Flying the Friendly Skies

You know how, when you travel somewhere, people always ask you how your trip was? And you say something like, "Fine, a little turbulence, whatever." Well, that didn't happen this time.

Everything started well. Got to the airport on time, no one noticed I had 3.12 ounces of saline solution in my carry on, we traded up to exit row seats. Life was grand.

But then the pilot said they couldn't get the door closed, and please hold on for 15 minutes. Which became 45. Then he said they were looking for the part and it might be another hour. Our connection in Chicago was history. So we, and everyone else -- including my aunt and her friend, who were also flying to the wake -- scrambled off and began frantically called American Airlines. But they said we couldn't make it to Milwaukee that night, so we hatched a plan to fly to Chitown and drive the hour and a half to Milwaukee. Not fun. Luckily, we ran out to the front desk and they found us a spot on Midwest.

But then American wouldn't transfer my aunt's bag, which had this display of photos she'd made for gramma's funeral/wake. She was freaking out, so I let slip that, actually, our relative's ashes were in the suitcase.

And immediately I started seeing a horrible scene take place, right out of Curb Your Enthusiasm. They would hurry to get the bag, we would get on the plane, they'd run with it across the tarmac where it would burst open, and gramma's pictures would fly out. They would see there were no ashes and we would all be tossed off the plane and we'd miss bowling and brats and frozen custard.

So I said I was kidding. But she did try harder to get us that bag.

Then we had to go back through security, with only 20 minutes to reach the plane. This is when April's boot decided to malfunction and not come off. She was frantically hopping around, pulling at that zipper, sweating bullets, but the security people were, luckily, laughing, and they waved the wand around her, and we made it just in time. Thank you Midwest, for making us feel better with your free, hot cookies.

When we landed in Kansas City, we discovered they have a pre-911 airport, where each 2-3 gates has its own security area. Which means that the shops are outside of that area -- and you absentmindedly buy a coffee and then find you can't take it in. And then, they make you leave behind your shaving cream and shampoo and shoot your saline with this contraption to see if it's over the limit. (Suckers!) Now, if the people in big city San Francisco don't care about my toiletries, why should the hicks in KC? Seriously, who wants to blow them up anyway? Those Texans with their inferior BBQ sauce?

Finally we arrived! And an hour later we were able to find someone to get us our missing suitcase -- only 14 hours after waking up that day!

This is all a longwinded way to say I wish my family lived closer.


Because the next day was great. Or at least as great as a funeral can be. It snowed.


We told funny stories about Grams, including me telling the one about how she witnessed the toplessness of the Dykes on Bikes with my aunt at the Gay March in SF (which is something you're not supposed to talk about in the Catholic church, apparently, oops).

(Dad's in the middle.)

We looked insanely cute at all times.


We played the piano, even though we expressly were told not to.


And we bought swimming suits in the frighteningly empty Kmart and ate giant Turtle sundaes and played Salad Bowl (Celebrity without celebrities) and argued about a dumb movie (have you seen this Tropic Thunder?) and later made the argument all better by including the whole family in it.


At least Gabe is coming up for the weekend. (Ladies, start your engines!)


(He's the dashing dude in the middle. Girls -- and their mothers -- were clawing to get at him in the hot tub.)

Brew Town

So, we're flying off to glamorous Milwaukee this weekend. What a pair of jetsetters we are. Bowling, beer, and brats, that's what we'll be doing. Along with a little death management.

My grandma died a month ago, and my aunt was traveling in Southeast Asia, so we had to wait until now to hold the funeral.


Gramma was a sweet woman -- very German, very Midwestern, in that she was rather stoic and loved to keep busy. She sewed like mad, stripped furniture, walked miles each day. I remember she visited my Aunt Katherine in Menlo Park once, and they were having an awkward time until they decided to pain the house. She had a big underground pool where I learned to swim, and whenever we'd visit I'd spend most of my time in the water. Also, she made great zucchini bread and loved the Packers and the Brewers. She even tangentially knew the Brewers manager George Bamberger, so we got great seats at the park during the '70s. (Beer was so intertwined in the culture that the Brewers' mascot slid down into a beer mug whenever they hit a homer.)


Gramma's maiden name was Heiman, which probably would've proved difficult during junior high if she'd been born a generation or two later. She'll be buried next to Grampa, who died when my dad was 12. (He was a major bowler -- see comic below -- and there's talk of a memorial family bowling trip when we all get out there.)

Gramma and I weren't exactly close. I saw her once every two years growing up, and I loved her like any grandkid loves a kind, doting, mildly reserved grandparent. But after she had a stroke about 10 years ago, she came to live with my dad's family for a few years, and my younger siblings grew really attached to her. It'll be strange because it'll be a sad event, but at the same time I've never been on a family trip with all my siblings, so that'll be nice, even if it's only a couple days.

I just hope we can go to Gilles for turtle sundaes.

Revolutionary Crap

Now that Valentine's weekend is over, I can get back to being grumpy.

And yes there will be spoilers below.

What the hell is the deal with Revolutionary Road? That movie is a huge stinking pile of crap slathered on a giant dung cracker. It's so bad, I couldn't believe it. I was sitting there, thinking, "Either kill yourself or sail off to France, but do it quickly." I cared so little about both the husband and the wife that I really wished the worst would happen to both of them. Then there's the dishwater dull script and the "shocking" visuals and Kathy Bates' flabby arms. Egad. Pretty much the only two good things in the film were Michael Shannon's truth-talking loonie mathematician and the skinny ties -- and then Shannon had only three scenes, while the ties featured heavily in only two.


Want to know how bad this movie is? Even Kate Winslett can't save it. Not convinced? How about this? It was Mick Lasalle's fave US movie of 2008. He even gave 10 reasons why, and not a single one stands up. (Alright, I agree that it could've been interesting having a guy who wants to be a big shot and a lady who wants to be a beatnik claw their way out of a marriage, but jesus this isn't that film.) Methinks that maybe Lasalle's wife should check for the smell of another woman's perfume on his neck, if he thinks that extra-marital sex is a sign of creative barrenness.

Jake and Waldo, you have a lot to answer for. I want my $10 back.

PS. Citron not so good.

Urine Mirage Day

Ah, Valentine's Day approaches. And you know what Werner Herzog says about love in that one episode of 30 Rock: "Love -- a urine mirage in a desert of fear."

Kidding!

April is sick, so she watched Hamlet 2 today. I only caught bits of it, but this line from one song seems appropriate for the upcoming holiday:

"You're as gay as the day is long/You're as gay as Barney Frank's dong."


On a similar topic, I read this fascinating article about women and arousal in the New York Times. Apparently, women get turned on by practically everything and everyone (including bonobo monkeys engaging in sexual congress -- ooh, I used "congress" in two very different ways this post -- but not including naked men walking down a beach). And they also get very turned on by other people being super-excited to be with them, which can explain rape fantasies and why ladies liked Bill Clinton so much. Also, the perfect man is Denzel Washington, because he will both protect you and throw you up against a dirty drainpipe before doing you.

I did some research on arousal recently (ho ho, not that kind of research) to see if there were differences between men and women. It seems, from my small amount of data, that men think about sex more often when they're not getting it, whereas women think about it more when they are (and everyone thinks about it more when they've got a boring office job). When imagining sex, men usually think about people they haven't been with or would like to be with, while women think of men they're with currently. Of course, there are many exceptions to these HARD and fast rules.

Anyway, we're going to Citron for dinner to celebrate on Sunday. Anyone been there and have suggestions?

Top 10s Gone Mad

It's the end of January, when KALX holds its Best Of week. I'm missing it by two days (going to be on the air next Tuesday at noon), but I will probably play my Top 10 reissues of the year. Here's a sneak peak at part of what you might hear:

Nathaniel Mayer - (I Want) Love And Affection (Not The House Of Correction) (Vampi Soul)
Sir Victor Uwaifo - Guitar-Boy Superstar 1970-76 (Sound Way)
Rodriguez - Cold Fact (Light in the Attic)
Eduardo Mateo - Mateo Solo Bien Se Lame (Lion)
Hallelujah Chicken Run Band - Take One (Analog Africa)
V/A - Nigeria Special: 1970-1976 (Sound Way)
V/A - Dirty Laundry: The Soul of Black Country (Trikont)
V/A - You Got Yours! East Bay Garage 1965-67 (Big Beat)
V/A - African Scream Contest: Raw And Psychedelic Afro Sounds From Benin And Togo 70's (Analog Africa)
V/A - Authenticité: The Syliphone Years 1965-80 (Sterns)

And my Top 10 new music discs? They seem to change every time someone asks list, but here's the latest list:

Vampire Weekend - Vampire Weekend (XL)
MC Chris - MC Chris Is Dead (Self-released)
This Is Ivy League - This Is Ivy League (Twenty-seven)
Flight of the Conchords - S/T (Sub Pop)
She & Him - Volume One (Merge)
Apache - Boomtown Gems (Birdman)
The Submarines - Honeysuckle Weeks (Nettwerk)
Passion Pit - Chunk of Change (Frenchkiss)
The Dodos - Visiter (Frenchkiss)
Thee Makeout Party! - Play Pretend (Teenacide)

(Honorable mentions include Crystal Stilts, Kassin +2, Little Joy, Koushik, High Places, Wallpaper, The Hold Steady, Raphael Saadiq, Megapuss, Time Machine, Santogold, Sonny J, The Lucksmiths, The Vivian Girls, and Yelle.)

How about my Top 14 movies? Here ya go:

Man on Wire
Tell No One
Happy-Go-Lucky
Wall-E
Rachel Getting Married
Forgetting Sarah Marshall
The Band's Visit
The Edge of Heaven
Teeth
Roman de Gare
A Christmas Story
Towelhead
Baghead
The Visitor

And the number one video of a sibling helping to shut down the Israeli consulate in LA.

Embracing What Is Right

Random thoughts after Obama's Inauguration:

Rick Warren sucks eggs, but he didn't do anything bad, other than try (and fail) to approximate a black preacher. Rev Joesph Lowery, however, was damn awesome -- from that gravely voice to his sweet jazzy rhymes ("We ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get in back; when brown can stick around; when yellow will be mellow; when the red man can get ahead, man; and when white will embrace what is right"). Let's get this man a weekly radio address and see what else he comes up with.

I have a sneaking suspicion that Dick Cheney rolled out in a wheelchair only so people wouldn't boo him. This is a guy who shot his friend's face off with a hunting rifle. He is not going to be taken out by a little box. Now, if he had his hand caught in a shredder, I'd understand.

I spent Inauguration night at a quintessential Berkeley gathering. I can't remember the last time I was 20 years younger than most everyone in the room. Or where everyone knew all the words (and sang along excitedly) to "This Land Is Your Land." Great desserts, though.
You know what's nice? Having the hippest president ever. Really. Yeah, Clinton busted out his sax on Arsenio, but he played like Kenny G. Did you see Barack dancing with Michelle, while Beyonce cried/sang "At Last"? Jesus, is it possible to be turned on and moved at the same time? No more Kenny Chestnut or Charlie Daniels or crappy cornpone. Now we get to see Sting (with a Taliban beard!) and Bono and Bruce Springsteen … oh, wait, those are all white guys. Well, Usher and Kanye West and Mary J Blige and Stevie Wonder were there too.

And just look at this pic from 1996, when the Obamas weren't in politics at all. That is one cool/hot couple.


You know what else is going to be fun? Watching Joe Biden screw up for the next four-to-eight years. Already, Jon Stewart is pointing out Obama giving him the "shut the fuck up" face during the second swearing in. Hoo boy.

Do you think Cheney is hurt by Stewart's constant jokes about him being Darth Vader and emitting a toxic gas instead of carbon dioxide? And was Bush hurt by Obama's blatant "let's wipe the screen clean" comments during his speech? I've got to say that speech gave me hope that he's going to be more liberal than he appeared during the campaign.

Then again, anyone who thinks that this country is suddenly all hugs and kisses isn't watching Fox News or going to this NYC baker's racist shop.

Holiday Rap Up

Happy New Year! I have been busy trying to get my YA novel into shape to send out and getting the Rickshaw's winter calendar into shape, so I haven't really felt like being on the computer when I come home from the office (re: The Beanery or L'amyx). But here's some pics from recent times.

Me trying to teach Yi Rong how to do the "pig snoot." Somehow, she looks better doing it than me.


April came home for the first time and got along famously with everyone. In fact, the families seemed desperate to hold onto this one. Jeez, are they trying to tell me something?


And here's some photos from the Rickshaw holiday party. As usual, it was all kept top secret. Here we're taking the sketchy bike route through South Fremont. Or was it Hayward?


Eventually, we arrived at our first destination, iFly! Here we're gearing up.


Some funny shots of people flying.






What your faces look like after you've had the mask (and moustache) on.


This is destination two: ice-skating at Yerba Buena. Notice my perfect form. Frankenskater!


What's missing? The drunken dinner and the drunken bike ride home. Ah, good times.

Mustache Cup

It's goonnnne, baby, gonnnnne. The mustache, not the year. Although 2008 is about to go poof too. (Sorry, Wendy, I tried to save the whiskers in a cup for you, but they proved too hard to handle.)

See, I had shaved the beard into a porno 'stache for the Mustache 4 Kids party and then I got sick and couldn't even DJ it.

How did my Ron Jeremy look, right at the end? Take a gander.


Nice, huh? Take a closer peek.


Maybe that's a bit too close. Better to take the long view.


Can you believe April didn't like it? That, when I ran into her friends, she wanted to scream, "It's a joke, it's a joke!"? Me neither.


So the holidays are almost over. I'll put up some pics of the annual Rickshaw craziness, but for now you can check out this video Waldo took.



And one Grumpy Guy for the road.

Near the Highway Robbery

Remember that music blog I was getting paid to write? No? Well, I'm not surprised, since not many people read it. It seems even the people who hired us to write it forgot about it, and now they're deep-sixing the whole project, along with the entire New York office of the company. Merry fucking Christmas. Is there anyone not getting laid off these days? Are we on the edge of another dot.com bust? Will we all be wearing dirty diapers and eating garbage soon?

All I know is I'll be writing whatever farts come into my brain for the next couple weeks, so if you wanna listen/smell, come check it out.


In other annoying, money-sucking news, the Berkeley poo-poo stole April's car last Thursday. I guess stole is a little exaggeration, but it sure felt like it.

I had borrowed the car and parked it in Elmwood. When I went to move it, it was gone. No note, nothing. They should have to at least indicate when they take a car -- maybe leave a big cardboard cutout in its place.

Turns out April tags had expired six months ago. The woman at the DMV told her to smog the car and send the documents, and they would send the tags. They didn't tell her that she then had to call them to tell them she'd sent the documents.

Have you read Kafka's The Trial? That's pretty much what it started to feel like.

So this painter yells, "You looking for your car? They just towed it away." Luckily, he remembered the name of the company, so I could find out where the car had been taken. And luckily Kathleen had just called to say she was near the Bean*ery and would like to have lunch. Little did she know that lunch would turn into a six hour odyssey of awfulness.

I called April, who immediately took off from work to go get her car info, so we could go and sit in the DMV for two and a half hours to get the tags. Then she and Kathleen went to the Berkeley police HQ, which had closed at 5 p.m., because of course crime stops then. They had to jump through some more hoops just to buy a release form ($75) that said she had actually registered the car ages ago. (Mind you, we'd been stopped by a cop, who let us go with a warning.)

Then they had to go to the impound lot to pay $160 for towing a car that shouldn't have been towed, and naturally the lot was closed (another $80 and 30 minute wait to get it out after hours, with a threat of $60 more a day if you leave it there).

So, let's add this up. A total payout of $315. Half a day's work lost. Friend's time and gas and pregnant tiredness expended. Tons of stress. All because some idiot made the system ridiculously labyrinthine.

I hate Berkeley. This would've never happened in Oakland (there they just give you fix it tickets). I want to boycott Berkeley or get Ralph Nader to change the system or have Michael Moore write a movie about parking scams. But I guess there are more important things to do. Which is just what the town and the towers want you to think.

High Art

Entertainment Weekly just put out an issue devoted to the 50 Sexiest Movies of All Time. And there's some gross omissions, along with some (really) gross additions. I mean, The Bodyguard? Really? Can there be two less sexy people in Hollywood than Whitney Houston and Kevin Costner? And Mr. & Mrs. Smith? If they wanted some Angelina, they should've had Tomb Raider on there -- I heard little boys giggled in delight when she came on the screen. I could go down the list (The Notebook? Ghost?), but suffice it to say that a decent chunk of the list seems to have been put together by your mom.

I had to come up with a list of the sexiest movies left off. Some of these were sexy when I saw them as a teenager and may not be sexy now. Now you tell me what I left off.


1. Lie with Me. This is like one long, sweaty sex scene, even when they're not having sex. Based on the Tamara Faith Berger novella.

2. High Art. Yowza, Ally Sheedy, all my teenage fantasies come true.

3. Women in Love. This featured the first topless woman I ever saw on film. Also the first naked guys by the fireplace wrestling. Confusing.

4. Wings of a Dove. I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I cried during the sex scene at the end, maybe because of the film and maybe because I'd had a boner for Helena Bonham Carter for a loooong time.

5. Something Wild. Yes, Melanie Griffith's voice is annoying. But the rest of her, not so bad (and that includes her kooky personality).

6. Going Places. A French film about two guys traveling the countryside, sleeping with nearly every great French actress of the '70s. Sweeter than it sounds. Pauline Kael turned me on to it.

7. Flashdance, Risky Business, Hot Dog, Fast Times. I could list a bunch more 80s teen flicks, but these remain the most vivid.

8. Un Coeur en Hiver. Is there a more beautiful actress than Emmanuelle Beart? Is there a more heartbreaking film that this? Does it say something weird about me that I can get blue and blue balls at the same time?

9. Coming Home, Klute. Think Jane Fonda was all about the workout? Check out her oral-sex-by-paraplegic scene in Coming Home and see if you're not all hot and bothered. And in Klute she's the best prostitute in film ever, save maybe for Leaving Las Vegas.

10. In the Realm of the Senses. Starts out hot and gets way disturbing, as lust turns to obsession (with a knife).

11. Sex & Zen, Delicatessen, The Tall Guy, Liquid Sky. Sex can be funny and sexy. Especially when it's built into a sword & sorcery epic.

12. The Lover. Yes, Jane March was young. Sorry ladies, but every guy who ever saw this film has it tucked away in their spank bank.

13. Wild Things. Pure trash, but who didn't want to see Neve Campbell make out Denise Richards back in 1998? Not Jake and I, who saw this on opening day.

14. Betty Blue, Diva. Same French director, same mix of melancholy and sex.

15. The Story of O, Emmanuelle, Score. Cheesy boner-inducing Eurotrash. At the Castro showing of Score, a guy was wacking it in the row in front of us.

16. L'ennui. Dirty old man gets comeuppance when he falls for younger woman who dumps him. "L'amour fou" would've been a good name too.

17. An Affair of Love. Two strangers meet in a hotel to act out a transgressive fantasy. And you never find out what it is, which only makes the sexual tension more ripe.

Still Grumpy

Grumpy Guy turns 60!

Got Milk?

I just got cable recently, which means I got to watch Keith Olbermann for the first time. And, well, he's kind of a blowhard -- but he's our blowhard. And unlike the blowhards across the aisle, he's not hateful. He's a blowhard for truth and justice. Which means he was bound to get an SNL skit spoofing him.

But the guy's spot on a lot of the time. Like in this "special comment" about the passing of Prop 8. I swear I got a tear in my eye while listening, even if it is as corny as he admits the rant is. It's a shame Keith Olbermann isn't gay, because if he was, he'd be getting a lot of action right now.



If you want to get your blood further in a boil, watch Dan Savage yell at some hateful mofo from the Family Research Council. How smug and evil is that guy?

There's also a campaign started to get this thing overthrown. I signed right up, because fuck if I'm going to let someone tell me people like my mom can't get divorced (again) like everyone else.

Oh yeah, and maybe I'm just paranoid, but I think the ad layout person at the Chron might be a Dan White fan. Check out the placement of the gun next to the Milk film screening in Sunday's paper.

Hope Follows a Dope

You know what's going to be great about the next four or eight or kazillion? Many things, hopefully. But right not it's kinda fun watching all the crazies come out. (It won't be fun if one starts shooting, so don't get any big ideas.)

Like the lady nutjob who wrote KKK on her employees' time sheets in a diner in Florida. Or the drunk McCain supporter who bit the nose of an Obama man. Or this Republican congressman (!) from Georgia who suggested that Obama would turn into another Hitler or Stalin. Jesus, when do we get to throw this guy out of office?

What Obama might actually do is sign into law a ton of good shit that Bush vetoed. Right now he's considering reversing the international abortion gag rule, lifting restrictions on stem cell research, and banning the killing of cute, harmless puppies.

There's a fascinating piece in the New Yawk Times on why the racist white people of Western PA finally came around and voted for Obama. Turns out it was the economy, stupid (and stupid Palin, too, apparently).

It's been a blast watching all the Repubs eat their own: Mitten Romney's old flacks dissing Palin, Palin dissing Bush, and Fox News digging their own grave.

But even better is this bittersweet tale that Brent sent along, about the African-American butler to the president, who never thought he'd see the day a black man was elected to the highest post in the country. Get out your hanky for this one.

Tough cookies, nervous hours

Oh god oh god oh god, please let Obama win. I promise I will believe in you a little.

Here's some photos from Halloween, when a bunch of us went to Root Division and then crashed a party in the Mission -- and then got thrown out after barfing and fighting. Seriously.

I am Tough Cookie.


Spoiled Milk kickin' it with Hester Prynne.


The dynamic duo.


Several people thought I was a cow.


Things started to get a little woozy.


Then some guy picked a picked a fight with Dan about the impending release date of Chinese Democracy.


Brent and Marlo came late, all hopped up on absinthe, and missed the fight.


From earlier today.

No more vengeful geeks, please

I've been reading Fear & Loathing: On the Campaign Trail '72 by Hunter S. Thompson, since I figured it would be perfect for the election season. Well, the book's hit or miss (he does meander, after all), but it's fascinating to see who turns up in it. And how different the times where.

Thompson calls Supreme Court Justice William Rehnquist "a vengeful geek" after he was confirmed for the court. The terrifying thing is that, prior to Willie, the Democrats successfully turned away two candidates who were supposedly worse than him.

Ron Dellums shows up too, talking about how a Dem can beat Nixon: "It's time for someone to lead all of America's N**gers. And by this I mean the Young, the Black, the Brown, the Poor -- all the people who feel left out of the political process." You won't hear him talking like that today.

Seymour Hersh -- who later became a journalist for the New Yorker and exposed both the My Lai massacre and Abu Ghraib -- appears as Eugene McCarthy's press man. (He quit in 1968, calling Gene a "closet racist." Can you imagine Howard Dean's advisor Joe Trippi doing that?)

And Ted Kennedy's all over the early primaries, even though he hadn't declared. Just think, if he'd run that year he may never have dunked that girl in the river and we would've had another Kennedy in the White House.

It's weird looking back and wondering how everything might've turned out differently. Would crazy Texas girls be making up stories about Obama supporters carving up her face? Would John McCain's brother be calling 911 to complain about bad traffic?

You probably wouldn't need cheering up so badly. Well, go see Mike Leigh's new film, Happy-Go-Lucky. It'll make you glad to be alive, and that's saying a lot these days.

Where's Pitt the Elder when you need him?

Argh, I didn't think this election could possibly make me more aggravated than 2000 or 2004, but here it is, ulcer time. Just when you start to get polls saying Obama's taking surprising leads in swing states like Florida, Colorado, and Nevada or getting a double-digit lead with young voters, Hispanics, and independents, you get freaky polls saying McCain is pulling even. And then you have McCain pulling the ultimate "I'll say it before you so you can't say it" ploy: Saying that Obama will do anything to win. My god, if that isn't true of McCain, I don't know what is.

Take, for instance, this crap about Obama's tax plan being socialist. Forget the fact that it helps the working class more than hurting them. The Daily Show offered a clip from 2000 in which McCain himself says that he believes when you reach a certain level of income it's good to pay a bit more.

Then there's McCain's own ACORN business, in which he's hired a Republican who's known for defrauding voters.

And Palin's running around in campaign clothes that cost $150,000. With that money Joe the Plumber could buy himself a mighty big snake.

One other bone to pick: McCain has this thing on his web site where you can make your own Joe the Whatever sign, and they'll supposedly send them to you. I sent in these:

I am Karl Rove the lying scumbag.
I am Sarah the homophobic zealot.
I am McCain the Bush suck up.
I am not hornswoggled by the Palin winking.

But for some reason, they didn't send them to me.

People keep saying I'm being an alarmist when I suggest that even if Obama wins we're going to have absolute chaos on our hands. Then someone goes and kills a bear and stabs it full of Obama signs, and people start to believe me.

Just when you think there can't be anyone dumber or eviler in office than Sarah Palin, along comes Michele Bachmann. John S. says that the only reason she got elected in the fine state of Minnesota is that she's from a district where there aren't many people and most of them are super rich. Hey, maybe she's never heard of McCarthyism. At least she spurred former GOP Governor Arne Carlson to endorse Obama.

Yes, I'm in need of cheering up. That's why I'm glad Kathleen sent me BoyBama (make sure you watch until the kid's ice rink breakdown).

And then there's this dance-off between the two (or three?) candidates. Badonkadonk.

Maybe we should just go back to voting with beans. Or stabbing each other on the way to the polls.

Who wants Obama to win? This one.

Hey, I’m back. Was sick there for a bit, then April was sick -- and it had nothing to do with her parents.

We both read during Litcrawl last week. I read a chapter from my in-progress Young Adult novel. You know, the one I've been working on for the last year, after getting a draft done via NaNoWriMo. Well, I had to find five minutes of text to read, and I couldn't fine anything I liked. This sucks, I kept saying.

But then I found a part that mentioned Daryl Hall and the word "pussyhound," and when are those two things not funny? I'll tell you when. When your girlfriend's parents are standing five feet away from you.

But luckily they were out of my sightline, and April says they were laughing, so I guess there won't be more poisonings in the future.


Did you see the debate the other night? Dear god, can I say how much I hate John McCain now? The man has more facial tics than a puppy romping through a swamp. Check him out here, when he went back on Letterman to apologize for lying to him before about why he had to cancel an appearance. It looks like his eyebrows will explode at any time (and I always thought it would be his cheeks that ruptured), especially when his connection to G. Gordon Liddy is brought up.

Naturally, we're all sick to death of Joe the Plumber, who it turns out isn't officially a plumber. Seems he hasn't been licensed yet. I guess Joe the Almost Wannabe Plumber doesn't sound so great as a title. This guy hates government so much he refuses to give them any of his money, even his licensing fees (or his back taxes). Funny, he's going on and on about how Obama's tax plan is socialist -- someone should point out it's not so different from the current system, so that means we're socialists already. My god, Joe the Plumber called us socialists!

I caught Robert Greenwald on the Colbert Report last night. He's great for two reasons: One, he directed Xanadu, and two he makes all those left-leaning videos, about Iraq and Wal-Mart, and now John McCain. It's funny (did I say funny? I meant horrifying) how Letterman and Jon Stewart and Greenwald are the main people calling McCain on all his contradictions.

Obama's lead keeps increasing. However, now's not the time to get cocky. Do you remember how Al Gore had a double digit lead in 2000? Or that rural white voters still can't get over the idea of voting for one of "those people"? Or that there's another effect now in play, besides the Bradley Effect? This one says the polling numbers are off because poor whites don't like to answer polls to begin with -- and those are just the kinds of people who supposedly would rather not vote at all rather than vote for Obama.

Still, this election isn't all bad. At least we have that picture of McCain trying to suck the juices from Obama's tuckus.

Who exactly is a minor threat?

So, if things couldn't get any worse, April's parents tried to kill me on Sunday. I could've sworn they liked me, but there I was several hours after dinner, with my head stuck in the toilet bowl, ralphing up all that food they provided. (That said, April didn't feel so great either, but maybe that was part of their plot.)

I guess I should blame PF Chang's more than her loving parents. They've always hated me over there. I remember one time, back in 1996 after I'd finished serving knishes at the Stockton Asparagus Festival, and they gave me salad full of roaches. Gross.

Anyhoo, the veep debate was last night. I only saw the first 30 minutes before going to work, but that was long enough to hear Sarah Failin' tell Joltin' Joe and the moderator that she wasn't going to answer any questions that she couldn't, er, didn't want to. Will the "liberal" media take her to task for being folksy instead of showing that she doesn't know a thing about running the country? Hells no! And I love how she went on and on about how many regular people she knew -- not bothering to mention that if elected she would spend the next four years screwing them all.

In other news, I saw My Bloody Valentine on Tuesday. Loud. That's how it was. And blinding. They had a light show that was so intense that Marlo passed out! Literally fell on the floor. She's fine now, but I don't think she'll be asking for that MBV box set for Christ's Birthday. I gotta say, if I hadn't had a brownie bite beforehand, I would've thought that show was the biggest Naked Emperor ever.

Meaning it was nowhere near as great (or bizarre) as this video of Ben Kingsley as Ian Mackaye

The world is obviously going to blow up any minute.