Friday, November 27, 2009

Alabama Here I Come

Next week I’m off to northeast Alabama to do research for a film project I’ve been hired to write. I’ve never stepped foot on Alabama soil before and am quite excited to breathe the air, be in awe of the beauty of the Little River Canyon, and enjoy the southern charm.

Geographically the closest I’d ever been to Alabama is Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.

Did you know...

The state bird is the Yellowhammer.

The state tree is the Longleaf Pine.

The state flower is the Camellia.

The capital in Montgomery.

The oldest city is Mobile.

I could brag and say my high school geography teacher would be proud that I’ve retained this information, but seeing it’s been years since high school and Mr. Griffin was ancient back then, I am quite confident he’s probably dead, and if he were still alive he’d be too old to even care what I retained or not. (True confession: I got the info off of Wikipedia.)

In order to get into that Alabama spirit I’ve been listening to songs with “Alabama” in the title:

Alabama Song by The Doors.

My Home’s In Alabama by Alabama

Sweet Home Alabama by Lynyrd Skynyrd

Sweet Home Alabama where the skies are blue... Here I come...

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Must Be Santa

It’s that time of the year when everyone blows the dust of their Christmas CDs and plays those holiday ditties ad nauseam. How many lame versions of “White Christmas” do we have to endure before someone (me) screams, “I don’t want a white Christmas! I want it green. I want it hot. I wanna be sitting by the chlorinated pool in my holiday speedo sipping a pomegranate martini. I hate the cold and snow!”?

Maybe I’m the minority here, but the fantasy of a white Christmas is not the reality of a white Christmas. Believe me I’ve survived many a white Christmases with shoveling snow, shivering temperatures, chapped lips, and chattering teeth. It’s not pretty.

With the holidays quickly approaching I brace myself for the onslaught of media madness and merry and maudlin music, and to my pleasant surprise I’ve come across a new Christmas song; one that didn’t make me block my ears with a bah humbug groan. I actually loved it and laughed and felt a pang of holiday spirit coursing through my warm weather veins.

It’s Bob Dylan’s soon-to-be-classic “Must Be Santa” and it’s gonna be my favorite Christmas song this year. Here’s the video in all its Santa glory... betcha you’ll be singing and dancing along...

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Is That a Baby or a Plant?

Okay... Michael Jackson is dead, and I don’t like to laugh too loudly about the dead, but today when I saw the photograph of Gerard Butler dangling what looked like a baby from a balcony in London I couldn’t help but laugh my ass off.
The look on Gerard’s face is priceless.

(And yes, it was a plant.)

I think Michael would be so giddy over the spoof (and the publicity) that he’d immediately whip out his “little mikey” and pee in a cup for everyone to see. He liked to do that, you know.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Oh How The Mighty Have Fallen

Last night I was channel surfing and stumbled across Larry King interviewing Carrie Prejean, the hateful “I’m a Christian with Christian values” ex-Miss America with silicone breasts who has suddenly surfaced with magical masturbation fingers in her own “I Touched Myself and it Tickled” video.

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

I only caught a few moments of the interview (I was afraid listening to her for too long might induce severe vomiting) and was shocked into hysterical laughing when the idiot said her hero was Sarah Palin. There is something so wrong yet so appropriate with Prejean saying that. Are we really surprised? One narrow-minded hater idolizing another narrow-minded hater.

Then I got to thinking... when Prejean lifted her skirt to amuse herself in her “I Touched Myself and it Tickled” video was she not thinking about the boy taking the video, but rather thinking about ex-beauty bitch Palin? I mean, hey, wouldn’t Prejean have been a huge fan of pageants and seen silly Sarah Palin with her teased mane hoofing it across a beauty pageant stage? A little lesbian fantasy for the Prejean? Now wouldn’t that be a tit twister of all tit twisters!

To celebrate Prejean’s success as a porn star I give you the Divinyls singing “I Touch Myself.” This would be a great song for Prejean to sing when she’s performing at her next Christian values rally.

Friday, November 06, 2009

A Perfect Gift for Me

Have you ever received a gift from a friend and wondered why they’d chosen it for you? You know, the kind of gift that makes you think, “What the fuck were they thinking when they whipped out the credit card and told the sales clerk to wrap it up and charge it.”

I had a friend who came into my life like a firestorm. She was crazy (literally), fun (most of the time), and an emotional vampire (all of the time). I liked her despite the near-insanity.

When my birthday came around we got together for lunch. She gave me a present and prefaced it by saying that she thought it was a perfect gift for me, something she knew I’d love, blah, blah, blah. With a build up like that I anticipated something that was definitely me, something special.

Then I opened the package.

It was the book “Chicken Soup for the Soul.” I sat there grateful for the delicious lunch and bewildered by her choice of gift. That book is as much me as a weekend stuck in a raging snowstorm without heat or electricity. In other words, not me at all.

I smiled my best Michael smile and, in a performance worthy of an Emmy, thanked her.

“Chicken Soup for the Soul” is billed as a book that will nourish you from the inside.

I brought the book home and put it on the bookshelf where it collected dust. Then one day months later while rearranging the bookshelf “Chicken Soup for the Soul” fell to the floor. While picking it up I flipped through the pages and that’s when I found the truth behind the gift.

Just inside the paperback cover was a handwritten note.

Dear Melissa,

Thanks for understanding. I’m glad we’re still friends.

Lots of love,

What? I knew Amy. I knew that Melissa and Amy had a falling out a few months before my birthday and by the time of my birthday had made up and were once again gal pals.

Suddenly the nourishment from the inside turned into a case of botulism.

I was insulted and somewhat amused at the same time. Melissa was a re-gifter, and a bad re-gifter at that.

The book went in the trash, and soon thereafter our friendship petered out.

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

Oh Pee Pee

With all the media, money-hungry family members, and so-called business associates circling like ravens around the memory of Michael Jackson it should come as no surprise that the craziness that was Michael Jackson continues to flow freely.

Today I read about Jackson’s infatuation with peeing in front of people. Oh yeah, he thought it was funny to whip it out and pee in a cup while everyone sat around watching, including children.

Did Jackson think that the way he urinated was so unique and special, and different from all other men, that his celebrity penis was the fountain of youth?

We all pee, some while standing and others while sitting, but it’s still pee and not something everyone likes to watch others do, unless of course you have a golden shower fetish.

Now I’ll admit I have not always peed in a toilet or a urinal. There have been times I’ve peed in the woods, in an alley when I couldn’t find a nearby bathroom, outside my apartment building when I had to go so badly I knew I wouldn’t make it inside, and against the dumpster in the driveway of a mortuary.

Then there was that time I deliberately peed on someone’s car door to be mean and mark my presence (that was only once...okay twice... three times), but she deserved it. She was a morally uptight bitchy yuppy with attitude who thought, and told everyone, she was better than they were. I was hoping it would ruin her car paint, but it didn’t, so I stopped trying.

And I can’t forget the time I peed in the snow trying to spell my name. I got the M and I and C and H written and then the cold temperature made me shiver, shrink, and stop mid-flow.

But I’ve never just whipped it out in front of people, including children, to pee in a cup.

The only time I’ve ever peed in a cup is when I was at the doctor’s having a physical or taking a drug test, and I did it in the privacy of the bathroom.

Something tells me this isn’t the last we’ll hear of Jackson’s odd behavior.