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

Here We Go Again...

In case you missed the updates on my MySpace and Facebook pages, I am in possession of two more dogs. Back in October, Maggie and Botwo got their hillbilly on and early this morning the adorable products of their forbidden love made their debut. Just 2, a girl and a boy-Eve (named after the iPod-ish robot from Wall-E) and Sam.

These will be the last puppies birthed in this house-one of my few New year's resolutions is to get all the dogs fixed, lack of money be damned. As I told Jenner, I have this bizarre vision of Bob Barker showing up at my house accompanied by an angry mob, as well he should. It's irresponsible to let your pets go around breeding like canine trailer trash and I'm too refined and dignified for that...I am too, goddammit.

Yeah, yeah, none of you want a PSA. You want to see the puppies, don't you? I've only got a couple pictures so far (I didn't want anyone up in my face with a camera after I gave birth, I figure I can show Maggie the same courtesy. I told you-I'm class all the way), so they'll have to do for now.

Eve is the black and white spotted one, Sam is the shy brown and white one hiding under his Mama's leg.

Oblig. Xmas Music Post

Drifter in the Snow

You're the Laziest Man on Mars

I'm just not feeling Christmas this year. The economy is in the crapper, ain't got no money, it's like 70 degrees outside and I'm just in an all-around poopy mood. However, I soldier on 'cuz that's how I do what...

.....

Technical difficulties


Well, this was unexpected. About 15 minutes ago, I was informed by my daughter that my dog Pepper, a charming mix of Beagle and Steve McQueen, took an unplanned furlough from the backyard. We went to catch her and I have to say for a dog as tubby as she is, she's REALLY fast. I caught her, told H. to hold her collar while I ducked back under the barbwire fence that surrounds the property I had just trespassed upon aaaand she let her go. She took off, my lungs which have been ravaged by at least a decade of cigarette smoke said, "Fuck that noise" and we turned around and came home, sans our beloved fat little escape artist. So she's still on the lam and I'm Googling prices on Commit Lozenges.

But I started this post with the intent of finishing it and by gum, that's what I'm gonna do.

Where was I? Oh, Christmas. Yeah, it sucks this year, I'm over it, whatevs-doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm still in love with the IDEA of the holidays, even if I'm not expecting much out of them this year. But ask not what the holidays can do for you, ask what you can do for the holidays. Kennedy said that, I believe. He was probably drunk at a Christmas party or something, but I'd bet cash money that he did say it at some point-he was a stitch, that JFK.

You know what else is a stitch (and I'm sure we all see what I did there)? Mystery Science Theater 3000. I was poking around in my blog archives and I noticed that this is my third Christmas with this blog and I've never, ever posted this episode. I don't know why, because I love it like it was my own little child. Pia Zadora is in the featured movie and Joel and the Bots perform a song entitled "Lets Have a Patrick Swayze Christmas". Not to end on a down note, but that song is one of the reasons I'm posting this now. I don't reckon the Swayz' will be around next December, sadly and it just doesn't seem right posting a song like that when the subject...Well, you know.

Enough melancholy. Enjoy "Santa Claus Conquers the Martians" and if you don't watch the whole movie, at least stick around for the kicky theme song, "Hooray for Santy Claus". It's a fun tune and sure to diminish any holiday ennui. I should listen to it myself.

AFTER I hunt down that fat little beast.

RIP

I know I'm the only Trekkie around these parts and most of you don't know this woman from Adam, but I'm posting this anyway. Take my word for it-she was awesome as Lwaxana Troi, so suck it up and pay your respects like good little non sci-fi geeks.

Majel Barrett Roddenberry, Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry's widow and a fixture of nearly every incarnation of the space travel franchise, died on Thursday. She was 76.

Roddenberry, who suffered from leukemia, died at home in Bel Air, Calif., according to a spokesperson.

Before Star Trek, the Ohio-born actress worked on a range of television shows, including Bonanza and Leave it to Beaver.

She was romantically involved with Roddenberry when he launched Star Trek in the mid-1960s. Though he cast her as the USS Enterprise's unnamed first officer in his pilot, she would go on to fame as the secondary character Nurse Chapel in the original series and in subsequent films. The couple married in 1969.

Roddenberry reappeared in the revamped Star Trek: The Next Generation as one of its beloved reoccurring characters: Betazoid ambassador Lwaxana Troi and as the voice of the starship's onboard computer — a job she would also hold on spin-offs Deep Space Nine and Voyager, audio books, animated series, video games as well as on the forthcoming J.J. Abrams prequel film.

After her husband's death in 1991, Roddenberry continued his legacy by helping bring to life other TV projects he had been working on, including the television series Earth: Final Conflict and Andromeda.

Roddenberry is survived by her son, Eugene Roddenberry Jr.

CBC

Dude, That's My Kitchen

Before I get goin' on this post, I'd like to not-so-randomly point out that standing by the side of one of only 2 main highways in a town, waiting to cross at 7:50am when it's 28 degrees outside and sleeting...Yeah, it's probably not the most economical use of time. And yes I did just do that. AND I have a cold-that should be worth some bonus points.

Enn-E-How..

This is how much of a slacker I am: I meant to post this thing last Christmas and I'm just getting around to it now. Sad! What it is, see, is this dude uploaded the pages from a bunch of Sears Wishbooks from the 70s and 80s onto Flickr. Now, if you're of a certain age and economic bracket like myself, Sears WAS Christmas when you were a kid. And if you're even more like me than that (there's a bracing notion to consider), as a child, you'd snatch that catalog up upon its arrival, grab a pen and commence to circling all the great and dangerous toys you wanted (I really had that kitchen. It was metal and pointy and painful when physically introduced to the body. None of this rounded, plastic crap for the kids of the 70s and 80s.) I've noticed Harper does the same thing when the flimsy-in-comparison Etoys catalog shows up at the house. Makes me all misty eyed.

Now, this guy has uploaded several years worth of Wishbooks and there's a lot of pages. Personally I'm partial to the 1979 and 1985 sets, but YMMV. To add a fun element to this, see if you can find the World's Tackiest Naked Lady Oil Lamp somewhere in there. My uncle gave that to my grandmother for Christmas back in the day and us grandkids would make her turn it on every time we came over. My grandmother hated that lamp and if it weren't for the chillun, I don't think that naked lady would have ever seen any action...

Well that didn't come out right. Bah, I'm leavin' it.

Flickr, Flickr Here you are...

Cuz I Wanna Hear it...

RIP

Bettie Page, the 1950s secretary-turned-model whose controverisal photographs in skimpy attire or none at all helped set the stage for the 1960s sexual revolution, died Thursday. She was 85.

Page suffered a heart attack last week in Los Angeles and never regained consciousness, her agent Mark Roesler said. Before the heart attack, Page had been hospitalized for three weeks with pneumonia.

"She captured the imagination of a generation of men and women with her free spirit and unabashed sensuality," Roesler said. "She is the embodiment of beauty."

Page, who was also known as Betty, attracted national attention with magazine photographs of her sensuous figure in bikinis and see-through lingerie that were quickly tacked up on walls in military barracks, garages and elsewhere, where they remained for years.

Her photos included a centerfold in the January 1955 issue of then-fledgling Playboy magazine, as well as controversial sadomasochistic poses.

The latter helped contribute to her mysterious disappearance from the public eye, which lasted decades and included years during which she battled mental illness and became a born-again Christian...

AP

Let Me Out Myself as a Major League Sap...

I'll make this short. Last night, due to a shortage of House reruns, I ended up watching a movie-Four Weddings and a Funeral to be precise. Fabulous movie. And it has that scene in it. You know, when Simon Callow dies and John Hannah recites that W.H. Auden poem at his funeral...

Oh you better believe I cried.

I knew it was coming and I was fine at first, but when he hit that last stanza, I let out this gasping snort-like noise and my eyes started stinging. Then came the tears and the snot. It was nice.

Not to put too fine a point on it, I pretty much have to post the scene and might I add, I'm feeling damn guilty about it. See, etiquette dictates that when someone posts a video on a blog, the readers are obliged to watch it. Even if you're at work, around other people.

Don't worry though, you might not cry. And your coworkers, they may not mock you. Of course, if they do, just show them the scene. Then they might not cry, too.