Thursday, December 28, 2006

Dempsey Watch, Day 46. WWDG?

Wisdom teeth extracted, affianced and, apparently (against my sage advice), going to Pissy Olde England.

But which team? I mean, club? Where Will Dempsey Go? And will Gooch go with? THAT would be cool.

Tune in after January 1st, same Bat time, same Bat channel.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

It's Official

The Christmas Shoes is the worst Christmas song ever.

Popwatch agrees, and got a Sunday School lesson for their trouble. Scott-o-rama knew it last year and knew why: because it's so manipulative. It came on while I was shopping for cowboy boots and I could NOT escape. I want to run screaming fa!la!la!la!la! from the store with my fingers in my ears, but I am on a mission. A mission from hell because as usual I have put off the shopping thing until the last possible moment, because deep down in my heart I believe Santa's little elves are going to do it for me. Damn the short people!

Anyway, I had a kleenex (well, ok, it was a Wendy's napkin, slightly used), and I managed to get the boots (score!) and not waste more than a tear or two. That's my problem with the song: the blatant manipulation that Scott-o-rama noted. It personifies everything that's wrong with Christmas. It's mean spirited and calculating and maudlin. And lots of other bad things!

In the spirit of love and fellowship enjoyed by so many during this holiday season, I am refraining from you-tubing that puppy.

You're welcome, and Merry Christmas to you as well.

But to give you something to um, enjoy the holiday season with, listen to what happens when some idiot says 'I dare you.'

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

It's not me, it's the bacteria!

More good news this holiday season.


I know this will make a lot of folks feel vindicated. Personally, it makes me believe we're that much closer to a Magic Weight Loss Pill. And being a sloth who likes to eat (a lot), that's very welcome news indeed.

I need answers, dammit!

Slate wants to know: which question should they answer?

I've got a gang, and no idea how to run it in a non-"little bitch gang joke" sort of way. Help!

I think we can consider the rat poison question moot now.

But what about forced masturbation?

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

More on the Best of 2006

Best Soccer Moment (Professional):
Psychotic and fierce - that's how I like my soccer players. The dance - well, it must be a Texas thing.

Best Soccer Moment (En Famille): The Notorious K T J scoring on a free kick at GPHS just as I walked up. Talk about timing. On both our parts.

Best New Adjective: Man-, as in man-purse or man-hug.

Best List of Lists: Alter Net's The Ten Best Top Ten Lists. Research, baby. I'm all about the research. The grocery lists were particularly fun. You can tell by the coke on my keyboard.

The Mack Daddy of Lists,

It's the Breck "I told one friend and she told one friend and so on and so on" award: The Lost Remote.

To continue or not to continue? That is the question.

Meh. I think I'm done.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

It's beginning to look a lot like....

The End. Of the year, anyway. All the Best Of lists coming out, etc. So, I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon and do my own little Best of 2006. And by 2006, I mean that I found it in 2006, not that it necessarily first appeared in 2006. Truthiness is important.

Best Use of a Registered Trademark in a Celebrity Dis: FedEx. Kevin, we hardly knew ye. Not that we really wanted to.

Best Internet Discovery: Youtube. Yep, Time's on to it as well, the copy cats.

Best Commercial: Cingular's Stop the Catbox.

The sheep don't like it!

Best Musical Discovery: You can guess this one - Tim Armstrong. But dude, go finish already. Two songs do not a freaking album make.

Best TV show: House. Thanks, Elvis! I never would have watched if not for you. No more endless L&O reruns!

Best Book: The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver. She is also my Best Literary Discovery. And she needs to go write a new book. Thanks, Monica!

Best Concert/Musical Event: hands down, this goes to John Prine at the Tennessee Theatre. Probably the Musical Event of my life. Unless Elvis wants to bring Nick Lowe to my living room. Thanks to my friend Anonymous Ticket Master, who discovered the presale! Your identity is safe with me.

Song of the Year, Category of Narcissism: the Transplants' DJ DJ, because it kicks ass and takes names. And look, my initials are in it, too!

And speaking of DJ DJ, let me also give Curse of the Year to this song for "fuck the motherfucking backstabbing cunts." Priceless. Couldn't get more offensive without going racial.

To be continued...

words fail

White Christmas

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Cheese. Weird imitation cheese.

And where did his eyebrows go?

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Add This To The List...

of things I just don't get:

Families who go en masse to the emergency room when one member is ill/mentally disturbed/hyperventilating over the WWE Smackdown/maimed/whatever. I was hanging out there last night, when an apparent grandma and grandpa walked out with their angelic little granddaughter whose finger was all bandaged up. Immediately, they were surrounded by a clamoring horde. I counted five other adults and two young children. It was going on 9. Why didn't at least one of these adults take those young children home? Another family had Mom, Stepdad, Grandma and teenage sister acting out scenes from Dysfunctional Family Dynamics 101. Grandma telling the receptionist in a loud stage whisper 'she (the sick one) won't see her mother - she wants me.' It's like a love contest - if you love the child, you come. The longer you sit in a plastic seat being barraged by what constitutes news (Fox - need I say more?), the more you love. The more people you bring with you to share the barrage and the plastic seats, the greater that love. The more you scowl and snarl and harass the staff, the more you demonstrate that love.

It's beyond my understanding.

But I feel much better for sharing.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

On My Way To Work

I saw this on the back of a truck -

Bumper to bumper
Butt to butt
Get off my ass
You crazy nut!

No photo available.

Monday, December 04, 2006

Dempsey Watch - Day 22

Where in the world is the Dempster going to go? It's a veritable vortex of gossip, lies and innuendo at this point, in an understated soccer-in-the-USA way. A tiny horde of fans is all atwitter. America at large with no clue.

I was leaning toward Charlton, myself. Mostly because of Dempster's 'I want to make a difference' statement and the fact that he fired his agent, making the move egotistically likely and stunningly stupid. I like the sound of Charlton. Sounds like cigarettes. But the hot money is now on Fulham. Long shots West Ham and Atletico Madrid have also been bandied about with impunity.

Reason I want Demps in EPL: Fox Soccer Channel. I might get to see him once in a while. They do show a little of La Liga, I think. Or maybe I'm thinking of Serie A.

Reason Demps should go to EPL: to kick some pissy Englishter ass.

Reasons Demps should not go to EPL: It gets dark at 4. The weather is nasty and the rap is worse. He could get nicknamed McDemps. Or McDumps, depending on how those pissy Englishters take to him.

Reason Demps should go to La Liga: The climate. Gooch. Food.

Friday, December 01, 2006

T Shirt Philosophizin' Part Deux

Does that scare you? Do you feel threatened by the color contrast? Do you think this is why kindergartners must be taught to color inside the lines?

I got this shirt as part of a "deluxe" edition of Rancid's Indestrucible album, all the way from Denmark via eBay. I didn't really want the shirt, but it didn't cost any extra, so. It's not the kind of thing I normally wear (I just don't like black tees) but I washed it and added it to my weekend pile anyway. One Saturday, it won the top-of-the-heap lottery and I wore it on my weekly expedition to Walmart. And I never thought a thing about it, until I got in the check out line.

The dude in front of me freaked out. Not the throw-your-hands-up-run-screaming kind of freakout, but more the Masterpiece Theater bug-eyed double takes and leper alert cringing. I was concentrating on unloading my buggy the way I want to re-load it (heavy stuff on the bottom, bread and eggs and bananas must float to the top), but I gradually became aware that my presence was making this dude very uncomfortable. He was approximately my age, that is to say *not* somebody's grandpa (yet), but he must've been raised in *very* sheltered environment. Like a monastery. Or Van Buren, Missouri. I am the least threatening looking mom in the entire 3rd grade. Well, ok, that's not 100% true. I'm neither blonde nor bubble-headed, but I am in no way, shape or form frightening. When I have my makeup on, anyway. And I did. Have my makeup on. Anyway, to stop this meandering, dude left at a very brisk pace, heart racing, his eyes bugged out and an extra touch of gray in his hair thanks to the graphical bit of anarchy pictured above.

I couldn't figure out why until today. Pure hypothesis, of course, but perhaps, just maybe, he had a little reality check and found out that things he assumed just might not be true. Not all punks are multi-pierced multi-tatted unemployed delinquents snorting heroin on street corners and begging for change. And if that's possible, then, gee, all sorts of things could be possible: Democrats in Sevier County! Cats and dogs in trans-species fellowship! Peanut butter AND chocolate!

Well, maybe that's a little ridiculous.

But I can't wait to wear it again.