THIS is 40

Yesterday, August 19, 2013 (at 2:18pm, if you want to get really precise)  I turned 40. I'm happy about it.

I'm thankful that I survived my twenties, a very difficult decade for me (I'm hardly alone on that one; most people my age say they hated their twenties). It wasn't all bad; I did have some great times in my twenties. But I wouldn't want to go back.

My thirties were decent overall. Things started out crappy. I had a few minor nervous breakdowns between the ages of 30 - 32. But by the time I was 33 (2006) I'd hit my stride. I was feeling happy and confident, and had finally landed a job I enjoyed. My love life was spotty--as it often was back then--but I had some great adventures. Even with all the mistakes and missteps I made during my thirties, I don't regret a thing.

So now I've made it to age 40. I'm a published author, I'm happy, I'm content, I'm married. Comfy home, purring cats, fantastic friends, great husband.

It's all good.

******************************

Now for some fun.

This milestone birthday has got me thinking. I've been writing a lot about my early childhood, and I'm amazed by how much I remember, especially about 1970's pop culture. I was born in 1973 and was only seven years old by the time 1980 rolled around. But, as I've discovered, I've retained a lot from that decade.

1970's Kid
My mom was a housewife (I guess "homemaker" is the correct term now) for a good part of my early childhood. She kept a small transistor radio in the kitchen of our house in Greensburg, Indiana--this was before we moved to "the big city" of Indianapolis in late 1978--and my first memories of pop music involved Paul Simon, The Carpenters, and John Denver, piped through that little radio in the kitchen.

The song: Paul Simon  50 Ways To Leave Your Lover.
The memory: I was about four years old and my mom was standing in the kitchen, making me a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. She was singing along to "50 Ways" as it played on that little kitchen radio. When it got to the "Hop on the bus, Gus!" part, I collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles, picturing a little man named "Gus" hopping up and down on top of a school bus. My mom started laughing at me while I laughed my crazy little "Snoopy laugh" (as she called it), and the more she laughed, the more I laughed, and the longer the song played, the more we both laughed until she had to sit down on the kitchen chair and I was rolling around on the floor and my stomach hurt from laughing but I couldn't stop so I just laid there, all giggly and out of breath. It's one of my favorite childhood memories.

The song: The Carpenters Top of the World. (Oh man. Watch the video I linked to. It's adorable. Why can't we all be sweet and innocent like that again?)

I loved this song when I was a wee one, even though I didn't quite have a handle on the lyrics, as you'll see.

The memory:  My dad worked in advertising, and occasionally his colleagues and their wives would come over to our house in Greensburg for dinner and/or cocktails. I was about four or five years old, so naturally I took it upon myself to provide the evening's entertainment whenever my parents had "company" over.

The grownups would be sitting in the living room, enjoying cocktails and smoking cigarettes and talking about Billie Jean King or Barry Manilow or the energy crisis or whatever grownups talked about in the seventies. The living room was in full view of the staircase that led up to the bedrooms. We had this giant brown leather beanbag chair, and I'd drag it over to the bottom of the stairs, climb to the top of the steps (it was only about seven steps--we had a split-level home) and shout:

"I'm on the top of the world, looking down on creation, and the only essplanation.....I CAN FLY!" 

Then I'd take a running leap and cannonball down the seven steps into the big brown beanbag chair, to the delight of (most of) the adults. Their applause and laughter were like catnip to me, so I did it again and again. After about my fourth encore, my dad would say, "Okay, you're getting all wound up now. Time for bed." And then my mom would shepherd me to my bedroom even though it was WAY before my official bedtime and I hadn't even had dessert or watched Donny and Marie or anything. (Shut up. I liked The Donny and Marie Show). So unfair.

Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. 

Some years later, I learned that my dad's boss (one of the guests who frequented my parents' little cocktail hours) used to nudge my dad and say, "You gotta get that kid into commercials."

Alas, my parents didn't heed that advice, and so I was doomed to a childhood of anonymity.

The song: Any and all John Denver songs prior to 1982
The memory: Jeez. So many. My mom loved John Denver, and his music was ubiquitous in our household when I was a little kid. He was almost like a member of the family; the sweet hippie uncle I never had. (My mom's brother is a very nice guy, but he's a rich Republican--a white sheep in a family of black sheep.) I was devastated when John Denver died. It really was like losing a relative. I wish he was still around. I think he could have had a career resurgence, now that the Baby Boomers are all old and nostalgic.

If I could narrow it down, I'd probably say my favorite John Denver-related memory happened in 2000, when I was 27 years old and in love with a sensitive artist type, a 23-year-old painter who ate, drank, lived and breathed 1960's and 70's acoustic folk music. He loved the Mamas and the Papas, Simon and Garfunkel, Peter Paul and Mary, Don MacLean, Jim Croce, and John Denver. This guy--okay, let's go ahead and call him Louis, since he was the inspiration for that character in my novel and he's also very unlikely to read this--was the only person I'd met outside my family who shared my love for John Denver and his music. Louis and I drove from Indianapolis to Shades State Park in the summer of 2000, singing along to John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads" on the tape deck for much of the journey. Yeah, that was a good time.      



I kinda like writing about this music/memory stuff. I'll be posting more bits like this in the coming weeks.
 

Rewind

Another REWIND! This time from 2009. I miss the Twin Cities. And I still stand behind all of these reviews.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

A review of stuff I hate vs. stuff I love...

The Suck It List

Stella’s Fish Café
I can’t get past the name. I don’t know who Stella is, but I know that the words “Fish” and “Café” don’t belong together. It brings to mind fish-flavored coffee, which, ew. Plus, it’s not even a café, just another restaurant/bar, like a pretentious Old Chicago. With fish.

Chino Latino
I refuse to be swayed by the cheeky billboard ads and the glittery sign. Too loud, too yuppified, and the food is crap.

Paisano’s Pizzaria (St. Paul)
This place is utter crap. Mediocre food, messy dining room, excruciatingly horrible service. You’re better off staying home, heating up a frozen grocery store pizza and eating in front of the teevee.

Sawatdee
Two words: food poisoning. Five more: dine at your own risk.

The Salon For You
I used to live above this place when I lived in St. Paul. I decided to check it out, and left with a fabulous haircut that I was extremely happy with, along with some funky reddish/pink highlights. Two months later I went back looking for the same stylist. She no longer worked there, they told me, but the owner of the salon was available to do my hair. I felt like I was in good hands—after all, if she’s the owner, she has to know what she’s doing, right? Wrong. She refused to do highlights because some weeks before I had experimented with a temporary color rinse and she said she wouldn’t color over that “as a matter of principle.” (?) Then, she proceeded to give me the worst haircut I’ve ever had in my life, and that’s saying something (I came up in the eighties, remember?) She just took the scissors, gave me a blunt cut straight across the ends, and she was done. It looked so horrible that I had to scrape together some more money and go find somewhere to get it fixed. Happily, I ended up with Mackenzie at Hair Police (see below). Her take on my botched ‘do? “Holy crap, this looks like it was done by someone who’s never cut hair before!” Thank God for Hair Police.

American Apparel
I understand that they’re famous for making their clothes in the USA by non-sweatshop labor, so good for them. But do their all-American, non-sweatshop workers have to make such fugly clothing? I mean, I don’t want my clothes made in Laos by a barefoot 9-year-old, but I do want clothes that are attractive and wearable. (Seriously, who buys this crap?)

Skintight shiny spandex? Really?

Ragstock
There was a time when nearly every scrap of my wardrobe came from Ragstock. Their clothing and accessories were quirky, functional, and reasonably-priced. Unfortunately, they have since gone straight down the crapper. I think they changed clothing suppliers or something, because they’re stuff has taken a sharp nosedive quality-wise; cheap-looking clothes that are more expensive than the lines they used to carry. And most of the clothing doesn’t even come in larger sizes—if you’re above a size 8, you’re shit out of luck. Also? Rude, unhelpful staff. (Oh Ragstock, why hast thou forsaken me?)

Luvs It

Dulano’s
Live bluegrass every Saturday night, plus damn good pizza. You can’t go wrong. Bring a date here and they’ll think you’re offbeat and original for discovering it. You’re welcome.

Nina’s Coffee Café (St. Paul)
My original St. Paul hangout, located directly across the street from my first Twin Cities apartment. Great coffee, great atmosphere, and a fabulous place to hunker down and get some writing done. I’ve seen Garrison Keillor there twice! (He owns the bookstore down below Nina’s—Common Good Books.)

Buffalo Exchange
Since Ragstock has fallen out of favor, Buffalo Exchange has picked up the slack. I love this store. Fantastic clothes, shoes, and accessories, all reasonably priced. It’s all thrift/resale, but the staff are fairly picky about what they buy and they always have a good selection of clothes that tend towards the “gently-used” rather than simply “used.”

Eye of Horus
Yeah, I’m a bit of a hippie—you got a problem with that? Didn’t think so. Even for a non-hippie, this is a cool store. It has a wide selection of candles, essential oils, and incense—stuff anyone could use, right?—along with tarot cards, crystals, runes, and mojo bags, for those of us with more esoteric needs. All this, plus a friendly and knowledgeable staff.

Nicollett Village Video
Who needs a Netflix subscription? I’d rather support independently-owned video stores like this one. Village Video has nearly every movie category imaginable, including a wide range of foreign and cult films you can’t find anywhere else. They also have a huge “Brit Vid” section, featuring shows like Spaced, The Tomorrow People (remember that one, fellow Gen-Xers?) and Not the Nine-o’Clock News. It rocks. Hard.

Hair Police
As long as I live in the Twin Cities, I will never go anywhere else to have my hair done.

 Ms Sparrow said...

Thanks for sharing all your hard-won experience and advice on great places to avoid. I've never eaten at Sawatee, and I hope I never will.

I've never heard of most of the Brit TV shows you mention. I don't even watch the Eastenders, but I love "Keeping Up Appearances" and "Mr Bean" always makes me laugh--except not in his movies.

7:42 AM

 

Below is an old post from the wayback machine. I would like to amend what I said about Maya Rudolph. I didn't know her work at the time and barely knew anything about the 2005 SNL cast. What a difference 8 years makes! I think she's great.

Also, I wouldn't use an outdated Boogie Nights reference if I saw John C. Reilly. He's funny and he's a fine character actor. If I saw him today, I'd probably have to point, smile, and say "Brule's Rules! For your health!" (Tim and Eric reference). But that might be annoying too. Most likely I'd blush, smile, and look down.

Monday, July 11, 2005

The stars at night are big and bright...

Lindsay Lohan is in the Twin Cities filming the Prairie Home Companion movie (she's been seen out shopping at vintage stores in Minneapolis). And last week I saw something random in the People and Places section of the Pioneer Press (or the Star Tribune, or the other one--there's like 50 daily publications here and I can't keep them straight). The short blurb mentioned that John C. Reilly, Maya Rudolph and some dude were spotted during July 4th weekend eating on the patio of La Grolla--an Italian restaurant that's within crawling distance from my apartment (literally). Now, Maya Rudolph I couldn't give a crap about (although she did interview Amy Sedaris for BUST magazine, which was cool), but I'd have died to meet John C. Reilly. Not that he's hot or anything, he's rather odd-looking. Most people probably remember him as Renee Zellweger's husband in Chicago, but the most awesome-est John C. Reilly movie is, of course, Boogie Nights, one of my favorite films in the whole history of the whole history. Dude, he was Reed Rothchild, a.k.a Chest Rockwell!!! I can't believe he was at La Grolla.

If I'd have happened by, I totally would have embarassed myself by staring like an idiot. I also would have tried to come up with some Boogie Nights quotes, thus embarassing myself further, but I'm not sure I'd have been able to stop myself. Like, "People say I look like Han Solo," or "That's not an MP, that's a YP--your problem!" Or "You're not the king of Dirk!"

Such a cool movie.

Comment Spam ---- Why I Can't Look Away



Comment spam fascinates me more than it should. Given that it's been around since the dawn of the internet, I can't help but wonder if these ridiculously lazy, assinine marketing ploys actually work on people. I mean, it's a supply and demand kind of world, righht? Who are the suppliers? Who are the demanders? I need some answers.

Think about it. Are there actually people out there sipping their morning coffee, half-heartedly reading some blog post about Kim and Kanye's unholy spawn, scrolling down to the comment section to read witty bon mots about Kim's giant ass and Kanye's sucky music, then stopping cold as their eyes latch on to some mysterious, cryptic comment extolling the virtues of some "weird trick" for eliminating belly fat, a simple, miraculous technique so effective that "diet doctors don't even want you to know"? Really, do these people exist? Do they say to themselves, "Holy cow, this must be fate! Here I've been wondering what to do about this jelly roll around my waist, and then I just happen to click on this lame Kimye story and--out of nowhere!--there's this post right here--like it was meant to be--claiming there's a safe and easy way to get my body 'bikini-ready' in six weeks? Hey Ashton! Put down that damn X-Box doo-hickey and fetch Mama her Discover card!"

And then there are my questions about the purveyous of comment spam. For instance: am I correct in assuming that most comment spam is autogenerated? Or is some rube with a tenuous grasp of the English language being paid like 5 cents per post from some fly-by-night outift in like, Singapore or something? If you have any theories, please feel free to post them in the comments.

Without further ado, here's some of the more entertaining comment spam I've recently come across.

From a YouTube video of an old "Love Connection" episode, comment posted by a Daniel Enache:

"That was good information. I'm here simply because my mate all of a sudden turned awesome with girls. He started getting chicks magically. I found myself stunned. He pretended he didn't notice. Then he smiled and told me while he was wasted. Turns out he uses the Jake Ayres Master Attraction Formula. Google it and you'll find it... He's dating a sexy chick."

Another comment under the same video clip, this one courtesy of an Ujwol Suwal:

"I'm bothered. My friend resides in the opposite room. I'm displeased because he lately turned outstanding at seducing gals. The guy found the Master Attraction web page by Jake Ayres (Search in Google). All he's doing now is screwing women. He's continuously getting the ladies back. I hear it, which is gross and If only he never discovered that site. My best companion just signed up and got a blowjob a week later. I am envious!"

Same comment section, from another jealous fellow called Dinesh Jain:

"Alright. I'm bothered. My friend resides on the floor above me. I'm aggravated because he just grew superb at attracting the women. The guy found the Master Attraction site by Jake Ayres (Search in Google). Now I hear him bringing women back. He's continuously bringing ladies back and I hear it, which is gross and I wish he had not found that site."

Then there's this one, from PLFM (the first blog to pick up my Simon Reid story):

"Whаt's up, always i used to check blog posts here early in the morning, because i love to learn more and more. Feel free to surf to my blog post: deep fryers on sale."
 

Finally, these last three gems are comments posted on a Hollywood gossip site beneath a photo of C-list actress Jennifer Love Hewitt with her new baby daddy. It's just....I mean.....wow. "Sniff that panty"? I'm really out of words here.

"Please feel carefree to pursue her profile on sniff-that-panty-dot-com I have hear that she has many the wild fantasies. Bon Chance!"

"She is really sexy!!! I have ever seen her hot video at interracialconnect.com which is a niche interracial dating site for all singls. She is really sexy with bikini in that video. You will know how passionate interracial kiss it is after seening it."

"They are a pair made in heaven. They members on nudistmingle.com where they met and dating like their nude photos and profiles. Merry Christmas!"
 

Merry Christmas, indeed. And God bless us every one.

Rescued From Obscurity: A Rod Stewart Double Shot

How YOU doin'?

While Rod Stewart definitely isn't obscure--I think by now even his detractors would agree that he's reached "legend" status--the following two songs could definitely be categorized as such. And since I was going to post both videos on here anyway, I figured I might as well use the RFO tag, even though it's just the tracks themselves that are relatively unknown and not the artist.

I get a lot of flak for being a Rod Stewart fan. One reason is because, well, he's Rod Stewart. At best he's seen by non-fans as sort of a campy old relic from the seventies. At worst he's viewed as a musical whore who sold his soul several times over, first by abandoning his "respectable" rock roots and embracing pop in the mid-seventies ("Tonight's the Night"), then from pop to disco in the late seventies ("Do Ya Think I'm Sexy") then synthesizer-infused pop rock in the eighties, ("Young Turks," "Passion") and then from about 1990 on sliding steadily down the adult contemporary slope and straight into old fogey/Vegas territory with his Great American Songbook series. 

It makes me wish that some of Rod's "deep cuts" were in the public consciousness. "In a Broken Dream" is just one of many breathtakingly awesome songs that are pretty much known only to Rod's hardcore fans, and that's a shame. If "In a Broken Dream" had the fame it deserved, I don't see how anyone aware of its existence could sneer at anything else Rod recorded, no matter how cheesey. The song is truly sublime: it manages to be sad and angry and darkly funny all at the same time. It could be argued that while "In a Broken Dream" is great song on its own, the lyrics and music comprise only about 20% of its awesomeness. The remaining 80% is all ROD. It's in his voice and his delivery, and it makes my knees go weak.           

While it's hard to imagine "In A Broken Dream" being a commercial success in any decade, I feel like "Leave Virginia Alone" could have been a hit had it existed five years earlier. As luck would have it, Rod Stewart's seventeenth studio album A Spanner in the Works was launched into the world in May 1995, smack in the middle of a musical period where watered-down grunge and Top 40-approved gangsta rap ruled, leaving no room for anything that fell outside those two dismal categories. No surprise then that "Leave Virginia Alone" barely got any love at all, peaking at #52 in the US charts. It shouldn't have been that way, dammit, because it's an amazing song. It was written by Tom Petty, who (to my knowledge) never recorded it himself. I like Tom Petty, but there's no way his voice could do justice to the song's whimsical, melancholy lyrics. No one does whimsy or melancholy like Rod Stewart--see "Maggie May," "You Wear It Well," "Some Guys Have All the Luck," and pretty much every hit he's ever had. The video is beautifully shot, too (by director Zack Snyder, who I guess is a big deal these days) and it fits the track perfectly. I love the vintage shabby chic New Orleans-y feel of this clip, particularly the giant papier mache heads that look like something out of a Mardi Gras parade (and the throwaway shot of that one head breaking into dance at the 3:29 mark is fabulous). 



And because I'm such a fan of Rod the God, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention his new album--his first one of original material in several years--just dropped last month . I got my copy the day it was released, and it's fantastic. I'm so glad that Rod is back in the game and that he has (for now) gotten away from the old standard covers he kept cranking out over the last decade. I mean, I loved hearing his voice on songs like "My Funny Valentine" and "That's All," but seriously, it was time for him to move on from all that.

It was "time" for him to move on....get it?

Are you ready for the creepiest thing you'll see today? Cause here it is!

This is also an unbelievably lazy post--it's not like it's hard to make fun of this video. But screw it, I'm going in.

• 0:16  Was anyone else relieved to see both of his hands? I know I was. 
• 01:10  Say what you will about the guy--he does a good job of not tripping over the stage while walking backwards. Are the French known for their coordination? 
• 01:15 - 01:25  Those dancers are really trying hard to out-creepy that doll. But it can't be done. 
• 01:26  See what I mean?
• 02:16  Nails it again! He's good. 
• 02:44  Even when the girls turn on him, he never stops dancing! 
• My favorite YouTube comment: "Roman Polanski never sounded better."

I think it's the effects of summer in the Deep South, but my brain is moving really slow. I'll kick it in high gear soon and be back with a proper post.

Rescued From Obscurity: Wendy & Lisa - "Waterfall"

"Watch out when you're headed for the waterfall..."

Man, I LOVED this song. I remember the video getting some airplay on MTV in the fall of '87, and I thought it was brilliant back then too. I even have recollections of my stepbrother's reaction to the clip: "Damn, that chick on guitar (Wendy) is SERIOUSLY hot." (I suspect this had a lot to do with the white bra top Wendy sports in the vid, but oh well). Personally, I liked Lisa. She looks awesome in this video, and I dug her funky, swirly-colored, water-filled piano.

"Waterfall" was the first single off the duo's debut album, and it didn't exactly set the world on fire. According to wikipedia (an unfailingly accurate source, as everyone knows) "Waterfall" only reached #66 on the UK charts in 1987. There was no mention of its chart position in the US; I tried to look it up on a message board devoted to Prince but the damn thing kept crashing my browser, so I gave up. 

I did find Wendy and Lisa's website, and it seems that the duo is still going strong. Over the years, they've done session work with Liz Phair, Michael Penn, Pearl Jam, Grace Jones, Joni Mitchell, OK Go, Gwen Stefani, and Seal, to name just a few. At any rate, I'm glad they're still around and still making music. They're fantastic songwriters and talented musicians.  
 

Adorableness rating: 11. Yes, these kittens go to 11.

Introducing the Fab Four: Gordon, Patrick, Dylan, and Petal

These four dangerously cute kittens are currently being fostered by my friend Prudence here in Baton Rouge.

I was lucky enough to meet Prudence last month while she was making her daily visit to her mother Susan, our very sweet downstairs neighbor. I discovered that Prudence and Susan have been caring for my two favorite neighborhood cats, Sebastian and Rosie. Back in early March, Rosie gave birth to four kittens on Susan's patio, and I got to know both Susan and Prudence while cooing over the new babies.

When the kittens were four weeks old, Prudence and I took them to the vet for their first check-up, where they got a clean bill of health from the doctor. After that we decided to move them inside to Susan's apartment, because the little boogers were getting brave and venturing out away from Rosie, and we didn't want them to get lost. We tried to coax Rosie inside too, but she wasn't having it. She's more comfortable living on the patio, having the freedom to come and go as she pleases.

Over the following weeks, Prudence, Susan and I did kitten duty around the clock, taking them outside in shifts so Rose could nurse them and (slowly) introducing them to solid food per the vet's recommendation. Two weeks ago, we took the babies to the vet again for their six-week check up and their first round of vaccinations. The doctor said it was okay to completely wean them off their mother's milk, so they started eating solid food full-time.

They are now eight weeks old and they are adorable little purry furry fluffballs who must be kissed and played with and loved and petted and cuddled. I love these little noodles so hard!

Tomorrow Prudence and I take Rosie to the vet to be spayed. As adorable as these little boos are, we don't want Rosie birthing any more fuzzy little "presents". She's a good mommy, but we've all agreed that it's time for her to retire.

After the spaying, I'm heading to Prudence's house for some kitten time. I need my kitten fix!

The aftermath of their wrestling match. Passed out kittehs!

Happy Birthday Roger Taylor!

"(Growing up in Birmingham) you could either escape through football or music. 

And I wasn't much good at football."

Funny guy. Great musician too. He's known for being the quiet, mysterious Duran who left the music biz in 1985 (just after DD's Live Aid performance) and sought refuge in the English countryside. A true introvert, I think his circuits were just completely fried after seven straight years of having to be "on" all the time, and I imagine the Duran Duran's 1984 tour was the whale that broke the camel's back, to turn a phrase. He was also a newlywed and wanted to spend time with his wife, Giovanna, which is another typically Roger Taylor-ish reason for craving anonymity. Speaking of Giovanna, one of the things I dug about Roger was his love of edgy women. Instead of the Platonic ideals pursued by his bandmates, he was taken by his future first wife's shaved head/purple mohawk (accounts differ) back when she was working the cloakroom at the Rum Runner, where Duran Duran got their start as the house band.

Although they split in 2004, these crazy kids were married for 20 years!
No small achievement in pop stardom.

Fun fact: Roger's son is tight with Andy Taylor's son, and they hung out a lot as kids. Now they're all grown up and they've started their own band together! How cool is that?

Roger, of course, did eventually come back to the DD fold. The first time was in 1995, when he was coaxed out of hiding to play drums on the track "Perfect Day" for DD's album of covers, entitled Thank You. Then Roger saw his shadow or something and disappeared yet again. 

You can watch the video here (EMI is pissy about embedding).

Roger rejoined Duran Duran for the second time in 2001, when all five original members reunited for a new album and tour. He's stuck with them ever since (knock on wood), perhaps deciding that the pop life isn't so bad after all. 

Roger Taylor turns 53 today. And he's aging quite nicely, I might add. 

 

Happy Easter! Here are some disturbing greeting cards!

Image from Capnwacky

In honor of Easter, I wanted to pay tribute to one of my favorite (sadly, no longer updated) humor blogs, Capnwacky, and their brilliant gallery of creepy greeting cards from the days of yore. They called it The Unfortunate Page and it featured a myriad of WTF vintage cards, including goofy Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, and even Washington's Birthday cards (does anyone send out cards for Washington's Birthday?). They even added a bonus section of Unfortunate superhero and Star Trek costumes.

Anyhoo, here are some of my favorite icky Easter cards, courtesy of Capnwacky. I've also copied and pasted the captions from the site, which hopefully the Capnwacky guys won't be pissed about, since I'm basically giving them a big ol' plug, too. Also, Capnwacky guys? In case you're reading this...UPDATE YOUR SITE! I miss it. I especially miss Zonar, the human-hating alien.

"And you thought Joe Camel caused trouble."

"Yes, the Easter Bunny brings treats to good boys and girls, but beware
the evil Easter gnomes who steal treats and bite children on the ankles."

"Ah yes, the frontier. Forged by nancy-boys in
sissysuits, riding egg wagons pulled by bunnies."

"So, are these tiny people, or are the birds freakishly huge?
Either way, it adds up to me not getting a pleasant night's sleep."

"Only big bunnies get to cavort with humans."

This Good Friday Support Planned Parenthood!

Misty, me, and Katy at the the 2011 rally in St. Paul

Aww, I had so much fun at the Planned Parenthood Good Friday support rallies! This is the first time in four years that I haven't gone and I'm really missing it. It's become something of a tradition, as Good Friday is the designated day for religious fanatics to line up outside Planned Parenthood locations around the country to wave anti-choice signs, so Planned Parenthood set up "support" teams to counter the holy rollers. Planned Parenthood didn't let people on their side bring their own placards because they wanted to keep a positive, upbeat atmosphere, but they did provide signs for us supporters to hold (see above).

At the first rally I attended (with Katy in 2010) this old dude walked up carrying a "SAVE THE SPERM" sign complete with squiggly little sperm-creatures inked in around the letters. Everyone was a little freaked, and a bit confused, as it wasn't clear a.) what the hell message the guy was trying to convey with that (was he being funny? was he serious?) and b.) was he with us, or with the holy rollers on the other side? It turned out that he was, in fact, a pro-choice supporter and his pro-sperm sign was a misguided attempt at humor. The PP organizers respectfully asked him to discard his sperm sign, and gave him a more tasteful one to carry. It was memorable, anyway.  

The awesome thing about this photo? I found it on a Google image search of "Planned Parenthood Good Friday rally" and it's from the exact same day we were there (you can see Misty's jacket and sign to the left of the woman above). We are EVERYWHERE baby!

CNN Throws a Rapist Pity Party

Uuuuuuughhhhhhhh, seriously, I can't handle this shit: 

Okay, to be fair, CNN is just part of the problem. Several media outlets have taken the same tone: "Awww, what a shame for these bright young men! How awful that they have to endure this!" and it's pissed me off so badly I can barely see straight. 

That said, CNN--in particular Candy Crowley, Poppy Harlow and Paul Callan--GO FUCK YOURSELVES SIDEWAYS for boohooing all over the place about how sorry you feel for these two convicted rapists. Poppy Harlow seems especially distraught, grieving for the "promising futures" of Trent Mays and Malik (fuck him, I refuse to add the stupid apostrophe to his first name) Richmond. Hey, Poppy? First of all, I imagine that working for CNN gives you at least a teeny bit of clout; maybe you can pull some strings and get the judge to commute their sentences so they can come live with you and do odd jobs--maybe tutor your kids (do you have daughters? Even better!) or paint your house or walk your dog or whatever the fuck, since you obviously care so deeply about them. Yeah, I know that sounds fucking ridiculous for me to even suggest that, but it's no more ridiculous than the fucking pity committee these journalistic hacks have assembled to bellyache about the fate of these upstanding young rapists. 

And by the way, how does she know these two dickbags had "such a promising future"? Who is she, Miss Cleo? Is she implying that the two rapists had a future playing football professionally? Well then, that's awesome because Lord knows there definitely aren't enough violent thugs in the NFL. She also points out that the two convicted rapists were good students, as if that has anything to do with anything. Yeah, I'm sure the victim is relieved to hear that the troglodytes who sexually assaulted her maintained healthy GPAs. That's very comforting. 

Did either Crowley or Harlow--two professional journalists--even listen to Trent Mays's statement in the footage that they aired? Because it was really choice. If you don't have the stomach to watch the above clip (and I don't blame you), this ugly human being stood up and told the courtroom that "no pictures (of the girl they violated) should have been sent around, let alone taken". Did anyone reporting on this mess catch that? This douchelord said, basically, that he was sorry that the photos used as evidence to convict his pimply ass of rape were "taken" and "sent around." But he said nothing about being sorry that he sexually assaulted an unconscious sixteen year old girl. I really hope his roommate in juvie is a 6'8" violent psychopath with a profound hatred for snot-nosed high school jocks. Same goes for Malik Richmond. And speaking of Richmond, apparently I'm supposed to be crying for him because, as his attorney said, his father never told him he loved him. Well, that's a good reason to rape. Maybe he just needs a hug! Again, in case you didn't watch the CNN footage, at around the three-minute mark Malik Richmond gets up from his chair, walks across the courtroom, starts to make a similar half-assed apology to the victim's family, then breaks down sobbing like a two year old girl. Awwww, poor widdle wapist! Did that mean old judge hurt your feelings? Yeah, I got no sympathy for him either. None. In fact, I think their weak-ass sentence should have included chemical castration. That would really give Richmond something to cry about.

You know, I've heard the term "rape culture" bandied about in recent years, but I never really understood what it meant. Now, thanks to CNN, Fox News, and all the other media channels who are too busy wringing their hands over the fate of these fine young rapists to express any sort of concern for the victim, I think I know what people mean when they talk about "rape culture." And CNN has shown us a perfect example of it. 

I'd like to counter all this ugliness and make a statement against rape culture and the people who perpetuate it. This video went viral a few years ago, so you may have seen it already, but the message is timeless nonetheless. Watch and learn from this awesome woman. Her actions in this clip serve as a reminder that all of us--men and women--shouldn't have to put up with assault in any way, shape or form. Her name is Nicola Briggs, and she rocks.

 

"Oh yes. Oh fucking YES!"

    

Lost and Found

I've been looking for an ancient children's book called Colors since the early days of the internet. Over the years I've perused ebay, abebooks, and hundreds of specialized blogs devoted to out-of-print books, but no dice. Turns out that there are about 8 billion children's books titled "Colors", and none of them ever turned out to be the one I wanted. 

Then I had an epiphany. I Googled "Colors" + 1970's 3-D puppet book. It led me to a curious site called The Trash Collector. I scrolled through the entries and stopped halfway down the page. My jaw dropped to the floor. After searching all these years, there it was--my old Colors book! I was ecstatic. 

I noticed that the artwork is credited to Tadasu Izawa and Shigemi Hijikata, so--armed with this new information--I did a search on Amazon and whaddya know? There it was!

Of course, the book has been out of print for decades, but luckily there were some independent sellers that carried it. I ended up ordering two copies--one for $13 and one for the bargain price of 73 cents! I bought two because I want to use one for a future crafting project and keep the other one intact.    

I have fond memories of this long-lost tome from my childhood. My parents started reading to me when I was a baby, and Colors is one of the very first books I remember. I even have a photo--dated September 1975 (I would've been two years old)--of me and my cousin Jon huddled in my grandmother's armchair reading it together.

Cute little 1970's moppets!

I was thrilled to find this book, and not just for the nostalgia factor. The main reason is that I sincerely love the artwork: gorgeous color photographs of poseable puppets set against painstakingly rendered backgrounds. The effect is strange, beautiful, and somewhat creepy. 

Here are a few images from Colors, along with the accompanying text (the first copy arrived in the mail yesterday), photographed by yours truly.

Easter eggs to color--what fun it is to do! 

We'll paint them pretty colors, like purple, pink and blue.

The big yellow sun shines its light all day

But a small pink parasol keeps the brightness away.

On a shaggy green carpet, chasing a bright red ball,

A playful orange kitten has the most fun of all.

There were several 3D puppet books with artwork by Tadasu Izawa and Shigemi Hijikata published between the 1960's and the 1980's. Unfortunately, there is precious little information online about the artists themselves. I'd love to learn more about them, and I'm curious to know if they have art that predates the work they did for the children's books. 

Here is some more info about the books, courtesy of The Trash Collector blog: 

Introduced in the 1960s, 3-D Picture Books were a popular import from Japan. These books featured full-page photographs of the action utlizing poseable puppets, many bearing the large eyes popular in Asian children's fare as well as in contemporary American pop-art. 

Although Colors is the only 3D puppet book I owned as a child, I do have recollections of other books from that genre, some checked out from the library, some belonged to friends. Many of them featured wicked cool lenticular (hologram) placards on the covers, like this one:

Izawa and Hijikata also did a series of fairytale books that I remember vividly, including Hansel and Gretel, Jack and the Beanstalk, and (my favorite) Snow White. I found some images online of the latter, and holy shit--they're absolutely stunning.

***SPOILER ALERT***

She ends up with the handsome prince.(Sorry if I ruined it for you.) 

It's ironic that I've spent years going out of my mind looking for Colors and I end up finding a copy on Amazon, the most prosaic of places. In fact, Amazon has a ton of the Izawa/Hijikata 3D puppet books. Some are outrageously priced--one copy of Nursery Tales is listed for $506.01 (???) but most of them are reasonably priced at under $20, and some go for under $10, depending on the condition of the book.

Of course, I'm not going to buy up all of them. For one, John would totally freak out if I spent all our money on old out-of-print children's books. Also, we don't have the space. 

I did break down and order that copy of Snow White, though. It was only nine bucks.    

For International Women's Day

In honor of International Women's Day, I present to you my friend Misty Rowan: poet, activist, artist, badass. She blogs at MissTeaTree. 

THIS is something you need to see today. 

I know that the 2013 Academy Awards are old news by now, but I'd still like to add my .02 and say that SETH MCFARLANE SUCKED BALLS as an Oscar host. Yes. He did. Big time. 

I remember reading several months ago that McFarlane was going to host the Academy Awards, and I thought it was an odd choice. I know he's emceed a few of the Comedy Central celebrity roasts, and I know his shows (Family Guy, American Dad, The Cleveland Show) are insanely popular, but still....Seth McFarlane? Hosting the Oscars? Um....why?

He seems just as bewildered by the choice as I was.

Then I thought, "Well, okay, I guess he could be one of those wild cards that will either be totally brilliant or completely miserable."  At the very least, I hoped he would be entertaining. But a few minutes into MacFarlane's opening monologue--around the time William Shatner showed up--I had a sinking feeling that the whole thing was headed straight down the crapper.     

William Shatner telling Seth McFarlane how much he sucks. How meta.

It wasn't to do with William Shatner. I think William Shatner is quite funny, and he's generally pretty good at poking fun at himself. It was the fact that the show's writers were already trotting out that tired "let's interrupt the opening monologue for some lame banter" thing that Saturday Night Live has been doing since the nineties, and it makes me nuts. (Here is one of many examples, if you're curious.) Seriously, I can't stand that shit. It is such a cop out: the writers are basically saying "We couldn't come up with enough decent material for an opening monologue, so we're going to distract you with a bunch of contrived bullshit in the hopes that you won't notice." Dicks. 

And speaking of body parts, there was the infamous "We Saw Your Boobs" song which was--like MacFarland's other "jokes," that night--sexist, uncomfortable, and way too long. 

In the words of the great Parker Posey: "Lick me! All of you!"

It also brings up another pet peeve of mine: there's something about grownups (especially men) saying the word "boobs" that totally skeeves me out. It's like an adult saying "pee wee" instead of "penis." Obviously I don't think we should be all technical and use medical terms when talking about naughty bits; it's just that the word "boobs" in and of itself is so juvenile. Seriously, no more boobs. If you have to be crass, say "tits."  But unless you're in seventh grade, please--for the love of all things holy--STOP using the word "boobs."

Thank you.

After that nonsense with the tit song and a spate of misogynistic jokes from the host, the rest of the telecast just seemed...off. It's like Seth MacFarlane and the weird, uncomfortable energy he brought threw everyone else out of whack. 

To be fair, it wasn't just MacFarlane that sucked. There were some truly cringe-inducing moments with the presenters. While I like Paul Rudd--I don't think he's that funny himself, but his movies usually are, and I like Melissa McCarthy--she killed it in Bridesmaids, anyway--their little skit introducing the Best Animated Short nominees was painful to watch.  

Can we not have any more of these lame sketches? Is that too much to ask?

Then, of course, there was the Ted bit with Marky Mark (okay fine, Mark Wahlberg) that was so stilted and embarrassing it made my teeth itch. 

Yes, it is too much to ask. Here's Dirk Diggler with a CGI teddy bear.

It was all so bizarre that when Jennifer Lawrence did a face plant on her way to the stage after winning Best Actress, it was kind of startling but somehow not surprising, just another weird moment in a very weird night. 

Fuck the haters, I'm glad she won.

But even after all the awards were given out, they weren't finished torturing us. No. That's when they had to trot out MacFarlane and Kristen Chenowith to sing a stupid song dedicated to the "losers." It's the kind of thing that Billy Crystal might have been able to pull off, but in the hands of Seth MacFarlane it was just the moldy, dried-up cherry topping off the shit sundae that was the 2013 Academy Awards. 

I think Jennifer Lawrence speaks for all of us....

Sit and spin, MacFarlane. Sit and spin.

For a more in-depth piece on Seth MacFarlane's ugly, sexist display at this year's Oscars, follow the link below to Lindy West's essay. She says it all better than I could.

Sexism Fatigue: When Seth MacFarlane is a Complete Ass and You Don't Even Notice