|
|
|
|
|
"The current support for Bush's impeachment is much, much higher than support for Clinton's impeachment ever was. Yet, the media refuses to talk about impeaching Bush... Clinton's 73% approval rating during impeachment is double that of Bush's--35%."
-- Digg.com contributer Flicknut, based on this Newsweek article
"Let me get this straight. Osama is threatening to attack again, so we should
vote for the people who haven't been able to catch him for the last five years?" -- Jimmy Kimmel
Insanity has engulfed my life in a big way this past week; hence the absence of posts. I won't apologize, since I'm not sorry (and, frankly, loathe how overused the phrase "I'm sorry" is), but I will say I hope y'all will tune in to find something new to read in this space before we all go grey.
Meanwhile, here's something fun for your Friday:
"Dude, I'm tellin' you, this guy Jesus is totally far-out, man..."
The ridiculous print reads:
"Like, if you want to get high
You don't have to drop acid
Just pray and you go all the way to heaven.You don't have to pop pills to get loaded
Just pop a little Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John.Get loaded on Jesus,
24 hours a day,
You can be naturally stoned on Jesus!Like, with Jesus,
He can really get it together in your head
And in your heart forever.It's like an eternal RUSH!"
Based on the contents of these two pages alone, I imagine the rest of the book is pure delight.
As my friend Aviva pointed out, the guy on the left would have to be high to buy that shirt. (Although those of us who were kids in the early 70s have an excuse for wearing similar clothing--our moms dressed us in the colorful patterns and plaids and stripes of the day, forever banishing our early school pictures to the "Making Our Eyes Bleed" section of the family album.)
UPDATE: OK, Aviva has located the complete book! The glossary in itself is an absolute riot. Enjoy!
Flew back yesterday after another whirlwind long weekend spent not in my own bed. It was wonderful celebrating my birthday with my sister and closest friends, despite the exhaustion that tends to set in after just a few hours in L.A. Yael and I even made a lovely, if ridiculously brief, trip to San Diego, stopping in Irvine to spend two fun-filled hours with my dad, there on business. In sunny San Diego, over heaps of great BBQ and cocoa rice-krispie treats (yes, cocoa!), we caught up with some dear friends, including Craig, who is enjoying a two-week leave from Iraq.
I am exceedingly tired of airports, especially when constantly affronted by not one or two but DOZENS of people who have no idea there are security rules in effect because they watch nothing but American Idol and wouldn't even read a newspaper if one of their inbred kids made the frong page. I was stunned by how many people (while holding up the entire security line, mind you) still say things like, "What do you mean I can't bring shampoo?" Seriously, what fucking rock do they live under? Aren't they aware that this new era we live in requires painstakingly screening every tube of toothpaste attempting to make its way skyward?
My flight home was delayed, which meant that (once I finally arrived home) I would spend the rest of the day scrambling to finish my writing assignments for the week. However, in the process, I did stumble across this fabulous little gem, which I thought y'all might appreciate:
The Blessed Helper, the Spell Chequer
Author Unknown
(as printed in the newsletter Corrigo)
Eye halve a spelling chequer
It came with my pea sea
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.
Eye strike a key and type a word
And weight four it two say
Weather eye am wrong oar write
It shows me strait a weigh.
As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two long
And eye can put the error rite
Its rarely ever wrong.
Eye have run this poem threw it
I am shore your pleased two no
Its letter perfect in it’s weigh
My chequer tolled me sew.
From the NY Daily News:
Happy birthday, Libra! The first impression is that you appear to be soft and pliable. But that's a facade that hides your determination when in pursuit of dreams or new adventures to explore. For the remainder of this year, it's advisable to change direction if something isn't working the way you imagined. Next year will be more about spending time with family and loved ones to develop stronger bonds of togetherness.
Don't know what to make of that last "prediction," since I feel like I spend the bulk of my time every year jumping on planes, flying hither-and-thither for the purpose of spending time with family and loved ones. Until they all pack up and move to one place (one shining, blue-state mecca where I could live car-free, air-conditioning-free and within reach of an endless variety of ethnic foods at any hour), I get to give the airlines lots of my cash. C'est la vie, verdad?
As for my birthday, well, I'm now in a new demographic group, as evidenced by an official form I recently filled out with the sad realization that it was probably the last time I'd get to check the little box (pertaining to age) marked "29-34." So long, 29-34! Thanks for being such a welcoming, wonderful place to nestle in for a few remarkable years.
Yes, I have moved on from the warm embrace of 29-34 and now must keep company with the 35-39 group (at least when it comes to checking off little boxes on various forms). But I truly, truly have no issues with age, as I see it being a completely relative term. I'm 35 in terms of physical maturity, not quite there in terms of emotional maturity (though I'd be closer if it weren't for my inherent goofiness and for surrounding myself with friends who remember me when I'd do things like pause my VHS tape of The Outsiders right as Sodapop Curtis got out of the shower, then grab my Kodak Disc camera and take photos of the screen).
Age ain't nothin' but a number, yo. 'Tis only a state of mind. I think I feel that more strongly this year than ever, as I turn the corner to the "backside" of my 30s. Some may call it a downslope, but honestly, I'm looking forward to 40 as much as I did to 21. Now, however, the anticipation is more curiosity-based, as I consider how incredibly different I am at 35 than I was at 25 and try to imagine just who I will be at 40.
My boss calls coffee "concentration juice." I suppose that can be taken in a few different ways, considering how coffee tends to affect the three B's: brain, blood flow and bowels. Discuss.
Oh, and in case you were wondering, it's apparently Bill Clinton's fault that Mark Foley made sexual advances on young boys while his GOP bosses looked the other way. Good Christ, can't the GOP function for one mother-lovin' day without patently blaming everyone around them for their repugnant behavior? Now, there's something to teach the kids, eh?