Archive | January, 2010
Aside from the massive amounts of snow that fell last night and today, turning my neighborhood into a hand-me-down Vail ski and sledding destination, there wasn’t a whole lot to blog about today.
I did end up having to trek out in the elements (to my total chagrin) and because of the below freezing temperatures, the snow-turned-ice and the untreated interstate, my 12 mile round trip ended up taking an hour as opposed to my normal 15 minute excursion.
But I must admit that even though I didn’t get a nice clean picture of the pristine snow on my front lawn and driveway (because the neighbor’s kids had already run across my yard in pursuit of wayward balls and other outdoor toys before I could grab my camera), I did catch a few snowy day photos and for my troubles, my honey made me my first “Fireplace S’more.”
Well, it seems as though the folks over at The Weather Channel were giving me much more than lip service yesterday when they said that a substantial winter storm would be heading my way. Like only a non-believer would, I stayed at work later than normal, and when I did leave, I had to navigate through traffic and wintry weather virgins. When I finally shifted through all of the traffic to arrive at home, I ended up having to head back out so that I could go to the market. From there, the foolishness ensued.
Not only did I have to park my car in Afghanistan and walk about a quarter of a mile to actually get into the store, but when I got inside, only 10 of the maybe 25 lanes were open and they were stretched to at least New Guinea! Now I know what you are thinking, so I will go ahead and address your criticisms: 1) Yes, I went to Super Wal-Mart, 2) Yes, I know better and 3) “That’s what you get” is not the kind of support one ought to offer a frustrated last minute shopper.
Once I completed my “just in case we get holed-up” shopping, I ended up waiting in the aforementioned New Guinea line for about 40 minutes, with little to no forward progress. On a whim, I excused myself and headed back to the Automotive Department were sure enough, the clerk was ringing out customers with motor oil and anti-freeze purchases. Suffice it to say, I wheeled my 38 items right up to the mini check out stand, and although he was shooting me daggers and ginsu knives, he didn’t dare “check me boo.”
After all the headaches, toes hurting (from the “boots made for looking nice, not roaming a 20,000sq. ft. super center”) and annoyances, I made it home without incident. Now, I am blogging in front of a warm fire, choosing to let go of all the day’s foolishness and instead relish in the opportunity to actually sit back and enjoy the falling snow. It’s funny; there is something about snowy weather that can work people into a frenzy, but can just as easily sooth the savagery.
Now that I am taking heed to the words of the weather pros, it looks as though the white stuff won’t relent until at least Sunday. Here’s hoping that the savagery will remain at bay until then.
All I want to do after a hard day on the J-O-B is slide on my fuzzy slippers, snuggle beneath the down comforter and watch The Australian Open. What’s hard to understand about that? I don’t want to think about the chick standing in my way at Super Wal-mart who thought she was the queen of the yogurt section, thus impeding my progress, or bass-ackwards Chris Matthews and his propensity for forgetting the president’s blackness, or the idiotic stylings of Paul Shirley.
Who is Paul Shirley, you ask? Don’t worry, you aren’t alone. I can guarantee you that most people have no inkling who Paul Shirley is, which makes his buffoonery all the more ridiculous. The way that he was spouting it off, all full of righteous indignation, fire and brimstone (and of course, hot air), you’d have thought the man had some sort of special historical insight or an in-depth anthropological vantage point that the rest of us were simply too dim to recognize. Nope, not the case. Just another big mouth (former) athlete determined to make a burro out of himself and his (poor) parents. And alas, I cannot even call him a dumb jock, as doing so would be offensive to intellectually-challenged athletes everywhere.
So class, lemme tell you a little story about a man named Paul Shirley. He played college basketball for Iowa State once upon a time, and was drafted into the National Basketball Association were he spent three years and appointed himself one of the “whitest players in the NBA”. The End.
Now, let’s explore “Where Are They Now: Paul Shirley.” Shirley spends much of his time now freelancing for ESPN and telling the Haitian people what a bother they are (you know, with all that suffering and dying under fallen buildings they’ve recently started doing) and how they won’t get one cent of his hard (riding the pine) earned money because he can’t ensure they’ll do anything constructive with it.
And start belligerent rant now:
I haven’t donated a cent to the Haitian relief effort. And I probably will not.
I haven’t donated to the Haitian relief effort for the same reason that I don’t give money to homeless men on the street. Based on past experiences, I don’t think the guy with the sign that reads “Need Your Help” is going to do anything constructive with the dollar I might give him. If I use history as my guide, I don’t think the people of Haiti will do much with my money either.
… Shouldn’t much of the responsibility for the disaster lie with the victims of that disaster?
Shouldn’t there be some discourse on how the millions of dollars that are being poured into Haiti will be spent? And at least a slight reprimand for the conditions prior to the earthquake? Some kind of inquisition? Something like this?:
Dear Haitians –
First of all, kudos on developing the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. Your commitment to human rights, infrastructure, and birth control should be applauded.
As we prepare to assist you in this difficult time, a polite request: If it’s possible, could you not re-build your island home in the image of its predecessor? Could you not resort to the creation of flimsy shanty- and shack-towns? And could some of you maybe use a condom once in a while?
The Rest of the World
Beelzebub must be so proud of this one. I think I can actually visualize him patting Shirley atop the head, slapping him on the back and shouting “atta boy!” I mean, Rush and Pat’s bile were one thing, but I think I am even more disturbed by Shirley’s viewpoint because it is laced with malicious and illogical thought, misguided ire and dense cluelessness . To insinuate that the people of Port-au-Prince somehow enjoy squalor and have to be instructed not to recreate it is simply shocking. No mention of tyranny, political unrest or the embargoes imposed on Haiti; all contributors to the nations current impoverished state, because that of course would require research, reasoning and rational thought…the Three R’s that Shirley and his smug self never bothered to learn.
One thing he did learn after his “fend for yourself Haiti” tirade however, was that he’d soon be getting a pink slip. In a statement addressing Shirley’s firing, ESPN wrote: “: “The views he expressed…of course do not at all reflect our company’s views on the Haiti relief efforts. He will no longer contribute to ESPN.”
I sure hope Paul Shirley isn’t planning to file for unemployment. Seeing as how my tax dollars contribute to that program, I just can’t be sure that he’ll do anything constructive with them.
But hey, this is the land of opportunity. Even after this ABYSMAL FAILURE in humanity, I am sure there is still work out there for him. Hey VH1, I think we’ve found the valedictorian of your Tool Academy!
As excited as I was in marking the big red X’s on my calendar and counting down the days until “The Season of Slams” was to commence, Venus Williams almost ruined tennis for me…forever.
It is seldom that I have a gripe with Venus (other than her propensity to favor an injured knee or thigh during a tournament, giving her opponent a better strategy by which to throw her off kilter), as she is intelligent, witty, competitive and has turned her tennis success into several equally successful entrepreneurial ventures, but at this here Australian Open late last week….help her Jehovah! What possessed Vee to wear skin-toned bloomies underneath her otherwise “total success” dandelion colored tennis dress was simply beyond comprehension. It boggled the mind. It seared the eyes.
During her match last week, Venus’ sizzling serves and vigorous volleys caused her already mini dress to dance, flare and expose, which gave fans a rather cheeky illusion. At one point, I even yelped (yes, out loud) thinking that Venus had her bare assets on display. And the various catcalls from the tournament audience said that I wasn’t the only one to think so. After having won her match however, Miss Williams took to purging therapy (Twitter) to inform the world that she had in fact covered her um, behind:
“I am wearing undershorts the same color as my skin, so it gives the slits in my dress the full effect.”
I blame Serena and Oracine! I don’t care how excited she was about slits and pizzaz, how could they look at their sister/daughter with a straight face and not tell her that her athletic but still dimpled junk should have been stowed in an aesthetically approved trunk? Oftentimes, I applaud both Serena and Venus’ risk taking style and desire to be creative and artistic in attire when they play the tourneys each year, but I could have SO done without the flesh colored bloomers this go ‘round.
But with her quarterfinal round loss to China’s Li Na yesterday, perhaps this will give Venus ample opportunity to go back to the drawing board to draft another outfit where the earth toned under garments she plans to wear actually remain under her clothing.
Well, it seems as though Confederacy Central South Carolina can’t catch a break. After stubbornly remaining The United States’ black eye (before finally removing the very image of oppression from atop their State House nearly a decade ago) and getting the acrid taste of Governor Mark “Gone Wild” Sanford out of their mouths, South Carolinians were so certain that 2010 would be a year of progress, and political-straight-and-narrowness. That is, until Andre Bauer came to realize that he missed the undisputed title of “National Jackass” far too much and decided to reclaim it once again for his great state.
Lieutenant Governor Andre Brauer, with his panache for storytelling and folksy anecdotes decided to bequeath one of his gems to the locals during a town hall meeting last week. It went a little something like this: “My grandmother was not a highly educated woman, but she told me as a small child to quit feeding stray animals. You know why? Because they breed! You’re facilitating the problem if you give an animal or a person ample food supply. They will reproduce, especially ones that don’t think too much further than that.”
The best part of this story, aside from the noticeably absent “and they lived happily ever after,” is the fact that we are not being punk’d. The fool actually said it. In all his boorish and uncouth glory. Right out of his own mouth. But if you are like me, a month full of vocal miscues and after-the-fact contriteness from across the political spectrum has left you more than a little desensitized to Brauer’s latest belligerence.
I can understand how his likening of public assistance for the poor to feeding stray animals would be offensive to the MANY millions of people who receive federal assistance, and even to the average person whose thoracic cavity actually holds a beating heart, but it has become painstakingly clear to me (after having heard time and time again, one malicious politician after another try to tell me that my ears don’t work and I somehow took their reckless and hateful speech out of context) that being “offended” simple doesn’t change things within the realm of politics. Nowadays, it takes more than just being disgusted or a public rebuke of a politician for his careless words, because if we are being honest, for as many people as he offends, there are just as many who are ironing their sheets and hoods and making a note in their Day Planners to send him a campaign contribution.
Instead of simply crying foul, we must do a better job of actually holding the Andre Brauers of the world accountable for their words. So, welfare recipients simply partake of the system and then breed, he says? During the next town hall, these same “offended” folks need to march their indignant selves into the midst of the meeting and confront him on it. They need to make him look them in their laid-off eyes and explain what gives him the right to speak so insensitively and egregiously about their plight.
They can’t let him slide in saying “Oh, I wish I had used a better metaphor.” No. They need to ask that I-pride-myself-on-thinking-I’m-smarter-than-you policy maker what sort of genius was running through his brain when he opened his mouth to spew that nonsense. And no one can’t be mad when he talks about those folks who abuse the system and have no intention of letting public assistance be a temporary aid to a more permanent life (because we all know that that conversation is inevitable. We also know that many of those folk out there are giving the entire system a bad name). Is it just important to let Mr. Brauer know that he ought not speak of exceptions to the rule as if they are the rule.
I know I just got a little preachy, but I am serious. Later for getting your feelings hurt every time some Joe Powertie bursts on the scene with alternating feet in his mouth. Because truth be know, politicians don’t care about your feelings! I just believe that the folks who are always “offended” and “insulted” have far too much power in this political process to simply accept a politicians words and sulk over them. It is high time that they use that power wisely and make these arrogant politicians eat their words at the polls. Otherwise, aren’t you just getting your feelings hurt for nothing?
I’m baaa-aaaaccckkk! Well, I’m not quite 100%, but I certainly feel better than I did over the past 72 hours. While I was enduring my sick and shut-in days though, I deliberately stayed unplugged from the news and net, knowing that if I got even an inkling of a noteworthy story I’d be blogging instead of trying to get better. But as is always the case, thanks to the foolhardy people who take up residence in the universe, my return to The Pack was met with buffoonery galore; mine for the picking. If it pleases the court, I’d like to present Exhibit A:
When are celebrities, even D-Listers going to learn that Twitter is designed specifically for their downfall? Unless there is a publicist or some sort of personality consultant on hand to transcribe what they think and feel into coherent thoughts and socially acceptable tweets, then they’d probably be better off not having a Twitter Account at all (hey, don’t take my word for it, just ask Chris Brown). Well, someone should have tried bestowing that bit of knowledge on Scott Baio. While his stints on shows like “Happy Days” “Joanie loves Chachi” and “Charles in Charge” have undoubtedly made him heart-throbby material over the years, his recent exploits on Celeb-reality hot messes “Scott Baio Is 45…and Single” and “Scott Baio is 46…and Pregnant” have painted him in such an unattractive light (physically too), that it is a wonder that he’d be speaking ill of anyone. But ill-speak he did, and by doing so, he basically threw down the gauntlet.
As reported in the New York Daily News, Baio alleged that he contacted the FBI after having received a multitude of angry comments and death threats related to his mocking photo and “tweet” of First Lady Michelle Obama last week. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that Michelle Obama is all kinds of awesome and inspirational in my eyes, but er um…she looks like she is about to get her “True Blood” on in this photo. Her fabulousness notwithstanding, and whether or not the picture was photo-shopped, Lady O is a public figure and bound to be the subject of some unflattering imagery at some point during Barry’s presidency. I am sure however, that the Obama’s have long since grown that tough, protective layer of skin that keeps them insulated against buffoonish and unprovoked attacks such as this, while still being effective in their day to day endeavors.
Now what I found completely eye-roll worthy was that after Chachi’s ignorance began receiving more attention than he had intended (how he could not have anticipated such a fallout further speaks to his dense and clueless nature), he quickly backpedaled, proclaimed his desire for racial harmony and then whipped out the “my-wife’s-best-friend-is-black” card.
Just Why!? I mean, I’m all for everyone exercising their first amendment right (I do it here daily, thank you founding fathers…well, despite that whole 3/5 human idiocy…whew, but I digress; clearly a blog post for another time), but either say what you mean and stick to your guns or shut-it-up. Cowering in fear because people don’t like your platform says to me that you don’t really know what you believe and that you more than likely were just looking for an additional 15 minutes.
But back to my initial question, why do the morons have to use The Obamas to advance their political or social agendas? It is almost as if these people are deliberately trying to see if Barack and Michelle ever live up to the ridiculously militant caricature that those equally ridiculous folks at The New Yorker tried penning on them last year. What is it that they are hoping to get? The First Lady interrupting the President during his “State of The Union” with full-on neck roll and finger wagging to curse out all of their detractors? Well, don’t hold your breath status-pariahs. I have one word for you: CLASS.
And although Scott Baio is somehow convinced that his hate mail and malice-laced wishes are all a result of “people loving to hate,” if he is honest, isn’t that exactly why he posted the picture and comment about Michelle Obama in the first place?
“Scott (Pot) Baio is 48…and Calling the Kettle Black.”
If you follow me on Twitter, then you know that I’ve been ranting all day (well, mostly in sign language) about my loss of voice upon waking up this morning.
So since I’m temporarily delirious, I’m going to spare you all my melodramatic blog post and instead tell you what this under the weather blogger plans to do with the rest of her night:
1. Abuse my power as a parent. I’m going to hide my remote and have my nephew and the kids turn the channel and volume manually at my leisure (stop shaking your head sanctimoniously; you should see the serfdom I endure when THEY are sick)
2. Savor the hearty taste of Okra and Tomato with Corn Soup (don’t knock it till you try it)
3. Nestle and luxuriate in my down comforter and pillow set
4. Watch The Hope For Haiti Now Telethon. I support non-profits, I support the efforts for this island nation, I support Haiti.
This phenomenal undertaking was broadcasted live by every major network, a plethora of cable and premium channels, and internationally as well. I hope you had the chance to check your local listings and decided to watch. But even though the telethon is over, doesn’t mean that your spirit of charity (or as Muhammad Ali described it in Islam: zakat) has to be. The contributions that have gone to the various charities and support funds thus far are important, but until we are all moved to selfless action, we won’t see any real progress in Haiti and abroad.
Hope ACTION for Haiti Now…