"I can't understand Antonio Banderas unless he's playing a cat," I said to my husband when he suggested we rent the movie "The Code."
"But I like caper films," he said through a stuffed up nose. Hubby had a cold, so I let him win this round. It was a victory we both regretted.
This 2009 straight to video release is a steaming turd of a film. (Hey,this is my third excrement reference in two weeks. Why the obsession? Could it be the milk thistle I've been taking?)
The plot was weak, the pace was agonizingly slow but it was Banderas' performance which was truly astounding. For 70% of the film he was unintelligible.
Here's us for two hours: "What did he say?" "Something about diamonds." "Go back a few frames." "Did he say he was from Miami or is he talking about his mommy?"
How is it possible that an actor who has starred in American films since the early '90's still is virtually incomprehensible?
Put Banderas, Charo and Penelope Cruz in a movie together and my head would explode.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
Frampton Came Alive
I used one of my many showbiz connections to score some free tickets to see Peter Frampton last night. The seats were tremendous: 10th row, center section, on the aisle. The place was packed... but since it was packed with a lot of middle-aged folks with weak bladders and growing prostates, the aisle seat may not have been the best seat after all. Folks on the aisle stood up quite frequently to let the other concert goers head to the bathroom.
Like millions of other Americans, I was a huge fan of Frampton back in the '70's but, until last night, I had never seen him perform. I heard him perform once. A few years ago, he headlined a free 4th of July concert close to where we live but it was so crowded we couldn't get near the stage. It's difficult to enjoy live music when you're sitting on a lawn chair, surrounded by goose poop and you can't see the performers. Turned out to be a perfect view for fireworks, however.
When I told folks I was going to see Frampton they immediately started with the insults. "Will he have that "wah wah wah wah wah thingie?" "You know, he's bald now." "Does he use a walker?" Yes. Who cares? Seriously?
Why do people feel the need to mock Peter Frampton? Are they still so jealous of his former golden locks and shirtless Rolling Stones' covers that they willingly ignore his superb musicianship three decades later?
Hubby and I were both truly blown away by his performance. Frampton is a phenomenal guitar player and completely underrated as a composer. At age 11, I was too pop-centric to notice the jazz and blues influence in his music. At age 44, I am thoroughly impressed.
Anybody who thinks Frampton is an oldies act is sadly mistaken. Yes, he plays his hits-- with a hint of self-deprecation-- but the show isn't just about the past. It's about where he is now and where he is heading in the future. It's about his obvious love of music.
Frampton's agency, William Morris, needs to do a better job of selling him to a new generation. There's no reason Carlos Santana is held up as an icon while Peter Frampton is the butt of jokes. One strategic placement on a soundtrack, careful pairing with a "hot young musician" or performance on a high profile awards show can put all the "wah wah wah wah wah thingie" talk to rest.
It was a live performance album which originally rocketed him to stardom. Perhaps it will be his current live performances which gain him the respect he so richly deserves.
Like millions of other Americans, I was a huge fan of Frampton back in the '70's but, until last night, I had never seen him perform. I heard him perform once. A few years ago, he headlined a free 4th of July concert close to where we live but it was so crowded we couldn't get near the stage. It's difficult to enjoy live music when you're sitting on a lawn chair, surrounded by goose poop and you can't see the performers. Turned out to be a perfect view for fireworks, however.
When I told folks I was going to see Frampton they immediately started with the insults. "Will he have that "wah wah wah wah wah thingie?" "You know, he's bald now." "Does he use a walker?" Yes. Who cares? Seriously?
Why do people feel the need to mock Peter Frampton? Are they still so jealous of his former golden locks and shirtless Rolling Stones' covers that they willingly ignore his superb musicianship three decades later?
Hubby and I were both truly blown away by his performance. Frampton is a phenomenal guitar player and completely underrated as a composer. At age 11, I was too pop-centric to notice the jazz and blues influence in his music. At age 44, I am thoroughly impressed.
Anybody who thinks Frampton is an oldies act is sadly mistaken. Yes, he plays his hits-- with a hint of self-deprecation-- but the show isn't just about the past. It's about where he is now and where he is heading in the future. It's about his obvious love of music.
Frampton's agency, William Morris, needs to do a better job of selling him to a new generation. There's no reason Carlos Santana is held up as an icon while Peter Frampton is the butt of jokes. One strategic placement on a soundtrack, careful pairing with a "hot young musician" or performance on a high profile awards show can put all the "wah wah wah wah wah thingie" talk to rest.
It was a live performance album which originally rocketed him to stardom. Perhaps it will be his current live performances which gain him the respect he so richly deserves.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
They Say It's My Birthday...
When you're born on August 27 and you grow up in an unairconditioned row home, birthdays are torture for both you and your guests.
As you can see from the homemade sign, I'm blowing out the candles on my 10th birthday. The year is 1975, which explains my Shaun Cassidy haircut.
Today is my 44th birthday. Tonight I'm going to see Peter Frampton, a man I deeply loved in 1976. (By then I was sporting the Dorothy Hamill look.)
When I was 10, I was thrilled to be getting older. Now, not so much.
As you can see from the homemade sign, I'm blowing out the candles on my 10th birthday. The year is 1975, which explains my Shaun Cassidy haircut.
Today is my 44th birthday. Tonight I'm going to see Peter Frampton, a man I deeply loved in 1976. (By then I was sporting the Dorothy Hamill look.)
When I was 10, I was thrilled to be getting older. Now, not so much.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
The Lion Of The Senate
When I tell people I'm a Kennedy liberal, I am, of course, referring to JFK and not Teddy. John F. was downright Reagan-esque compared to his baby brother.
I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I spoke ill of him while he was alive so I think it's cosmically and comically acceptable. To me, Ted was the Jimmy Osmond of the Kennedy clan because everybody would rather be hanging out with his older brothers.
Inexplicably, Senator Kennedy spent five decades raiding the Senate mini-bar yet his political career should have been over the minute he left Mary Jo Kopechne at the bottom of the Chappaquiddick. The so called "champion of the little man" instead, used his money, fame and connections to avoid jail time.
To this day, his defenders claim he was not drunk when driving his car that night. Odd, since he appears to have been drunk every day since.
Since his passing, we've been reminded repeatedly that Universal Health Care was a dream of Senator Kennedy, but Universal Health Care would not have helped Mary Jo. Perhaps she would have been better served by a "Cash For Clunkers" program. At least then somebody would have looked inside the car.
Tonight, all Americans should toast the Lion Of The Senate by drinking a Jager Bomb. It's the perfect cocktail because because you drop a shot into a glass of Red Bull and leave it there.
I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I spoke ill of him while he was alive so I think it's cosmically and comically acceptable. To me, Ted was the Jimmy Osmond of the Kennedy clan because everybody would rather be hanging out with his older brothers.
Inexplicably, Senator Kennedy spent five decades raiding the Senate mini-bar yet his political career should have been over the minute he left Mary Jo Kopechne at the bottom of the Chappaquiddick. The so called "champion of the little man" instead, used his money, fame and connections to avoid jail time.
To this day, his defenders claim he was not drunk when driving his car that night. Odd, since he appears to have been drunk every day since.
Since his passing, we've been reminded repeatedly that Universal Health Care was a dream of Senator Kennedy, but Universal Health Care would not have helped Mary Jo. Perhaps she would have been better served by a "Cash For Clunkers" program. At least then somebody would have looked inside the car.
Tonight, all Americans should toast the Lion Of The Senate by drinking a Jager Bomb. It's the perfect cocktail because because you drop a shot into a glass of Red Bull and leave it there.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Home Again
I ate very little today, slept quite a bit, forgot to unpack my suitcase, made a necessary trip to the supermarket and tried to workout but quit after a two-mile walk.
Obviously, I need a recovery day to recover from my recovery day.
I'm tired. For weeks, my husband has been urging me to get my thyroid checked so, earlier today, I ordered an at-home test from Amazon. Normally, I would attribute fatigue and mild crankiness to stress but stress doesn't explain my oddly low body temperature. At times it dips below 96. That's close to hypothermia!
I also have low blood pressure. The other day it was 94 over 60. I know I can be a shock comic but I'd hate to be a comic who goes into shock.
I sure hope it's a thyroid problem. If, for no other reason, I'd have an excuse for my ever expanding ass. But, mostly because, I don't feel like going through a battery of tests to find out if there's anything wrong with me.
In the meantime, I'll just keep a sweater handy, try not to stand up too fast and take lots of naps.
Oh dear Lord, I've become a senior citizen. No wonder I love playing the nickel slots!
Obviously, I need a recovery day to recover from my recovery day.
I'm tired. For weeks, my husband has been urging me to get my thyroid checked so, earlier today, I ordered an at-home test from Amazon. Normally, I would attribute fatigue and mild crankiness to stress but stress doesn't explain my oddly low body temperature. At times it dips below 96. That's close to hypothermia!
I also have low blood pressure. The other day it was 94 over 60. I know I can be a shock comic but I'd hate to be a comic who goes into shock.
I sure hope it's a thyroid problem. If, for no other reason, I'd have an excuse for my ever expanding ass. But, mostly because, I don't feel like going through a battery of tests to find out if there's anything wrong with me.
In the meantime, I'll just keep a sweater handy, try not to stand up too fast and take lots of naps.
Oh dear Lord, I've become a senior citizen. No wonder I love playing the nickel slots!
Monday, August 24, 2009
Michael McDonald Plus Three
After flying into Philly International from Vegas, I found myself standing next to Michael McDonald at baggage claim. Instead of merely asking the Doobie Brother for a photo, I chose instead to snap a photo surreptitiously as he signed autographs for other, and might I add ruder, fans.
After taking several shots of my luggage, the floor and the back of his head, I finally landed this monstrosity.
I look like I was standing next to Michael McDonald in heaven.
I guess I should give up my dream of joining the paparazzi.
Since hubby was retrieving the car, I called him on the cell to brag about my brush with greatness. He asked, "Which Michael McDonald?"
You see, in the comedy world, we have three of our own Michael McDonalds to choose from.
There's the Canadian Mike MacDonald...
... the Boston Mike McDonald...
... and the MADTV Michael McDonald.
It turns out the musical Michael McDonald was in town for an appearance on QVC tomorrow night. I don't know where the other M&M's will be appearing.
After taking several shots of my luggage, the floor and the back of his head, I finally landed this monstrosity.
I look like I was standing next to Michael McDonald in heaven.
I guess I should give up my dream of joining the paparazzi.
Since hubby was retrieving the car, I called him on the cell to brag about my brush with greatness. He asked, "Which Michael McDonald?"
You see, in the comedy world, we have three of our own Michael McDonalds to choose from.
There's the Canadian Mike MacDonald...
... the Boston Mike McDonald...
... and the MADTV Michael McDonald.
It turns out the musical Michael McDonald was in town for an appearance on QVC tomorrow night. I don't know where the other M&M's will be appearing.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Coyote Ugly
As we were sitting on my dad's lanai, swinging on my dad's swing and drinking my dad's booze, I saw what I thought was a stray dog crossing the street. When I saw a second one, I realized we were witnessing the sunset snack run of the coyote.
It's no surprise they would be near my dad's house. His property has more bunnies than the Playboy mansion.
My husband, who strongly believes curiosity trumps danger, immediately jumped off the swing, hopped over the lanai wall and followed the vicious beasts as they rounded the corner. That's where he came face to face with the third coyote who was defecating on the sidewalk.
Of course, he did what any male would do in that situation: he ran inside and got the camera. He then proudly exclaimed, "That's four minute old coyote poop!"
I apologize if you're reading this while eating breakfast.
A few minutes later, hubby decided we should take a walk, which didn't sound smart considering there was a half-pack of coyotes nearby. But, I had already consumed two glasses of wine, so I was up for anything.
Along the way, we saw this incredible blue streak in the sky.
Then I almost stepped on a frog.
I love Arizona.
It's no surprise they would be near my dad's house. His property has more bunnies than the Playboy mansion.
My husband, who strongly believes curiosity trumps danger, immediately jumped off the swing, hopped over the lanai wall and followed the vicious beasts as they rounded the corner. That's where he came face to face with the third coyote who was defecating on the sidewalk.
Of course, he did what any male would do in that situation: he ran inside and got the camera. He then proudly exclaimed, "That's four minute old coyote poop!"
I apologize if you're reading this while eating breakfast.
A few minutes later, hubby decided we should take a walk, which didn't sound smart considering there was a half-pack of coyotes nearby. But, I had already consumed two glasses of wine, so I was up for anything.
Along the way, we saw this incredible blue streak in the sky.
Then I almost stepped on a frog.
I love Arizona.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Ode To Joy
This morning, my friend, Joy Little, matriarch of the Comedy Works in Philadelphia, lost her battle with pancreatic cancer. Since I am in Phoenix visiting my father, I won't be able to attend her funeral on Friday. Joy would be the first person to tell me to stay with my dad.
Joy was not my best friend. We didn't spend holidays at each other's homes or vacation together as a family or even meet regularly for dinner. But we were the kind of friends who could tell each other anything and often did.
If another person asked me, "How are you?" I would simply say, "I'm fine." But if Joy asked me the same question, I would tell her the truth. I couldn't help myself.
Even if I hadn't seen her in six months, the flood gates would open as soon as she inquired about my life. Words would start leaping from my body as if they were excited to see her.
If Joy were in law enforcement and I were a criminal, I would have confessed even before she had the chance to read me my rights. I was always grateful she used her power over me for good and not evil.
I often wondered why Joy had this affect on me. I used to think it was because she didn't have a mean bone, cell or molecule in her body. I knew in my heart that anything said between us would always remain that way.
But, in the weeks since she became ill, I've finally realized that Joy Little reminds me of my mother. And, just like my mother, she's leaving us much too soon.
When I saw Joy in the hospital, she allowed me to tuck her in. As I sat by her bed and held her hand, she closed her eyes and said, "I wish this would go away." I said, "I wish it would go away too." I didn't know what else to say.
For the first time in Joy's presence, I was speechless. Yes, I realized, with that one sentence, I was speaking the complete truth.
I kissed her forehead knowing it might be the last time I would ever see her. As I said goodbye, I think I was also saying goodbye, once again, to my own mother.
I don't believe in angels, but I do hope that somewhere in the universe, good spirits live on. But, I guess, in a way, they do. Good people continue to live on through those of us they left behind.
Whenever I've done a good deed for an animal or a child or a stranger, I would think of my mom. Now I'll think of Joy as well.
Joy was not my best friend. We didn't spend holidays at each other's homes or vacation together as a family or even meet regularly for dinner. But we were the kind of friends who could tell each other anything and often did.
If another person asked me, "How are you?" I would simply say, "I'm fine." But if Joy asked me the same question, I would tell her the truth. I couldn't help myself.
Even if I hadn't seen her in six months, the flood gates would open as soon as she inquired about my life. Words would start leaping from my body as if they were excited to see her.
If Joy were in law enforcement and I were a criminal, I would have confessed even before she had the chance to read me my rights. I was always grateful she used her power over me for good and not evil.
I often wondered why Joy had this affect on me. I used to think it was because she didn't have a mean bone, cell or molecule in her body. I knew in my heart that anything said between us would always remain that way.
But, in the weeks since she became ill, I've finally realized that Joy Little reminds me of my mother. And, just like my mother, she's leaving us much too soon.
When I saw Joy in the hospital, she allowed me to tuck her in. As I sat by her bed and held her hand, she closed her eyes and said, "I wish this would go away." I said, "I wish it would go away too." I didn't know what else to say.
For the first time in Joy's presence, I was speechless. Yes, I realized, with that one sentence, I was speaking the complete truth.
I kissed her forehead knowing it might be the last time I would ever see her. As I said goodbye, I think I was also saying goodbye, once again, to my own mother.
I don't believe in angels, but I do hope that somewhere in the universe, good spirits live on. But, I guess, in a way, they do. Good people continue to live on through those of us they left behind.
Whenever I've done a good deed for an animal or a child or a stranger, I would think of my mom. Now I'll think of Joy as well.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Vegas, Baby! 4
This is the third Dick's Butts ashtray I've bought in Vegas over the past few years. The previous two each met their death while falling off our toilet tank. This one will be kept in a much safer place. No, I don't smoke but the immature side of me thinks Dick's Butts is hilllllllarious.
On Friday night, we hopped over to my least favorite casino, Circus Circus, to have a late night drink at the Carousel Bar made famous by Hunter S. Thompson in "Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas." Fans of the author may recall the "scene" where he and the 400-lb. Samoan sat at this very spot and tripped their already drug-addled brains out.
Circus Circus is the only casino in Las Vegas where you can still trip over children at 1 AM. Although, I do enjoy their free circus acts. To this day, I have still not laughed as hard as I did when I saw two poodles get married. The look on the canine groom's face was priceless.
Two more shows tonight, bringing the total to 14. Tomorrow we head to Phoenix to spend the week with my dad.
On Friday night, we hopped over to my least favorite casino, Circus Circus, to have a late night drink at the Carousel Bar made famous by Hunter S. Thompson in "Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas." Fans of the author may recall the "scene" where he and the 400-lb. Samoan sat at this very spot and tripped their already drug-addled brains out.
Circus Circus is the only casino in Las Vegas where you can still trip over children at 1 AM. Although, I do enjoy their free circus acts. To this day, I have still not laughed as hard as I did when I saw two poodles get married. The look on the canine groom's face was priceless.
Two more shows tonight, bringing the total to 14. Tomorrow we head to Phoenix to spend the week with my dad.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Vegas, Baby! 2
Only in post-racial America, could Smokey Robinson presenting four Australian white dudes be billed as the Ultimate Celebration of the Motown Sound. The show is running at the Imperial Palace which is the ultimate celebration of Asian culture.
The Mirage has its exploding volcanoes, TI has its sultry Sirens but the Bellagio may have created the ultimate free outdoor show. I call this The Fountain Hunks of The Bellagio. It has it all! Buff men in tank tops performing menial labor keeps both mom and dad happy. Plus the kids love the boats.
The Mirage has its exploding volcanoes, TI has its sultry Sirens but the Bellagio may have created the ultimate free outdoor show. I call this The Fountain Hunks of The Bellagio. It has it all! Buff men in tank tops performing menial labor keeps both mom and dad happy. Plus the kids love the boats.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Rejected Us Weekly Fashion Police Jokes 26
I have been a Top Cop for Us Weekly's Fashion Police since 2001. (Why do men always call it "U.S." Weekly even when they see it spelled with a big "U" and a small "s"?)
Some weeks many of my jokes are published while other weeks I have to settle for just one or two. Below is a partial list of comments that never made it to the newsstand.
Note: The ones marked "Accepted" are my comments that got in. The ones marked "Rejected" are the ones that didn't.
Selena Gomez
Accepted: Hey Cindy Lauper, there's a new girl who wants to have fun.
Rejected: Somebody needs to text her about her texture.
Rachel Bilson
Accepted: The Miami Vice look never goes out of style. Oh, wait, yes it does.
Rejected: Winner of the Mylar Challenge.
Kelly Clarkson
Accepted: Behold the human Muppet!
Rejected: From K-Mart's Janis Joplin Collection.
Some weeks many of my jokes are published while other weeks I have to settle for just one or two. Below is a partial list of comments that never made it to the newsstand.
Note: The ones marked "Accepted" are my comments that got in. The ones marked "Rejected" are the ones that didn't.
Selena Gomez
Accepted: Hey Cindy Lauper, there's a new girl who wants to have fun.
Rejected: Somebody needs to text her about her texture.
Rachel Bilson
Accepted: The Miami Vice look never goes out of style. Oh, wait, yes it does.
Rejected: Winner of the Mylar Challenge.
Kelly Clarkson
Accepted: Behold the human Muppet!
Rejected: From K-Mart's Janis Joplin Collection.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Phils 3, Rockies 1
Just hours ago, at Citizens Bank Park, I had the great misfortune of sitting next to a child who would have rather have been doing anything... anything... than sitting where he was sitting at Citizens Bank Park... which happened to be next to me... in a $50 seat.
Imagine hearing the following for two straight innings. Also try to imagine being kicked after every sixth word. At one point, I turned to my husband and whispered, "If he kicks me one more time, I'm going to break his little foot. So, if you hear a snap, followed by screaming, you'll know what happened."
"Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Lommy. Lommy. Lommy. When is the silly green monster coming back out? When is the silly green monster coming back ooooooooouuuuuutttt? When is the silly green monster coming back ooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuttttttttttttt? I I I I I ... I... I... I I I I I I I I I need ice cream. I NEED ice cream! Mommy. Lommy. Mommy. This place is loud. Next time I don't want to go to the place that has baseball. No. Nooooooo. Noooooooo!"
His blabbering was only interrupted briefly by mom pleading, "Please don't kick the lady" or dad reluctantly adding, "Hey buddy, look down there at all the players."
Finally, mom took him away. Dad followed after mom gave him several dirty looks.
They returned, but only briefly. Apparently, purchasing the tyke his very own silly, green monster-- aka, The Philly Phanatic-- didn't make him happy like they had hoped. I heard mom say, "We're leaving for good this time."
As they should! I do feel bad for parents when their children disappoint them. Their fun day at the ballpark turned into a giant pain in the ass.
But they were right not to inflict the whiny one on the rest of us for any longer than necessary. Sure he ruined 2 1/2 innings for me but it could have been the entire game.
Afterwards, I felt sort of bad for threatening to go all Tony Soprano on a preschooler. But perhaps mom overheard me and that's the only reason they left.
Imagine hearing the following for two straight innings. Also try to imagine being kicked after every sixth word. At one point, I turned to my husband and whispered, "If he kicks me one more time, I'm going to break his little foot. So, if you hear a snap, followed by screaming, you'll know what happened."
"Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Lommy. Lommy. Lommy. When is the silly green monster coming back out? When is the silly green monster coming back ooooooooouuuuuutttt? When is the silly green monster coming back ooooooooooooouuuuuuuuuttttttttttttt? I I I I I ... I... I... I I I I I I I I I need ice cream. I NEED ice cream! Mommy. Lommy. Mommy. This place is loud. Next time I don't want to go to the place that has baseball. No. Nooooooo. Noooooooo!"
His blabbering was only interrupted briefly by mom pleading, "Please don't kick the lady" or dad reluctantly adding, "Hey buddy, look down there at all the players."
Finally, mom took him away. Dad followed after mom gave him several dirty looks.
They returned, but only briefly. Apparently, purchasing the tyke his very own silly, green monster-- aka, The Philly Phanatic-- didn't make him happy like they had hoped. I heard mom say, "We're leaving for good this time."
As they should! I do feel bad for parents when their children disappoint them. Their fun day at the ballpark turned into a giant pain in the ass.
But they were right not to inflict the whiny one on the rest of us for any longer than necessary. Sure he ruined 2 1/2 innings for me but it could have been the entire game.
Afterwards, I felt sort of bad for threatening to go all Tony Soprano on a preschooler. But perhaps mom overheard me and that's the only reason they left.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Children Are Bad For Your Bank Account
Yesterday, we discovered that children are bad for the environment. Today, we learn that the little bastards are bad for your bank account as well.
I grew up in a two-bedroom rowhome. Three kids slept in one room: my brother and I were in bunkbeds on one side and my sister had a single bed on the other side. It wasn't Angela's Ashes but our folks certainly didn't spend the equivalent of one thousand dollars per kid per month on housing. I don't think my entire neighborhood combined spent that much money on housing. Beer, yes. Housing, no way.
Child care was provided by grandma. Food was inexpensive because mom knew how to cook. Plus my parents weren't afraid that saying no to me ten thousand times before my 4th birthday would damage my self-esteem.
Pardon my cynicism, but is this the USDA's Center for Nutrition Policy and Promotion's subtle way of discouraging our citizens from burping out babies? Aside from giving parents who were stupid enough to procreate something else to complain about at the next BBQ, what purpose does this report really serve?
Now, instead of having real children, I'm just going to have two pretend children and spend a half a million dollars on myself between now and 2026. Oh yeah, my pretend children are twins.
A government report released Tuesday says a middle-income family with a child born last year will spend about $221,000 raising that child through age 17.A thousand dollars per month?! Does that include the bottles of Pinot Noir mommy drinks to get through the day? Mommy juice adds up if you don't buy by the case.
The report by the USDA's Center for Nutrition Policy and Promotion identified housing as the largest single expense, followed by food and child care/education costs.Housing?! Since when are kids getting their own houses? I've never seen MTV's Cribs. Is it really about... cribs?
I grew up in a two-bedroom rowhome. Three kids slept in one room: my brother and I were in bunkbeds on one side and my sister had a single bed on the other side. It wasn't Angela's Ashes but our folks certainly didn't spend the equivalent of one thousand dollars per kid per month on housing. I don't think my entire neighborhood combined spent that much money on housing. Beer, yes. Housing, no way.
Child care was provided by grandma. Food was inexpensive because mom knew how to cook. Plus my parents weren't afraid that saying no to me ten thousand times before my 4th birthday would damage my self-esteem.
Pardon my cynicism, but is this the USDA's Center for Nutrition Policy and Promotion's subtle way of discouraging our citizens from burping out babies? Aside from giving parents who were stupid enough to procreate something else to complain about at the next BBQ, what purpose does this report really serve?
Now, instead of having real children, I'm just going to have two pretend children and spend a half a million dollars on myself between now and 2026. Oh yeah, my pretend children are twins.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Children Are Bad For The Environment
Never invite an environmentalist to a baby shower. I can guarantee you'll get a craptastic gift... and a lecture.
But, maybe they have a point. Can you imagine the carbon footprint of the Duggars? With 18 kids... and counting... Jim Bob and Michelle just might be solely responsible for the destruction of our planet. Plus the father really loves hairspray! Get the pitchforks and torches, Ma! We're heading to Arkansas! We're gonna save us some Earth!
Why not just institute the Cash For Kids Program and get it over with? Trade in your biological kid for a hybrid vehicle and get up to $4,500 back on qualifying toddlers.
It was bad enough when Man was ruining the planet but it's hard to sit by quietly and watch babies take the rap.
For people who are looking for ways to reduce their "carbon footprint," here's one radical idea that could have a big long-term impact, some scientists say: Have fewer kids.The only time the words "carbon footprint" and "kid" should be used in the same sentence is when a father says to his son, "Kid, if you don't mow the lawn right now, I'm going to put my carbon footprint up your ass."
A study by statisticians at Oregon State University concluded that in the United States, the carbon legacy and greenhouse gas impact of an extra child is almost 20 times more important than some of the other environment-friendly practices people might employ during their entire lives - things like driving a high mileage car, recycling, or using energy-efficient appliances and light bulbs.
Reproductive choices haven't gained as much attention in the consideration of human impact to the Earth, Murtaugh said. When an individual produces a child - and that child potentially produces more descendants in the future - the effect on the environment can be many times the impact produced by a person during their lifetime.With a current Science Czar who digs eugenics and sterilization I can only assume that reproductive choices will soon gain the attention these loons so deeply desire.
But, maybe they have a point. Can you imagine the carbon footprint of the Duggars? With 18 kids... and counting... Jim Bob and Michelle just might be solely responsible for the destruction of our planet. Plus the father really loves hairspray! Get the pitchforks and torches, Ma! We're heading to Arkansas! We're gonna save us some Earth!
Why not just institute the Cash For Kids Program and get it over with? Trade in your biological kid for a hybrid vehicle and get up to $4,500 back on qualifying toddlers.
It was bad enough when Man was ruining the planet but it's hard to sit by quietly and watch babies take the rap.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Lying About: Standup Episode 3 "Funny People"
We weren't planning on shooting another Lying About episode so soon, but then we went to see Judd Apatow's new movie, "Funny People." Warning: In our latest Recline-O-Cast, I use a naughty word. It's not the "F" word but it certainly isn't work friendly.
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