Friday, April 30, 2010
"From the first moment that I saw him, I knew we would never have a grandmother-grandson relationship,' Pearl remembers happily. 'For the first time in years I felt sexually alive."
Link to important and highly newsworthy story at Dlisted: http://dlisted.com/node/37072
Thursday, April 29, 2010
[Amen to that shit. Robert and I are getting old now. It sucketh mightily.]
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Link to story: http://blogs.westword.com/latestword/2010/04/sprint_employees_fired_for_cap.php
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
"I do not believe in a personal God and I have never denied this but have expressed it clearly.”
In a letter to philosopher Erik Gutkind, Einstein remarked: "The word God is for me nothing more than the expression and product of human weakness, the Bible a collection of honorable, but still purely primitive, legends which are nevertheless pretty childish."
"I'm not an atheist and I don't think I can call myself a pantheist. We are in the position of a little child entering a huge library filled with books in many different languages. The child knows someone must have written those books. It does not know how. The child dimly suspects a mysterious order in the arrangement of the books but doesn't know what it is. That, it seems to me, is the attitude of even the most intelligent human being toward God."
"I cannot conceive of a God who rewards and punishes his creatures, or has a will of the type of which we are conscious in ourselves. An individual who should survive his physical death is also beyond my comprehension, nor do I wish it otherwise; such notions are for the fears or absurd egoism of feeble souls."
Friday, April 23, 2010
I pre-ordered his new CD All Days Are Nights: Songs for Lulu and received it yesterday. Interesting stuff. Not nearly as "pop" as past CDs, if you can categorize Rufus at all.
I've read a handful of lousy reviews of All Days Are Nights and to these reviewers, I say: Fuck you. Rufus at his worst is better than most people at their best. Eat me, knob head reviewers! Suck it. How dare you criticize genius, you bunch of base fuckwits???
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
The idea of Jesus as a comedian might seem a little unusual, even heretical or disrespectful. But the more I read the Gospels, the more firmly I conclude that Jesus was probably the most effective user of humor and comedy than any communicator who's ever walked the planet.
I also believe that Jesus was one of the most fun leaders in history. While not necessarily obvious in the Gospel text, I believe that crowds followed Jesus everywhere because, among other reasons, Jesus was fun to be around. [Really they only followed His ass because he could make wine at will. SB would have followed his Holy Ass, too!]
These two facets of Jesus's personality, his use of humor and his fun nature, challenge me as a youth minister and youth ministry consultant, since one of the most pressing questions facing youth ministry practice is about the place of fun and entertainment in it. [Fun and entertainment have no place in religion, trust me.]
I'm a firm believer that the way Jesus used humor and fun can be a model for us. If we can embrace how Jesus used humor and fun and apply it to our own contexts and circumstances, I believe we'll find an amazingly positive expression of the gospel and faith as we seek to share and communicate the good news with people, especially young people. So let's look at these often unsung facets of Jesus's nature to see if we can find some ideas for an appropriate theology of fun in ministry.
Jesus Invented Humor [Actually, George Carlin did.]
Jesus was likely a very funny guy with a most amazing grip on humor. After all, he invented humor. Since we're made in the image of God, and laughter and humor are profoundly important parts of our makeup, I would guess that in their relationship, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit probably have a good laugh together every now and then. [Do you suppose the Holy Spirit laughs, or does He/She/It actually guffaw?]
A DAD has been given a three-year ban for drink-driving in a TOY CAR.
Paul Hutton, 40, went for a spin in a tiny battery-powered Barbie jeep - top speed 4mph - while twice the booze limit.
But a police patrol car spotted 6ft Paul crawling along the road on the modified 4ft by 2ft motor, with his knees tucked under his chin.
They stopped him near his home in Jaywick, Clacton-on-Sea, Essex, around 9pm.
Electrical engineering student Paul had sunk a few beers while working on the kiddies' toy - which he found dumped and had rebuilt.
The divorced dad of four admitted drink-driving and was banned for three years by Colchester JPs because he had lost his licence before.
He said later: "I put bigger wheels on and could not resist the temptation to take it out. I was a twit."
Just a quick note to explain the absense of a meaty post this week so far. I just don't have anything of interest to share. Sometimes, I feel like the responsibility to post is a damn albatross around my neck, and I have enough birds hanging off me, so I just refuse. All this is to say, I'll post when I'm damn good and ready. Wait for it or not. Do what thou wilt, that shall be the whole of the law. That's Aleister Crowley's Law, by the way. I ripped him off. Doesn't that make things easy? One commandment: do whatever the fuck you want. A bitch could live with that. Much easier than 10 HARD commandments (and I've broken nearly every one, might I add, just to be honest).
That's Crowley in the photo above, by the way. Wasn't he cute? You can be a Satanist and cute, motherfuckers. I did a report on Crowley in high school. I grew up in a small Christian midwestern farming town, and I liked to get motherfuckers all worked up. Still do.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
*Except conservative republicans and evangelical Christians. They can piss off, too.
If you put the Tories in, they might have this new thing where they say ‘Oh yes, we’ll be nice to kittens’, but you know it’s the Tory party.
If you look back through the history of the Tory party, have they ever been nice to people? No. They’re nice to themselves. That’s why they joined the Tory party. They want to help themselves move forward and be richer and have duck ponds.
So basically, the Tories are republicans. [I refuse to capitalize republican.]
I adore, Eddie Izzard, by the way. He is my favorite comedian. And also, he's cute, with or without makeup. Cake or death?
Link to Dlisted: http://dlisted.com/node/36882
Personally, I think he looks more like a damn frog. Ribbit!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Kirstie and SB have similar personalities, foul mouths, and WAY TOO MANY PETS. We also both like to eat. I dig her.
I am this woman, but fucking whiter and a whole lot fatter.
Why does it feel SO GOOD to lash out and slap a bitch when one is angry? Maybe we can ask Dr. Oz!
Now, I will have to feel AWFUL until after work, when I can go home and apologize and love all my critters up. I TOTALLY FUCKING SUCK AS A MOTHER. I AM AN ASSHOLE DICKWAD SHIT-FOR-BRAINS CUNTWAGON. And it makes me feel only-slightly-better to confess all of this to the ENTIRE WORLD on my blog.
Also, I will not be opening a pet daycare anytime soon.
If you motherfuckers want to feel better, too, I recommend a trip over to Ms. Moon's blog. Although she doesn't need help drumming up any business (she has more followers than I do), here's a damn link: http://www.blessourhearts.net/
I dreamt of my best childhood friend, Angie--probably because I have been negligent and need to give her a call. I am overdue. I always dream of Angie when I am shitty about staying in touch. It's as if my soul says: Okay, enough, we need her, CALL!
I also dreamt of Frank Sinatra, playing the piano. He was middle-aged and was singing a song called If Not Now, When? I don't know whether that is an actual song or not. It could be. I could have picked it up subliminally from my grandparents' tremendous record collection and not realized it. I could never write standards, because I couldn't be sure if I was ripping some old songwriter off or not, due to the intensive childhood exposure to that sort of music. I guess I could Google the song title [I don't Bing. Bing sucks.], but I don't really care enough to pursue it.
Anyway, I wasn't sitting with Frank at the piano [what a thrill that would have been!]. I was just an observer. A fly on the wall. But somehow, I knew he was singing about Bobby Kennedy and the fact that he was dead prematurely and would never be president.
It's a strange thing to be an American and to be of a certain age. It must be even more strange to be old enough to actually remember the assassinations of JFK and RFK. John was shot before I was born, and Bobby was shot when I was only a toddler, so I have no real memory of the events, but I am still genetically wired to carry a specific grief over those two men, so much so that it comes forth in my dreams at times.
I have a theory that if you are an American of a certain age, you carry the two lost brothers, and their loss is so prevalent, that it is hard-wired into your very bones and cells. You carry them, but of course, nobody carried that load like their poor brother, Teddy, who is lost to us now as well. God bless him. I'm not particularly religious, but I feel compelled to say that whenever I remember certain people, and this includes the Kennedy brothers.
On a tangible level, I remember the morning the Moms awakened me to the news about JFK, Jr. I blinked the sleep from my eyes and sat up in bed as she announced that John Kennedy Jr.'s plane was missing. It was a bright sunny Ohio morning, and I was not too panicked initially, because I fully believed they would find John, sitting on an island somewhere or floating on a piece of aircraft debris. I counted on a hero's rescue and a good story that the media could glom onto when he ran for president one day. I didn't really entertain the thought that fate could be so cruel as to strike down another young Kennedy male with so much promise.
You know how that story came out. I carry that loss, too. It is a part of me, as much as the other brothers are, because John was my contemporary. I grieve his loss, and I feel pissed that John was cheated.
I have no real point to this post. Sorry to tell you that if you've made it this far. I just wanted to tell the story of my dream, and maybe in the telling, to partially exorcise the sadness of the morning. So far, it's not working.
I just feel grieved today, and I think the damn dream was the culprit.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
I less than humbly thank you.
The conditions of this award are that I have to list ten things which make me happy. Ten things that make me miserable would be easier, so I'm doing that shit instead. Laugh. You motherfuckers know SB is a damn rebel! The rules DO NOT apply to my precious ass.
10 Things That Make Me a Miserable Cranky Bitch
2) Cell phones (especially personalized ringtones!)
5) Jehovah's Witlesses
6) Loud Noises (including fireworks and dogs barking)
7) Being sober
8) Neighbors who fucking look in my windows (this includes small children)
9) People (who are not family) who pop by my house without calling first
10) Christmas (Season of the Damned)
11) The song Stairway to Heaven (If I have to listen to that shit again before I die, it's too damn soon.)
12) Talking to people from India, who I can't fucking understand, when I call my credit card company
I know it's MORE than 10, motherfuckers. I can fucking count! I just got carried away.
Thank you, dear Christina! You are a wonderful friend and my fashion inspiration.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
One of the options for receiving this award is to define the soundtrack of my childhood. I will list a number of soundtrack items below.
1) The theme song to Gilligan's Island sure as fuck defined my childhood. SB watched EVERY FUCKING EPISODE of Gilligan's Island multiple times a day. I am still attracted to fat friends, because I am always looking for my Skipper. [Remember, I was a VERY SKINNY kid. That made me Gilligan, motherfuckers. Yes, I am sexually confused, but you know that already.]
2) My mother's screams. I was forever running off to a neighbour's and not wanting to come in for dinner and a bath. Also, I got in a lot of trouble, like the time my friend Pat and I threw marshmallows in the windows of a squad car. We were in a tree, damn it. We didn't notice the lights or the emblem on the damn car!
Also, Pat and I called the elderly neighbour man a goddamn baby. Again, the Moms screamed at my ass.
And also, when my cousin, Rob, and I cut Daddum's leather riding mower seat with an old knife we found in the garage. The Mom's was pissed. BITCH SCREAMED. That was like in stereo, because Daddums screamed, too. It was tag team screaming.
3) The sound of police car sirens. We lived a few houses down from the Lee family. They were a bunch of juvenile delinquents, many of whom now reside in the state penitentiary. One of them wanted to date me (I always attracted highbrow men), and in order to woo me, ate a Daddy Long Legs spider. It didn't work. Me no wantum date little Timmy Lee.
Okay, that was a handful of the sounds which made up the soundtrack of my childhood.
Thanks for the award, Jeannie. SB loves you so! You are one of my best Canadian friends (along with Sweden).
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Personally, I'm going to run home tonight and add this photo to my Angelina shrine.
[Note about photo: You just know the second kid from the left, who might have been mildly hot if he had ever gotten some sort of fashion help, grew up to be a computer geek, who made lots of money, but still tucked his shirt in WAY too tight and wore unfashionably outdated eye wear.]
Link to article: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/04/06/clinton-lewinsky-effect-s_n_527496.html
Anyhoo, I am ONE TIRED MOTHERFUCKER today. But, somebody brought in homemade-from-scratch cake today, so there's that. A bitch has got to count her damn blessings! That's ONE, motherfuckers. Some poor bitches have NONE, so I'm doing okay comparatively.
I'm mostly eating the icing on the cake and throwing the actual cake part away. I only really dig the icing. If any of you fuckers mainly like the cake, we could hang out at parties. Let me know. We could swap cake for icing and shit. I don't want to hang with a bitch that covets my icing. I also don't like chocolate cake, only white. I'm a white-bread-cracker-ass motherfucker. I like white cake, white ice cream, and Wonderbread.
My sweet friend, Jeannie, gave me an award (thanks Jeannie!), and I am working on that post. So sorry I'm a slag, Jeannie. I do appreciate receiving it from you. I'm just a lazy motherfucker this week. Okay, every week. Whatever.
Hope all of you motherfuckers are having a good week. SB sends her love.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
“Personally, I believe that if it’s assuageable in any way it’s by internal means. I think those internal means have to be earned and developed, and it has something to do with, um, the pop-psych phrase is loving yourself. It’s more like, if you can think of times in your life that you’ve treated people with extraordinary decency and love, and pure uninterested concern, just because they were valuable as human beings. The ability to do that with ourselves. To treat ourselves the way we would treat a really good, precious friend. Or a tiny child of ours that we absolutely loved more than life itself. And I think it’s probably possible to achieve that. I think part of the job we’re here for is to learn how to do it. I know that sounds a little pious."
"I’ve kept thinking of something David says near the end of the trip. “There are all kinds of reasons for why we’re so afraid. But the fact of the matter is, that the job that we’re here to do is to learn how to live in a way that we’re not terrified all the time. And not in a position of using all kinds of different things, and using people to keep that kind of terror at bay. That is my personal opinion.” For me, that’s the line I think of, as the difference between “I love you” and “You are loved.” It’s giving something without wanting anything back. It’s the warmest thing in the list of lessons learned by the residents at Ennet house."
[Note: Ennet House is a substance abuse facility that features in Foster Wallace's epic novel Infinite Jest.]
"I was sort of a joyless drinker. I think I just used it for anesthesia. I also remember, I mean really buying into—I don’t know how much you yourself escaped this. But it’s fairly hard to get a book taken when you’re in grad school. And to get a whole lot of—to get your juvenile dreams fulfilled real fast. I think I had this idea of: you know, went to Yaddo a couple times. And I saw that there’s this whole image of the writer as somebody who lives hard and drinks hard. You know, is found in amusing postures in gutters and stuff. And I think when you’re a kid, and you don’t have really kind of any idea of how to be what you want to be, you fall for these sort of cultural models. And the big thing about it is, I don’t have the stomach or the nervous system for it. I get really, really drunk. Then I’d be sick for two days. Like sick in bed, like a bad flu. Just kind of debilitated.”
[I can relate to this on so many levels, especially the American radical action thing. It's such a part of my personality, so deeply ingrained.]
Monday, April 5, 2010
Thursday, April 1, 2010
FUCKERS. I am so mad. THIS IS WAR!
Bitches are unattractive, to say the least. Look at the damn chin on the one on the right. Ho rivals Jay Leno.
My guess is bitch on the left used to be a man.
On a happy note, while the ex-husband and I were warned NEVER to be in a relationship by Chinese astrologers--in fact--I think the exact DIRE warning was: A HORSE AND A RAT MUST NEVER MARRY!, the Viking and I are looking good. Our signs match up as potential "soulmates" (which I don't believe in--can you say, "TOTAL HOLLYWOOD BULLSHIT"?) and also for "fiery sexual chemistry." YES, JACKPOT! I'm shallow and that's all I care about--the sexual chemistry.
I think most astrology is bullshit to quote Jim Morrison. But the Chinese astrology warning about the ex and I was so uncannily accurate, that I had to look the new guy's sign up. Horses and Dragons = GOOD SEX.
I am sofa king relieved. To quote Robert Plant, "I can breathe again."
p.s. If you have never seen a young Robert Plant in low-cut jeans, you ain't lived. I watched a Zeppelin DVD recently and got to giggling so much at his pants, my face went red. Photo above is my new computer wallpaper. You're welcome, ladies.
CALL ME, BOB!