Joe Hart Hates Babies and Sunshine and Rainbows

By Bill

On January 15,  2009, 150 US Airways passengers landed in the Hudson River.  By all accounts the pilot and crew did their jobs to the nth degree– pilot Sully even making two trips through the plane to make sure everybody had made it off the plane safely.  We all saw the pictures and video of the passengers standing on the wing of the plane and waiting for their rescue.  No serious injuries.  Words like courage, bravery and heroism were thrown around like geese in a threshing machine.  We all drank hot cocoa with a shot of Jack and had warm feelings as we watched replays on television and  the internet.  America gave itself a hug and a slap on the back– it almost seemed like the perfect prelude to the inaugogasm the nation had five days later.

The airline and TSA will spend a few million dollars to investigate what happened and they’ll find out what third graders already knew 3 hours after it happened: the plane ran into some geese, causing the engines to stall out and fail.  Bad luck.  Nobody was at fault, nobody died, everybody behaved exactly how you would have wanted them to– Sully had his fifteen minutes, we all decided his wife was way too hot for him and we moved on.

And then the checks went out.

US Airways sent each of the 150 passengers a letter of apology and a check for $5,000 as well as making follow up calls to make sure everybody was okay.  Dave Sanderson, a 48-year old father of four and sales manager from Charlotte, said that the letter and checks, “were a nice gesture” and that US Airways has “treated me like gold since the incident.”

Nothing out of the ordinary here, right?  It was an accident.  This wasn’t a roller-coaster flying off the rails or a stairwell collapsing or a drunk bus driver playing bumper cars.  Under Department of Transportation regulations, airlines are liable for up to $3,300 per passenger for checked bags that are lost or damaged on a domestic flight.

Bad luck happens.  I’m sure not getting to Charlotte that day was a huge pain the ass for a lot of those people.  Sometimes getting rained on is a pain in the ass.  Sometimes you order a $30 dollar steak that takes 4 bites to eat.  Sometimes you spend 12 bucks on a movie that sucks.  I believe the technical term is “shit happens”.  Five grand seems like a pretty decent amount for having a bad day.

Not to Joe Hart. 

Hart suffered a bloody nose and a couple of bruises on the aborted flight to Charlotte.  And Joe Hart hates babies and sunshine and rainbows.  Hart, also a salesman from Charlotte, says he, “would like to be made whole for the incident.”

A real quick observation to that: WHAT A FUCKING PUSSY!!!!!

Hart says it’s too soon after the accident to determine what emotional distress he has suffered.

Survey saaaaaaaaays: WHAT A FUCKING PUSSY!!!!!

Hart says he’s concerned about having trouble flying.  He’s flown on six planes since the accident and each flight has gotten “progressively more difficult.”   He says he was tense, sweated and “felt every bit of turbulence” on a Los Angeles-to-Philadelphia flight last week, though it wasn’t that turbulent a flight.

All together now: WHAT A FUCKING PUSSY!!!!!

Dude, take your $5,000 and grow a pair.  It’s not US Airways fault you didn’t kiss a girl until you were 22.  It’s not US Airways fault you got cut from the basketball team.  It’s not US Airways fault you were one of those kids who struck out in T-ball.  It’s not US Airways fault that Vicky, the fat secretary at your office, won’t superpoke you back.

You weren’t whole before the accident, why the hell should US Airways be expected to make you whole after it?

On January 15, 2009, hundreds of people were diagnosed with cancer.  Hundreds of parents hugged their children goodbye for the last time without even knowing it.  Hundreds of people came to the conclusion that they didn’t love their spouse anymore or vice versa.  Joe Hart got a bloody nose and didn’t make it home for dinner.

I have no more time for Joe Hart.

Published in: on January 29, 2009 at 11:59 pm  Comments (6)  

Bad Catholic Mothers

Great news, everyone! Bad Catholic Mothers: A Book of Revelations is now available at BarnesandNoble.com, Amazon.com or through your local Barnes and Noble (Order through a local B&N and avoid shipping charges)! 

“Well, what the heck is it?” You might be thinking. Check it: http://badcatholicmothers.wordpress.com

Buy it. Buy lots of it.

Published in: on January 29, 2009 at 10:45 pm  Comments (1)  

A girl likes to be jumped now and then, but 4 times in 2 days??!!

Mercury’s in retrograde. I know, I’ve become that person, that hippy-dippy, Los Angeleno, actress-type. But it’s true: Mercury is in retrograde, January 11 – Feb. 1. What does this mean to you, my little buttercups? 

It means that for about three weeks, everything goes to crap. People can’t communicate and snap at each other (see, JP? It wasn’t just the PMS!); emotions are all over the place; travel, mail and appointments get effed; and electronics break. Basically, life sucks for about three weeks (the week and a half before and after ain’t so great, either). Oh, yeah – and you’re not supposed make major decisions during this period (like signing a lease, for example… ooops).

In any case, I woke up yesterday morning, tired from packing the apartment up, but still and all, happy to have a job in this climate. I walk the dog, drink some coffee, go to my car, turn the key and … clicking noise.  What the hell? It’s a 2006 Beetle, with a mere 20,000 miles on it. I remember that Volkswagen has emergency roadside assistance, included with lease, so I leave my poor little car, and return to my home to find the number on the World Wide Interweb. (I would’ve used the manual that came with the car, but some a-hole stole it when they broke in last July.  Is the economy really so bad that people need to steal car manuals?) The WWW is slow (thanks again, Mercury) but finally, the guy comes, brings his little portable jumper box, jumps me and I drive to work – an hour late, and a little annoyed, but none the worse for wear.

Cut to 3:00. Same day. The Boss asks me to get him a sandwich (egg salad, mayo, lettuce, white bread, no tomatoes or “heads will roll”) and I take my keys to try to start the car. You know, just for fun. Clicking.

Now I’m irritated. I can’t start my car, I’m carrying egg salad (no one likes carrying egg salad, especially someone else’s egg salad) and it’s 3:00 in the stinking afternoon. I call Volkswagen Santa Monica (special shout out to Julio, my “technician”) who tells me that, yes, they are open until 8:00 pm, but the mechanics leave at 5 and I’m welcome to have the car jumped again, drive it in and then, for extra fun, THEY’LL RENT ME A CAR.

I’m sorry. What? You’ll RENT me a car? Thanks for the generous offer! After all, it’s not like I paid over $400 for the 20k service 5 weeks ago and then had to bring it back 2 weeks after that for an oil leak you people couldn’t find. It’s not like I already missed an hour of work because their stupid battery didn’t work (and no, while I do have in fact boobs, I did not leave my lights on, chuckle, chuckle). I give him what-for, up, down and sideways. No dice. No loaner car. What are my options?

You guessed it. I called VW emergency assistance at 6:00pm to have them jump it again! I drove home, pulled in my little lot (next to SaxyLady’s car…every time I come home, it’s all I can do not to key it), turned the ignition off and tried to immediately start it up again….clicking.

At this point, I’m over it. I packed up some more of my kitchen, watched my Will & Grace, and went to bed. Alarm goes off this morning and I have a plan: make coffee, take a shower, call VW emergency assistance (I love that this is now a part of my morning routine, right before brushing my teeth). The guy from yesterday comes with his little portable box and jumps me again! Woohoo! This is kind of fun! I’m starting to enjoy knowing that Volkswagen is probably paying these dudes wayyyyyyy more money for each jump than if they’d covered a rental car. HA. I got to work around 9:15, turned the car off, went to my desk and called VW emergency assistance again to get them to tow the car to the dealer.

Awesome! Yet another dude comes by (this one seems stoned, btw, which makes me a little less comfy), and says, “Yo. I gotta jump you so’s I can move it and then tow it.” Jump #4 (none of this can be good for the car, right?). He does…I stay at work, waiting for my car to get diagnosed.

Julio, my “technician” just called. His expert opinion?

Wait for it….

The battery won’t hold a charge.

Thank God for mechanics.

Published in: on January 28, 2009 at 11:56 pm  Comments (3)  

There’s Fish in Them Thar Waters

By Katie

So I read in Newsweek the other day that scientists discovered that a certain type of fish they thought was three different species is, in actuality, only one species. Why this is an important discovery, I have no idea; I often suspect that scientists say everything is an “important” discovery just to keep the grant money coming. I mean, how fast would their laboratories get shut down if they just admitted “We were fartin’ around at work one day and next thing you know, we’ve got two Schmittys!” And Schmitty number one is all, “I feel funny” and Schmitty number two is like “Meow!”  

Pretty darn fast, I say. So they have to put on their spectacles and white coats, and go on the news and act like it was only through much extensive, expensive research that they figured out everyone in Mississippi is fat. 

Look, dun get me wrong, I love scientists. I don’t care if they fudge their importance for the sake of  a buck once in a while, au contrair: I’m all for that. And I know that lots of stuff they do is super important. Without scientists, we wouldn’t have the moon or butter or anything. Scientists are the best. 

On with the story. These fish, the ones that were previously thought to be three entirely different fish, are actually all the same species at different stages of development. And get this: In its adolescence, this fish does nothing but eat. As the females mature, they develop enormous mouths. As the males mature, their mouths fuse shut and they develop giant guts. Um, guys? Are you sure those were fish you were studying?

Published in: on January 28, 2009 at 1:58 am  Comments (1)  

Frost/Nixon.. See It.

By whubbs

This was not something I wanted to go see; Frost/Nixon just didn’t tickle my fancy.

I’d seen an interveiw with the producer and thought he was an arrogant ass, as if his stupid movie was going to save the world.

Part of me thought, “Why don’t they just leave him alone?” meaning Nixon, not the producer. Why speak ill of the dead, for Chrissake? Wait, he’s dead, right? Yes. He is. Nixon, not the producer.  Is “Chrissake” capitalized?

For all the good things he did, the man was a disgraced President. His legacy for all time will be that of a crook.

Out of the blue, my delightful wife says “Lets’ go see a movie!”  Now as I’ve stated in an earlier missive, she’s rarely interested in going to movies.

“How about Last Chance Harvey?” She asks. Oh gawd.

“I can’t believe you don’t read the new blog,” I replied.  She ignored me. 

“How about Nixon/Frost?”

OK. So with very low expectations, off we go to see what I think is going to be a “let’s-slam-Tricky Dick one-more-time” fest. I was in high school when Nixon resigned, and those images between 1972 and 1974 are burned into my mind. I was in college when the real interviews took place. I remember them happening, but frankly I didn’t care anymore, I’d moved on and was more interested in baseball, girls and beer (and yes, in that order).

I was stunned. This is a great movie. 2 hours goes by in a heartbeat and not once do you start moving around in your seat because you’re bored. You do move around in your seat because the asshole in front of you has a stovepipe hat on and smells like pot-stickers, but I digress.

Everyone knows the story, Watergate, I am not a crook, blah blah blah, which is to be expected and deserved, but they didn’t pull an Oliver Stone and attempt to remake history as if it were fact. The movie is about the backstory of the multi-year attempt to make this interview happen and why Nixon wanted to do the interview as much as Frost did. Frank Langella does not play Nixon as the caricature that we have seen in other movies.

Richard Nixon is a stiff, no nonsense, lonely man who knew he was the smartest guy in the room. And in a lot of ways he hated being that guy. But FL doesn’t play him as some sort of monster, he has his reasons for doing what he did. David Frost is a journalistic lightweight. In today’s world it would be equivalent to Howie Mandel interviewing um, someone smart. Both men have their reasons for wanting to do this interview, and it’s great fun watching the chess match between the two sides.

The performances are outstanding, Frank Langella is spectacular and although I doubt he’ll win, has jumped to the head of the class in the Oscar race. Oliver Platt should have received a nomination for Best Supporting Actor. This is as big an oversight as when Val Kilmer was passed over for Tombstone, damnit! That a nomination went to Robert Downey Jr. for Tropic Thunder and not to Platt, I guess that’s all you need to know about Hollywood.

 A+. You have the “I want Nixon in Jail” and the “Nixon is a great man” elements but both sides are done well and are believable. It doesn’t try to remake history, it just tells a fascinating story.

Published in: on January 26, 2009 at 2:26 am  Comments (2)  

Trim The Fat –> Fat-Ass

Hey, let’s make a game! We’ll call it, Don’t Touch My Motherf***ing Wallet.

The rules are simple: Neither you nor anyone else is allowed to touch your motherf***ing wallet. Why? What happens if I do? Or if someone else does? How do I win? How do I lose? First of all, if you are going to be a big baby about this I’m not even going to play with you, so sac up and let’s do it.

The inspiration for this game came at about 3am Thursday morning when a twenty-something woman rang my doorbell. She rang my doorbell, my dog went cuckoo, I stumbled downstairs. She wanted $23 dollars. FROM MY WALLET.

What? The? F?

She said that her sister just got in a fight with her boyfriend and needed cab-fare to come from Hastings. As I stared at her in disbelief, she offered to shovel my walk for the rest of the winter. She offered me “dvd’s”. Why dvd’s? Is that some sort of late-night currency? Why would I want her copies of Wall Street and Glitter? I told her that her story was full of holes. She didn’t even try to disagree. Are meth-addicts agreeable? Good-natured? What is this new form of beggar?

If we truly are entering a NEW Depression, I want hobos. Tattered, moonshine-soaked, roll-your-own-cigarette-smoking, flea-bitten, train-hopping, harmonica-playing, morally-questionable-yet-somehow-lovable-and-wise, hobos. I want a hobo to come to my farm (I don’t live on a farm) and teach my boys about riding the rails and how to make art out of wooden matches and tin cans.

My point? The OLD Depression had class. It had style! Nobody expected to have any money in their wallet – and somehow that thinking created a generation of innovators. Need a table? No Problem, that old door will work just fine and a tree stump’ll make a fine seat. Need pants? Grab that flour sack! A pillow? Pluck the chicken! Skin infection? Try packing on a heaping spoonful of maggots! See? STYLE!

Ditch the wallet. I mean it. Throw it in a ditch. It’s just full of plastic anyway. Don’t pay for take-out food, make it! Don’t pay for vegetables, grow them! Don’t pay for sex, knock the prostitute out with a telephone and run from the motel! I’m just saying – be resourceful. Nobody needs to get hurt.

Okay, forget the prostitute. 

Ready, set, go.

PS: Party idea: Make our own play-dough and brush each others’ hair!

Published in: on January 26, 2009 at 2:10 am  Comments (13)  

Funny Shtuff

This is the funniest thing I’ve read all day.

Published in: on January 24, 2009 at 4:49 am  Comments (1)  

Just Say Yes!

By Katie

I love The Oscars. I’ve loved them ever since I was a kid, and Annie Hall very rightly trounced Star Wars. OK, OK, at the time I was mad as a wet hen, I mean I was 8 years old for Heaven’s sake…not that I’d seen Annie Hall, mind you, as a matter of fact Star Wars was the very first PG movie I ever saw in my life, and yes, it rocked my world. I held a grudge against Annie Hall about that win for years. All I knew about it was it was about grown-ups who talked and talked and talked and TALKED  and grown-ups were boring and stupid and Han Solo made me feel funny in my swimsuit area and why didn’t anyone understand I LOVED THAT MAN? NO, YOU LIKED HIM, I LOVED HIM.  But you know, it was puppy love, that’s all it was, after all I was 8 and he was 40 and it’s so crazy that now he’s with a woman only a few years older than me, so crazy how life works out like that…what are we talking about? 

Oh yeah, um…then I grew up,  finally saw Annie Hall and understood what all the fuss was about. 

And that’s the fun of it! I like this, you like that, let’s vote and the winner takes home the prize. Human nature to want to pick a winner, I say, and even humaner nature wants to rig the results. Humanest nature of all is to bitch about the outcome when your team loses. I’m still mad that When Harry Met Sally wasn’t even nominated for best picture. And anyway, can you really judge “art”?  Yes, we can!

Then years later we can argue over two great movies like Annie Hall and Star Wars and all agree that American Beauty sucked.

I’ll be watching, you’re darn right I will. Hugh Jackman is the host.

Published in: on January 23, 2009 at 4:25 am  Comments (1)  

Just Say “No” to the Oscars

By Wingnut

Oscar Nominations are out.  

I hate the Oscars.   

I’ve hated the Oscars since Star Wars didn’t win for Best Picture.  That’s all you need to know about this out of touch, narcissistic, pompous exercise in self aggrandizement.  Is that enough pejoritives?  Does my disappointment and contempt for this institution come through? 

I pick my nose and flick it in the general direction of the Oscars.

Once in a while I’ll check in, if there’s a movie I loved that is given the recognition it deserves.   I watched a few minutes the year Braveheart  won everything.   I also occasionally tuned in the year The Return of the King won everything in sight.  

I won’t be watching this year.  I’m not really surprised that Pierce Brosnan didn’t get nominated.   The academy is always claiming it loves bravery, but it’s just blowing smoke.  

I mean come on!  Pierce sang in front of millions.   What does he get for it?  Bupkiss.  I mean, besides the best selling dvd in the history of the UK.   Brad Pitt gets nominated for pretending to fall for Cate Blanchette.  Yeah, that’s tough to do.  Did he change the expression on his face even once throughout that interminable movie?  Maybe he did.  Maybe I just couldn’t see it through the old man mask he was wearing.   

Frank Langella plays Nixon as  the personification of evil.  I’ll bet that was a difficult choice for him.  I’m sure his portrayal is delicate and nuanced, much like his portrayal of Dracula, back in the late seventies.  In fact, I bet he drew on that experience to play tricky Dick. 

Richard Jenkins. Never heard of him.  I’ve never heard of his movie, either.  He’ll probably win.  

I’m pretty sure Mickey Rourke got nominated because folks were so shocked that he can stand up right without the aid of narcotics.  I haven’t seen it.  Maybe he’s great at playing an old, washed up, broken down has been… 

I hope Kate Winslet wins.  I have no intention of seeing her movie, it looks like a celuloid version of a root canal, but I love her.  No matter what her acceptance speech is, I’ll hear her telling Andy Millman “Does the world really need another Holocaust film?  We get it; it was grim.”   

 I’ve already got it planned.  The night of the ceremony, I’m baking cookies and settling in to watch Star Wars.

Published in: on January 23, 2009 at 3:46 am  Leave a Comment  

Presto Manifesto

By Zeichenpress

Do you find it difficult to articulate your thoughts and feelings on nearly every “soft” subject?

Do you want to learn to speak off the cuff?

Do you ever think, “Hmm. I don’t actually have an opinion about that”?

Are you tired of nodding in agreement but having no idea what you are agreeing with, or to?

Help is finally here for you, my friend!

Presto Manifesto takes all of the fuss and muss out of forming your own opinion. With Presto Manifesto, there is no need for guesswork, no need for research, no need for applying wishy-washy methodology. It’s simple, really! If you have completed the fourth grade you are ready for Presto Manifesto.

Step one: Print out the words below on a sheet of paper. If you don’t have access to a printer, get one.

Step two: Using a pencil, fill in the blanks with appropriate parts of speech. (Take your time, this is not a race.)

Step three: Recite “your” manifesto in front of a full length mirror.

Step four: The real deal. This is the most complicated step and requires a bit of concentration: Study the faces of those around you; are they looking at you? Are they ready to hear what YOU have to say? Say it. Say it loud and say it proud (but not too loud or too proud…I mean, don’t be an asshole about it).

This might be at a cocktail party, a bus stop, a rally, a groom’s dinner. The opportunity will present itself and you will finally be ready. No more mock-coughing, slipping contacts, ordering another drink when you aren’t even thirsty.

“Yes, well. I couldn’t say it better than (non-controversial famous historical figure). He/she certainly had his/her finger on the (noun). If only we could all take a step back and look at the big (noun). That’s what we all need to do. Pitch in. (exclamation)! [Pause, look around. Smile.] I mean, I don’t want to sound like a know-it-all [wink] but sometimes it just boils down to a little (noun). [Read the faces: if they are nodding in agreement, proceed.] Do your part. (verb) it! [If your audience is looking at you with confused faces, excuse yourself. If you feel you must give an explanation, say simply, “I need to go take my medication.”]”

Whew. Remember, practice makes perfect.
*Note: Try out your manifesto on a fresh audience whenever possible.

Published in: on January 23, 2009 at 12:33 am  Leave a Comment