Random Crap N@
or piles 'o shite rambling around my bean

Okay, so here are some random thoughts rattling around my brain.

The Jet Blue steward is my hero. I mean, seriously. Who hasn't wanted to tell off the inhabitants of their professional world in a loud, booming, megaphone voice, chuck their shit out the door (or escape raft, as the case may be) and say "Sayanara, Suckers!!!" with both middle fingers in the air.

Everyone, that's who.

Fucking brilliant!

The story link is here.


Next up, True Blood

Geo and I started watching HBO's Vampires-walk-among-us-without-shirts-on True Blood this year when they repeated the entire series leading up to the third season opener. At first I was on the fence about this program, but the second season got me hooked. Every time LaFayette (by far my favorite twisted character) looks down his long, mascaraed lashes and says to his cousin, Tara "Oh Hooker, please!" it cracks me up. I don't know why. It's just funny to me.

Anywho, it's been so graphically gory of late the title should be True Blood and Guts Galore. Seriously. Every episode lately has been filled with overly gratuitous chunks of flying bloody pulp the size of fists. I find myself uttering, "well...that was disgusting" over and over.

And yet...I keep watching. Hmmm.

Luckily with the extra glop comes an extra Biggie-sized hunk in the form of a new white-knight werewolf, Alcide.

Hubba Hubba Hubba

Be still my beating heart

He's tall, dark, handsome, bearded and shirtless... a lot. Plus, get this-he grew up not far from where I live now. Yep. That studly muffin is a Pittsburgh boy!

Whew! Hand me a cigarette.

Let's move on to Mad Men, shall we.

I've loved this show from the beginning. It beautifully captures the advertising age of the 60s: the style, the feel, the sexual harassment of all things female...

It's one of those shows that reminds one how it used to be. Society is so hell-bent on political correctness that you tend to forget a time when mothers stayed at home and often drank heavily, everyone smoked everywhere, there was a trolley cart of liquor in every office (I feel strongly that this tidbit should be reintroduced to the workforce), people thoughtlessly littered (this actually made me cringe), bosses shagged their secretaries (not yet dubbed administrative assistants) and children were scene, not heard. And good Lord there were no seat belts or bike helmets anywhere.

The show is at it's best when centered around the biz of advertising. We enjoy all the ins and outs of the game more than the soap opera drama of Betty and her bitchiness.

The silver-haired Roger Sterling is hands down my favorite Mad Man. His rich-boy swagger goes down very well with his ever-present scotch, cigarette and irreverent quip. In case you haven't noticed, I've used one of his signature lines as my favorite quote at the top right of this bloggity blog blog. There's definitely not enough Roger for my liking.

By contrast, Don's always been an irresistible dark force of charisma and mystery. The consummate Cad continually unable to resist a role in the sack with the next pretty thing to walk into his eye line, but Holy Crap! Don! Get a grip! You're acting like a crazy horn dawg! Ok, you can have your kinky "slap and not-so-tickle" from the hooker, but that little girl's your niece for eff's sake! Don't you be lusting after her in your big ole baggy boxer shorts. You're making me scream at the TV.

Donny Donny Donny. You need to cut that shit out, brother.

And speaking of boxer shorts, what's with all the whiteys? You're unhitched and shagging hookers now. You could at least wear some funky shorts. You've been to Vegas. Surely they sold boxers with horses or anchors or strippers on them back then. I'm not asking for Sponge Bob Square Pants here.

As for Joan...

Aaaa OOooo Ga!!

Holy Russell Crowe!! I'm not the least bit gay, but even I can't stop ogling her curves. Cowabunga!! And I think those things are REAL, too. I'm so glad she's back in the picture. The show was lacking her Rubenesque imprint.

And one more completely unrelated thing...

Who the HELL can drive 15 mph through an entire neighborhood?!? It's utterly impossible for any human being, okay me, to physically drive 15 for 15 blocks. Cripes, it'll be time to vote for a new president by the time I get to the traffic light!

And that's exactly what I told the Cop when he pulled me over. Okay. I didn't. I made nice-nice, fluttered my lashes and claimed ignorance (which was true for once). I got off with a warning. But seriously! 15 miles per effing hour?!?!? Come on!

So ends the rancid ramblings for the day. Go in peace.