The Idiot Box.

I am dangerously aware of the fact that I watch entirely too much television. But I have to admit, that some of the greatest life lessons, I have learned from those little 30-60 minute blocks of commercially packaged entertainment. They bring me pure, though transient, joy. And they also provide me with essential survival skills and intuition; such as not to get drunk or have sex on the first night of The Real World (or you will be eternally known as the "alcoholic" or the "slut"), the beautiful melodrama of teenage love triangles, how to find humor in terrible situations which are funny only because they aren't happening to you, becoming a celebrity in three easy steps (1. Be born rich, 2. Make a sex tape, 3. Do something stupid in public and/or in front of a camera), the fact that playing a doctor on TV is much more lucrative than becoming one in reality, and most importantly, that slipping into unconsciousness after a bottle of tequila and a kilo of cocaine is not overdosing, it is "exhaustion," and getting hospitalized is taking a "much needed rest." These are of course the most important, though I have become privy to a slew of such tidbits of knowledge.

All of these benefits considered, I have never once felt like an actual idiot for watching the so-called 'idiot box.' That was until last week, when I experienced the literally mind-numbing premiere of Fox's newest gameshow, Hole in The Wall.

Usually, when I think 'hole in the wall', I think of a small and quaint, no-frills no-fuss bar or cafe; or I think of an actual hole in a wall. Unfortunately, this gameshow has taken the form of the latter.

I will explain the rules, trying desperately to keep a straight face, and retain my own dignity as an American citizen. A foam wall slides towards the contestants, solid except for a human-sized cut-out in a ridiculous pose. Behind said contestant, is a shallow pool. If this person (clad in a shiny, metallic lycra leotard of some sort) is able to fit through the cut-out without getting pushed into the pool, then they win points.

Seriously, that's all there is to the game. And so we once again have another country (Japan, this time) to thank for this American adaptation of absolutely moronic proportions. How many times can you really say "Ha ha he fell in the water," without finally stabbing yourself in the eye.

And my, my how co-host (the always fabulous, though unfortunate) Brooke Burns has fallen. Someone cast this girl in something! Please! She's gorgeous! I honestly can't watch her host another D-list game show!

Witnessing shows like this take prime-time slots on television is a perfect example of why I'm so nervous about the Presidential elections in November. Fox might as well tie a twinkie to the end of a stick, tape the stick to our foreheads, and watch us run around for an hour.



I watch some admittedly stupid things, but come on, even an idiot like me has to draw the line somewhere!

The other white meat.

I stumbled across this lovely delicacy, a recipe once printed in an early 1900's cookbook.

I do not need to exaggerate to say that this is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen printed on paper. Note to self: when in France, eat McDonald's. If you are ever invited to a dinner party, a good test question is whether or not your host knows where to purchase a quality veal brain. If the answer is yes, do not say another word. Simply set your cocktail on a side table, grab your car keys, slip into your coat, and back slowly out the front door.

I am Jack's Words of Wisdom...

**(If you don't know who Jack is, you really need to watch Fight Club)**

Today: Feeling angst, aggression, anxiety for no apparent reason. Maybe it's just Scorpiosity (I'm also in the mood for making up words):

"As the sign associated with sex, death and the Underworld, Scorpio is here to delve beneath the surface of life, discover what is hidden and bring to light what the other signs are too afraid to acknowledge. The ultimate purpose of all that intensity is healing and transformation at the deepest level."

This is what I watch when I feel the need to be inspired...

And/or I am extremely irritated with the world at large...

The following are collective words of wisdom from the greatest modern existentialist of all time (or at least my personal favorite), Chuck Palahniuk/Tyler Durden.

"WARNING: If you are reading this then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second off your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed with authority that you give respect and credence to all that claim it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think every thing you're supposed to think? Buy what you're told to want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity you will become a statistic. You have been warned. This is your life and it's ending one minute at a time. Man, I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war. Our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. We are consumers. We're the bi-products of a lifestyle obsession. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off. You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. Fuck off with your sofa units and lime green stripe patterns. Reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of material possessions.I say never be complete. I say stop being perfect. I say let's evolve, let the chips fall where they may. First you have to give up. First you have to know; not fear, know, that someday you're gonna die. No fear. No distractions. The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide. Without pain, without sacrifice, we would have nothing. It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything. Only after disaster can we be resurrected."

"My eyes are open."

"Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken."

"You wanna make an omelette, you gotta break some eggs."

"The liberator who destroyed my property has realigned my perception."

"Take some responsibility!"

**(Breathe in...Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!!!!! Whew, much better.)**

So that's my problem!

I found an article on sibling birth order and how it affects adulthood and relationships. Being an impatient, shallow reader (that has in the past made my teachers so proud), I skipped directly to the section concerning me. (Me! Me! Me! Can you tell I'm the youngest kid?). The following summary is apparently what happens to the families' last born; a.k.a 'the baby,' a.k.a 'the brat/little monster,' a.k.a the one all the other children hate for at least the first five years.

Disclaimer: "Obviously, there's a danger when it comes to oversimplifying complex human beings into rigid classifications that may or may not apply. But it's also hard to disagree with the idea that the order in which a person is born into a family could impact how he or she relates to the world."

That's a great round-about way of saying 'If we're right then it must be true, and we are extremely intellectual, but if we're wrong, come on, you can't believe everything you read.'


"The Youngest Child

The youngest child is the one most likely to ask, "Why?" This ability to view issues from a critical perspective means they conform less and often come up with creative solutions to problems. One potential drawback is that they've often been cared for by so many people in their life that they can expect others to take responsibility for them. The youngest child is often more outgoing and social, and they'll usually take more risks, meaning that they may get to experience more diverse opportunities than their older siblings."

I interpret 'outgoing' to mean slightly overbearing, loud, and/or moderately insane; 'risks' to mean booze, sex and drugs; and 'diverse opportunities' to mean dozens of unrelated careers. But hey, somewhere in there they slipped in creativity, which in my book outweighs being crazy.

"What this means in a relationship, then, is that the youngest child offers all kinds of fun and excitement. Whether on a first date or in a serious relationship, you can count on a youngest child to find spontaneous, unexpected ways to amp up the excitement. This spontaneity can also lead to potential problems in a relationship, though, since it's not always accompanied by dependency and accountability. Also, those powerful social skills bring all kinds of rewards, but they may not always be used for good; youngest children need to be careful not to abuse those powers by manipulating to get what they want."

Hmmm. 'Spontaneous, unexpected ways to amp up the excitement.' That sounds like wild sex, fighting, or a beautifully orchestrated combination of the two. I would analyze further, but now it just seems irrelevant (please refer to previous statement).

Ah, thank you eloquent sibling observer, now it all makes sense. Not only am I an evil Scorpio, I'm an utterly aloof, irresponsible, untamed manipulator! Sweeeeeet, I should go into politics...or become a telemarketer. The world, she is mine!

Mwahahahahahahahahaaaaaa!!!!!!

Beware future victims (though I guess the politically correct term would be significant others), I may be fun and exciting, but I'm also dangerous. Like eating pop rocks and drinking soda, watching any movie starring Ashton Kutcher, or Camels (the cigarettes and the animal).

Hasta.

I heart Heart.

If during John McCain's Presidential acceptance speech, you didn't...

a) Lapse into a coma

b) Get so irritated with the chants of "U-S-A!" that you moved to another country

c) Mute the television for fear of hearing the words "maverick" or "tortured" for the seven-thousandth time

d) Become hospitalized after your brain spontaneously combusted due to bullsh*t overload

e) Fall into a hypnotic trance listening to McCain's droning monotone

f) Call an exorcist to cleanse your soul after staring too long into Sarah Palin's eyes

g) Develop debilitating arthritis from trying to jot down notes for every time McCain stuttered, lied, twisted the facts, became vague or ambiguous, and made no sense whatsoever

h) Go punch a Republican in the face

i) Turn the channel to something that would not later be deemed a waste of 40 minutes of your life

j) Ask a friend to repeatedly box your ears so you would never have to hear John McCain speak...ever again

k) Take an entire bottle of sleeping pills in the hopes that you would wake up and this will all have been a terrible nightmare

l) Go completely insane and get bussed to an asylum where you are now undergoing shock therapy

m) Run to donate large sums of money to your local senior citizens' nursing home

n) Pledge your life in a blood oath to keep the McCain/Palin ream-team out of the White House

o) Do anything and everything possible with the intention of not seeing the celebration at the conclusion of the Republican National Convention, by any means necessary and no matter what it took, even if it took injuring yourself, others, or setting your own house on fire

...Then you would have missed the song "Barracuda," by Heart, playing in the background as Gov. Sarah Palin and her cohorts took the stage for the theatrical (and stupid) balloon drop finale. The song was chosen in (dis)honor of Palin, who was apparently called "Sarah Barracuda" or "Barracuda Sarah" or some other ridiculous combination of those two words, when she played basketball in High School.

First, let me remind Mrs. Palin, as well as the general public, that she is 44-years-old. When I played basketball in high school, they called me "Silky." Somehow, I feel that is now an inappropriate nickname. In fact, I have to say that most nicknames are inappropriate when you enter in a race TO RUN THE FREAKING COUNTRY. I could really care less what the cool kids called her when she was sixteen, starting her period and discovering boys!

I heard more about this ludicrous "Barracuda" reference, than what the Republican Vice Presidential nominee plans to do if (oh, please no, for the love of God, no!) elected into office.

I personally love Heart, and I was almost more offended by the use (or should I say piracy) of their classic song, than the dozens of distasteful quips and low-brow remarks that were made during Palin's acceptance speech the night before.

And apparently, so was Heart:

"The sister act behind "Barracuda," the song used by the McCain-Palin campaign at the RNC because Palin's old nickname was "Sarah Barracuda," is none too pleased that their pro-woman anthem is being used in this way. Ann and Nancy Wilson of Heart sent a cease and desist letter to the McCain campaign, and since they continued to use the song, Nancy Wilson sent an angry letter to Entertainment Weekly, tearing Sarah Barracuda a new one. "I feel completely f*cked over," said Nancy Wilson, before releasing the following statement: "Sarah Palin's views and values in NO WAY represent us as American women. We ask that our song 'Barracuda' no longer be used to promote her image. The song 'Barracuda' was written in the late 70s as a scathing rant against the soulless, corporate nature of the music business, particularly for women. (The 'barracuda' represented the music business.) While Heart did not and would not authorize the use of their song at the RNC, there's irony in Republican strategists' choice to make use of it there."

Thank you, Ann and Nancy, for challenging 'the maverick reformers," who are apparently too consumed with themselves to respect ownership and licensing rights.

Another beautiful touch of irony, however, is that although Heart has not so subtley requested that their song not be exploited by the Repugs, the lyrics fit just about perfectly with the right-wing campaign:

"You're lying so low in the weeds
I bet you're gonna ambush me
You'd have me down, down, down, down on my knees
Now wouldn't you, Barracuda?
If real thing don't do the trick,
No, you better make up something quick
You gonna burn, burn, burn, burn, burn it to the wick
Ahh, Barra- barracuda!"

Stick to caribou, Sarah, you still aren't Hillary, and even Heart doesn't heart you!


Ahhhhhh! She's gonna eat us all!!! Please don't let me become an ingredient in moose stew!!

Barra-Barracuda!!!!

WTF?

Oh joy, the Republican National Convention...



"Country First"?

Seriously, what does that ridiculous slogan even mean? As opposed to Country Last?? Country Second? Is there some undercover party that has been preaching Country Fifth? Last I checked (which was an hour ago), putting the country first is just about the only thing we all agree upon. What do these GOP meatheads think America wants? We've been asking for Country freaking First all along! These people should have taken the blue pill. Get real.

Why you should have a small dog..

I stumbled across this little gem of genius as I was walking my dog today...

What I'm wondering here is how they determine whether your dog's poop is worth a $25 fine, a $200 fine, or somewhere in between. Is it the size of the poop, the amount of poop, or the messiness of the poop? In my opinion, I'd say diarrhea is definitely a $200 fine, especially if it comes out of a German Shepard. I just feel sorry for the jackass cop who has to respond to a call about unclaimed dog sh*t. I don't know if he weighs it, measures it, or just writes out a citation based on his level of embarrassment. You have to be the station f*ck-all if they send you out to investigate poop. I'd freaking turn in my badge.

I would love to meet anyone who has actually received a ticket for dog crap. I've gotten in trouble for much more ridiculous things, but if an officer seriously wrote me up, I would throw the poop at his windshield.

Also, I never really understood what it means to "curb your dog." Is that like parallel parking? Do I have to back my dog in? Should I put change in the meter?

And how the hell does dog poop contaminate drinking water? Unless my dog is sh*tting in the Brita while I'm asleep, I'm pretty sure my water is just fine. Where do these people get off? Fish piss in the ocean 24 hours a day, alligators and frogs live in lakes, raccoons wash their asses in streams, but somehow my chihuahua's poop in the grass is what makes it into the tap water??

Good grief.