Thursday, August 31, 2006

Bubbles, Adopt Me A (Chinese) Baby Now

What does the changing face of the Episcopal church look like? Other than way-gay?

(One frumpy-grumpy old bird got up and moved to another pew the other day at my church when a group of fuming, with perfume, gay men sat down in front of her. I doubt she was a homophobe as she wouldn't be at this church if she was; rather, the stench of the Calvin Klein cologne was utterly overpowering. I had to move, too.)

Anyway, getting back to the point here, Asian girls from about 7-years old on down keep popping-up, quite literally, in every pew of the Episcopal Church. What's with the olde, reliable WASP gene? Unable to reproduce itself? Mon Dior.

Or have WASPy southern women been so busy on the partner track at Troutman and Flounders that they forgot to have children at a riper childbearing age?

I wonder how Chinese culture will blend with old money Southern WASP? Should be an interesting cultural soup. I know my twenty-something, male cousins are dating only gorgeous, razor-sharp Asian women nowadays. As the old joke goes:

Q: How are Southerners like Asians?
A: They both eat a lot of rice and worship their ancestors.

I just wonder how these women will find the relationships with their imperious, blue-blood, high-WASP grandmothers-in-law to be once they grow-up and get to the Inheriting Age? I feel I must warn any woman who might marry into a Southern WASP family not to get too upset if Tara, or the silver, doesn't pass into your hands. It rarely goes to us white women even. The silver maybe, if you learn to kiss Grand-Mere's ass real good over the course of a few decades or so.

Good luck to you all. You'll need it. In the meantime, be sure to watch the freakin' hilarious "Romanian Baby" AbFab episode. Hell, watch 'em all. We women folk sure need the laughs.

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Wednesday, August 30, 2006

This Ain't No Mommy Blog. No CBGBs

Excuses abound here. I warn 'ya...

Sometimes I wonder why I don't do the "mommy blog" thing more often. To tell you the truth, despite you not asking for it, mommyhood is just downright exhausting most of the time, so the last thing I want to do is dredge it all back and write about it after slogging through it most of the day. And there is no day off. When the kid goes to bed, most of the time I do too.

The horror of the dog attack (on my daughter) on Mother's Day still sends a knife of pain right through me, making it hard to breath and crumbling my knees with a mere flicker of recall; I can't imagine, right now, tackling the sitting-down necessary to write about it. Maybe one day... later.

But I am not going to suppress that incident, nor resign it to some utter bullshit bin of fabricated shamefulness that's not supposed to be talked about, as I was taught to do in that good old-fashioned, southern repressed atmosphere of conformity, dismissiveness, oppression, and overt sexism.

There simply will be no more supressing of horror or grief or truth or anger or shock or pain or abuse or fear or lies or strangeness in my life. Having done so for a lifetime has been nothing but devestatingly destructive on many levels. The buck stops with this blog.

Another reason I don't mommy-blog is that Tania Rochelle at Stone's Colossal Dream does it so damn well, I needn't bother. Besides, she's got numerous kids and a husband. I've got only the one kid. And of course the goldfish and the (good) dog. Tania blogs with lots of pictures too, and most of the time my settings are so weird on my PC, I can't upload pics to anyways.

Gawd, is her 19-year old a genuine Southern beauty or what? Tania was hardly ever homely herself, so Sadie turning out to be so stunning is hardly a surprise. And I needn't bother with the poetry, as Tania's always had that in spades. But I've been known to slip one or two of those in here. Could be more on the way. Consider yourself put on notice.

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Tuesday, August 29, 2006

So Are The Jerks Of Our Lives

I've long felt that The Corrections was the great American novel of our culturally-hideous times. Now Jonathan Frazen shines that infamous, squirmy laser beam on himself.

From today's NYT:

In his new memoir, “The Discomfort Zone,” Mr. Franzen turns his unforgiving eye on himself and succeeds in giving us an odious selfportrait of the artist as a young jackass: petulant, pompous,obsessive, selfish and overwhelmingly self-absorbed.

He tells us that as a child he was “a small glutton for attention, forever turning conversations to the subject of myself.” He tells us that he felt put upon by public entreaties to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina. (“Why should I pony up for this particular disaster?”)

And he tells us that he used to find it difficult to enjoy nature’s beauty: a hike up to a spectacular summit was never enough; instead he would imagine himself “in a movie with this vista in the background and various girls I’d known in high school and college watching the movie and being impressed with me.”

Full review here. I'll spare myself the indulgence of reading this one. I could fill several books with tales of the parade of whiney jerks and assholes in my family and life. Hell, I'd fill a goddamn subdivision with a shit heap of the whiney, indulged, utterly self-absorbed, alcoholic, mean, addicted, useless, worthless, pompous, hopeless, sadistic, socially and culturally myopic, weak, sexist, cowardly, precious, beautiful, brilliant men I've known. Why bother? They're a plague on America as it is.

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Monday, August 28, 2006

If You Go Down In The Woods Today...

You will not be alone. Seems those pesky Brits at The Guardian have disclosed the whereabouts of our Admin's shadow government... up thar in them Blue Ridge hills of VA, right outside Washington. Naturally enough. Of course, if you Google "Mount Weather," you'll only find a zillion sites and articles that will lead you right to the freakin' front door, where you'll promptly be escorted on your way by men in black.

As one VA witness declared, eyes wide open, regarding events of 9/11 on good 'ole Rocky Top/Mount Weather, "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, but the whole mountain opened up and Air Force One flew in and it closed right up. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes." GET outta here, Grandma!

Forget rehashing Area 51; this is juicy reading, folks:

Mount Weather is a top-security underground installation an hour's drive from Washington DC. It has its own leaders, police, fire department - and laws. A cold war relic, it has been given a new lease of life since 9/11. And no one who's been inside has ever talked.
Seems no one is still busy not talking, but full story here. Sure beats the hell out of reading about Meredith Vieira's career. Does ANYONE left in America give a flying fuck about Meredith Vieira's career?

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Thursday, August 24, 2006

No Day Job Was Quit

Here it is... graduation night at the Punchline from Jeff Justice's Level II Comedy Workshoppe -- as a podcast. Enjoy!

And a zillion thanks and shout-outs go to Rusty and Amber at the Georgia Podcast Network for being there that night and podcasting this. Thanks guys! You're too hip for the room. Don't ever change.

And "any hippy with a guitar," please contact Rusty at:

tags: TrueGritz, The Punchline, Sandy Springs, Jeff Justice, Neal Boortz, Royal Marshall,

Monday, August 21, 2006

Run Naked Thru The Streets of Baghdad

Oh how I wish I could, as I mentioned to My Favourite Feminazi, Amber, over at her always delightful blog, Being Amber Rhea. But instead of Baghdad, it's graduation night, where I will again take to the stage at the Punchline tonight to challenge myself, conquer assorted loooming fears, and wrest control away from my always-contentious inner-life, the one that is constantly harping on me, berating the real me with a barage of...

"You can't do something like that. You might fail. I might have to do something. Or, more importantly, you might embarrass:
a.) me
b.) me
c.) the family
d.) me"

Now read that back as my mother repeating it to me over and over and over. When I do that, I understand why I'm compelled to take to the stage once again, as a middle-aged soccer mom, and perform a rather mundane, four-minute long comedy routine.

And once again, anticipating that four-minutes must be my personal version of burning oneself at the stake. The process is THAT frightening. And the payoff... utterly the biggest adrenaline rush you can imagine. Such a brilliant fuck-you to everything you were led to believe as a girl raised in a really screwed-up South.

There are still seats left I hear, so book one now to watch as I walk through the valley of death, fear all evil, and trust that I will emerge unscathed on the other side.

UPDATE: How will I ever go on now? This French woman like soooo totally stole my whole act!

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Friday, August 18, 2006

Basil Roll and A Perp Walk Please

Yep, those Thais sure can put on a good perp walk. Regarding the arrest of the suspect in the JonBenet case, Al Thompkins at Poynter Online says this:

Not since Lee Harvey Oswald have I seen such a display. And yet, courts have said in the past that perp walks can have a legitimate purpose. But perp walks staged for the media, as the Thai perp walk was, present serious Fourth Amendment rights issues. Perp walks in the U.S. are generally OK if they are not "staged" for the media.
Link-saturated piece about the case here.

Former Channel Two pretty-boy reporter, Atlanta's own Jonathan Serrie, now with Fox News' Southeast Bureau, got "screened" over at Huffington Post for his special, cutie-pie brand of "graveyard journalism." Wait until darkness falls and go BOO.

Oh Gawd, where is that group of live-shot commandos when you need 'em? The ones who dress up in silly costumes and run around ambushing news live shots in NYC?

I would about sell my momma down the river to see someone, anyone, pop-up dressed like Grandpa Munster and run around behind PrettyBoy Serrie tonight. Now there's an endless list of possiblities! Send me your suggestions of what you'd like to see cavorting behind a FoxNews live shot.

Better yet, get out there to that graveyard and do your own "run behind." Top of the six o'clock hour is always a good time. Graveyard is out in Vinings somewhere.

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I Had A Ho's Dream

I got astroturfed by Wal-Mart. Icky icky icky. Now, if I was making big bucks while whoring for Wal-Mart, well that's a, uh, totally different perspective! Career too. But I'm not. Don't want to. And have never taken one dime from Wal-Mart. But Andrew Young did, and now he's out 'a there. Seems he got caught "playing church" outside of the church.

Speaking of pimps and hos, I was going to give you the Daily Show clip of the Jack Kingston (R-Georgia) return engagement, complete with the lime-green pimp mobile. Makes all the black and beige Bentleys around Buckhead look sooo boring. But it was taken off YouTube.

So I give you, you hard working Americans, Racoons On A Space Shuttle. Because you've earned it. Hey, beats wearing one of those "Look At Me. I Am A Sheep" ribbons Wal-Mart's handing out on their TOTALLY FAKE site. Don't worry, America. I'll soon get you the name of the PR firm/Ho Headquarters that did this.

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Thursday, August 17, 2006

Chortle Me Now

Ugghhhh... after that last bleak entry, we need a funny - fast. Here's a good one from Slate: what if W's AOL search history was made public, just like poor Thelma from Duluth? Here's a taste of what it might look like:

The records of AOL customer No. 16006693.
By Evan Eisenberg (Slate)
Posted Tuesday, Aug. 15, 2006, at 3:31 PM ET

"AOL removed a list of the Web search inquiries of 658,000 unnamed users from a public Web site over the weekend, after bloggers complained that the information was so detailed and personal that it could compromise the users' privacy." —New York Times, Aug. 8, 2006

16006693 nak
16006693 nack
16006693 sharona
16006693 knack
16006693 knack downloads
16006693 oakrige boys
16006693 oakridge boys
16006693 oakridge boys downloads free
16006693 jokes about dick cheney
16006693 jokes about dick cheney but not george bush
16006693 dick cheney creep
16006693 dick cheney dickhead
16006693 rummy dickhead
16006693 where is iraq
16006693 where is lebenon
16006693 his bullets
16006693 his bullies
16006693 shiits
16006693 shee-ites

Full list here.

UPCOMING SHOW NOTE: My dear pal and former colleague, Richard "Chilton" Stewart, will be performing with his band, TexBukSex, this Friday night at the Apache Cafe. Come ready to funk yourself hot and sweaty! Oh yeah.

Friday, August 18th, 2006
Apache Cafe
9 pm
64 3rd St. NW
Atlanta, GA 30308-1035
US of A
Price: $10.00

Men Are Sick

Stupid too. Yeah, thought that would get your attention. So they drained the pervert playground that is Bangkok (and is that an appropriate name for that city or what) and came up with JonBenet's killer. Why stop there? No telling what other sicko American men/freaks they'd send home to meet their family and community eye-to-eye.

And there's no justice even for the all-powerful, rich white man when idiot cops are on the scene to fuck everything up, as they did in the beginning of the JonBenet case. It took two women to bring justice to the Ramseys.

From today's New York Daily News:

A grand jury probe of JonBenet's death concluded with no indictments against anyone. But in 2003, U.S. District Judge Julie Carnes, who reviewed some evidence in the case in connection with a libel suit filed against the Ramseys, said she believed the clues suggested an intruder killed the child.

Boulder County District Attorney Mary Lacy, who took over the Ramsey murder probe from her predecessor, Alex Hunter, in late 2002, said she agreed with Carnes' hunch and started a fresh investigation.

I used to drive by the Ramsey's home on West Paces Ferry Road here in Atlanta every day after work. (I think they've since relocated to another part of town.) When they moved into the West Paces house from Boulder, the Ramseys began extensive renovation work on the grounds, which opened out onto West Paces with a broad expanse of showy lawn.

The house and the property were so exposed, so vulnerable. Why did they not choose to live on a more secluded side street? Then again, this was a "pageant family," I'd shrug to myself. Everything is up for display, right? As I'd pass by, I inevitably turned to look at the opulent mess, and was inevitably returned with a wave of extreme pity and sadness as I drove on down the beautiful, excessively manicured, winding road back on over to my side of town.

Like most people, I struggled to keep an open mind about the guilt, or not, of the family of JonBenet, keeping up dutifully with the case through The National Enquirer in the checkout line. When the Enquirer ran purloined pictures of crime scene evidence that included the garrote used to kill the little girl, I bought that copy, took it home and stared long and hard at the rope.

The noose was the work of a pro. It was perfectly and carefully crafted by someone who wanted to savor their sadistic handiwork. The rope seemed brand new.

I bought that particular "evidence" copy of the Enquirer because when I was a child, one of my brothers once garroted my favorite baby doll, Lisa. I came home from school one random day, I still played with dolls in fifth grade, and found Lisa swinging from a noose on our back porch. She had been stripped naked before being hung, a peace sign scrawled across her pink cloth chest with black marker.

I remember the shock of discovering the "crime scene," the maniacal laughter from my twisted brother, but mostly I remember the utter indifference of my mother to his sicko behavior. He should have been taken out behind the woodshed and caned within an inch of his wicked little life. Instead, I was likely yelled at to shut-up and stop crying, while he was allowed to relish and revel in every treasured moment of his ghoulish, freakish action to his twisted heart's content.

Lisa was gone forever. I never played with dolls again.

Reading list for this entry: We Need To Talk About Kevin
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Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Everybody Podcast

I am a podcast. Yeah, well we can't all be Carrie Bradshaw. I don't have the energy to be that slutty this year. Besides, the PTA's breathing down my neck again now that school's started. The time I waste figuring out how not to sign-up for stuff I could, uh, lookup Mr. Big for old time's sake. But why would I do that to myself? Gratuitous, mind-blowing sex perhaps. Whatever that is to my life these days.

Click here for my latest from Georgia Political Digest, via the continuely amazing Georgia Podcast Network. Hell, Sonny Perdue oughta knight us the way we brand the Peach State with every breath we take.

A couple of announcements:

a.) Atlanta Media Bloggers meets this Thursday the 17th at the Loop Pizza Grill in Buckhead at 7pm.

b.) My Level II comedy workshoppe graduation is Monday the 21st at the
Punchline. 8pm.

NOTE: I and my psyche got a meager 48 hours in the mountains this summer. It could be a rough winter.

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Thursday, August 10, 2006

Genetically Modified Wal-Mart

Don't know about you, but I'm going to speculate in corn futures. Wal-Mart wants to sell ethanol. Or E85 as it's called for commercial purposes. This is most cool, and could alter the kind of vehicles we purchase and what kind of emmissions we spew. Lord knows, I'm spewing now in my gas guzzler, and sometimes even I feel a twinge or two about it. If something safe, affordable and roomy came on the market that utilized E85, and I knew where a couple of E85 stations were close by, would that affect the kind of vehicle I drove? Absolutely.

My new neighbor, Wal-Mart, has already affected something on me, and if they can soften up my kinda rigidity, then they're doing something right. I wrote about my Wal-Mart miniphany (mini epiphany) this week in the Georgia Political Digest. Read full op/ed here.

From the CNN/Money story:
More than 5 million vehicles on U.S. roads today can run on ethanol - a renewable fuel that comes from corn - as well as gasoline. General Motors, Ford and DaimlerChrysler recently announced plans to double their annual production of so-called flex fuel vehicles to two million cars and trucks by 2010.

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Toby Jugs Kanobi

WARNING! This post contains mommy-gag-blog items and useless personal information I ain't too proud to share. Perfect for the blogosphere. I pronouced my daughter old enough for her first screening of Star Wars. So we gathered round the DVD... I was soooo excited. Nervous, but spirits were high, as were expectations. Would she hate it? Love it? Run screaming from the room? Pronounce it really stupid, dorky and without benefit of dreamboat, Zac Efron?

No, she loved it, whew, and found it thrilling and exciting. It made her eyes shine. She pronounced Darth Vadar "kinda like Voldemort." No great imagination stretch there. She hasn't turned her wand into a light saber yet as there is generational gap involved, although one that seems easily transcendable. She asked no questions about The Force though, such as what is it and how do you use it. That was a relief for such a Muggle mom as me. All that metaphysical yap is still beyond a six-year old's realm. But not for long.

Ava told me she once had a dream that she was kissing Zac Efron/Troy, but that it was all went "horrible" because she woke up and found out it didn't really happen. Poor kid. How do you soothe that kinda deep disappointment? I'll go way out on a limb here and say she's may have a hard time yet again in the dream vs. reality department. I hear some people do. "Just keep those expectations low dear," is what I felt like telling her.

I also refrained from uttering bullshit about princes and dreams really coming true and all the usual crap she'll get enough of from bad literature and TV. Then again, whenever she asks me if I always wanted a baby girl, I tell her, "Yes, and my dream came true. God was kind to me, for some odd reason." And I mean it too. (Pardon utterly gratuitous mommy-gag-blog moment, but we all have our, uh, sarcasm limitations; mine typically involve my kid.)

And now for something completely silly, Mixed Shushi Platter.

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Wednesday, August 09, 2006

It's My Life

Poor Thelma out in Lilburn. She got screwed-over royally by AOL. I'd say, well hon, that's what you get for messing around with AOL, but no one deserves the nasty privacy violation the NYT today reports Thelma from Lilburn had handed to her.

From the story:

AOL removed the search data from its site over the weekend and apologized for its release, saying it was an unauthorized move by a team that had hoped it would benefit academic researchers.

But the detailed records of searches conducted by Ms. Arnold and 657,000 other Americans, copies of which continue to circulate online, underscore how much people unintentionally reveal about themselves when they use search engines — and how risky it can be for companies like AOL, Google and Yahoo to compile such data.

Those risks have long pitted privacy advocates against online marketers and other Internet companies seeking to profit from the Internet’s unique ability to track the comings and goings of users, allowing for more focused and therefore more lucrative advertising.

Hmmm... the search saga of Thelma Arnold led me to wonder about my constant Googling. When you install a Google Toolbar on your web browser, as I have, Google has this to say on its Help pulldown, with my additions in parens:
Use of the Advanced Features of the Google Toolbar requires that information about the site you visit (sounds like we only ever go to one site, eh?) be sent to Google. (Like, uh, where at Google?) This is needed to make these features possible. With all advanced features disabled, no information about the sites you visit will be communicated to Google. (And thus on to whomever!)

The full Google Toolbar privacy disclosure thingee is here.

Naturally enough, I wondered what my search history would tell someone. So, I will show you mine, totally uncensored (I swear), if you show me yours. Here's my Top Twelve of Last Things (not sites mind you) Searched on Google:

  1. Boondocks Martin Luther King
  2. Boondocks on Cartoon Network
  3. half man half biscuit
  4. guatemalan
  5. the bird cage spartacus
  6. the bird cage sparticas
  7. italian cafe howell mill
  8. scott selig
  9. Cynthia McKinney district
  10. georgia corporations state
  11. georgia corporations state
  12. lenny's atlanta

Speak volumes to you? Could care less? To me it says, "You are a notoriously bad speller, and frequently use Google just to spellcheck a word." (I once had a teacher tell me that I couldn't spell because I wasn't a reader. Dumb bitch, and I'd tell her so to her face if I saw her again. Only thing is, I can't remember who she was. I know her only by her falsehood. Shame.)

Sometimes, I don't quite heart the Internet as much as I typically do. Today, I admit feeling just a touch of betrayal.

This post put together to It's My Life

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Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Go Shrug Yourself

According to the WSJ, a great time for Islamic fundys to schedule something apocalyptical would be August 22nd. What in the world will I wear?! This totally rains cataclysmic havoc on my August 25th birthday plans to drink at least two martinis. Oh, what the heck! Let's just start boozing now. Lemme put on a little HMHB first, 'cause hon, this here's one gal who's gonna go out laughing her ass off.

From today's WSJ:

What is the significance of Aug. 22? This year, Aug. 22 corresponds, in the Islamic calendar, to the 27th day of the month of Rajab of the year 1427. This, by tradition, is the night when many Muslims commemorate the night flight of the prophet Muhammad on the winged horse Buraq, first to "the farthest mosque," usually identified with Jerusalem, and then to heaven and back (c.f., Koran XVII.1). This might well be deemed an appropriate date for the apocalyptic ending of Israel and if necessary of the world. It is far from certain that Mr. Ahmadinejad plans any such cataclysmic events precisely for Aug. 22. But it would be wise to bear the possibility in mind.
I know what I'll do... I'll email Iran now and ask them to push the date back just a tad 'cause I know I need to watch me some more Boondocks on Adult Swim. You don't know "outside the box" until you've watched the MLK episode. (Thanks for the viewing, my dear Roches.)

Also, thanks for the full WSJ article hookup, Randy. I was feeling too, uh, "French" right now to actually register and read the whole thing myself. My general malaise typically sets in around 3pm. Wonderful (Italian) cafe for just that kinda Euro'tude up the road on Howell Mill. I'll email Ahmadinejad from there, watch the replay on YouTube when the hangover subsides on the 23rd. Wonder if the August Vogue has any fashion advice for this kinda situation? If they've scheduled something for the big September fashion issue, then I am so screwed.

And since this is after all a blog... gratuitous blog photo below (to be posted whenever starts behaving nicely) of new hairdo. Gratuitous mommy blog-like (don't get me started) comment from daughter: "Your hair looks really weird."

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Vote Today on TrueGritz!

Over at my vlog, TrueGritz, we're learning some interactive video tricks. There are many kinks to work with and work out. Sas is still learning to greenscreen all by herself, and the German flash guy's wife had a baby earlier than expected, so we had to post whatever he could give us with little of no finessing, just to make our Cynthia McKinney runoff day deadline. And that's RIGHT NOW.

Still, bumps and glitches aside, it's pretty astonishing that anyone can create an interactive environment right in their, uh, pajamas. (Wigs in our case.) Believe me, if we can do it, anyone can.

So click-on over to TrueGritz and tell us what you think about Cynthia McKinney. Just keep your fingers on the volumn key; the levels are all over the place.

See you at the polls!

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Sunday, August 06, 2006

Please Rapture These Clowns NOW

Couple of things from the End 'O Time front... the righty hystericals over at Little Green Football called-out a blatant example of a photoshoppe-ing by Reuters of smoke over Beruit. And that's a good thing. Reuters killed the picture.

Now for their next act, LGF groupies will resurrect the dead baby killed by the Israelis.

Sure. They'd have you believe that too with all the apocalyptical mumbo jumbo being tossed around by hysterics worldwide - especially those in MSM. Hell, they're the worst of the lot.

You will roll watching these clowns as they drink the Kool-Aid, right on your own plasma TV set in front of your very eyes. See Daily Show video recap below.

Oh please, Paula. Just go pick-up some snakes and shut the fuck-up. Is there a grownup in the house?

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Thursday, August 03, 2006

Shut Up And Blog

The Dixie Chicks, bless their pretty, righteous hearts, were well received in NYC this week. Big surprise there. They play Phillips Arena here in Atlanta in Oct. I am so fond of this new record, Taking The Long Way Home, that I might even brave arena rock to see them. Pay for the sins of my fellow southerners. Out the ass no doubt.

The same people who went into a frenzy over Natalie Maines' anti-Bush remarks in 2003 remind me so of the South Carolinians who handed Bush his victory over McCain in the primary there in 2000; thus paving the road to White House gold. They went into the same sheep-like, rabid frenzy over Rove's Atwater-inspired whisper campaign, or push poll, over McCain's "black baby." Seems like McCain's other (white) baby is now tougher than the rest, and has joined the Marines - something no southern patriotism-droolers nor Yale frat boys seem to be doing in droves about right now.

But what I'm really looking forward to is the Barbara Koppel documentary about the Dixie Chicks. Somehow, I don't think the South's going to get off looking very pretty in this one. At least the Chicks can escape to the big Culture Refuge Center whenever they need to - Manhattan, of course.

Sometimes I despise southerners.

In other new... CBS News recently did a feature about the virtual community, Second Life. The replay of the package that aired is on this list. Scroll down to the one called Living In The Virtual World.

One of my oldest, dearest friends is featured in this package, Catherine Smith. She's head of marketing now for Second Life/Linden Lab, and originally from Atlanta. Dig that pirate ship across the bay! Gotta go get me one of those, fer sure. Or maybe that rock star wedding... Hell, I could even get a date in Second Life.

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