Remembering Why On Memorial Day

Whenever I talk to my dad at all about his time in the Army, at some point he ends up talking about the people he knew when he was stationed overseas, how lucky he was to have been stationed in Germany when so many of his buddies ended up in Korea, and how many of those friends died over there. My father wears hats every day that support our fallen troops. The sadness and vehemence with which he speaks about his fallen comrades, and the way so many people either forget about the folks overseas or confuse disgust with the war with disgust with those fighting the war, breaks my heart.

I hope that we remember (our current administration included) that the fallen have died for this:

not this:

or this:


And regardless what anyone says, although I loved Barbarella, and many people (I think correctly) comment on how much my voice sounds like hers, I really think that Jane Fonda behaved horribly during the Vietnam war. I wonder what she did today...oh, well, she's probably just trying to salvage what's left of her career - you know it's bad when J Lo is the only star you can do your comeback film with.

A (Very) Brief Note On Bloggers Who Don't Offer an Email Addy

You're all a bunch of pussies.

Especially the ones that have political blogs, who expound on all that is just or unjust in the world and try to shake the bloggosphere with their incredible insight and opinions.

Yet they don't offer any email address or contact information. Not even just a gmail address as a catch all. I mean, hell, I hope at some point we get both our share of love and hate mail; that's why I made the email addy at the bottom right(which is just spambot proofed, issall).

I honestly think if you're gonna open your mouth on the net about opinions that might provoke response, you should allow the response to occur. Or hell, maybe, just MAYBE, an internet newsfeed company might be trying to approach you to license your blog but can't contact you because...why?

Because you're a fucking pussy.

American Idolatry

One of my favorite clothing sites, Neighborhoodies, really shocked the hell out of me when I gleefully opened my email to see what cool new logos or fonts they had for sweatshirts or tees. What were they so proud to share? Products based around the winner of American Idol, whatshisname.



Repeat after me: I could give a fuck.

Did I miss something? I know that this is a big deal to some people, but I was thinking it was mainly people who never left their homes or who thought that Survivor was the epitome of important television, or folks who thought that Britney Spears was the best performer to come along since the WB Frog.

I had no idea that this show, which basically mocks everyone who has any hope of ever trying to make it in showbiz - at least, the musical end of it; which celebrates some sniveling Aussie with a horrible attitude and probable Erectile Dysfunction as he insults and demeans wave after wave of people; which gives license to has-been poster-people for lithium and AA to decide the artistic fate of people who are hoping that maybe they might be good at one thing in their life before they go home and stick their head in an oven -- I had no idea that this musical beauty pagent was so popular that a hip business like Neighborhoodies would really waste my mailbox space with this bullshit.

I will continue to shop their merchandise because it rocks. However, at least I can rant here about what complete and utter bullshit it is that they devoted a fucking webpage to special shirts with the winner plastered on them.



Simon Cowell is a fucking asswipe who is a completely unnecessary human being. Never in my life, have I seen such carnage, such complete abandon of decency, as exemplified by this prick (possibly with the exception of certain members of our current administration, but that is another rant for another day). Not since the christians were fed to the lions, have people so euphorically stood up and cheered and laughed as people were brought down into the depths of embarassment and misery by one man. He enjoys crushing hearts and egos like walnuts. And we're not talking "good cop, bad cop" here; we're talking about a little man that enjoys being a bastard -- and national TV, viewers, and even fucking Neighborhoodies give him complete license.

Give me a talk show where I can bring asswipes like him on and make them cry. I'll send them home to their mothers.

Faye Dunaway and JD's Willie Wonka: Separated at Birth?

As pointed out by PerezHilton.com, what the fuck happened here?

Is it just me or is she trying to look like Johnny Depp as Willie Wonka? Actually, he looks a little less freaky (okay, well, I think he's hot anyway and would do him if he was dressed like Michael from Halloween, so what the hell).

Sad, sad state of affairs. What a beautiful lady, what a tragedy. What the hell; when I'm in my 60's and my tits are hanging down to my kneecaps and I have more lines on my face than a runway strip, I suppose the wonders of plastic surgery will sound appealing, too. This is really a scene out of Brazil, though; I mean, she shouldn't just slap the doctor who did this to her, she should slap his mother for having given birth to him.

Can we all have a moment of silence for a woman who looks so fucking scary that even Michael Jackson is breathing a sigh of relief because someone looks worse than he does?

Anger Management

I decided to add google adwords on the page, for a myriad of reasons, and one of the features of it is that it tailors ads to what is mentioned on the page, or what the page is about.

I started cracking up when I noticed that all the ads were about "anger management".

Yep. I might need a course or two in it soon...My days when things seem so surreal that the deja vu is overwhelming OR it seems like a scene out of Jacob's Ladder are becoming more the norm than the rarity.

For example, this past weekend I basically told my friend that he was a pathetic fuckup and that I had no use for him. BOOM! Just like that. It was like I had saved up nearly three years worth of being pissed off and had dropped it on him in one fell swoop.

Granted, he did piss me off when he threatened to kill my animals the weekend before because I teased him into oblivion. R doesn't take teasing or criticism very well, obviously. I told him he was socially retarded and if he touched my animals they would need Gary Sinisi and the CSI NY crew to find his body because I would make sure all the DNA was scrubbed clean from my fucking hands after I'd used them to put a stake through his fucking cold heart. Just short of wooden stakes and garlic, I'm not too sure what would kill that motherfucker. Maybe silver bullets.

Oh, the drama. Well, he called and we've kinda made up, but things will never be the same again. I suppose I could use a few anger management classes after all.

ANTS

No, not AUNTS, which is what I felt like when I saw Sangrante's birdie got hurt yesterday and felt like my little nephew had been injured. I mean ANTS.

I've got 'em. In my fucking house.

I woke up this morning, yawned, got out of bed to feed my four critters that were circling me like sharks, and happened to glance at what I thought was used catnip on the floor that I hadn't yet cleared away.

And then it moved.

NOTHING freaks me out in my own house like bugs. Roaches, ants, spiders (okay, not a bug, but it can bite and crawl) - anything with more than four legs. Can we just leave it at that?

The only thing I've found that can properly repel these bastards is Orange Glo. I guess it's the "orangey citrus thang" in it, but it melts those little fuckers. They shrivel up like the Wicked Witch in Wizard of Oz, and delightfully, I can almost hear them shriek as the mutter "Oh, what a world, what a world..." and it seems to keep them from coming back.

Alas, our hero does NOT HAVE ANY DAMN ORANGE GLO and I feel like the last soldier alive battling the barbarians at the gate. I used Fantastik with bleach, but of course that made a mess.

You know...if I'm outside I don't want them on me - but I figure, hey, I'm on their turf, so I just have to deal with it. But when they come into my house? Nah. It's open season. They made a decision to screw with the wrong neurotic insecto/arachnophobic angry bitch.

Just short of hairspray and a flamethrower (trust, I've used that in the past) I'm about to flip out. I gotta get to work. Let's just hope that the little invaders got sufficently stomped, sprayed on, screamed at (the whole time all I could do was scream "Die, you little fucker - come into my house, I'll kick your ass!") and swatted.

Did I mention that I hate ants?

The Problem Fantasy

Uh, sir? It seems we have a problem…

My latest fantasy is definitely problematic.

Wisely, I spared my coworker pal the delicious little email I wrote, realizing, that maybe it’s not wise to let loose with this increasingly violent fantasy on the company email?

Probably not.

Basically, I want all the corporate suit fucks who sucker my students into enrolling and paying such enormous fees for nothing to get put in a room. Also in that room will be the full-time employees who have no idea who their advisees are, at least by name. Let's not forget all the other lazy teachers who are merely coasting from paycheck to paycheck. Finally in this room will be my students: Hard-working kids, who really don’t have many options outside of the military to get their shit together or more schooling. Nor do they have the resources in parents or background and training to be able to maneuver through the shit storms.

But back to this increasingly crowded room:

It’s a party, without snacks.

Then I walk in and announce that the suits, who are nervous at that point, some pacing, some chattering, all of them sweating. These suits are the ones who have, if only metaphorically, kept these kids in sub-standard housing, schools and offered no realistic job training or legal paths to betterment.

There’s a lot of nervous coughing at this point, but no papers to shuffle or statistics to pad and hide behind, just a generation of pissed off kids who know they’ve been duped.

At this point I’m on top of the step ladder I dragged in, because, really I just want to see who wets their pants first.

I highly doubt it’s my current students.

They might just feel empowered for the first time in their lives as they watch the useless old men pissing their pants.

Then what do I do? If I still have everyone’s attention…

Tell the kids to vote? Yeah, but for who?

Tell them to stay in school? Right-O! But who’s going pay for that? The ARMY???

Today…was a rough day, I’m really at a loss to beg kids not to join the military, because what options can I offer them?