Just one more, and then I swear, that's it.

Now I've seen everything:

A few feet away, a small group burst into hymns, singing the traditional song, "How Great Thou Art," as Richard Jacobson, of Corning, N.Y., accompanied them on a tarnished trumpet.

Jacobson, who has been playing religious and patriotic music outside the hospice for the past three days, said he didn't really believe that Terri was dead.

"I'm not believing the report of man," the bearded man said. "God will raise her from the dead, and all the world will see it."

I'm sorry, I must have missed the memo or something. Next thing you know, They will be pressing for sainthood.

May Terri Schiavo rest in peace and be free from the circus surrounding the last 15 years of her life. Enough already.

House of D

Last night, I went to what’s known as a “word-of-mouth” screening to promote David Duchovny’s writing and directing debut, House of D.

House of D is short for “Women’s House of Detention,” a women’s prison smack dab in the middle of Greenwich Village, which becomes somewhat of a pivotal and mythical place for the movie’s main character.

It’s a story of a young boy and the bittersweet experiences that turn him into a man. It’s a story of how friendships change, how decisions we make affect our lives, and how the different paths we take affect those whom we love.

The movie stars a brilliant young actor named Anton Yelchin, who plays 13-year-old Tom Warshaw. (David Duchovny plays the adult Tom Warshaw.) Robin Williams, his daughter Zelda, Tea Leoni and – my favorite – Erykah Badu also have major roles in this film, but I have to say that Yelchin is the one to watch. He’s magnetic. His acting is honest and nowhere near the schmaltzy precociousness of typical "Hollywood" child actors. His complete internalizing of the Tom Warshaw character makes you forget that he was only 13 when they shot this movie.

After the movie, Duchovny spoke to the crowd, answering our various questions. Very cool. He’s pretty funny – he has that dry sense of humor that I love oh so much. Needless to say, I was very impressed with Duchovny’s first major motion picture. It's been a while since a movie allowed me to feel a wide spectrum of emotion like that. There were some parts of the movie that just resonated with me on a personal level. For me to give specifics just wouldn't even begin to do the movie justice.

Watch for it. It comes out in New York and Los Angeles in select theatres on April 15, and then in ten cities (SF being one of them), and then nationwide some time after that.

I'm going to Hell for this one, I know it.

But I can't help it. It's funny as all hell. Check it out. Whoever thought of this is one twisted mafaka.

Thanks to Scaramouche for the link.

Oy vey.

I read a few things last week that got me thinking about politics in our country and how screwed up things have gotten since Bush took office. Mark Morford’s article, and Bill Moyer’s essay on political religion and its effects on the environment brought upon me this impending sense of doom, and I don't quite know what to do about it.

In a nutshell, the evangelicals believe in this idea of “The Rapture,” in which Israel will again occupy the rest of its biblical lands, unconverted Jews will burn, and the Messiah will return to earth. Supposedly the evangelicals – and those of their ilk – will be saved, and will be seated at the right hand of God. Now mind you, the plot of “The Rapture” per se doesn’t appear in the bible, but some believe that it is a hidden code in the Book of Revelation.

These are the same people that take a wholly literal approach to the bible. God forbid he/she made us in his/her own image, yet endowed us with brains incapable of interpreting allegory and metaphor. These are the same people that think that man truly has “dominion over ... every living thing that moves upon the earth.”

What keeps me up at night is the notion – nay, the reality – that these people have the current administration by the nut sack. It makes me nostalgic for the days when the GOP was all about Big Business.

Everything we’ve seen in the news lately has been motivated by these interests: The battle against gay marriage; the war in Iraq; impending drilling in the Alaska National Wildlife Refuge; the Schiavo drama; the FCC fight against Janet Jackson’s nipple.

Maybe it’s because of things going on in my personal life, but I’ve been thinking a lot about religion lately. For me, my religion is a very private thing, and I wouldn’t dream of pushing my beliefs on anyone else. However, that’s exactly what these people are doing. Everything they touch becomes perverted. Dirty. Twisted. And they use religion to further this hate-filled agenda of theirs into the very fiber of our government. I’m Catholic, and through all my years of catechism, I learned that God = Love. What god do these people believe in? I refuse to believe we’re talking about the same one.

And I don’t know what to do anymore. Things just look so bleak to me. And we have three more years with this guy. Will we, as a nation, survive The Bush Years, or will we go out in a blaze of unfettered, self-righteous, hate-filled glory?

Got a felony? Have a reality show!

Lizzie Grubman – the founder and owner of New York-based Lizzie Grubman PR – has a new reality show. If you don’t know who she is, she’s the person that, in 2001, was accused of allegedly plowing into people at a Long Island nightclub with her SUV.

And now she has her own reality show. Now, I realize this might sound like sour grapes coming from me - ask me if I care - but I’ve pretty much become bitter toward the entire PR industry after the experiences I’ve had trying to land a job in it. And the fact that Grubman is now on the brink of what could be a hit TV show is just a kick in the nut.

The funny thing about American celebrity is that people can become famous for any reason. Talent isn’t necessarily required; people only need to be good looking and mediocre, at best, at whatever they do in order to get noticed. Need an example? Kato Kaelin minus the “good looking” part. Jennifer Love Hewitt. Paris Hilton.

I rest my case.

Grubman may be a decent publicist – she lists Tara Reid, Ja Rule and Jay-Z as some of her notable clients – but I’m not buying it. I predict that enrollment numbers in PR-focused degrees are going to surge upward among college-aged women. Especially on the East Coast. Thanks to Samantha Jones in “Sex and the City,” the perception that the PR industry is all glam and ritz and hob-nobbing with celebrities and going to VIP parties is going to be all the more glamorized. It’s not. It’s a pretty cutthroat business in which anything the client says, goes. You’re a salesperson, selling your client’s “story” to any media that will listen to what you have to say. You’re a slave to the whims of your client, regardless of whether or not that move is strategic or not. The client wants media clips, you get them media clips, even though you think they should focus more on getting their executives more industry exposure. Whatever the client wants, the client gets.

I’m not working in the PR industry, and I think I’ve finally come to a place where I’m happy that I’m not. I’ve seen the toll PR agency life has taken on my friends and fellow classmates. I’ve been treated poorly by PR agencies during my post-grad school job hunt. Will I watch “Power Girls”? Probably. I have no sympathy for Lizzie Grubman and her new fame, although there is a part of me that can’t help but admire the fact that she was able to pull off the greatest image makeovers I’ve seen in a while.

A message from Diva Bunny and me

Diva Bunny, on my behalf, would like to wish you a Happy Easter/Vernal Equinox/Persian New Year/whatever.

I, on the other hand, am trying to wake up (it's 11:23 a.m. on Sunday), as I had to go to the Salubong and Easter sunrise mass this morning. Going out to dinner with some friends in the East Bay tonight. Yum.

In the Red

Not to gross you out or anything, but I'm riding the cotton pony this week. And I hate it, because for the week and a half preceding this event, I develop these crazy, overly specific food cravings. This month was the worst, because I craved nothing but crunchy cheesy poofs.

Yes, this month I became Cartman. Like "Red Dragon," except without the harelip and the all the killing and stuff.

I don't think there was ever a time period before surfing the crimson wave that I ever actually craved anything healthy. Oh no. God forbid that happens. All the ladies, if you feel me, help me sing it out. Here's a list of just some of the things I've craved over the last few months. And this is just stuff that I just had to have. And each month, it's always just one particular thing. And I have to have this thing at least once every day.

• Hostess cupcakes (the orange ones)
• Crunchy fast food chicken sandwiches (I normally HATE these)
• Chocolate (typical, I know)
• Steak (medium rare, rib eye)
• Twix (caramel, never peanut butter)
• Pearl/Bubble/Boba tea (taro flavor)
• Peanut butter (Laura Scudder's reduced fat "natural style")
• Ice cream (Breyer's natural vanilla with real vanilla bean specks)
• Buffalo wings (mild, with extra bleu cheese dressing)
• Carnitas burritos from La Morena (with black beans)
• Oreos (regular, not double stuffed, dipped in black coffee)
• Salt & vinegar potato chips

Oh, to be a woman.

Heads up, L.A.!

/>

Beat Junkies

Somebody hug me.

I don’t even know what else I can say to express how unhappy I am at this administration and its policies, and how deep a mess they’ve gotten this country into that – to quote a friend – even a high colonic couldn’t shake it free.

Dubya has a dirty little secret. Back in 1999, not-my-president signed what’s called the “Texas futile care law,” which says that doctors in Texas can overrule a family’s wishes to end a patient's life support if they deem any such treatment would be “futile.” However, as a compromise, doctors would have to give the family at least ten days notice before doing so to allow families to find alternative treatment facilities that will agree to continue the patient’s care. Last week, a six-month-old baby in Texas died when doctors removed his feeding tube against his mother’s wishes. Fourty newborn ICUs rejected requests by Wanda Hudson, the baby’s mother. Where was Congress in all of this? Where were the pro-lifers? Where were the MSM cameras?

Then there’s Cheney, who mocked Kerry during the election for suggesting that we take a more "strategic" and "sensitive" approach to the war in Iraq. Now, Cheney's flip-flopping: "If we are going to be successful long-term in the war on terror and in the broader objective of promoting freedom and democracy in that part of the world, we have to get the public diplomacy piece of it right," Cheney says. "Up until now, that has been a very weak part of our arsenal." Duh!

Seriously, I hate this administration because of the amount of anger they manage to arouse in me on a daily basis. Hold me.

Waiting to Exhale

So Dad's surgery went very well yesterday, and the neuroradiologist was "very pleased" with how things turned out. He may be coming home tonight, if all goes well.

Thanks so much for the good thoughts. I really appreciate it.

By the way, I am a real twisted individual, because I've been entertaining thoughts lately of the "wouldn't it be cool if I could date Dad's neuroradiologist?" variety. I mean, think about it, the guy's like, a miracle worker, he's super intelligent, is local, and probably works so much that he doesn't even have a girlfriend yet.

But then again, he's Asian, and I can't get past the "we're probably related" thing. So there goes that idea. Let alone the whole ethics issue.

If the Terri Schiavo case has taught me anything it's this: Get an Advance Directive. In writing.

By the way, "schiavo" in Italian means "slave."

Hmmm....

I don't like Mondays

Tomorrow is Dad's surgery. It's an elective surgery, non-emergency, but still. He's pretty nervous about it, as am I. I'm trying not to think about it. Things will go fine, I have a feeling. It's the uncertainty of things, and the anxiety beforehand that puts my acid reflux on blast mode.

Today's a lazy Sunday afternoon. I don't want to do anything but watch Food Network and eat my cheese and crackers. And that's just what I intend to do.

But I thought I'd stop by here first and say hi. Hope you're all doing well.

Diva Bunny

This is supposed to be the third and final pic in my "Return of the Bunnies" post.

Look at the head turn. Just like Mariah. Wouldn't take my celery this morning either. Such a diva.

Ninja Bunny

Screw it, I'll just put these up until I figure out the right code thingy. This is supposed to be the second picture. Sorry it's blurry --- or is it? Maybe it's moving so fast, its image can't be captured by my earthly digital camera.

Return of the Bunnies

Before I begin: This is an entry in progress. I am having a hard time publishing the two subsequent pictures within this same journal entry. I'm putting in the tag that Blogger suggests, but it's just not working. I keep getting some error that says:

Your HTML cannot be accepted: Closing tag has no matching opening tag:

Whatever the hell that means. If any of y'all can help me out, I'd be much obliged. You're really missing out on the cuteness. Thanks.

*****
After a brief five-day hiatus, my favorite bunny came back to my yard with his pal in tow. No, it's not a shadow. To my delight, they let me photograph them during their breakfast.

[the damn "Ninja Bunny" picture is supposed to go here]

I had to take a picture of the black bunny while I could. I call him "Ninja Bunny," because he's never around, or maybe he his but I never see him.

After I snapped that photo, I turned my attention back to the brown bunny, who I noticed was starting to hop in my general direction. And it wasn't stopping. I convinced myself not to run away this time. This bunny was being braver than usual today - maybe because he had his homie with him. So I had to take advantage of the moment. Check out the cuteness:

[and "Diva Bunny" goes here]

I can't decide whether to name this one Aggro Bunny, because it's so totally unafraid of me sometimes, or Diva Bunny, because maybe he/she ran up to me to have its photo taken. Notice how its head is turned just so, enabling me to capture its good side. How Mariah Scarey of it.

Free Fiona

If you're like me, you've been wondering whatever happened to Fiona Apple. The tiny little songstress with the smokey eyes and waifish posture has been incognito for eons. I remember her cute little rant during the MTV video awards. I remember her you-should-feel-somewhat-guilty-for-being-turned-on-by-this video for "Criminal."

Anyway. So Mark Morford, my favorite columnist and honorary owner of one of my ovaries, has the scoop here. Apparently Sony shelved her latest oeuvre - Extraordinary Machine - created two years ago because there wasn't a "hit." Not "radio friendly." Nevermind that it quite possibly may be, oh, I don't know --- artistic?

Apparently this album of Fiona's is out on the internet, available for download somewhere. I haven't gotten around to downloading it yet, but I'm gonna. Because to me, Fiona is the consummate artist. She writes, she plays the piano, she's moody, she's quirky, she's just ... real. And I miss her.

I could go off about how big record label conglomerates are effectively watering down artistic talent to its most accessible, its most mediocre forms. But I won't. You all know that already.

If you see me at a club/bar, just tell me "no."

I hate myself right now, because during my Saturday night drunken binge, I managed to freeload about a million cigarettes from my smoker friends.

Call it what you want: denial, self loathing, delusion. I’ve never used the label “smoker” to describe my habit, because I don’t normally go out and buy cigarettes. My occasional downward spirals usually begin with me starting out at a party, bored. I bum a cig off a friend. I smoke it. I start drinking. I bum more cigs off people – even complete strangers – and smoke them. Smoking’s a disgusting habit, I know this. Couple that with the fact that I’m drunk and begging. Strangers. For cigarettes.

That’s how I was Saturday night. Sunday morning, the self-flagellation process began: My day started with a nasty-ass taste in my mouth, my hair stank like smoke, my teeth a nasty yellow. I also found two huge, unpopped blisters on my pinky toes from my too-cute-yet-uncomfy BCBG slides. The two months since my last cig-binge had been squeaky clean livin’: I was kicking ass with the cardio, I was feeling my lung capacity swell. Sunday morning, I felt like Hagzilla.

At that same party, an acquaintance of mine, who is going through a 12-step program to stop drinking, tightly clutched his six-month sobriety chip. He made it through the night without giving into his demons. Why couldn’t I do the same?

Then today, during my dad’s follow-up appointment, we learned that he needs to go back into the hospital to be re-treated. And here I am, playing Russian Roulette with my lungs, when the man I love so dearly is about to have another procedure done that can save his life.

I need to try harder.

Pimpin' Ain't Easy

I'm gonna keep things light for today's post because I went drinking last night and I'm in detox mode. Found this picture on Raven's Rage and thought it was funny as hell. Just had to share it with y'all. Have a fun rest of the weekend.

I'm so excited I could scream!

My best best best best friend that I've known since junior high has started her own blog. Please show her some blogosphere lovin' and leave a comment or sixty.

eSchmarmony Redux

Man, I'm convinced that eHarmony is a bunch of bullshit.

Tonight, I checked my email, and I was somewhat relieved to find out that I now had FIVE matches.

Out of curiosity, I put in my account number so that I could view photos, etc. First of all, they try to get you to buy a year's subscription that's like, $300 or something. But if you scroll down, you can find the cheapest plan, a month-to-monther for $49.95. Then they auto-renew you for $39.95 every month after that, which you can opt-out of.

So I go to check my matches and their pictures. Whaddaya know. They're ALL "Asian/Pacific Islander." I don't remember checking a box during the questionnaireathon that said what ethnic preference I'd like my future soulmate to be.

Now, here's one thing about me you don't know: I typically shy away from dating Asian guys. Not because I think they're not hot (I mean, Russell Wong, need I say more), but it just weirds me out. Especially dating another Filipino guy. I mean, that's like dating your own cousin. Blech.

Apparently the folks at eHarmony think differently. And now that I think about it, I don't ever remember seeing any mixed-race couples on their commercials. Hmmm ...

Needless to say, I cancelled on that shit. You have seven days within which you can cancel your account and never be charged. It's part of their "risk-free guarantee." BUT - as Part Two, you have to call their 800-number between 8 a.m. - 6 p.m. PST in order to get some cancellation number. And THEN your account is cancelled. Ugh.

Let us all pause now, for a moment of cuteness.

My neighbors have two rabbits that they let roam free in their front yard. They've done such a horrible job with their landscaping (a porch swing, tiny waterfall, cinder blocks and Xmas lights, someone needs to call Queer Eye on their ass) that the rabbits aren't even trying to chill there. Like they wouldn't be caught dead in that tacky front yard.

Almost every morning, this one rabbit hangs out in my front yard, nibbling on grass. Sometimes, it'll be with its buddy, the other rabbit, just hangin' out, enjoying the morning, greeting me before I go to work and what not.

Just recently I started feeding them. I give them the lettuce and snap peas and carrots that I should be eating. One day I walked over to this rabbit with a handful of lettuce and carrots, and instead of getting scared, it ran toward me. I'm such a wuss; I got scared, dropped the veggies on the ground, and ran back to the front door. Cute lil' thing must have been starving, because it tore that salad up. When it comes to veggies, rabbits don't play.

Anyway, I took a picture of today's morning feeding, because I wanted to share. Awww.

eHarmony, eSchmarmony.

I must be bored, because I filled out that eHarmony questionnaire. I've been seeing a lot of their commercials on TV lately, and I have tried the online-personal-ad-thing before, so I was curious to find out what exactly makes them so different.

Fourty freakin' minutes later - I swear their questionnaire is super long - I have come to the conclusion that the folks at eHarmony are a bunch of right-wing evangelicals. Or something. Like the eHarmony people and the people who think they can turn you from being gay through prayer all go to the same tea parties.

Why do I feel this way? Three reasons:
1. In the drop-down menu where it asks you to identify yourself and what you're seeking, the choices are "man seeking woman" and "woman seeking man." Only. I mean, I'm straight, but shouldn't gays and trannies be able to get them some eHarmony love too?
2. After you're about 82% into the questionnaireathon, they explicitly state that eHarmony "does not provide matching services for people who are separated but still married."
3. The overabundance of "my faith is important to me" questions.

I guess that helps weed out the extramarital-affair seekers, but whatever.

So after all that rigamarole of self-evaluation and soul searching, I got three matches. THREE. That's THREE people eHarmony says are good matches for me. What the fuck? How am I supposed to interpret that?

One of them I suspect is some recent immigrant with bad English; either that or he's a horrible speller which, in this medium, speaks volumes and is a total turn-off. The second one, I don't even remember anything about him that stood out, really, except that I would have to cross a $3 toll bridge if I ever wanted to drive to where he lives. And I'm a cheap bastard, I won't let my FasTrack balance diminish for just any fool. The third one had a Harley. Needless to say, I didn't read any further.

And I didn't get to see any pictures, because you have to pay to see those.

Part of me wants to say "screw eHarmony," but seeing all their lovey-dovey TV ads, all my friends getting married, and the overabundance of married people writing blogs these days kinda gets one thinking ...

Always look for the silver lining

So my iPod froze this morning, and I was freaking out. Luckily, I work near an Apple store, so I went down there to make an appointment with one of their "geniuses" (read: Tech Support).

Got it fixed. Turns out all it needed was to be reset. I had coincidentally skipped over that little detail in the manual.

Anyway. So I'm back at my desk now, eating my pb & j sandwich with salty potato chips, thinking, "damn, I'd really love a Diet Coke right now."

Our soda machine was out of them yesterday.

Then - just as I was thinking that, one of my co-workers comes by my cube.

"Hey Mags, do you want a Diet Coke, by chance? I have an extra."

My new favorite reality show

Did anyone check out the newest reality show, "The Contender" tonight?

If you've never heard of it, here's the rub: The format is the same as most reality shows, in that contestants are divided into two teams (East Coast vs. West Coast, how's that for built-in drama) that compete in team vs. team challenges. The winning team gets to choose a team member to fight in that episode's boxing match. The fighter from the winning team also gets to choose who he wants to fight from the losing team. Whoever wins the boxing match stays in the game; the loser goes home.

Tonight's fight was between Alfonso Gomez vs. Peter Manfredo. Gomez was the total underdog, and he chose to fight Manfredo, the most experienced boxer on the other team. Manfredo's record was 21-0. Undefeated. Everyone was surprised by Gomez' choice, but his confidence that he was going to emerge the winner was infectious, so sincere - you couldn't help but root for the guy.

Gomez beat him in five rounds. I swear to Jah, it was the most exciting, blood-pumping, fist-throwing, super-hyped reality show I'd ever seen. I had my hands to my face the entire time. I even got on all fours on my bed during the last round to watch the TV because I didn't want to miss one second.

I'm not even a boxing fan. I don't like watching people fight. I mean, the last boxing match I saw was that one where Tyson bit off Holyfield's ear. And I even missed that (I looked away to get a drink of water or something). I think the object of the "game" is to land as many punches as you can on your opponent's body, but it all happens so fast that it's kind of hard to count.

But the Gomez/Manfredo fight was easy enough to follow. The drama was fucking great - the underdog vs. the champ.

Okay. I need to calm down. That was such a great show. I hope I remember to tune in next week, because it's seriously that exciting.

Sylvester Stallone (he's one of the show's executive producers) mentioned on the Howard Stern show this morning that something bad happens to one of the contestants. I don't know if I want to type it here because I don't want to blab, but I'll tell you if you want. But it's DRAMA.

Seriously, check out this show next Monday night. I've seen "Survivor," and I'm a fan of "The Apprentice," but "The Contender" is just raw, emotional, frightening, and way exciting.

Coffee, tea or ... poop?

I work in the coffee and tea business. And in the course of my stay at the wonderful company I work for, I have learned more than I ever thought there was to know about coffee and tea.

For example.

Have any of you heard of Kopi Luwak? It’s pretty much regular coffee, but its infamy lies in how the beans are processed. In a nutshell, there’s this animal (the luwak) in Sumatra that likes to eat very ripe coffee berries. Seeds and all. (It’s the seeds of the coffee berry that we call the “bean.”) The seeds pass through the luwak’s digestive tract and are excreted out. Ever-resourceful hunter/gatherers then scope out the discarded seeds, wash, roast, grind, and infuse them with hot water. Sounds enticing? You sicko. Read more here. Surprisingly – or maybe not – this coffee is reported to cost $300 per pound.

How anyone could make the intellectual leap from picking out coffee beans out of animal shit and then making a drink out of them is just ... yuck. Does not compute.

Anyhoo, Kopi Luwak inspired me to write a limerick about it. Like to hear it, here it go:

Ode to Kopi Luwak
Now why does this coffee taste odd?
What magic lies in these small pods?
Some say its great flavor
Is something they savor
Strong and earthy, reminiscent of sod

“The beans are not mixed with the dung.”
This notion is simply far flung
I don’t care what you say
It comes out the same way
None of this will be touching my tongue

Pride goeth before the fall

With this weekend being one of the nicest weekends ever - weatherwise - I figured I should get out there and do something. So I decided to wash my car. Not only wash it, but wax it, too. I'm so butch sometimes.

So. I go to the garage and get all my car-cleaning gear: the soft washing cloth, the big soft brush for the wheels, soap, bucket, wheel-grease-taker-outer chemical spray thingy, Armor-all car wipes, Windex car wipes, dry towels.

I'm a woman on a mission, I thought, as I lugged out all this stuff to the front porch. The soap bucket filled with thick, massive, marshmallow-fluff-like froth as I shot water into it from the garden hose. I'm thinking I'm going to do the best car wash job ever, that I'm going to take my time and enjoy this nice weather. Get into every crack and crevice. For once, I thought, I will be washing my car in the sun, rather than the foggy mess that is usually the norm. This car was going to be clean, dammit. Pro style.

I giggle to myself as I walk to my car with soap bucket and washcloth in hand. Since it was such a nice day today, I was wearing super short shorts (the kind I don't dare wear out in public, but I didn't care, it was hot), a tiny t-shirt and flip flops. Hair tossed in a half ponytail, half bun-like creation. I looked like an extra in a bad Mariah Carey sexploitation video - the outtakes. But whatever - I was all proud of myself, because instead of my usual Sunday afternoon laziness, I was actually going to embark on a somewhat productive venture and hopefully get a little bit of exercise out of it as well.

Feeling good, feeling great. And then.

I look over to my car - my pride and joy - my first real "adult" purchase. What do I see?

"Wash me" scrawled in the dust and grime of my car's hood.

Oh HELL no.

I mean, "wash me" is something you write on the back of a dirty ass station wagon or a chester molester white van, not the "poor-man's BMW," by god. Not MY car, dammit. Hands off! I know it's dirty! I'm about to clean it, can't you see? Damn!

I couldn't wipe the smirk off my face as I hosed that sucker down.

Creating Beauty

Image courtesy of Hang Nguyen Copyright, Hang Nguyen

***

My cousin's friend, Hang Nguyen, painted that. Loving it.

I have such great admiration for artistic people. I don't know what it is - maybe it's because I was never that great with crayons and coloring books as a kid that I have this deep-rooted awe for people who can render a decent image and bring it to life. That's gotta be it. I mean, with their hands and minds, artists create works that invite people to visualize the world around them through their own gaze. This view provides a different perspective of life that can often times amuse, enrage, or inspire.

Or maybe art is just pretty things to look at?

I don't know. Whatever. I'm not going to even try to be an art critic or anything with this blog entry. I don't even own a black turtleneck. Okay, I'm lying. But my point is, there are so many nice things to look at in this world (and I dont' mean that chick you saw at the grocery store) that maybe we just have to stop for a minute. And take it in. Or maybe ... participate.

Let me explain. Each of us has the capacity to create beauty. Whether it be through painting, music, the written word, wood carving, macaroni necklaces, whatever - this capacity to create beauty is inside us. Imagine what the world would be like if we all focused on creating beauty, rather than chaos.

Have a beautiful weekend, everybody.

So. Anyway.

What are you guys doing this weekend? Anything interesting? I think I may have a date, but he did the whole "I'll call you this week to set it up," and I haven't heard anything. And it's already Friday.

Whatever.

And don't tell me I have to read "He's Just Not That Into You." I already know: Don't waste the pretty. I think the weather will actually be nice (e.g. no rain), so even if the date doesn't pan out, I'm going to get out and do stuff.

Anyway, leave me a comment or fifty, letting me know what interesting weekend plans you have.

Shout outs

What a lovely little blogging world we live in. As I continue to surf through the multitude of Internet Voices yearning to be free, there are a few that I find myself coming back to over and over again, for various reasons. Feel free to check them out. Word.

• One Child Left Behind: Aside from the fact that we're the same age, he's a Capricorn AND born in the year of the rat, I love his writing style. He's almost as ovary worthy as Mark Morford although a) hees vife vood be very angry, and b) I only have two ovaries.
• What's Wrong With...: A fresh perspective from across the pond.
• T&A: Two girls from SoCal who sound like the kind of chicks I like to hang with. They're witty, ascerbic, and way sarcastic. I love it. One of them is trying to quit smoking, and I feel like I'm drawn to her saga.
• Coroner Stories: This site appeals to my morbid fascination with forensics and my obsession with "Silence of the Lambs." It rubs the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again.
• Regurgitated News: All the wit of John Stewart, except available way before my bedtime.
• Guns N' Baddus: I added this guy to my favorites on the strength of one entry alone - his retelling of his dream about God. Funny as all hell. Ah, if only I had more ovaries...

Wednesday Morning Cognitive Dissonance

So Bill Gates received honorary knighthood status from Queen Elizabeth today.

I can only think - and the article confirms my suspicion - that this honor was spurred on by the philanthropic works of the Gates Foundation. Well, I guess I could see that. But seriously. Bill Gates, knight commander of the British empire?

A few former presidents (Bush the Elder and Reagan) and Colin Powell have previously received this honorary knighthood. But Bob Hope? Elton John? Bob Geldolf? Can we say 'PR move'?

For all you in SoCal

If you're in the L.A. area on March 12 and are looking for something to do, check out Nightlife, featuring the World Famous Beat Junkies.

Wrote a song about it, like to hear it, here it go...

I've always wanted to be in a band. Maybe it's because I seek approval from throngs of adoring fans. Maybe I have this creative spirit inside me that is yearning to come out. Or maybe it's because if I were in a band, all these hot guy fans would throw their boxers/boxer briefs/tightey whiteys up at me on stage. I always pictured myself as either the lead singer, or the bass player, or the drummer. Chick drummers are badass.

Anyway, I'm not in a band. None of my friends are in bands. I never went to school with anyone who wanted to start one. All my friends were forced to take piano lessons, like I was. So growing up, the rebellious nature in us didn't force us to pick an instrument and get out all our frustrations through song. We, rebellious nerds that we were, played tennis.

Yawn.

In college, I started to compile a list of great names for bands - if I were to start one. Various computers and laptops later, that list is gone. And I can only remember two names from the list:

• Cigarillo y Los Hag Nasties
• Suburbia

This guy I dated had these two awesome ones that I will never forget:

• Pap Smirnoff
• Laughterbirth

Even if I'm not in a band, half of the fun is making up names for hypothetical bands.

Now for the interactive segment of the blog:

What are some cool band names you've come up with? Please, do tell.