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In honor of Easter, I wanted to pay tribute to one of my favorite (sadly, no longer updated) humor blogs, Capnwacky, and their brilliant gallery of creepy greeting cards from the days of yore.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

 

Makes you wanna blow the stars from the sky...

I couldn't decide which of these songs to use for the latest installment of my Rescued From Obscurity series, so I've posted them both. I think I had trouble choosing between them because I've always gotten them mixed up in my mind, although I can't quite put my finger on why they remind me of one another.

The first, "Head On" by the Jesus and Mary Chain--released November 1989--is one that I've always thought should get more love than it does. Apparently The Pixies thought so too, since they covered the song just two years later. The Pixies version is okay but I much prefer the JAMC original, it's less scream-y and more melodic.

It's a great video (very 1989) and I am convinced that the same director must also be responsible for Love and Rockets' So Alive, released earlier the same year. I couldn't find directorial credits for either video, but the two clips are so similar that I'd be surprised if they weren't done by the same person.



We are, we are, we are but your children....

Love, love, love this song! I think it's interesting to note that it actually has two release dates: June 1983 as "Birds Fly (Whisper to a Scream)" in the UK and March 1984 as "Whisper to a Scream (Birds Fly)" in the US. Apparently Arista Records wanted to make changes to the song before it was released on this side of the pond. They seemed to think that Americans wouldn't be clever enough to track down the single if they didn't make "Whisper to a Scream" the non-parenthetical part of the title. Whatever.

The song was covered years later for the Scream soundtrack by the band SoHo. Their rendition is actually pretty good, but--again--I prefer the original.

So you're telling me I need to stick a vacuum cleaner in my ear? 

I have a weird thing about my ears. I was traumatized at an early age by an especially gory lesson in second grade, along with a well-meaning student teacher who probably didn't realize how literally kids can take things. 

I don't remember the student teacher's name, but I can still picture her: a slightly plump woman of about twenty with fair skin and shoulder-length strawberry blond hair. She took over our Health and Safety class to teach the unit on ears, which basically boiled down to: "Don't stick anything smaller than your elbow into your ear." When she opened up the floor for discussion, she asked us if we knew what could happen to us if we didn't heed this advice. 

One boy raised his hand and said, "If you stick something up there you could pop your eardrum and bleed to death." 

"Yes," said Miss What's-Her-Name, nodding solemnly. "That's why you never stick anything into your ear."

Now, I've always been a bit squeamish, but I was a lot worse as a youngster. I remember not being able to hear the word "spinal cord" without getting all woozy. I went through a phase where I couldn't stand anyone squeezing my hand because I thought my veins would pop right through my skin. So after a week of looking at diagrams of the inner ear and learning about tympanums and ear infections and gross yellow ear wax and one kid sharing a story about his two-year-old brother getting a pea lodged in his ear (WTF?), it's safe to say I was thoroughly squicked out by all things ear-related.

Seriously, what's with that thing that looks like a snail?
Ears are gross.

I became extremely neurotic about my ears. In the bath at night, I would lightly dab at the area all around my ears, not wanting to get any soap or water in there, because now I knew that one wrong move and my eardrums would pop  like over-inflated balloons, and then I'd have to go to the hospital with blood dripping down the sides of my face and then I'd go deaf and then I'd have to wear hearing aids--scary-looking hunks of plastic that my parents would probably insist on me wearing all the time. 

Nope, I didn't need that. 

My mom soon noticed my strange aversion to cleaning out my ears, and she wasn't having it. No child of hers was going to go around with crusty ears, even if I screamed bloody murder every time she grabbed me out of the bath to give my ears a thorough scrubbing with witch hazel and cotton balls. That was nothing compared to the meltdown I had a few months later when she took me to the pediatrician for my yearly check-up and he broke out that horrible contraption (otoscope?), jammed it in my ear and pumped air into it like some sort of barbaric medieval prison torture. I really thought that bastard was trying to kill me. 

Happily, I grew out of my ear phobia eventually. When it comes to ear care and maintenance nowadays, I've actually gone in the opposite direction. In fact, it isn't uncommon for me to painstakingly swab out my ears with Q-Tips several times a day, even though the general consensus now is that doing so just pushes wax further into the ear, meaning that I'll probably be deaf by the time I'm like 45. I know this, but it's hard to stop. It's satisfying, like I'm scratching an itch that isn't really itchy, yet still feels good to scratch.

Even though it skeeves me out a bit, I do find the concept of the Wax Vac morbidly fascinating. I wonder if it would suck out all the wax that I've been pushing into my ear. I also wonder if--once my ears are vacuumed free of all that icky debris--I'll suddenly acquire superhuman hearing. John isn't impressed with this theory. He thinks the Wax Vac is a bad idea, saying it would be too easy to perforate the eardrums with an apparatus like that (i.e. explode them like a balloon--ouchy ouchy ouch!). At the very least, it could be like 99% of those As-Seen-On-TV products: a completely and utter rip-off.

Unsurprisingly, there is a shitload of other bizarre ear-cleaning gizmos out there. The weirdest (and most dangerous-looking) I've found online are ear scoops, which are apparently a big thing in Asian countries. There are even child-size ear scoops with LED lights, the better for anal retentive mothers to scrape out every last ear cootie molecule. 

Horrifying.

I even found a cute little teddy bear ear scoop that comes complete with its own holder. 

On closer inspection, it looks to be some sort of cuddly angel-bear-mouse hybrid.

Come to think of it, maybe I will stick to my several-times-daily Q-Tip regimen. What's the worst that could happen? 

John Cusack's finest hour. Seriously, I love this movie.

      

    

I try not to borrow too many clips from Everything Is Terrible, even though I'm constantly fighting the urge to post about 90% of their videos on my blog and pretend like I found/made the clips myself (which, for the record, I haven't done yet. As far as you know). But this one was just too good. I knew I had to share, and I didn't care about being derivative.

Because all art is derivative.



These shots are very nineties-heavy. Dead giveaways include:

• Plaid. Lots of it. 
• Jeans pulled up to the armpits.
• Floppy haircuts on the men and boys.
• It was the only decade in which Ricki Lake, David Arquette, Skeet Ulrich, and Cuba Gooding Jr. were allowed to make movies. Well, movies that weren't direct-to-DVD. 
• Oops, forgot that Ricki Lake was in Hairspray in 1988 (the ONLY worthwhile movie she's done.) Seriously, she should have stuck to John Waters films. I actually paid to see that abominable "Mrs. Winterbourne" with some girlfriends when it was in theaters. I'm still pissed about that one. 
• I'm also still pissed about spending 9 bucks to see Eyes Wide Shit Shut in 1999. I also hated the stupid film critics who bent over backwards to praise that nut-filled turd of a movie. The worst offender was a reviewer in NUVO who wrote, "If you're the kind of person who loved Runaway Bride, you'll hate Eyes Wide Shut." Oh yeah, what if I hated both films, asshole? Do you not realize that there are more than two types of movies? 
• Sorry, I didn't mean for this to be a rant on wasted money and dumb film critics.  
• Back to the above clips, I totally didn't get that last one, the mom and kids shouting "CHIHUAHUAS!" I'm a cat person though. Maybe I'm not meant to get it.
• Say what you will, the best part was Rob Lowe emoting at 1:34. He emotes hard. Go Rob go!

"There wasn't even a St. Elmo. They made it up. They made it up because they thought they
needed it to keep them going when times got tough, just like you're making up all of this.
We're all going through it. Hey, it's our time on the edge." 

Back with a new post soon. I promise to make it 100% all natural, original material. 

Ugly face! 

Ugly face! 

Ugly face! 

Ugly face! 

Ugly face! 

Heh heh, sorry. That's always my delighted reaction when I see any cat make this face. I've amused countless friends and family members over the years by shouting out "UGLY FACE!" anytime I see this peculiar and hilarious feline response to an unrecognized smell. 

Apparently it's a thing called the Flehmen response, a.k.a. "flehming" (I prefer it as a verb) and there's an actual scientific explanation for it. The origin of the word is the German flehmen -- "to bare the upper teeth." The purpose of this action is to expose the vomeronasal organ, located on the roof of the animal's mouth. Curling the lips in this fashion helps draw scent molecules into the organ, helping the animal to identify the smell. 

Cool science-y diagram

Apparently cats aren't the only ones that do this. An image search for "Flehmen response" turned up these (awesome) photos: 

Whether or not the Flehmen response is a real thing in humans is up for debate. However, I did find some photographic evidence of a certain homo sapien clearly exhibiting some flehming-like behavior...

I don't want to know where that hand has been.
(Just kidding, Billy)

Also, I happened to find this very funny post by another flehming-obsessed blogger who conducted his own flehming experiment in the workplace.

So now you know the fascinating explanation for The Ugly Face. And knowledge = power. 

My Special Brew

Today marks four years since I met my husband John. A look back on that day, way back in 2009 when we were all younger...

It was a typical ass-blisteringly cold night in Minneapolis. We were supposed to meet for tea at Common Roots, one of my favorite Uptown haunts. I got there early (I lived only a few blocks away) and chose a table in the middle of the cafe. I sat so I was facing the front door in order to spot John when he came in. I nursed a soy latte and read my book--I don't remember what book I had with me that night--whatever it was, I hope it was something that made me look smart (or at least interesting). After about ten minutes, the front door opened and John walked in. I recognized him right away and broke into a big wide grin. He caught my eye, waved and smiled. I just kept smiling and giggling, feeling really excited for some reason. Maybe deep down I knew this was the beginning of something great. John got a cup of English Breakfast at the counter and then headed over to where I was sitting. He was still grinning, too. It turned out to be a good night. 

Four years later, here I am sitting in bed with "the Common Roots guy" in our own apartment, typing up a post to mark this auspicious date. I love that we've become one of those couples. You know, the type that celebrates two anniversaries a year: the date when we met, and (now) our wedding anniversary (in eight months). The funny thing is, I never thought I'd be part of "one of those couples." But here we are now and I couldn't be happier. So, in honor of four years, I'm posting a song to mark the occasion. It's not your garden variety love song. It's debatable whether it could even be called a love song. I'm posting it because it's the song John sings to me every morning. It's the song that gets stuck in my head at least once a day, and it's a song that always makes me smile. I guess it's "our song", or one of them anyway (we have a few). 

Without further ado, here's Bad Manners.

 

Happy anniversary Johnny! 

Now the world knows what you sing to me in the morning. 

xoxoxo

Oh Lena Dunham, I love you so hard.

I have mixed feelings about the mainstream success of Lena Dunham and her brilliant TV show, "Girls." On one hand, I think it's awesome that such an edgy and authentic program with an unconventional (and occasionally unlikable) female lead character has caught on with the public. On the other hand, I worry that its popularity could cause the show's writing and storylines to take a more conventional, "safe" direction over time. It's like when you sort of "discover" and fall in love with the work of a quirky author or a singer or band completely on your own, without anyone else's endorsement or recommendation--you just find them and you're like "YES! This is what I've been looking for! THIS speaks to me!" and then six months (or six years) down the line "your" band (or singer, author, etc.) becomes HUGE and you're happy and excited, but it's also a letdown, because they're not "yours" anymore and now everyone knows about them and things are never the same.

I'd rather be happy about it, though. I'm definitely happy for Lena Dunham, because I really love her work and what she's doing with "Girls." Perhaps I am blinded by my love and (as a writer) I could be dissecting the series too much, but one of the things that delights me about "Girls" is that it's like a big metaphorical middle finger to all the cliched crap Hollywood keeps pooping out that's supposedly aimed at women. One of the things that drives me nuts about romantic comedies these days is that they'll take a beautiful size-2 actress like Katherine Heigl and give her an impossibly gigantic apartment and a high-powered career and an expensive wardrobe and then they're like--"Wait, she needs some sort of flaw so that she's 'relatable.' Let's see....Oooh, I got it! Make her clumsy! Holy shit, that's genius!" Seriously, have the Hollywood committees who crank out that kind of bullshit ever actually met any women, or any human beings for that matter?

It's bad enough that they made her act with Ashton Kutcher

Then you have Dunham's "Girls" protagonist Hannah Horvath, a disheveled, tattooed ball of not-size-2 insecure awesomeness who can't keep a job, drinks too much, says things like, "My shoes match my dress! Kind of!" and seeks solace in awkward sex with her odd, emotionally distant sort-of-boyfriend/hookup who "treats (her) heart like it's monkey meat."

And did I mention that she's a frustrated writer?

Yeah, I have no idea why this character resonates so much with me.

I can't wait for season two. I sincerely hope that "Girls" (and Dunham, since she is also the show's creator, writer, director and executive producer) stays true to Hannah and the supporting characters, resisting any pressure to sweeten them up and make them more palatable to mainstream audiences. Seriously, I've had it up to my ass with palatable heroines.

Change we can believe in.

*******OBVIOUS BOOK PLUG GOES HERE*******

Okay, I'm seriously sick of this.

It seems like every other week some drooling psycho decides to shoot up a mall, a movie theater, a Sikh temple, a salon in Georgia, a day spa in Wisconsin, a signage company in Minneapolis, and a cafe in Seattle.

Of course, the massacres listed above only represent a handful of recent shooting sprees in the US, and that's not including the school shootings that happened this year. Those would be: Chardon High School (three students killed, February), Oikos University (seven students killed, April), Texas A&M (two people killed, August) and obviously the horrific Sandy Hook shootings last week (twenty children and six adults killed). If you want to depress yourself, here's a list of the all mass shootings that happened in 2012.

Good news: some politicians are seriously talking about banning assault rifles altogether, and stricter gun control laws. Bad news: with this country's weird gun fetish and the insane power of the NRA, who fucking knows if anything will actually change?

As far as school shootings are concerned, Columbine was just the tip of a very large iceberg, and this bullshit has happened again and again and again. Sandy Hook seems particularly brutal, because of the ages of the victims and the high body count. But does no one remember back in 2006, when that crazed shit stain stormed an Amish school house in Pennsylvania, lined up several female students along the chalkboard and shot them execution-style? Ten female students were shot, five of them fatally. And they were also young, between the ages of 6 and 13. Sure, there was a media shitstorm for about a week, then it was forgotten. Until the next one. And the next one and the next one and the next one and SERIOUSLY AMERICA, ENOUGH WITH THE FUCKING MASS SHOOTINGS.    

Oh, and the National Rifle Association can go fuck itself sideways.

That's all I got today.

Borrowed this from Everything Is Terrible, one of my favorite websites in the history of ever.



There are so many jaw-droppingly awesome/awful moments packed into this clip, I scarcely know where to begin.

• "Come on, don't put me on. I know you got a bowling ball. You became a champion bowlah! You joke with me, hah hah hah." Arnold sounds like he's reading from a script penned by Tommy Wiseau. You might say that Tommy Wiseau sounds like Arnold Schwarzenegger, but you would be wrong. Arnold sounds like Tommy Wiseau.
• Arnold telling the children that the devil came to his house on Christmas. And then the tender violin music starts up in the background. (And then he banged the maid. The devil made him do it!)
• It's 1988 and that room is just teeming with Cosby sweaters.  
• Mike Tyson, future convicted rapist, singing to children. 
• Randy Travis, future butt-nekkid Trans Am-driving singer, is there too.
• Maria Shriver at 2:09 sporting some serious feathered hair. 
• Any time I see Danny De Vito in something, I automatically think "No no no De Vito!" (War of the Roses joke. Look it up, it's a good one.)