Divine InnerBitchin’

Where again did they find these men? Because, frankly, I’ve never met any man who didn’t claim some sort of lineage tracing back to Mr. Ed or Trigger.

I always assumed they were just really bad at math…

This idea is not only hilarious, but brilliant in its simplicity.

I suggest the idea be expanded to include those homes belonging to those on the local zoning board as well as other city officials.

A bit of tit-for-tat, eh?

Now, clearly, no one wants to see anyone lose their home, not even the justices with whom we disagree, however; to have the ruling come squarely back to haunt them, might open a few eyes.

This ruling has very real, very tangible effects upon the safety and security of property owners in our country.

Now, let’s just hope that the byproduct of this action is a positive one…and does not result in the issue becoming the joke of the day.

Sorry Rankin Rob.

Once again, overwhelmed with spam mail, it appears that I’ve mistakenly deleted a comment.

This time, it was yours.

I don’t often get swept up into the Hollywood chatter, but these days, when I arrive home from work in a tattered state, all I can do is veg in front of the t.v.. And on those occasions when the remote is out of reach, I am forced to contend with the latest gossip. Sometimes, it can be quite entertaining, as has been the most recent of Tom Cruise’s exploits. And, sometimes, a show you didn’t even intend to watch becomes one of your all-time favorites.

Last week I stumbled past Bravo’s ‘Inside the Actors Studio’ and something made me do a double-take.

Usually, James Lipton is annoyingly kiss-ass in his questioning of the stars, and usually, the stars are annoyingly predictable with their answers. I’ve only really ‘watched’ the show a couple of times, although I sometimes pause for a moment or two when scanning the channels. On this day they were replaying an episode from 2003, and I couldn’t tear myself away. I don’t know if the episode won any awards, but if it didn’t, it damned sure should have.

The cast of the Simpsons consists of only a handful of people, with most performing ten or so different characters on the show. On this episode of The Actors Studio, James Lipton navigates back and forth between interviewing the cast, and interviewing the characters, and it’s amazing to watch the actors move so effortlessly from one to another. It’s somethng that has to be seen to be appreciated.

And, I now have a new favorite threat: “I’m gonna shove a sausage down your throat and starving dogs up your butt!” This, of course, from Mo, of Mo’s Tavern, home of the “world’s smallest large-screen t.v.”.

In any case, as is common with Bravo, they’ve re-aired the show several times this week. If you get the chance, watch it.

I hope you laugh as loudly as I.

I wonder what the Redneck would say about this?

Oh wait! I think I know…

What are these parents teaching these children? They are teaching the successful children that in order to “play the game” that they have to humble themselves down. And, they’re teaching the other children that the game is only worth playing if they win, or lose by just a little. Worse than that, they’re teaching them….all the kids who’ve yet to face the winning team, that they have absolutely no faith in them. Essentially, what they are telling these kids is “Oh no, Johnny! You don’t stand a chance! Don’t even bother!” They are denying some team of little boys the opportunity to beat the unbeatable. They are denying them the opportunity to be their very best, and walk away with their little heads held high. They have now learned that there’s no pride to be had in giving it your best, and simply having fun in the process.

Ultimately, what they’re really saying is that they (the parents) don’t want to lose themselves.

Sure, it’s lots of fun to hang around the water cooler and brag about your kids successes, not so much when they’re beaten 18-0.

Truth is…it’s always the parents. Because, as we all know, given a broom handle and a tattered ball, a group of kids will make their own fun.

And they won’t bother with keeping score.

Racism?!

Racism?!

How about elitism?

How about prima donnaism?

Head up your assism?

How about the fact that I, or most any other person, lingering at the mall past closing time would need to walk a quarter mile to the nearest exit and then all the way around the building because there’s no damned way that Parisian is opening their doors simply because our car is parked outside (regardless of the fact that we’re holding Parisian shopping bags and just dropped several hundred dollars at a pop)?

How about the fact that I would likely fail to get through the front door of Hermes in the middle of the day, and even whilst plastered in gold cards?

Now, the company has apologized for not flinging open the doors to Her Majesty after they had already been locked for the evening and whilst a private party was underway?

Give me a friggin break!

Oh! And, by the way, all of this comes at the most opportune time, ya know, being that She just saw the movie “Crash”. How much more relevent it must be for her now that she can discuss her own everyday struggles with The Man.

I recall this one day when my companions and I arrived at Hermes a mere fifteen minutes after closing, and they called me the ‘N’ word, spat in my face, and told me to go home to Africa where I belonged. They then rubbed salt in the wound by telling me that I was much more entertaining to make fun of when I was a fat chick. And offered to feed me some fried chicken and collard greens, if only I’d go around to the back entrance to get it.

Fucking celebrities!

I thought of Sadie when I read this.

Flipping through the channels this morning, I caught Al Roker sitting between two gals I’ve never seen before. The girls were politely discussing the ‘passion’ of the Lauer/Cruise interview, when Al Roker cut to the chase and said “He was rude!” and then went on to say that Matt should have popped ‘em one.

I knew then that, even with Lauer’s presence, I would enjoy the interview, and I hope that they replay it.

And now, after reading the transcript, I can only conlude the obvious:

That Tom Cruise does, indeed, know more about Ritalin than Matt Lauer, and…clearly…his prescription has run out.

I wrote about this months ago, and frankly, right at the moment, I am too pissed to write coherently.

All I can say for now is…never!….not so long as we still have the right to bear arms.

A different kind of cat-blogging.

Which actually reminds me a guy from the office who drank waaay too much at a Halloween party.

Hmmm, where are those pictures anyway?…..

Update: Damn it! This fella needs to increase his bandwidth…because everyone wants to see stuff on a cat.

Yeah, yeah.

I know. Terri Schiavo is dead and buried.

Yeah, I know what the autopsy said, and I’m in no position to argue with it.

So…why did I feel a shiver run down my back when I saw this?

Exactly who is being memorialized here?

This story reads like some bad made for t.v. movie.

And now, the S.O.B. is taking one last stab, either at the parents, or at Terri. And, I can only hope it’s at the parents, because only God knows what he promised Terri.

…and I don’t just mean the teen.

Perhaps, it’s just me, but does anyone else feel a little ill about the subject matter?

No! No!

Not that…

I mean the fact that the dog was mentioned in ten of eleven paragraphs.

The little girls were only mentioned in two.

What the fuck is wrong with people?

I’ve spent my weekend hacking away at the antique azaleas in my front yard. They, it has been estimated, are approximately 40+ years old. Each of the four years that I’ve lived here I’ve had to fight a constant battle to keep them away from the windows. Last year, I used a pruning saw and sawed them to nothing but bare twigs, approximately 12 inches high. I had thought that, if they grew back, they’d look better than they had, and that if they died, …well, that would be just fine too. This year, already at more than four feet tall and growing like a weed, I just couldn’t bare to fight them any longer.

The lady from whom I purchased the house, Mrs. Crook, had attempted to prune them into a hedge, a.k.a. boxwood style. And, as anyone who’s ever fought back an azalea can attest, all but the last few inches of the shrub are ratty and bare. Therefore, every time that she pruned them back, she essentially stripped all of the green from them. However…a clever woman she. Well, either that, or she had a very clever real estate agent.

I had been looking at homes in my neighborhood for more than two years when I decided to take the plunge. I had made an offer on a house just one block over, and save for the fifteen minutes it took for someone to beat me to the offer, I would have bought the wrong house. The next day, disappointed at having lost out, I took a drive through the neighborhood, and in front of the cutest little white brick house was a ‘For Sale’ sign. More out of curiosity than anything else, I gave the realtor a call. She hadn’t even returned to the office from putting out the sign, when I set an appointment to see it the very next day. It was March, and the weather was miraculous. I drafted the Vman to come with so that I could get a second opinion. When we pulled up out front the azaleas were in full bloom: A wall of bright pink flowers from one end of the house to the other. The hibiscus was just beginning to bloom, and the gardenia was beginning to bud. The red bud tree was covered in tiny little pink blossoms. In the back yard, the lawn was a beautiful, deep, dark green, and was thick and lush as a carpet. A huge sycamore tree stood dead center in the back yard and you could see the beginnings of a new Spring taking hold amongst its sprawling branches. The inside of the house was neat as a pin, meticulously cared for by the same lady for more than fifty years.

Just five minutes out of the car, and I knew it had to be mine.

Just four weeks later the Uhaul pulled up in front of my new home.

The azaleas were carved back into a hedge, and all that was left were the dying remnants of the glory they had been just one month prior.

In the backyard, the grass was nearly dead; strangled by the shade of the fully dressed sycamore tree.

I now know that the azaleas only bloom for two weeks out of the year, yet require year round pruning. I also now know that the St. Augustine in the backyard is not of the shade tolerant variety.

Today, I cut those azaleas to the ground.

Next….that sycamore tree.

And, when when the time comes to sell this house and move to another, I too, will time it perfectly.

With every bud in bloom.

This reminds me so much of something that the Velociman might have written, that is, were it written about Katie Couric or Claire Shipman.

I want, somewhere deep inside, to be offended, but frankly, it’s just too damned funny. Especially funny when you imagine it written about someone on your own hit-list. You might, however, want to avoid the comments section. That’s where the humor ends.

This is NOT work friendly. Hell, it’s not friendly. Period.

You’ve been warned.

So now, with a hat tip to It’s A Pundit, and a venture in if you dare warning, I present Miss Coulter.

I was just thinking about how lucky Michael Jackson is.

I mean, just imagine…

What might have happened had he molested one of the children of any of those sane, credible, parents who’ve sent their children to stay the night with him?

Geez.

Lucky how that worked out.

One of my best comments, ever, and in response to this post.

No. Just no. Chrissy Hynde would beat Juliette’s ass and leave with her boyfriend, then leave him dead in the bathtub at the Chateau Marmont with an overdose just to make her point.

Comment by rankin’ rob — 6/11/2005 @ 10:24 pm | Edit This

This one didn’t require much thought at all.

I simply closed my eyes, and drifted back in time until I found myself smiling.

The five things I miss from my childhood:

1. Lying under the tin roof of my Grandparent’s house, and listening to the summer rain.
2. The first day of school: New clothes, new books, a reunion with old friends and the chance to learn something new.
3. The ability to perform, and without fear, tricks on my bicycle and skateboard. I was undeterred, and completely lacking of self-consciousness, and had yet to learn that, in the eyes of many people, girls should not behave in such a manner.
4. Growing up on Main Street in a small town and having the freedom to leave the front yard because my grandparents knew that the neighbors would care for me as their own. It was a sense of community that I’ve yet to experience as an adult.
5. My grandparents: For so many reasons that I can’t even put them into words.

Now, my forbears:

Feisty Repartee
Chaos Theory
Wired Jafa
Thunder and Roses
Divine Innerbitchin’

And, I will skip the passing of the torch for this one.

Thanks, Zonk for including me. It was a nice journey down Memory Lane.

Kim has a post challenging those amongst us who ‘claim’ not to find Russell Crowe attractive. He cites Russell’s high-tail lifestyle as proof that most women do.

So, V-master, let me point out a few other men, whom I also find unattractive, but whom also do/did/can get great loads of tail:

Larry King
Nikki Sixx
Rodney Dangerfield
all members of the Rolling Stones
Seal
Dudley Moore
The artist formerly known as “Prince”
Jerry Lewis

And, of course, that other master

Hugh Hefner

Now, what you must keep in mind is this, I never cared for the ‘it’ guy. I never hung posters on my walls nor did I read Teen Beat. Neither my friends nor I have ever been able to put a finger on exactly what ‘type’ of man I am drawn to. I am attracted to men with reddish-blonde hair or no hair at all, wire-rimmed glasses, little freckles, tall, or not tall, thin, or not thin…my tastes run the gamut. The only real consistencies are these: they must be clean-cut, intelligent, capable of challenging conversation, and confident, but not cocky.

My first crush was Donnie Osmond (8 years old, please forgive me) and my first real love was Richie Cunningham.
My enduring crushes have been Ron Howard, Steve Martin (post-’Jerk’), Patrick Dempsey (even when he was a scrawny kid), Paul Newman (the most beautiful man to ever live), Ed Harris, and the one who almost makes me pee my pants every time I see him, Matthew Modine.

Oh! And one other similarity: Not one of them resembles, even remotely, Russell Crowe.

So tell your story walking, dude.

DISCLAIMER: I do not know what a ‘hot-link’ is. If I have committed this most unforgiveable of sins, and with the links above, I’m sure I have, then just take me out back behind the woodshed and shoot me. Otherwise, someone can educate me on the proper way to link these damned things.

Thank you.

DAMNIT!…Sorry…In the process of eliminating Spam-mail, I screwed up and deleted a comment! Damn spammers!

Once again, a Hollywood type has strayed from million dollar paychecks, and has ventured into the world of rock-n-roll. We’ve seen ‘em before…Bruce Willis, Keanu Reeves, Eddie Murphy, William Shatner, and each time, they leave us cringing.

Well, perhaps this one has a shot at it. Juliette Lewis, one of my favorite actors (remember Cape Fear?), has a band: Juliette and the Licks. I’ve now seen them perform on two different late night talkies, and let me tell you…there’s no preening and posing for the cameras whilst she’s on stage…just music. And, it’s really quite catchy: a raspy voice like that of Melissa Etheridge with the punky style of Chrissy Hynde.

I like it. You might too.

Check out the video here.

Excuse Me?!

Vman, you take this one.

UPDATE: Don’t forget to check out the video trailer. It’s da bomb.

Miss Jaime has begun a wonderful blog series called “Sunday Postcard”.

This week’s post, Rome, the glorious home of the gladiators, and philosophers, and science, and Caligula.

All my life I have wanted to travel to Rome, and Jaime’s postcard journey has reminded just why that it so.

All the history.

All the tragedy.

I long to know it all, and I know that, someday, I will get there.

Thanks Jaime.

It was a truly wonderful little trip.

I don’t give a damn whether the Oscars are nearly a year away because I feel supremely secure in this opinion.

There’s no-way-in-hell that anyone is going to turn in a better performance this year.

Crowe has brought to us a real-life role model for the ages. And, I wonder, how in the hell is it that, throughout my entire life, I’ve never even heard of the man?

Ali….check
Frazier….check
Tyson….check
Louis…check…and whom also pronounced our hero the most courageous man to ever step into a ring.

During a time of great desperation, Jim Braddock held tightly to his pride, and even more tightly to his family.

I saw a short interview of Crowe just a few days ago, and he seemed genuinely inspired by the man he has so flawlessly portrayed in this movie. He was so intent on portraying the man accurately that, when he came across the actual receipt that Braddock had been given upon paying back the welfare funds he received, Crowe asked that they correct the film to portray the actual dollar amount, only a matter of a few dollars. (Howard denied the request, saying that it would cost more than $50k to do so.)

Do youself a favor: See this movie. It’s a fantastic journey through the life of an honest-to-goodness Rocky that will leave you breathless during its final scenes, and cheering when the credits roll.

Perhaps, you’ve seen those ‘Alerts’ that pop-up during primetime television “Due to circumstances…” an Audi A3, VIN#….. Anyone with information should call 1-866-OK-RECOVER.

The first time, I thought it odd, but perhaps a real theft had occurred.

The second time I assumed it to be some sort of lame commercial.

Then, upon seeing it again, I thought that, perhaps, it is a contest.

Then, tonight, while over at The Onion, I saw it again.

Now I know what those geeks do once they leave the midnight showing of Star Wars.

And, by the way…there’s seemingly no reward for solving the ‘crime’. Other than, that is, the satisfaction that comes from knowing that you outwitted a group of vitamin D deficient, science-fiction geeks, who are suffering the exhaustion that comes from fighting one-too many duels with their Toy-R-Us light saber.

But, hey, go ahead Clouseau.

Give it your best shot.

Miss Sadie and Miss Kelley have written their takes on Scientology’s most prominent nut, Tom Cruise. They’ve made me think of a time, just a couple of years ago, when some of my co-workers and I researched it on the web, and were stunned to learn that this particular cult is even nuttier than most.

I seem to remember something about aliens, and horseshoe crabs…

Frankly, who knows whatthehell they’re talking about?

Well, maybe they do.

We’ve all seen the images….a news crew films nearby as passersby are swept into the tumultous waters of a river gone astray. And, we scream at the television, “Put down the damn camera! Help the poor guy already!”

Well, what’s the difference, really?

I’ve done it too.

Once, when heading out for a late night jaunt to Publix, I found that my roommate had blocked my car in the driveway. She tossed me the keys to her car and off I went. I bought way more than I had intended and, as is usual in Florida, it was storming when I came out of the store. I raced to the car, pulled the driver’s seat forward and tossed/threw/crammed all of the groceries into the seat behind me. Now soaking wet, I jumped into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut, and put the key into the ignition…almost.

I kept turning the key, top to bottom, trying to figure out why it wouldn’t fit. It was at that point that I realized what I had done.

My roommate had a blue, late seventies Chevy, and I had hopped into a blue, late seventies Buick.

As I stood in the rain, searching in the back of seat and floorboard of that car for my groceries, all I could think of was the owner of the car coming out and then calling the police, or worse, beating my ass.

I still don’t know how I got away unnoticed.

Sajak has a pretty decent little blog going on, and occasionally, such as with his current post, he makes me giggle.