The Big Madonna Gun Controversy

and no, I'm not talking about weapons

Okay, so I open up a new page on Safari, and on Netscape's home page there's this big ole to-do about Madonna's arms. "Has she gone too far?" the headline reads.

YIKES!! I'd say, yes. WTF?!

You know the older she's gotten--with all the tightening of her face and the hollowing of her cheeks--the more she's started to look like Waylon Flowers' puppet, Madame. You remember them?

Or maybe it's Mrs. Chancellor from The Young and the Restless.

Either way. DAMN! Get a grip, Madge. You're almost 51. It ain't the end of the world. Give them guns a rest. And eat a hoagie while you're at it.

KA-CHUNK!!!!

or why I'll never be a successful knife thrower in the circus

Okay, so I'll admit it. I have a love/hate affair going on with my Santoku knife.

It is hands down (no pun intended) the GREATEST knife on this entire blue planet! Seriously. It's the only knife anyone ever needs. It's completely flat on the bottom so you can effortlessly chop through a line of veggies in no time flat. It makes cutting food a true joy. Look at how pretty it is. I LOVE IT!!

It also has a tendency to attack me.

No shit. I have more than one scar on my hand to attest to the occasional evil nature of my beloved blade.

Case in point... let us revisit last night, shall we. I had spiral cut a pineapple using a handy-dandy pineapple spiral cutting thingie to take along to Girl Fest at the Lake* this weekend. (This is a trip to Lake Erie me and my card club gal pals take every July. Loads of sun, fun and various alcoholic endeavors. Hey, we're girls...it's what we do.) As is illustrated in the photo, one is left with all the pineapple hugging the corer thingie in need of cutting off. I made the first cut... no problem. Spun the fruit a quarter turn and ... Ka CHUNK!!

My Santoku went rabid and attempted to chop my knuckle off!?! Seriously. Almost CHOPPED..IT..OFF!!

At first there was nothing. No pain. No blood. Then Holy CRAP! It hurt like a Son of a Bee-yatch. Blood was pouring forth like a burst pipe. For a moment I thought I'd hit an artery, but there are no arteries in fingers, right? It bleed through one bandage, then a second. When I finally got it wrapped sufficiently to stop making everything in site red, my first thought was "This is why Geo cringes when I wield a knife."

At least I didn't get any of my DNA in the fruit. I mean I love my girlfriends, but there are some things that just don't need to be shared.

Oh Santoku. Why you be hating on me so?

Yeah. Clearly I won't be joining the circus as a knife thrower any time soon.

Rhett on WAGA

This tour is taking it's toll on his voice. Still he gives it his all.

Yeah...I love him.

What's In Your Mole Skin?

or random tidbits from a fractured mind committed to scraps of paper scattered around the room, in pockets, in books...

Okay, so I'll admit I'm not the best housekeeper..HAHAHahahaha!! Even I couldn't say that with a straight face.

I am the WORST housekeeper. For real. I...HATE...TO...CLEAN!! Now that's not to say I don't like a clean house. I do. I just stink at the actual act of sanitizing. I can alwaysalwaysALWAYS find an excuse to get out of the tedious task.

That said...

I was cleaning our bedroom (yeah, how about that?) when I ran across all of these little strips of paper with random thoughts, observations and ideas for this here blog or my facebook/twitter status. The worst is when I'm in the car. I scribble all sorts of things... band names, new songs, vacation ideas...on whatever writing receptacle may be at hand. Odd how I seem to get the most inspiration while driving and unable to write things at length, because of the whole having-to-pay-attention-to-the-road thing. In classic Murray fashion, I put them on my dresser to wither and die a long, painful death without using their inspiring words in an attempt to entertain.

Some of them are actually amusing. Let's take a look-see at the pile o' scraps...

First up: Sodomy J. Balltickle

Ah, yes. That was a fantastic made-up bawdy name uttered by Jon Stewart about ... oh, six months ago!?! (You see how I keep things? It's an illness in need of a 12-step program)

Moving on:

Here's a sheet with four completely unrelated scribbles.

A list of the four words in the English language ending in "dous". Do you know what they are? Here's a hint: one of them is hazardous.

Metafilter.com and CocktailsandCocks.com (which I actually did talk about, I believe. Website K-Schnikes recommended.)

But wait, there's more on this sheet: SXSW (3/12-21) Music Badge $550 thru 9/26

And lastly, a note about writing about all my scraps of paper, etc...fittingly scribbled on this scrap of paper.

*Pineapple sage ? (I guess I saw it in someone's garden. Don't know if I want it for ours or...what.)

Don Tetto (Columbian on Myspace) and Birds on Wales* (I believe these are bands from this year's SXSW found on a blog which I found interesting at the time. Have I looked them up on MySpace...NO!)

Salim Nourallah "Constellation" new CD "So Down" "The World is Full of People" (The fabulous producer of Rhett's latest has music of his own worth a listen. Have I purchased them on iTunes...again, NO!)

Criminal Mimes Cerebral Flatulence Beer Bong Buoy ?? (Oh wait! A guy at work gave me these for my list of punk-rock band names, which I haven't added to the list. go figure.)

A sad note about my elderly neighbor who passed away. Aw. I'm going to have to actually write about that later.

Two Twitter Very Short Story ideas:

1. The interviewer asked "Where do you see yourself in 5 yrs?" The Reaper raised his boney finger to his chin, paused and said "Management".

2. The Career Counselor said, "So..your job just isn't satisfying anymore." Across the table the Reaper nodded.

The Weiner family: Peter, Fonda, Ivana, Ima, Iva, Harry and Eaton

And lastly:

"They're so fat, they won't stay wrapped... We're not talking about our waitresses." (An actual conversation in reference to a ginormous sandwich wrap we bought at the cafeteria. Thought that would make a great slogan for sub shop.)

This plethora of posthumous papyrus brings me to my next point. You may have picked up on the fact I belly ache about stupid crap. My latest being a lament about never having paper around when I need it. Enter Geo, my lovely, pragmatic and ever loving, patient hubby with a solution. A Mole Skin notebook made famous by the likes of Ernest Hemingway and other notable authors.

Excellent!

It's small enough to carry in my purse allowing me to jot at will anytime, anywhere keeping my ideas corralled in one place between the covers of its lovely leather binding. So...is this successful? Let's see what's in my Mole Skin, shall we?

Well, there are actually a half dozen pages of blog/status blurbs which were posted. Not bad. There are set lists from three Old 97's/Rhett Miller shows this summer. And then the back portion is filled with lists of Bands/songs I heard on the radio and books to borrow from the library. Oooo, hey! There's a gift card stuffed in here, too! Bonus!

So I guess the Mole Skin experiment is working out okay.

Now if I can only figure out how keep a pen around...

Friday Photo #28

Ummmmm.....Thanks?

And Then There Was One...

My Father's sister passed away over the weekend. Aunt Helen was infirm and had been in a combination of retirement homes and nursing homes over the last four years. She was wheelchair bound, mainly because she refused to get out of it and walk around. In the end, I believe she had had enough, stopped eating and set her sites on dying. 

She married, but never had children. She was close to her younger sister, Rita and her children. She used to be close with all of us, but that was a longer time ago. Aunt Helen was always a lot of fun when we were growing up. She always had the snazziest cars--one of her big ole Chryslers had that classic, thin chrome steering wheel and a push-button transmission on the dash. One of her cars was Pepto Bismal pink. She was Cool.

And she always made the best cookies for holidays or events. Hundreds of them. The delicious, tedious ones which had to be patiently rolled or wrapped. Yum!

She was full of piss and vinegar, as the saying goes. She was lively and loud. She'd bust into our house unannounced all the time and stir things up...mostly in a good way. I loved it. I'm a huge fan of the drop in still. Sometimes she'd get in a "spirited debate" with my Dad, but mostly she brought life and laughter. 

A couple of summers I stayed with her for a week or so when I was 12 and 13. We'd go shopping, get ice cream, drive around. For some reason she had no eyebrows. I was fascinated watching her draw on her arcs one at a time every morning. (Weird what sticks with you) At night she'd tell me stories about the family. I really enjoyed the one-on-one time.

Then something, unknown to us to this day, changed for her. She became sour, angry and unable to reconcile the demons in her past. She became very difficult to be around. The negativity ate away at her. Maybe that's what happens when you get older. You dwell on the regrets and not the positives. I hope not. Judging by Aunt Helen's later life, it's a horrible way to live. 

I hope she's happier now. 

There were seven siblings...now there's just one. 

There will always only be one Aunt Helen. I will forever remember her the way she is in this photo. All duded up. A cocktail in one hand. Cigarette in the other. Full of life and spirited. 

May she rest in peace.

WTF?!?! 

or Holy Crap! Is that a Giant Squid?

Seriously. That's a giant squid. A cephalopod the size of a pre-teen. Multitudes of them. Off the coast of San Diego. Attacking divers. Check out these teeth! They have teeth. Did you know they had teeth? I didn't know they had teeth. 

Ouch!! Them choppers are U-G-L-Y. 

Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Squid. Did I say ugly...I meant utterly sharp and pointy and...a lovely shade of yellow. ha ha ha. Please don't eat me or bitch slap me with those bad-ass tentacles. *whimper*

No, this is not a newly penned, hideous, low-ball "When Calamari Attack" reality-type show on Fox either. Apparently massive numbers of the Humboldt sea monster traveled north from Mexico to dick with divers off the sandy shores of San Diego. 

Some marine biologists believe they headed north due to a recent earthquake screwing with their sonar. Others think the surly cephalopods were just chasing a food trail. Or maybe they heard so many good things about this week's Comic-Con, they decided to see for themselves.

But, Dude, fair warning. If the Chuck panel is full, for the love of all that is holy, let them have your seat. You don't want to get between them and their favorite characters. Things get nasty when they get cranky.

Here's a video of some crazy chick who got manhandled by one of the beasts...and is heading out for more. Clearly, she's a slow learner.

Bastardized Friday Photo #27

in which I realize the origins of my 10-year-old boy humor 

Okay, so growing up my Dad LOVED Dean Martin. He claimed there was some sort of family connection with Dino...he was a Godfather or cousin or ... whatever. I can't really remember. Whether their was truth to this claim, I have no idea. But my Dad believed it to be so and told whoever would listen that Dino was part of our family.

My Dad never missed an episode of Matt Helm or Dean's weekly variety show. I have to admit, I dig Dino, too. Always have. Who could resist his cooler than cool charm...smoldering cigarette in one hand, ice cubes in his glass of amber colored liquor musically tinkling in the other while he crooned a tune in his silky-smooth, velvety voice. And he didn't take himself seriously.

So I'm over at my friends' house today and lo and behold, they have 10 episodes of the Dean Martin Show. We popped one in to view. Supposedly pretty much everything was off the cuff. No rehearsal. Dean would just show up, be fed a couple lines to use during his bits with the guests (Jimmy Stewart, Dom DeLuise, Orson Wells, George Gobel) and then he'd just wing it. 

As Seinfeld's Banya would say, "That's Gold, Jerry. Gold!!" 

It was hilarious! You can tell the unscripted bits, because they cracked each other up. Few things are as infectious as performers sincerely laughing at one anothers unexpected come backs. Plus, the double entendres were flying left and right. 

And that's when it hit me. This is where I got my bawdy, off-color, 10-year-old boy sense of humor. From Dino and his pals. I was weaned on this banter. It has served me well. I don't know how much those around me appreciate it... But if they're truly my buds, they get it, too. Right?

Thanks Dino!

Some Friendships Last A Lifetime 

or happy anniversary old chum

Thirty years ago today, on a steamy July morning I stood in a long line for Freshman orientation at a small city college. I was 19, was recently fired from my job and had enrolled in this particular institute of higher learning as a last resort. I knew no one. I was chatting with the girl in front of me when a short, dark-haired, brown-eyed boy named Dennis chimed in on our conversation.

The three of us hung out together throughout the long wait, the mind-numbing orientation in the auditorium and the flavorless institution provided lunch. Honestly, I don't remember the girl, but the boy...he continually made me laugh. He was witty, wry and full of useless little factoids. I would not forget him.

He became my best friend.

At the end of the day, he drove north back to his hometown, but we wrote to each other several times a week. Actual letters. You remember them? Ink on stationery. Envelopes. Stamps. Time lag between the writing of sender and reading by recipient. The anticipation of what treasure may linger behind the rusty metal flap of the mailbox.

By the time we met up again in September, Dennis was tall enough to look me in the eye. Seriously. He grew like... six inches! His parents must have fed him Miracle Gro or some such thing.

In a matter of minutes, we were inseparable.

We've been through a lot wacky antics...student films, plays, road trips, apartment raids (our doing--not the law's), getting busted sneaking into the theater, trolling through burned out buildings, an ill-conceived vintage clothing craze (translation: old crap from the remains of a closed resale shop)...and much more I've forgotten.

My student film acting career is unmercifully preserved on 16mm & video tape. And, no you can't see it. That painful viewing is reserved for close friends only, on a dark summer eve, preferably on a bender.

My roommates and I used to torture poor Denny by turning off the lights and hiding when he went to the bathroom. We'd jump out at him, scaring the figurative crap out of him. He'd end up flailing and screeching much to our twisted, sadistic delight. Ha Ha! Time and time again, he fell for it. We're old now, so I don't think it's wise to leap out of the darkness at him. That would be an awkward 911 call.

Operator: 911. What is your emergency?
Me: Ummm...our friend is passed out.
Operator: How did this happen?
Me: Uh..yeah, funny story. When he went to the bathroom, we sort of hid from him and then jumped out of the dark, yelling tribal screams. His eyes kinda rolled back in his head and he.. crumpled to the floor. (nervous chuckle)
Operator: *silence* What the f*ck is wrong with you people?

See what I mean. Awkward.

Throughout our long history, we supported each other through several misguided relationships, including one ill-fated attempt of our own. Fortunately, we managed to remain the best of friends. No small feat there. We even survived the challenge of distance--Los Angeles and more recently New Zealand. I'm happy to report he and his lovely family are planted a mere mile away.

Through it all Dennis has remained my confidant, my sounding board, my defender, my supporter... my best friend. Always accepting. Never passing judgement. Having Dennis in my life has been a blessing. And not just because he's the only one of my buds sweet enough to come over to my apartment late at night to bake a cake for me to take to my temp job the next morning, all because I was too drunk to function.

He has filled my life with unconditional joy and elan and love and laughter.

And he does silly-ass shit like this in public. How could I not love his company?

Thirty years...

That sounds like such a looooong time. Hell, that's longer than most marriages. But with the right people in your life, years shoot by faster than a gang banger on a drive-by...only with a lot less bloodshed.

So here's to you my long-time compadre. May we be blessed to share thirty more circles around the sun.

I love you, man.

Some Things I Love About Summer

The sun stays out to play for the majority of the day

I have three weeks of vacation in which to enjoy the glorious weather whilst lounging on the deck and socializing

Cooking and eating outside

No socks!!!

Tan lines

Cruising with the top down, tunes cranked to 11, wind in my hair (now if I would only but a convertible-tee hee)

Reruns on TV = freedom to actually watch movies or better yet, hang out with friends

Free concerts (see Rhett Fest)

Summer clothes

Farmers' Market (Helloooooo King Boys! See what I mean here)

Home grown tomatoes

Gobs of backyard mint for fresh-made Mojitos

Girls' weekend at Lake Erie (what happens in Erie, stays in Erie)

Backyard Barbecues

kayaking on the river

Lighter than normal traffic

Listening to the neighbor's kids enjoying themselves playing

Crazy Carnie Ice Cream Truck Man

Using the nice weather and gardening as yet another excuse not to do housework 

Things I Don't Like About Summer...

Absolutely NOTHING 

Okay, so it's not at all funny or illuminating. I did see a great new off-color name in the credits for "Gone Baby Gone"... 

Izzy Straddlin

For real. And there was a guest on our show named Rachelle Rak. So if Rachelle Rak married Izzy Straddlin, she'd be Rachelle Rak Straddlin. 

Alright not the best effort, but worth a chuckle. You can't expect much, cause, you know...it's summer and I'm obviously out on the deck, cranking tunes, chugging home made Mojitos. 

Friday Photo #26

Another sad farewell to one of the good guys 

*Sigh*

Back in the winter when my buddy KJo (whom I still miss every day) left for warmer climates, I wrote how many people have come and gone through the station, but there have been only four whose absence I truly missed. 

Today there are five.

Sonya walked through our doors as a mere pup. She was fresh out of college. She was so young she still had baby fat for God's sake! But from the start there was something special about her. She was vibrant. She was drop-dead gorgeous. She was smart, scary SMART! She has always been a quick study, able to adapt her delivery and mannerisms to match the old pros around her while developing a style of her own. She's got it all.

I should hate her.

But that's impossible. Here's why...like my friend Beets and I, she's one of the guys. She's bawdy, belches and has a finely honed 12-year-old boy sense of humor. How could I not love her. She's one of the most down to earth people with whom I've ever had the pleasure to work. And she's just a kick to be around. Always upbeat even when situations are maddening, she can lift the mood with that big, goofy, lovable laugh of hers.

She brings a positive, youthful energy that's contagious. The newsroom is dimmer when she's on vacation. It's going to be absolutely black now that she's leaving. 

Sonya is heading South for an opportunity which should have been afforded her here...afternoon and evening anchor. I've told her before she's too good for us. Seriously. She's talented enough to be on Network. She's waaaaaay better than any of the chippies on the Early Show. It's great to see a news director finally believes she's ready to run with the big dogs. I just wish it would have been someone here at the Special K. 

Her empty cubicle, like KJo's, will be a sad, daily reminder of the two pieces of our heart lost by short-sighted thinking. But I can't help but be thrilled for her. She'll be living in a happening city, near her sister with her brand-spanking-new niece and finally in the same city as her equally drop-dead gorgeous beau. 

She has the world by the short hairs. This is her time to shine. I have no doubt she will beam brighter than the white-hot Florida summer sun. 

So here's to you, my lovely friend. It has been an absolute pleasure and privilege to work with you and watch you grow professionally as well as personally. May your new life be bursting with elan, love and all the goodness you could ever imagine. You will forever hold a special spot in my heart. 

I miss you already.

Excuses Excuses 

or reasons for my blogging lameness of late 

Okay, so you know how when you decide to start an exercise regimen and you're all gung ho at the start and you get up every morning much earlier than any human with any sense should rise and you dawn your work-out clothes and jump on the treadmill and lift weights and sweat and actually start to feel stronger as the days pass? This lasts about, oh..two to three months. 

Then you go on vacation. 

Kiss of death. And when you come back you just can't seem to get back into the swing of things because on vacation you ate what you wanted, when you wanted, slept in till whenever because you weren't about to get up early to exercise since you were up late socializing over cocktails with friends and family...

Yeah, blogging apparently is like that. For me anyway. 

When I began this ramble-fest last October, it felt like that initial rush of adrenaline you get from the start of an exercise routine, only my writing muscle was the thing being flexed and pumped full of blood. The flood gates of my imagination were flung wide open, and I literally could not sleep in for all the ideas, notions and observations gushing forth. I would wake to postings whispered in my ear from my newly rejuvenated subconscious. 

The effortlessness of the process was incredibly thrilling and satisfying not to mention intoxicating. (Seriously. You should go back to the beginning and read some of the entries. They were much better than this recent lot. Except for Rhett Fest)

Then I went on a "vacation" of sorts. Between physical therapy twice a week (I've got back/hip issues, don't ask.), literally going to the gym and Pilates classes multiple times per week, getting home later from work and making dinner (a task from which Geo reminds me I've also vacationed of late. Okay, he's right on that one, so I can't use that as an excuse..even though I will. Hey, it's my blog.) I've unintentionally taken a break from jotting entertaining tidbits and what have you.

Now my discipline has dissolved. Well is dry. Done. Finished. Finito. The flashing cursor mocks me for the wordless loser I am. Now I hunch over this keyboard, sweaty palms, blank stare, numb mind. Waiting for something ... anything to inspire.    

If only someone would invent a microchip that could be implanted in my head to record my thoughts as they scroll through the wasteland of my mind. That would be so SWEET! Seriously. I can't tell you how many brilliant blog entries have slipped through my figurative fingers while driving for lack of pen and paper... and the whole having-to-drive-with-two-hands thing. Kinda crucial for, you know, surviving travels through the high-speed, urban jungle.

Dear Science Nerds:

Please get on that microchip thingie ASAP. 

Thanks!

Now I have to leave to, you guessed it.. hit the gym yet again. The worst part is the pain hasn't subsided much, and it's not like I'm getting that much more svelte. WTF?

Enough belly-aching and lame excuses. A friend of mine recently pointed out this peculiarity from the "Warnings" posted on the back of every toothpaste tube. 

Wha...?

Okay, first of all...who ingests a bunch of toothpaste on purpose? And second...what the HELL is in this stuff that's so poisonous?!?!?!

Death By Toothpaste. 

Wouldn't that be the lamest demise EVER? 

RIP Michael Jackson 

or enough is enough already! 

Okay, so I know it's not kind to speak ill of the dead, but in my book it's equally wrong to canonize someone who clearly evolved into an unsavory character, just because he died young-ish, unexpectedly and had a bazillion dollars. 

Michael Jackson was laid to rest today in a manner befitting his circus-act of a latter life. He may have physically died last week, but the reality is he died a long time ago, somewhere around the time he decided to mutate from a young, handsome black man to a freakishly pasty-white, Diana Ross wannabe. He only spiraled downward at break-neck speed from there. 

Yes, he made an enormous impact musically... Thriller being the pinnacle of his success and influence in my humble opinion. However, as the years marched on, so did his erratic and bizarre behavior, culminating in charges of child molestation. And that is unforgivable. At the very least those charges are reason enough to eliminate sainthood from his epithet. 

There was something obviously broken about him. He naively or foolishly (call it what you will) surrounded himself with individuals who must have seen his decent and refused to help him. And that is just criminal. You can make all the excuses you want for his aberatted behavior, but the fact remains we all make our own choices in life. He did some pretty twisted shit. He chose poorly and paid the price, scarring a few young souls along the way. 

I chose not to watch his memorial service. I don't believe he deserved the dramatic pounding of chests and ocean of tears shed at his passing. He once was a Pop star of enormous influence and innovation. He had the world in the palm of his hand. That's a fact even one as jaded as I cannot deny. 

He pissed it away.

And that's all I'm going to say about that. 

Avoid This Job 

or helpful guidance from an hilarious blog 

Okay, so you know how I always say Twitter is the biggest time suck and if you aren't on it, for the love all that is Holy... DON'T START!! Well, okay so there are actually some very funny things to be found on there. 

One of them is a blog by a woman named Sarah who goes by thesaltman on Twitter. I suspect she is a writer of some sort being as she is so witty. 

Anywho, her blog is titled avoidthisjob and her mission is to sarcastically skewer Craig's List job postings for their outrageousness. For example, her June 27th job to avoid is a "Sexy Rickshaw Driver Wanted" for a bachelorette gig on July 4th. Applicant must be Sexy overall, have a handsome face, hot body, work shirtless on the holiday in the heat of the midday sun. 

She's much more funny than I can convey. Here's the link. Read her witticisms for yourself.

I may actually start surfing Craig's List want ads. Who knew they were comedy gold.