RIP 1983

I had planned not to post any RIPs for a while. There for a good bit, it was all I posted and I was getting sick of it. There's still a dead folk moratorium in place, but I think I can relax my rule this one time for the sake of the little girl that still resides in my head that gets the odd urge to listen to Thriller from time to time.

Michael Jackson died today. If you're a young person (loosely defined for the sake of this post as someone who was born after the Berlin Wall came down, or someone who has never been alive at a time when Law and Order wasn't on the air) or possibly an older person who wasn't big on pop music back in the day (eg: my dad), you only know Michael Jackson as that progressively whiter kiddie diddler who wasn't quite right in the head. Points 1 and 3-I'll allow that. Speaking as someone who usually is the first one to assume the worst about a person, even I'm a little skeptical of point 2. Personally I think he was just a woefully naive and damaged man that never had a chance to grow up and was taken advantage of by everyone who came into contact with him.

Maybe I'm biased-I'm not post-L&O or my dad, I'm old (or young) enough to have experienced the whole Jackson juggernaut. When I was about seven years old, I had Thriller on constant rotation (even had the damn thing on an 8-Track) and had a poster of him up on the wall. I remember walking around with a big boom box on the playground at school during recess in the second grade with my friends, "Beat It" blasting for anyone within earshot. And we all loved it. Time passed and we moved on to the next thing. The poster came down and Thriller moved to the back of the cassette caddy. Never gave him anymore than a passing thought after that except when he eventually started popping up on the news instead of MTV. Maybe it was because of that brief period of time back in 1983 when I was in the second grade, but while I didn't like him anymore as a performer, the passing thoughts I had while watching the news weren't judgmental, they were feelings of pity.

That's what I felt today after hearing about the last newsworthy thing he'll ever do: pity. Not pity for his death, but for his life. I think this guy, who entertained countless people of a certain age, got royally screwed for his troubles. He became a physically warped and mentally unstable punchline as a result. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe he did molest those boys. If so, I think karma hit him ten times over and it's not my place to carry any hate for the man.


So it goes...


RIP Michael Jackson.

The Return of the Not-So Magnificent One

Well hello there. Remember me? She of the red hair and smart of mouth? Yeah I didn't think so.

Oh, I joke to hide the pain.

Sorry for the lack of posts. I've been busy with things and I've also been too busy stewing in my own brain juice to deal with the things with which I'm supposed to have been busy. (That may have been more grammatically correct than ending the sentence with a preposition, but it was painful to write.) My briny mind goo is still in a state of flux, so I can't say I'll be posting regularly again any time soon. However, I'm having a decent enough afternoon that I thought it might be nice to stop by and scoot the dead people posts further down on the page.

I suppose I should have actually come up with something to say before I decided to do this...

Wait. I've got it. A game, let's play a game. Okay. Now. Here's two photos. One of these is the dear departed Pepper McQueen Ross. The other is her youngest daughter, Pickles. See who can be the first to tell me which is which:





I am not a professional scientist, so I'm afraid I cannot offer to clone any of your pets for you. I just got lucky, if not a little creeped out.

Well, that wasn't as substantial as I'd originally thought it would be. Hmm. Okay, how about this, I'll give you a couple of links to poke at and ponder and/or discuss at your leisure? Does that work? It's been so long, I've forgotten how to behave on my own blog. SAD.

Topic 1-Yes, there is such a thing as a stupid question.

Topic 2-Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.

Dammit. Dammitdammitdammit.

Beatrice Arthur, the tall, deep-voiced actress whose razor-sharp delivery of comedy lines made her a TV star in the hit shows "Maude" and "The Golden Girls" and who won a Tony Award for the musical "Mame," died Saturday. She was 86.

Arthur died peacefully at her Los Angeles home with her family at her side, family spokesman Dan Watt said. She had cancer, Watt said, declining to give further details.

"She was a brilliant and witty woman," said Watt, who was Arthur's personal assistant for six years. "Bea will always have a special place in my heart."

Arthur first appeared in the landmark comedy series "All in the Family" as Edith Bunker's loudly outspoken, liberal cousin, Maude Finley. She proved a perfect foil for blue-collar bigot Archie Bunker (Carroll O'Connor), and their blistering exchanges were so entertaining that producer Norman Lear fashioned Arthur's own series...

Cont.

Luke, Does This Robe Make Me Look Fat?

This morning I dragged my ass out of bed at 7am so that I could get myself and my offspring ready for the Passion Play at her church (she goes with my dad on wedensdays and sundays-I, being an amoral heathen, do not attend services.) H was in the play, she got to wear a robe and one of those Iron Sheik looking doohickeys on her head and wave a palm frond around and she did fabulously, of course. I'm very proud of her.

As for me, I actually enjoyed myself, which is a rare occurrence as far as me in church is concerned. But I did, I truly did. Saw some old friends, some current friends, managed to successfully dodge the nosy old church ladies and had a couple of laughs.

On the subject of laughs, I DID almost have an embarrassing moment at what would have been the most inappropriate time EVER. I'm sitting in of those torturous pews watching the play and it's at the part where Jesus is carrying the cross on his back and the Roman soldiers are poking at him with spears and he's miserable and all. It took forever so I start looking around and I notice the tomb that he's gonna pop out of later and there's a big-ass boulder in front of it. For most people this wouldn't prompt laughter, but for me, it almost did.

My mind is an overflowing fount of useless tv and movie trivia. I honestly don't watch much tv now, but I did when I was younger and even now when I see something, it only takes one time and it's lodged in my head forever. I'm not bragging, in fact I'm kind of shamed by it. Not like big, huge shame or anything, more of a "Great, if people didn't think I was a dork BEFORE they will now" kinda shame. No big deal, I guess it's just my cross to bear.

ZING!

But I digress. Anyhoot, I'm sitting there watching Jesus slouch to his doom, see the tomb and I remembered a bit by David Cross when he was on Dr. Katz like 15 years ago. It was a 90 second or so riff on Jesus and of all the times I could have regurgitated it up in my head, it had to happen at THAT MOMENT.

Thankfully somehow, I managed to stifle the laugh-didn't even snort (which would have been worse)-and another cringe inducing interlude in a life filled with such was averted. And THAT my friends, is a real Easter miracle.

Dr. Katz
DVD Exclusive - David Cross on Jesus
comedycentral.com
Joke of the Day Stand-Up Comedy Free Online Games

Oh I Just Bet You Have, Hot Stuff

Sorry for the lack of posts-I got stuff going on, in reality and in my own head. I'll be back eventually, I'm sure. 'Til then, enjoy this. God knows I did...

Oh God, Get it Out of My Head...

Quote of the Day. Oy...

"Books like this do nothing to alleviate or reduce racism, but have contributed negatively to the school community with me getting the worst impact of its negativity.

"This type of book only creates and incites hate, violence and racism among races due to terms used in them, which are grossly degrading.

"Times have changed. Racist fiction should be buried in the past."

Sigh

Photo of the Day

I'm not going to get into this mess too deeply on here. I have very specific opinions about this woman, but as I've said before, I like to keep things fairly light and fluffy on this blog and if I voiced those opinions it would get all heavy and...Matted. Or something. So yeah, I'm not gonna get into it. Be that as it may, this picture needs to be seen. Honestly, I felt a strange urge to put cocoa butter on MY stomach after I saw this.



(Source)

I'm curious to see the "After" photo. I didn't get very big when I was pregnant with Harper, but even so, my stomach looked decidedly different just hours after giving birth. You know how latex balloons start to get all puckered and soft after they've been around for awhile? That was the state of my belly for a month or 2 and that was just with one child. I can't fathom what Octopussy's gut looks like after whelping an entire litter. I guess if she can mooch enough money to get her lips inflated, she can weasel some more dough for a tummy tuck. I swear to god this woman just...

No. No. I said I wasn't gonna get into it. I'm not. Light and fluffy, light and fluffy. I'm in my happy place. Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean...

Twitch

Just Don't Listen to the Lyrics on That Last One..

That last post I made is kind of a bummer. Who'd think a post about someone dying accompanied by one of the most depressing scenes in movie history would be all melancholyfied? With that in mind I decided I should update and since I'm in a good mood (I know, right? Weird) some happy music would be in order. I'm so goshdarned thoughtful sometimes that it's sickening. For real though-ignore the lyrics on Holland 1945, otherwise this whole thing will all be for naught.

RIP

Character actor James Whitmore Passed away today at age 87. Those of you who haven't spent as much time watching old tv shows and movies as I have might be going "Who?", but I can assure you, you do know who he was. And if you don't: how the hell have you not seen this movie yet?

Pupdate

This coming Sunday night/Monday morning, the puppies will be six weeks old. They're mobile, they can see and hear, Maggie has hit the "DO NOT WANT" stage so they're almost completely weaned and they've developed their little personalities. Sam is pretty easy-going and he doesn't so much walk as bounce. Eve is a little tub of lard that whines and whines if she so much as suspects someone is getting some sleep anywhere in the house. Oddly, I'm more partial to Evie. Anyway, they're growing up and will soon be finding new homes leaving me a broken husk of a woman. Oh how time flies, memories like the corners of my mind, sunrise, sunset, the cat's in the cradle and so on.

I've been making attempts to take plenty of photos of them, but it's hard because 1-I have a cheap-ass camera. 2-the little turd machines won't sit still long enough for me to take a clear picture of them. And 3-as is the case with all my dogs, when they do something cute and I run to fetch the camera, they stop whatever cute thing they were doing and either go to sleep, or disgrace themselves on my floor. And that stopped being cute about 3 weeks ago, except for last week when Eve was concentrating REALLY HARD while she was pooping and she lost her footing and fell right over. It was HILARIOUS.

I didn't get a picture of that, sadly, so you'll have to settle for these.










Sam isn't cross-eyed, this was taken shortly after their eyes opened and they hadn't started focusing yet:



Now I had to re-touch this one because it was overexposed (again: cheap-ass camera), but it was such a good picture of Evie's face, I'm putting it in.

Oh For The Love Of Green Jelly Beans....

For the past week or so, the internet has been awash in a certain set of pictures and it has set off a rather heated and retarded debate. I'm no expert on such things, but I'd like to weigh in with a feeble photo essay of sorts.

To begin:



This is one of the results of a GIS of "World's fattest woman". As you can see, she's little more than a head and meaty tree trunk arms set atop what has become something akin to a flesh mattress. She can't get up and perform basic everyday functions. In other words-she's morbidly obese.

Next up:



This is what you get when you Google "Fat woman". As evidenced by the fact that she's sitting up and is at least able to ATTEMPT to dress herself, she isn't quite in the same boat as Random Lady #1.

Now these 2 are Mia Tyler and Chloe Marshall, respectively:





Mia is a former plus-size model and daughter of that fish-lipped dude from Aerosmith. Chloe is the British chick who caused a stir last year when she became the first size 16 contestant in the Miss England contest. Neither are obese, but if not for the fact that they otherwise won the genetic lotto, they would be considered by some (if not most) to be fat, or at the very least, overweight. I think they look great, but that's neither here nor there.

This is my current girl-crush Christina Hendricks:



Christina plays sexpot secretary Joan Holloway on "Mad Men". She's what you call "curvy", seeing as how while she's not a size 2 (her driver's license on the show says she's 5'8, 140 pounds-a heifer, by Hollywood standards), she's insanely well-proportioned.

Now we come to the reason for this post:



This is Jessica Simpson, occasional pop starlet/reality show star/tabloid fodder/bane of the existence of most Dallas Cowboys fans. This is what it looks like when a thin-to-average woman wears the most unflattering outfit in the history of clothing. She's not morbidly obese, fat, or plus-sized and despite her ample chest area, she doesn't really qualify for curvy. Those pants would make Allegra Versace look like Dom Deluise, for god's sake.

So to sum up: while she may have put on 5 or 10 pounds, Jessica Simpson is not ready to become a member of the Fatty-Boom-Balatty club. She just can't dress for shit.

Any questions?

Pardon the Mess

I've decided after nearly three years that it's time to tweak my black and blue bruise of a blog. It's time to redecorate. So if you happen to pop in in the next hour or so and notice my color scheme in disarray, fret not. Since I know myself pretty well, I won't discount the idea that I may just say "screwitalltohell" and go back to the old colors, so if you pop back in tomorrow and everything is the same well, don't fret about that either.

We now return to your regularly scheduled afternoon, already in progress.

RIP

NEW YORK – John Updike, the Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist, prolific man of letters and erudite chronicler of sex, divorce and other adventures in the postwar prime of the American empire, died Tuesday at age 76.

Updike, best known for his four "Rabbit" novels, died of lung cancer at a hospice near his home in Beverly Farms, Mass., according to his longtime publisher, Alfred A. Knopf.

A literary writer who frequently appeared on best-seller lists, the tall, hawk-nosed Updike wrote novels, short stories, poems, criticism, the memoir "Self-Consciousness" and even a famous essay about baseball great Ted Williams.

He released more than 50 books in a career that started in the 1950s, winning virtually every literary prize, including two Pulitzers, for "Rabbit Is Rich" and "Rabbit at Rest," and two National Book Awards.

Although himself deprived of a Nobel, he did bestow it upon one of his fictional characters, Henry Bech, the womanizing, egotistical Jewish novelist who collected the literature prize in 1999.

His settings ranged from the court of "Hamlet" to postcolonial Africa, but his literary home was the American suburb, the great new territory of mid-century fiction.

Born in 1932, Updike spoke for millions of Depression-era readers raised by "penny-pinching parents," united by "the patriotic cohesion of World War II" and blessed by a "disproportionate share of the world's resources," the postwar, suburban boom of "idealistic careers and early marriages."

He captured, and sometimes embodied, a generation's confusion over the civil rights and women's movements, and opposition to the Vietnam War. Updike was called a misogynist, a racist and an apologist for the establishment. On purely literary grounds, he was attacked by Norman Mailer as the kind of author appreciated by readers who knew nothing about writing. Last year, judges of Britain's Bad Sex in Fiction Prize voted Updike lifetime achievement honors...

Cont.

Nightmare Fuel

I saw a video yesterday by a band named Pistol Youth and I'm gonna post it here for you all. I like the song well enough, I suppose, but once you get a glimpse of the screenshot, you'll understand that they could be covering Rhinestone Cowboy (my most hated of songs by my most hated of singers) and I'd still love the video. Even if it is totes creepy.


Pistol Youth - In My Eyes from Pistol Youth on Vimeo.

Go, Amy Adams, Go

The Oscar nominations were announced earlier this morning. No big surprises, I reckon. Heath Ledger got a posthumous nod on the one year anniversary of his death; Wall-E made the cut for best animated feature; Meryl Streep and Kate Winslet are both up for best actress once more...Against that chick from the Princess Diaries...

OK then.

"The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" led all films at the nominations for the 81st annual Academy Awards Thursday morning, picking up 13

The film, about a man who ages backwards, earned nods for best picture, best director (David Fincher), best actor (Brad Pitt) and best adapted screenplay, as well as several other picks.

"The Dark Knight," the year's top-grossing film, earned a best supporting actor nomination for the late Heath Ledger but was shut out of other major categories.

The nominees for best picture are "Frost/Nixon," "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," "Milk," "Slumdog Millionaire" and "The Reader."

The nominees for best actor are Sean Penn ("Milk"), Frank Langella ("Frost/Nixon"), Mickey Rourke ("The Wrestler"), Richard Jenkins ("The Visitor") and Brad Pitt ("The Curious Case of Benjamin Button").

The nominees for best actress are Kate Winslet ("The Reader"), Anne Hathaway ("Rachel Getting Married"), Meryl Streep ("Doubt"), Angelina Jolie ("Changeling") and Melissa Leo ("Frozen River")....

Clickety Pop for the rest of the major nominations.

We Can't See You, You Daft Cow...

I've had Rocketman by Elton John stuck in my head all day. Usually, this is the part where I post the song to get it out of my head. Not today.

Now, if you know me, you might be thinking I'm gonna post that video of William Shatner singing Rocketman at that sci-fi awards show instead, 'cuz you know I love that video more than almost as much as I love my own child. I would have, if not for my mother. I happened to mention to her which earworm I'm currently suffering from and she reminded me of something we saw a few years back on the Graham Norton show.

See, Graham had Elton on as a guest and they got to talking about Rocketman. Graham had heard of this odd fellow who referred to himself as-duh-Rocket Man, who had this thing about wanting to have sex in a zero gravity environment. Graham seems to enjoy making his show as interactive as possible for his guests, so they called the dude up on the phone...

(Subject matter probably NSFW)

RIP

Ray Dennis Steckler, director and producer of "The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies" and other exploitation pics, who was often credited as Cash Flagg, died Jan. 7 in Las Vegas. He was 70.

His other films included "Wild Guitar," "The Thrill Killers," Batman spoof "Rat Pfink a Boo Boo" and "Lemon Grove Kids Meet the Monsters." In later years, he directed and produced campy porn titles such as "The Horny Vampire" and "Debbie Does Las Vegas." He also worked under other pseudynoms such as Sven Christian. He also produced a documentary on his former wife, actress Carolyn Brandt.

Born in Reading, Penn., he served in the Army and got his start in Hollywood as a cinematographer on films such as "Wild Ones on Wheels." He also acted in many of his films.

He later ran a video business in Las Vegas where he continued working on film projects.

He is survived by his wife Katherine, four daughters and two grandchildren.

Variety

While I Wait For the Black Eyed Peas to Cook...

NYD