Friday, April 27, 2007

Violent Sellout

Now even the Violent Femmes have sold out! Wendy's is using the intro to Blister in the Sun for their latest TV ads. That's so wrong, but good for them for getting paid. But Wendy's?

Why not a cool car, or booze, or John Deere turbo tractor mowers? Or am I upset because it means that I'm officially "old" when the punky music of my youth shows up in mainstream media?

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Suffering from ED?

(cartoon from

Sean Hannity and his male listeners must be, cause they can't advertise ED drugs enough on his little show.

I had a long drive home on Monday after an offsite in St. Helena, so while surfing the radio for entertainment I found Hammity's show.

Shows like his are a laugh-a-minute as he makes one overly-generalized comment after another without any rationale or credible information to back his claims/rants.

And his listeners are even worse, calling him up to tell him he's a "great American" and a "patriot" before they launch into their own half-baked (or unbaked) comments.

At one point, Hammity mentioned the partial birth abortion ban and what a great thing it was, blah, blah, blah, no uterus, unfounded comment, blah, blah, yak, yak, yak, and a woman called in to ask why people who actually wanted babies are punished.

She rambled about how she was being punished for wanting a baby, that she and her husband had undergone fertility treatments and because they admitted as such when applying for health insurance, they were denied coverage.

She thinks an insurance company is trying to punish her for wanting a child. Does she not understand how insurance works? They don't *want* to pay for your $30K IVF treatments, because they're *expensive.* It has nothing to do with what sort of turkey baster you're using or what's in it - if it costs that much and it's non-essential, you're on your own.

It was funny and sad, but mostly sad, and Hammity never tried to help her understand anything, but let her prattle on about how unfair it all is and how badly they want a baby, blah, blah, blah, and I'm thinking, You stupid cow, have you heard about adoption?

How bout you adopt one of the many unwanted kids who need homes? You're against any form of abortion, yet you're not willing to adopt an unwanted child who's already out of the womb, living, breathing, and needing new shoes? No, let's just make more children, try to get insurance to pay for it, and further overpopulate the world.

Check out Think Progress for a different slant.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Worst. Freezer. Ever.

The horror. You would not BELIEVE what my mother had to do in order to store salmon in the freezer in Palm Desert.

You. Would. Not. Believe. It.

Do you know, that freezer is so stupid - you can't get anything in it! It's not because it's already crammed full of food, batteries and lord-knows-what-else. NO! It's because it's such a STUPID FREEZER!

She had to store the salmon - get this - vertically - ON ITS SIDE! Not flat, like you would expect to store salmon in a freezer. UP ON ITS SIDE, ALONG THE SIDE OF THE FREEZER! UNBELIEVABLE.

I am beside myself with shock and disappointment. I am at a loss. The humanity!

Why god!? Why would you do this to an innocent salmon!?

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Massage/Bra Fitting

Last week I got a chair massage at work - it's a great way to spend 30 minutes an it's a good way to get me to go into the office.

Halfway through my massage, which is supposed to be focusing on the stress I have in my upper back/traps/shoulders, my masseuse starts working on my middle back, which is fine, but I noticed he was trying to work around my bra strap.

He moved it slightly up to work directly beneath it, then slightly down, and finally he said, "This seems really tight across your back." I said, "Yup, that's what I pay it for."

He continued working for a minute or so then went on to tell me that I might want to think about a different type of bra, maybe one that isn't quite so tight across the back, as it seems to create artificial tension in the fascia beneath the skin.

It seemed well-intentioned, but I found it amusing that a guy - a guy without breasts - was telling me what type of bra I should consider wearing.

Maybe he wears breasts of his own when he's off the clock and loves the idea of wearing bras that fit the way he thinks they should, but he has no idea what sort of bras I need and why I wear ones that could double as a body cast.

He went on for a bit about strap tension when I had to cut him off and gently explain that I was wearing a minimizer and it has a very important job to do, and it needs to be tight to do its job, and the only tension it causes is when the elastic starts to give out and I have to buy new ones.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Poopy Pants Time

I almost walked right into this little* guy down at the Salton Sea last weekend. He was sunning himself at the deep end of an empty swimming pool behind the Aces & Spades club.

*We guestimate he was about 3 or 4-feet long and a couple inches in diameter. But that was last Saturday. Today he's 10-feet long and four inches in diameter and next week he'll be triple that size. With fangs the size of steak knives.

On previous trips through that part of the North Shore, most everything has been fenced off, but this time huge sections of the fence that once secured the old pool had been removed. I thought it might be cool to see what things looked like from the deep end of the pool.

I'm so glad I looked down into the pool before I was in it. When I saw Mr. Rattlekins, I almost crapped myself. I've never seen a real, live snaky snake in the outdoors before.

The immediate fear was surprising, even though he was at least eight feet below me. I thought at any moment he could spring up from the pool and sink his 14-inch fangs into my face.

As soon as I got my breath back, I started shouting DAD, DAD, DAD, DAD, DAD!!! but he was already around the front of the building. I snapped a few shots then went to find him.

I then noticed how much dry brush surrounds every path on the premises. And me, without my kevlar pants, having to walk through all that to find my dad.

When I found him, I told him what was in the pool and he couldn't wait to see it for himself. We went back to the pool, but by that time Mr. Handbag had wound himself underneath a dry palm frond, probably trying to hide from the biped that wouldn't stop shouting "DAD!"

I watched my Dad instantly transform from a mature, responsible man to a six-year-old boy as he started throwing twigs and debris into the pool to get the snake to move. If he'd had a stick long enough, he would have used it to poke him.

My protests fell on deaf ears - he was determined to drive Mr. Rattleboots out from under the palm frond. But the rattler wouldn't budge and I was relieved. We left him there and I was happy to head home to change my pants.