is. Really though, I was happier not knowing what an Intercontinental Ballistic Missile was. What's even worse are the MIRV's, Multiple Independently-targetable Reentry Vehicles, which allows a single nuclear missile to hit multiple targets.

I don't even want to write any more about it.

*Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty

Suicide

I know I missed yesterday, but I wasn't expecting to be out so late. I was lending my ears to a friend in need, and it got late faster than we anticipated. No regrets though. I'm glad I was there.



So today again I lost track of time and spent more hours than intended reading about this pet food recall thing. I learned a lot about melamine and gluten, counterfeit medicines and the FDA. I don't have the time to write it all, but I will share a few highlights.



-The FDA cannot order a recall. The manufacturer or distributor of problem products does it voluntarily. That's it. That is the law. Voluntarily.



-There are 5 known companies that received the contaminated crap the Chinese used in pet food (and possibly more) but the FDA will not name 2 of them until they come out voluntarily. Again with voluntarily.



-The contaminated substances, mainly wheat gluten, and the toxic contaminate melamine, are both white granular substances. They look suspiciously similar.



-One possible reason for putting the melamine into the pet food was so the protein testing would come up higher, making the food seem more nutritious and valuable.



In summation, today I learned how easy it would be to wipe out an entire country.


And how to tie a noose.

A Brief Candle

Today is Shakespeare's birthday.


It is also his deathday.

May be or may be not,-- that is the question.

Ecological Footprints

Happy Earth Day!

My inner hippie loves Earth day, but suprisingly all I did today was eat, watch Meet the Robinson's at the theatre with my 4 year old, and take an ecological footprint quiz. So today I learned few things.

-The Atta Pepper Frittata at the Schellville Grill is pretty tasty.

-Frogs have far more musical potential than humans (at least according to Franny Robinson)

-If everyone lived like me, we'd need 1.9 planets to survive.

-The average ecological footprint in the US is 24 acres, but mine is only 9. It should be 4.

What is an ecological footprint? Click here to read more.

I also learned a few interesting ways to celebrate Earth day, like making a skirt out of old umbrella's, turn used guitar strings into a centerpiece, and convert an old floppy disk into a Starship Enterprise.

Um, yeah. I don't think so.

Frühlingsfest

We spent most of the day today visiting a friend at his mom's great condo in San Francisco. There's something about being in a highrise with a view of the city that really turns me on, and I could have stayed for days. But, we had the little guy with us, so we entertained him down at Fisherman's Wharf and Pier 39. It was cold and rainy, and even though we were totally stuffed from lunch at Tommy's Joynt (my SF favorite), we ducked into a place called Jack's for a little warm-up. There was something like 68 - 85 beers on tap there (it was hard to tell which sign was correct), which led to a discussion about Oktoberfest. The Colonel told us something so random and unbelievable about the meaning of the German festival, that I had to look it up as soon as I got home. I couldn't find any supporting evidence for his story, but I learned something else.

Frühlingsfest- "Spring festival"- started yesterday in Munich, Germany. Sometimes called Little Oktoberfest, Frühlingsfest is a two-week celebration welcoming the arrival of Spring.

I also learned a new word.

"Bierleichen"

During the regular Oktoberfest, this is the name given to those who drink beer until they pass out. It means "beer corpses."

Mo Money

It's been a night of tequila and wine, but before all that, I learned something really cool.

"We're doubling your pay"

That's all I can say. I couldn't be happier. How often do you get an e-mail like that?

Vacation Time

One of my teeth has been feeling weird for the last week, so I went to the dentist today to check it out. He asked me if I've been under a lot of stress lately, and I burst out laughing. I'm a lazy hedonist with 3 boys, a full time job, and a mortgage. I wouldn't say I'm under a lot of stress lately. Stress is what keeps me breathing. I eat stress for breakfast. I thrive on chaos. That's why I do asskickboxing whenever I have time.
So anyway, whatever. Here's what he told me.

Nothing is wrong with my teeth. I've just been clenching them so hard lately that they're starting to hurt. And a night guard that I won't use costs $200.

I'm surprised my tongue doesn't hurt too, as much I find myself biting it.
Arrrg.

What a Goat Knows

There are only 8,700 seats left in Heaven.

According to Jehovah's Witnesses, 135,300 of the 144,000 available already have jackets, purses and program guides laying across them. I'm not going to do the math, but that's only a teeny tiny little percentage of us living here on earth right now. And after typing "salvation" into the search box on the Official Website of the Watchtower Society, (which gave a little shiver in my hedonistic, sin-full, agnostic soul), I learned that if you buy Girl Scout cookies, you're definitely not one of the 8,700.

I'd like to know what happens if 8,701 souls do everything right. Those who abide with no chess playing, no birthday parties, no jury duty. The ones who tenaciously knock on your door when you're taking a crap, attend more meetings per week than a recovering crack addict, and abstain from donating to charity (except to Watchtower causes). If for no other reason than to see the game of musical chairs played out in the board room of heaven, I'd like to buy a pass.

My thinking however, is that heavenly kingdom will look something like a movie theatre playing the next Costner flick.

Navigating the Stars

Now that I've gotten a little sleep and the free vodka smell has pretty much evaporated from my skin, I think I'm ready to blog again. I thought however, that instead of sharing what I learned today, I'd share a few things I learned over the 5 days I missed during the film festival.
It's hard to know where to begin.




David Wain is damn funny, but it's hard to tell at first. He's so deadpan when you talk to him, that until you get to know him a bit, you sort of furrow your brows and wonder if you're just too normal to get him. I wish I could have spent more time with him.







Ernie Hudson, whom everyone called, "That Ghostbusters Guy" even though he's done so much more, is the nicest, most gracious, kind and gentle, loving man. I met him last year and he remembered me. Or at least he was polite enough to act like he did.




The only thing Joe Pantoliano, known around here as Joey Pants, has in common with Guido the Killer Pimp or Ralphie on the Sopranos is that he's Italian. Very Italian. I was lucky enough to attend a small and exclusive dinner party with him, where I learned that he is also very friendly, passionate, positive-thinking, and generous. And he likes the way I smell.


I learned a LOT about my favorite Saturday Night Live girl Cheri Oteri, but I'll keep most of it to myself as a lot of it is personal. We spent most of the festival together and I feel like we're old friends. I will say that she is prettier in person than in pictures, more serious in real life than on screen, and she's very tiny. Her first name is Cheryl and yes, her last name is really Oteri, but before Don Pardo started rhyming her name, she thought of herself as Cheri O-tiery. I love and adore her and I'm totally going to miss her.







Emily Van Camp is as cute and sweet as the roles she does. Maybe even more. She looks exactly the same in person as she does in her beautiful photos, and I recognized her right away. She was easy to work with, and very gracious. It was nice having her here.







When I first met DB Sweeney, all I knew is that he looked familiar. It wasn't until we walked into the theatre and some woman told him how much she loved him in Cutting Edge that I realized who this clown was. I couldn't believe she recognized him, and I was especially in awe when she handed her camera to Cheri to get a picture with her favorite star! I love this guy, even though he embarrased me in the center of my hometown. Word of advice if you ever find yourself walking through a park with him where teenage punk rockers are throwing gummy-bears at each other; run and hide behind the nearest tree. Or just join in and start screaming along in complete horror. He was a silly little boy, but I'll blame it on the wine.

To my complete disappointment, I didn't realize that the guy who was freaking me out this weekend was William Mapother, who played creepy guy Ethan on LOST. I kept avoiding the huge, scary-looking dude who kept staring at me. Seriously, I thought he was going to kidnap me. I realize now that I was just biased against him because I'd seen him drag Claire into the jungle on TV, but I wasn't consciencely aware of it when I saw him. It was weird though how I never saw him smile, and I don't remember him speaking. I wonder if he was just fucking with me. Was he getting some sick thrill out of intimidating little blonde chicks? Did he turn to his friends and laugh after I ran around the corner? Damn. I'll never know.


That crazy, fun, stylish, beautiful girl I met at a friends house was a super-model. I knew she was a model and her name was Irina, but I don't keep up with fashion or models, especially super-models, so I didn't realize who she was. I thought she was refreshingly different from the crowd, and found it interesting how she always managed to be in front of a camera. And apparently Ms. Pantaeva is into filmmaking too.


These next 2 peeps I didn't actually meet, but I talked to them on the phone and learned that they are both huge, whiney pains-in-the-asses.
Is that slander? No, it's fact. But I'll spare the details to save on lawyer fees just in case.

Ken Marino

Samantha Mathis

And last, but certainly not least, I met THE Daedalus Howell. Writer, actor, director, musician, editor, and all around funny guy, this was my favorite star siting of all.

Wait a sec.
I already know him.
Isn't he fab?

Exhaustion Fumes

punch-drunk / Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[puhnch-druhngk] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–adjective
1.
(esp. of a boxer) having cerebral concussion caused by repeated blows to the head and consequently exhibiting unsteadiness of gait, hand tremors, slow muscular movement, hesitant speech, and dulled mentality.
2.
Informal. befuddled; dazed.

Yes. All of the above.

The film festival lube has yet to leach out of my blood, but I have many many stories and lessons when I can get my head back on straight (er).

Fermented Madness

Film Festival weekend.

Total mayhem.

The Grandest Event in the History of the Colored Race

Today is the official first day of our fantastic local film festival where I o-so happily volunteer, and since there's a party before and after my somewhat prestigious VIP Team meeting tonight, I decided I'd better get this learning shit out of the way early.

I wish I had something funny and interesting to say, but all I can think about is that I don't have any cute shoes to wear tonight, and that I don't have any money. I did learn something today though.

Before Abe Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation, he signed the Emancipation Act, which freed about 3,000 slaves in Washington DC nine months early. Every year on April 16th, an official public holiday gives Washingtonians a day off, soooo...
taxes aren't due until April 17th this year.

After spending way more than my lunch hour today reading all about slavery and emancipation, I'm consumed with the concept of freedom and being free. While I realize that slavery and freedom are serious issues and shouldn't be made fun of, I'm already an admitted idiot so I've made a list of things that I need my own Emancipation Act for.

1- Ignorance. My own and all that surrounds me.
2- Negative thoughts. Especially my own.
3- Love of food.
4- Either my dependency on money or the desire to have way too much of it.
5- Insecurity.

No Thing

I didn't learn anything today.

But
I saw

2 woodpeckers fighting

A homeless looking woman with beautiful eyes

A guitar called a Warlock

and

3 girls walking down the highway in pajamas

So it wasn't a totally wasted day.

I Undastan Dat

I don't really know how many times, out of pure curiousity, I've picked up a bible and started reading it, then put it down five minutes later all pissed off. It seems to me that something as supposedly important as "THE word" should be a little easier to understand. But after our Maui visitor read this to us from the Hawaiian Pidgin bible last night, which is not intended as a joke by the way, I finally understand the Lords Prayer.

God, you our Fadda.
You stay inside da sky.
We like all da peopo know fo shua how you stay,
An dat you good an spesho inside,
An we like dem give you plenny respeck.
We like you come king ova hea now.
We like everybody make jalike you like,
Ova hea inside da world,
Jalike da angel guys up inside da sky make jalike you like.
Give us da food we need fo every day.
Let us go, an hemo our shame
Fo all da kine bad stuff we do to you,
Jalike us guys let da odda guys go awready,
An we no stay huhu wit dem
Fo all da kine bad stuff dey do to us.
No let us get chance fo do bad kine stuff,
But take us outa dea, so da Bad Guy no can hurt us.
Cuz you our king,
You get da real power,
An you stay awesome foeva.
Dass it!

And I love this -

"Everytime, dis how I pray: "God, you da God fo our Boss Jesus Christ. You our Fadda, an you stay awesome! I like you help da Efesus peopo fo know inside dea hearts wat fo do. An show dem plenny bout Christ, so dey goin know him mo betta.'" (Fo da Efesus Peopo 1:17)

Now, I could read a bible like this. Somehow it all makes sense, even though I still don't believe there's a big man in da sky.

Ok, one more and then I'll send you out on your own.

Den had one big storm ova dea, an da waves was bussing ova da boat, so da boat almos wen huli. But Jesus still yet stay sleeping in da back on one pillow. His guys wen go wake him up, an tell him, “Eh, Teacha! You no care we goin mahke, o wat?”

Jesus get up, an scold da wind an da waves. He say, “Quiet! No move aroun!” Den da wind wen pau an da waves wen come nice. An he tell his guys, “How come you guys scared? You guys no trus me, o wat?” (Mark Tell Bout Jesus 4:37-40)

Wat Da Bible Say Bout Important Stuffs <---- click here ja idiot

A Message From Jesus

Jesus doesn't like eggs.

|

There's also no humping in heaven.


Thank you Mark Garrison. Until today, I thought JC was totally down with the whole pagan sex celebration thing.

Domestic D

This morning I was awakened by the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen. I couldn't believe my nose. I've been ripped out of beautiful sleep several times by silent sledgehammers, but rarely by something that doesn't justify violence. Then I remembered we had my favorite kind house guest; a couch crasher that knows how to cook. I love going out to brunch on the weekends but I love my pajamas more, and it was wonderful to just climb out of bed and have a really good breakfast right here at home.
And it gets even better.
Tomorrow is Easter and the only cooking I have to do is my special green bean creation. Dearest Daryl, another fabulous DH, is making us his amazing Hawaiian specialty, Kalua Pig. It's a little hard to keep the neighbors away when cooking a whole pig in a huge pit in the backyard, so he's going for the haole method; pork-roast in a slow cooker.
Since he's doing the cooking, I did the buying, and today I had to brave the unknown frontier of the grocery store all by myself. It was quite the learning experience.

Pork butt is actually a pork shoulder, without the bone.

Red wine vinegar is in the salad dressing aisle.

Water chestnuts are not canned vegetables. They are "ethnic" food.

My son's former friend who checked me out, (in the grocery store scanner cash register sense) has a something something something super engine something.

The school nurse in town has retired, but she's thinking about going back to work.

Good Excuse Friday

Why today is called "Good" Friday? I don't know. All I can find is that maybe it's been lengthened from "God" Friday, but I find that just too stupid to accept. I found some gibberish about how maybe the word "good" is used to show that Jesus dying was a good thing because it liberated so many people from sin.
I personally find all Friday's to be good. (and full of sin)

Here are some names other countries use instead of "Good."

In Israel, today is Big Friday.
In Germany, it's Sad Friday or Mourning Friday.
It's Great Friday in the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Poland, Hungary, Serbia, Greece, and Bulgaria.
Latin America, Spain, France, Italy and Portugal say it's Holy Friday.
In Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Finland and Iceland, today is Long Friday.

I'm calling this particular Friday before Easter "Good Excuse Friday." Let's have this be a day of finding, using, and believing all the excuses we can for our bad habits. Let's use this day as a way of finding better excuses for a future full of sin. Exuses to get out of doing things we don't want to do. A good excuse to take a day off work. A good excuse to party.

My main excuse for everything about to happen tonight is...

My Colonel is playing another show.

AM Killed the Radio Star

I'm exhausted today, but I ran across this little snippet today.

FM radio was invented by Edwin Howard Armstrong, who like Kurt Cobain 13 years ago today, took his own life. Mr. Armstrong jumped out of his 13 story apartment window in 1954, because he thought his invention was a failure.

RCA, his employer at the time, worried that FM would destroy AM radio, and got in bed with the FCC to keep it from being used.
Jealous fuckers.

I wish I could get more into this, but I can't keep my eyes open. Take a look at this cute newspaper photo.

And happy 3-year aniversary for your FM radio show Mr. JMB!

Up, Down, Left, Right

I've been in the car for 5 hours today, which is about 4 hours longer than I can stand. I learned something though.

There are 14 turns between my sister's house and mine, if you include turning into my driveway. 10 rights and 4 lefts.

Isn't that exciting?

Ok ok ok. There is something else. When I got home I read a silly email from my mom, and at the bottom it said that 17 million people are having sex right now. But according to my calculations based on sex stats done by a condom company, I think the number is much lower.

Approximately 1 million people are having sex right this minute, and about 45 thousand of them are orgasming right NOW.

Here's how I figure it- The world averages say that people have sex about 106 times a year. That's roughly every 3 days. At the time of my study, which was about 10 minutes ago, the world population was around 6.7 billion. So if people are having sex about every third day, then I figure it's about a third of these peoples turn today. Since sex can strike at any hour, I divided these 2 billion people by 24 hours, leaving 93 million. Divide that by 60 minutes, you get about 1.5 million. Now let's say about a third of these people are too young or too old or whatever, so we'll remove half a mill, which leaves us 1 million people having sex right now. And since the world average length of time for humping is about 22 minutes, I'd say that about 45,000 of them are finishing up right about now. Less of course those who don't/can't/won't cum, and plus those who are alone.

According to the Blissymbolics Dictionary,
this is the blissymbol for Orgasm.

Gotta go.

Living on Dyer Island

I had another fun day painting, playing cards, and making mud pies with the nieces, nephew and my 4 year old today. I actually missed them when they went to bed, which is totally weird since bedtime is usually the best part of the day for me. So later when my sister started watching some lame-ass tattoo show on TV, I started reading the first thing I could find; a National Geographic for kids. For the most part, the magazine was surprisingly lame, but I did learn something kinda interesting from it.

There are penguins in South Africa (penguins in South Africa?) who used to make their homes out of hardened guano (bird shit) before people started taking it and selling it for fertilizer. When they started dying off due to lack of shelter, conservationists started bringing in fiberglass igloos for them to live in, just like the kind dogs use for napping. And it worked. Within a week of bringing them in, the birds, formerly known as Jackass penguins, were calling them home.

These little guys are now called African penguins, and the people selling their shit are called Jackass humans.

Smarter Than a Zozzfozzel

The only thing good about Fallon, Nevada is my nieces and nephew. If it weren't for them, I'd be at home right now instead of picking desert sand out of my eyes in the middle of nowhere. But I'm having so much fun with them that I can't complain. There's something about being far from home, wandering the vastness of Super Walmart in the middle of a small, dusty town that causes me to lose my reasoning completely and want to join the trashy crowd. I totally let loose today and allowed the kids to run screaming down the aisles. I don't know if it's because the store was so big or the people were used to this kind of behavior, but not one single person gave me that evil look I usually give when I see this kind of terrorism.
We bought dyed flowers sprinkled with glitter for only 5 bucks, and I let them get candy from the row at check out line. It was embarrassing that they didn't scream for it first. Utterly horrifying how politely they picked which colors they wanted. Totally unacceptable that their eyes lit up right before they said thank you. What kind of behavior is that for Walmart? Super Walmart no less. Sheesh.
After we got home and the sugar-high wore off, my very first niece, whom through clenched teeth my sister refers to as "Donna Junior," read me a book by our mutually favorite author, Dr. Seuss. "The Cat's Quizzer- Are YOU smarter than the cat in the hat?" There were 100 or so silly questions which she read to me, and I got a few of the answers right. We had a great time, and I actually learned something.

It's possible that worms might actually dream.

I answered an emphatic NO to the question of "Do worms dream?" The answer on page 61 was, "I know two psychiatrists- Dr. Willis and Dr. Mazzanti. They tell me that maybe worms do dream." Who's going to argue with Dr. Seuss?

Then it was bedtime, and when I was tucking her in and checking for bedbugs, my little prince brought me my long lost tiara. And it fit like Cinderella's slipper.

Drowning in Buffonery

It's probably going to be a late night, so in honor of April Fools day, I leave you with....

The First Church of the Last Laugh

I missed their Saint Stupid's Day Parade today, but I'm heading out to something nearly as dumb; a birthday party you have to pay to get in to. Not even a single free light beer or crappy hotdog. Technically, it's a suggested 10 dollar "donation" with "fabulous bar prices." E-gads.
The only reason I'm going is to see my Colonel play in the band, so I'm not paying since I "donated" the guitar player.
And I'm bringing my flask.