Nucular

I saw your President on tv this morning and he said "nucular" about 15 times. But this morning, instead of marvelling at how far the Yale education has fallen like I usually do, this morning I thought it actually said something about the man.

He has been corrected countless times in the press, even ridiculed about his mispronounciation of that word. Mocked, I'd say in some circles, not mentioning any names, okay David Letterman, for six long, long, really, really long years, and yet he persists.

Despite the critics and the naysayers, he has stayed the goddam course of lousy diction.

I gots me a new favourite teevee show

30 Rock, baby!

Thir-tay rock. Mr. Alec Bladwin makes me weep with artistic and comedic
appreciation. If you missed it, you're a fuckup! Naw, not really, but kinda.
Kay, so watch it next time. It is fantastic, and trust me I have good taste. (I'm the one who suggested installing an Easy Bake oven in your computer)

Some Suggestions for Improving the Modern Computer

1. (I am getting tired of saying this so now I have to shout it. That's right, compunerds, your complete and total lack of progress in this area has forced me to put my finger on the caps lock button. I am not joking around.) FIND A WAY TO GET MY COMPUTER TO DISPENSE SOFT DRINKS.

2. On the topic of food, please, please, please work with the people at Mattel to install some sort of Easy Bake oven into the next generation of computers. I have several drives that I am not currently using and would appreciate it if I could slide a small cake pan in one of them while I am working. Ten minutes later, ding! There's cake. I could also accept a toaster oven; something that'll do a mini pizza or a bagel. I am frankly surprised, given the rotund nature of some in the "tech" field, that this has not already been developed.

3. Do something about the names of these websites. When I type in something like "hard candy" I expect to be taken to a website related to actual candy.

4. A make up mirror would also make a nice addition.

5. Some of these keys on the keyboard are absolutely useless. I already have one F key, I do not need any additional F keys, let alone 10. Duh! Honestly, what are you people smoking? Scroll Lock? Never heard of it, have no idea what it does, never will. It goes!

6. Make they keyboard self-cleaning. Nothing fancy, just a couple of Dr. Seuss type hands that come out and sweep up crumbs.

7. Change the "helpful"-It-looks-like-you're-writing-a-letter paperclip to one Mr. Johnny Depp.

8. Change the "start up" music to a voice that says "You're soooooo prettty!". That's just good for everyone's self esteem.

Isn't String Theory such a tantalizing idea. Imagine the possibilities of many different dimensions existing simultaeously, with many different yous in each one.

For sure in String A it turns out I did make it past the security guard at the studio where they filmed 21 Jump Street, and Johnny Depp did not in fact look super freaked out when I pulled out my 240 page Ode to his beauty (inside and out people, I am not shallow like some of you). We were married later that day and live happily together in...what am I crazy, I cannot tell you where we live, one of your alternate dimension selves will show up and try to harass us. Nice try, Internet!

String B: Puppy world!

String c: Fame. I am super famous in this one, but in a different way. I am like a combination of Mother Theresa and Beyonce. So I divide my time between caring for the dying and producing hit records and performing super sexy dance numbers on tv. I am loved by millions, including Johnny Depp. See you really cannot screw with fate. Brad Pitt hits on me constantly, and while I do find him attractive, I cannot go for it because of my high moral principles and his performance in Meet Joe Black.

String D: Bought a Quiznos!

Big Brother

Well, it's down to the final two. I have to say, given the choice between Erica and the alternative, I am voting for the senior citizen lady. Erica seems like a very nice fellow, but I have always had a spot in my heart for Maude. Go Bea Arthur! Grey Panthers all the way!

Of course I was sad to see Janelle go; and like all the others I spent so much time ridiculing, I, in the end, wanted to see Will kiss her. I found myself on the edge of the sofa yelling at the tv like the fellers do when they are watching a sporting event: "Yeeeessss, that's it, move closer. Good! Now take her hand, okay, good, gooooood, move in. Come on, you're Keith Partridge. Yawn and stretch! AW FUCKING Chicken George! Godammmmmit!" Intercepted. That's why I don't follow sports -- too frustrating.

And I am on the Will Kirby bandwagon. I may divorce my husband for Will Kirby and then start dating other guys just so I can dump them for Will Kirby.

Cut to my diary...

Mrs. Will Kirby
Mrs. William Kirby
Dr. and Mrs. W. Kirby

Duffland!

My eight year old son had a single objective: to buy every gun at Disneyland. It may surprise you to know that there are a total of seven guns for sale at Disneyland, and may not surprise you to learn that having nine guns in your suitcases makes for some good times at security screening.

You will encounter punk rockers at Disneyland, and, while not an expert in these matters, it does seem that getting into a whiny fight in line at the gift shop with your mom and grandma about how many Pirates of The Caribbean skulls you can buy with your Disney Bucks could negatively affect your streed cred.

There truly is a seamy underisde to Duffland, and I would say it's mildew. Every single water ride had a funny smell. I was wearing white pants, got splashed on the Pirates of the Carribbean ride and the water left yellowish stains on my pants. That was kinda punk rock.

All roads lead to the gift shop. No exceptions.

The only people riding motorized scooters were people who looked like they could have used a good long walk. Like really long. Say around the Earth twice. Jared, rock on!

Eight year old boys are way too cool to have their pictures taken with Lilo and Stitch, but their moms aren't! And it was all fun and games until Stitch tried to cop a feel. You can't tell me you have absolutely no feeling in those giant plushie hands.

Like Nature,

I, too, abhor a vacuum.

So, I bought a Roomba! It's a li'l robot that vacuums my carpet and sweeps my floors. And no, I do not have shares in the company, but I might get some one day.

And yes, you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, hippie.

Great News for Stephen Harper

And I mean that sarcastically.

Turns out that he has even more competition to be George Bush's best friend. George Bush has pretty much said that The Prime Minister of Japan is his second best friend, what with his recording an album of his favourite Elvis songs and everything. So, now Stephen has to battle it out with Vincente Fox for third best friend, when everyone knows he was really trying for BFF.

I just know at the next G8, Stephen is going to be expecting George to save a seat for him at his table, and George is going to be all "oh, sorry Steven, but Tony got here first." You know, trying to make it out like it was Stephen. So then Steph's going to have to be all "oh, that's okay, I was just coming over to say hi, but I am supposed to be sitting with Norway." And then Tony kinda stiffles a laugh, because he can be a real jerk about stuff like that, and Tony chimes in with "Oh when did Norway go G8?" Typical Brit, all sarcastic and everything.

The Stephen pretends he has a super important IM to answer and uses it as an excuse to leave.

If that doesn't make you cry, I don't know what will.

The Blowout

In our twenties, my friends and I were kinda hip, and so, for some reason, presumably as some sort of by-product of Canadian hipness, we could necer use the actual name for anything and so instead, someone, usually me, (because I was one of the worst offenders) had to come up with some sort of name that was usually meant to be used in a funny way (like saying "groovy" in 1985 for example, which I personally think I resurected from the dead, but I digress.

No, right now I am talking about the word BLOWOUT, which means "party" , big warehouse party but, given the times and our ages was pretty much crappy bachelor suite apartment party.

Doesn't the name imply loud music, lots of alcohol and some smashing of things? In reality, blowouts were usually held by one guy, in his apartment, with the stereo solidly set at three, an assortment of "appetizers" like mini quiches (it was the 80s)and hummus (in the 80s, see I told you we were hip), with Dan scurrying around with a garbage bag tied around his waist for easy trash disposal. Invariably, someone would get into a fight about strippers, and the passive aggressive guy would "accidentally" knock over a the dining table. The irony of the name vs. the experience was not lost on me.

Yeah, but like I said, we called it a blowout.

Unfair Fact of Life #76

No woman really considers it sexual harassment if she thinks the guy is hot. Best case: she finds it flattering; worst case it's a cute annoyance.

Slap an extra 20 years and sixty pounds on the feller; add one comb-over and whammo, you've got yourself a lawsuit.

I'm just saying.

Web TV Users UNITE!

Remember seeing things like this, on the internet, a few years ago:

I AM A WEB TV USER AND CANNOT MAKE PARAGRAPHS.

Then the person would go on and on in their free form, no-paragraph prose.

Apparently, there must have been criticism about Josephine Web TVUser's big ol' page of all caps text because she always felt the need to preface everything with that caveat. There she was, sitting on her hideaway couch in her double wide, and one day she decides she's going to get on the internet, and some asshole somewhere convinces her that WEB TV is the wave of the future. And she's not very wordly in such matters, plus the price is right, so she buys it. And on that day, that fateful day, she wasn't aware she was dooming herself to a lifetime of paragraphless forum posts, and the harsh, harsh world of the internet critic.

Will you not weep for Josephine?

True Confession

I do not know when I am "about to rock". And, like "partying", I am not even sure I am doing it when I am doing it. If in fact I am doing it.

I think there may be alcohol involved. Sure I can drink, but not like these 72 hour weekend partier boozers. That I cannot do. I don't like other people's company that much.

Way, way down this list I wrote a thing about how you know when you are "kicking back", but even that I was totally faking because I am not 100% sure about the kicking component. Is it necessary but not sufficient? Surely it can't just be the kicking because then I'd be kicking back every time I kick the dog and that doesn't sound right. (I don't really kick my dog, but thanks for thinking I did! sheesh)

If anyone ever figures it out, lemme know would you?

Nya nya nya nya (or neener, as you prefer)

Your President is spying on your phone calls.

LAME!

Today is our 10th anniversary!

I'd say it was a day that marks 10 soul crushing, hope and dream dashing, tediously boring anguish-filled years, but I worry that that might sound negative.

Aww, I'm a kidder.

They weren't all bad.

Most isn't all!

wink

MY New Charitable Giving Policy:

I will not be giving any more money for cancer research until they find a cure.

That ought to light a fire under someone's ass.

Adam Sandler's wife had a baby...

can you imagine the number of goofy voices that child is going to be subjected to? I bet he's doing one right now.

What the Hell is David Blaine Doing?

A goddam fishbowl? I wish he had asked me because I could have told him my son has a fish in a bowl and he lost interest in it after about two days. Things in bowls are maybe better ideas on paper.

His hands are are pruny! Who here is surprised by that? How is he going tinky? I understand he is sucking Ensure out of a balloon, which is already revolting enough, but please tell me he is not peeing in his li'l bowl.

And he has that little sign board that he writes messages on and holds up. He's all "Help me; I am in great pain". Well frankly who believes these guys anyway? They lie for a living with all the "illusions" and "sleight of hand" and shit. Dude's cried wolf as it were one too many times.

Plus I read on my lamer Yahoo home page that Keith Richards had "head surgery"! About goddam time! What is head surgery though? Is it like brain surgery; did he have an aneurism or something?

Hey America

For me, that 911 movie is too soon. I find myself sobbing at the commercials. And I am not even an American.

I will say this that as much as your country pisses off my country sometimes, and it does, September 11th taught me that despite all the grumbling and complaining and the pettiness, that Canadians genuinely *love* Americans. Even if you act like jerks sometimes, which you do.

We love America like we love no other country. Bad things happen to other people in other countries, too. And as awful as that is, and as much as we want to help and do help, and as sympathetic as we feel towards those citizens, it doesn't affect us as deeply as September 11th did.

Several days after September 11th, 2001 Canada had, in its capital city, Ottawa, the largest public demonstration in Canadian history. It was to show support for America. The largest public demonstration in Canadian history. We all cried, and felt shocked and horrified and tremedously saddened, but I think at the root of the feeling there was something else, and it was that we, as a country, felt protective of the United States at its most vulnerable time.

Canadians frequently grumble about America, usually about her politicians and their policies. From September 11, 2001 until about a year after no one grumbled, complained, disparaged or even rolled an eye at anything American. No one said we should do this -- it was a collective, unconscious decision made by a country that quietly said "This is the side we are on". It may have, in some way, even come as a surprise to Canadians, just how strongly we supported and loved our big, brash, bossy, beautiful neighbour to the south.

That movie is kind of bringing it all back.

Poor Stephen Harper

I just felt really bad for him, you know, at that summit with Mr. Hip Vincente Fox and Mr. Cool George W. And there he was, the nerdy cousin, with the inappropriate cargo vest.

The film footage is sad, too, because you can see he is right in W's face the whole time. He TOTALLY wants to be best friends with him, but George is all, I am sorry brother, but I already have a best friend and his name is Tony Blair.

Great! Like how in the hell is Stephen Harper, cammo vest wearer from Canada ever going to hope to compete with Tony G-dam Blair, with the cool English accent. Are you trying to tell me that W. is not a Bond fan?! Because I won't believe it if you are. And Vincente and George are talking about quesadillas and salsa and Stephen Harper tries to chime in with something about how strong Canadian beer is, but no one really cares because they are tired of Canadians playing the "strong beer" card.

So then, to shup Stephen up, Vincente (and let's face it, he's kinda rubbing it in, with his closeness to George) says something about clubbing a baby seal over the head and all of a sudden it gets real quiet.

But still, I just feel bad for him though because his suitcase was probably filled with bottles of maple syrup and hockey trading cards and maybe a Hudson's Bay blanket and most people just aren't that impressed with that stuff. (They would rather have liquor and cigarettes from the duty free, I say that, if you're a traveller, just so you know.) Especially the leader of the free world. Like he's seen a lot of this stuff already. Maple syrup is no big whoop to him at all.

Stephen will keep on trying though. Count on that.

I am even awkward on the internet

Doesn't it seem like everyone on the internet knows each other?

Case in point:
You read someone's Blog post, and the comments always seem so familiar. Despite the seeming familiarity and out of a desperate need to "fit in", I chime in with my "witty" comment and then hit post and read it and surrounded by everyone else's funny and appropriate comments, mine, which seemed really funny at the time I wrote it in the typepad box, now seems not very funny and weirdly inappropriate. And I imagine the other commenters who really are all friends are reading it thinking "who is this suburby chick and why does she leave such weird comments?"

Plus what is it with being taken off someone's blogroll!

That has happened to me a lot. And I will tell you this -- it feeds right into my Imposter Syndrome problem. RIGHT INTO IT.

I have been taken off more Blogrolls than I have been put on.

Thanks a lot, Al Gore. Thank you very much.