Back in the day

The Cyclone, that old rickety death trap.
Gone but not forgotten by those who loved it
and those who had been injured. Godspeed
you twisted hunk of metal.

Free the Coney Island Bee

The title says it all. Sad plastic bee behind a fence all day, actually he's gone now I'm sure there's a Condo in his place. Ah yes, progress

Nothing to it but to do it

This blog suffers from ADD, so don't be alarmed at the lack of cohesiveness.

This gem of a title came from an expression a gentleman I knew years ago.He would do the old hand smack with his male friends before they would go out and get there party on. Yes I admit it I have known many douche bags in my life. Where is he now? Probably selling sensible shoes in the heartland of America.

Relax, strap in and get ready for the blinding lack of continuity .

Let's do a remember when--remember when: You saw your first movie alone? Jaws 3D; year, 1982. Nothing to report; it was a piece of crap, but I got to see this dreck alone, so I felt cool. First time you thought you were going to die in a movie theater? Early '90's, watching Alien 3-- fella in back of me was making quite the racket, so I gathered up all my gumption and said "hey could you and your ladyfriend keep it down? I am trying enjoy my cinema experience. He obliged by kicking my seat quite forcefully and explained in very salty language that I would meet a bad end at the barrel of a gun; oh, and his girlfriend was going to f#ck me up, too. No, I did not die, but I certainly did not enjoy my cinema experience

Maybe if I was prettier, I could have done better in life, but alas, that's just not me. I suppose I thrive on mediocrity and a little slice of retail hell.

"I used to love them, but now, not so much"... I've been thinking about this; have you noticed that so many of the things that happen to you in life become metaphors for relationships?
Bands you like. At first, every thing was great; then, it changed. Things were never the same;
now you pretend they don't exist. You liked them before they were popular, now they're the pretty girl at the prom who's ignoring you. You're probably angry because they loved you when no one else did; they moved on--you didn't. But hey, let's face it; human relationships are so
yesterday.

Even old jobs have become abusive relationships. At first it was fine , then became controlling treats you like moron , might as well push you down the stairs. Suddenly a lousy boss turns into Ike Turner. Now I've had some lousy bosses, but I don't ever remember being beaten with a shoe, as far as I'm concerned maybe if I did some physiological beatings I might have ended up in a better place.

One last piece of the confused pie:

As you may have surmised, I watch a hell of a lot of TV, so you start to see many of the same actors over and over again. Do you ever think Keith David and David Keith ever get confused
with each other? The two fellas bump into each other on the street...


Start: Keith David and David Keith


Hey you! It's you!


David Keith:
Don't you narrate commercials for the Army?


Keith David:
Didn't you make that movie where you killed yourself and you were in the Army?


Both guffaw.

Keith David:
Weren't you in the film Lords of Discipline?

David Keith:
Hey weren't you in that movie with Jennifer Connolly where you taught her a little discipline with a stripper and a double sided dildo?


Both laugh heartily, slap each other on the back and decide to make plans for a sitcom.


Scene: fin.

If you had just listened to me, none of this would have happened

One day, every thing is peachy keen; the next day you find yourself in a church, in a subway station and people with very bad skin are praying to a nuclear missile, yapping on about "we reveal our inner self to you".

In other words, you're just having one of those days.

I know who killed your career: sorry for the corny play on a really bad movie. If you haven't seen this film, "I Know who Killed Me" trust me--don't. This magnum opus of drivel has hooting owls, Art Bell, blue roses, "scary music", stigmatas, body parts that just happen to fall off, then get stitched back on with sewing needles. It stars Lindsay Lohan as a whacked out stripper, who has a psychic connection to her long lost twin. She gets to say things like "I always felt like half a person with half a soul". Watch as she throws f-bombs, smoke and wear every low cut top and pair of boy shorts they could find at the local Long Island Mall. Of course, when she actually gets down to the "stripping", it's a costume right out of central casting (note to filmmakers: actual strippers are rarely stylish, glamorous or sexy; they step on stage, strip and leave; get on you and you get off). At least they got the thigh high hooker boots right.

I'm sure she did this film, thinking it was going to be some sort of masterpiece. That's why it's best not to go on a two day coke binge before you read the script. And of course, the role was "empowering"--another word of the '90's that won't die. You know sexual situations and nudity;
it's to embrace your sexual self and empower you... Sorry; just writing that line made me wince.

For once I would love to hear from an actress," my career was in the crapper; I needed some press" and like Sheriff Buford T. Justice said, "That's what I call an attention getter!" Indeed, Buford, indeed.

Now that you've read the review, trust me; this film is God awful. If you're dying of curiosity, go to www.moviespoiler.com; better yet, It was her piano teacher, OK? He did it! Don't say I didn't warn you.

One or the other

I bring questions:

What do you choose? Would you rather look like Courtney Love or Anna Nicole?
Answer: Anna. Why you ask? Because even though she's been dead for a year, her rotting corpse still looks better than Courtney on a good day.

Who would you pick: Nicole Ritchie or Paris Hilton?
Trick question: neither. Besides, can you please tell me what do these people actually do for a living?
Actually don't answer, I already have a headache...

Hillary Duff or Hayley Duff? Another trick; it does not matter--you just want the last name Duff, so Simpsons geeks could always greet you with "HMMMMM, Duff".

Miley Cyrus or Hannah Montana? Don't care; I just want the 3 billion dollars she has.

Old Lindsay Lohan or little Lohan?
Young: you could start out fresh-faced and avoid all the tomfoolery that's left her looking like a 40 year old divorced, single mom from Long Island. Sorry, maybe I'm just looking at a picture of her mom; these days it's hard to tell.

Finally, XM or Sirius radio? At this point, nothing. If these two idiot companies merge together that only means one thing--one mega company that falls flat on its face and the subscribers holding the bag and paying the price for their greed.

One final note: do you know where the expression "rule of thumb" comes from? It was the width of stick a man could use to beat his wife with. This was legal, people.

 God Bless America.

Oh, the folly of youth bring memories I'd rather forget

Remember the days of your youth?

The fun, frolic and frivolity of days gone by; when you didn't have to get up in the morning, you could play all day and in the evening sit on the porch, drink Country Time lemonade and listen to old-timey music while grandma braided your hair. Actually, I made that part up. I only had one grandparent and she could have been described as a "passive-aggressive manic depressive", who one minute was nice; the next minute, putting rat poison in my fruit punch. "Come on sweetie, grandma made you a drink; it's got an extra kick to it". No wonder I always had stomach aches and nose bleeds as a kid. Yes, my grammy was Lucrezia Borgia, damn her and her hollow ring.


Remember the lovely Peanuts animated specials? I was never that much of a fan.

Charlie Brown was a pussy; Lucy: just an angry feminist living in a man's world. Linus and that stupid blanket--did he ever wash that damn thing? Peppermint Patty aka Jodie Foster--just one of the boys with a gentleman's hair-do (wink, wink), oh and Franklin; what the hell did he ever do? Poor token cartoon character; he probably had to be bused in from another comic strip every day. Do not get me started on Snoopy; damn war monger. There was no Red Baron, you loony canine, and always doing his dumb dog house dance. Oh and Woodstock, hippie bird --probably had mescaline in his bird seed. I don't know if you were aware of this; back in the day, my mom described Peanuts as a bunch of Christian comic strips, lots of homilies for the kiddies being spoon fed this pablum right under their noses. I guess that made Charlie Brown Christ, and Lucy was Mary Magdelene (angry whore, not actual whore). Who knows the truth?


My Mom also hated "Little House on the Prairie"; she thought that was a load of of do-gooder, fake sentimental crap. Honestly, I can't argue with that; have you ever gone back and watched it? Trust me, if there's ever a marathon on TV Land, you will be running for the remote. Either that or in the begin,ing when "little half pint", Melissa Gilbert goes running down the hill, you'll hope she trips and breaks her neck. Please spare me another picture with Michael Landon and his poofy '80's hair. Loved the Gingam though.

Ecch

Even if I wasn't married, this wouldn't fly.

You go on one these My Space (it should be called "My date rape and murder and body found in a shallow grave 2 weeks later, if you're dumb enough to meet someone you talked to on line" page). If it's Facebook or Vois, it's all a creep congregation. You just want to get in contact with someone for a business transaction and it turns into perv free-for-all.

Jackass #1 calls himself "Well Hung"; next winner calls himself "Porn69". Do they realize I could be 12; do you want to end up on Dateline NBC? "I thought she was 25"; sure you did.

Anyway, why do people do this crap? Is it any different than the garbage that makes the sounds and gestures to you when you walk down the street? If only my hard, cold stare carried the Ebola virus, I could have taken care of this problem long ago.

I would like to share with you a reply I sent to a master of subtlety:

Dear Sir,

Or shall I call you by your other name, "Recently Released Sex Offender"? I am just a simple lass, trying to make a busisness transaction. I have no interest in a hook up, dirty messages or being sent private photos. I know you are from the generation that hooks up first, asks questions later, like "why don't you like being chained to my radiator? I thought you enjoyed crying and blood? Wasn't in your profile?"

But I, sir, am a married woman who doesn't tolerate this sort of guff. Now I ask you to leave me be; go back to your collection of underage prositute body parts you have stuffed in your large freezer and who knows? If you wish real hard, maybe you can create one whole girl from that mess. Go away creep.

Signed,
Friends With Many Cops

So how do you like them apples?

Multinational death burger: the sequel, "No country for old Hippies"

Do you know this person?

Everthing to them is a conspiracy: "the corporations are destroying this country". Yes, I get it: Wal-Mart is the devil; so is Kmart, Target, all large bookstores--Borders, Barnes and Noble, the grand Satan, Mc Donalds and of course the Big Daddy, Starbucks.


Of course it goes a little something like this: you sit there with your coffee (latte, extra foam, do you know how many Guademalan children have to pick those beans for you to get one cup? Read a book from some conglomerate store, swallowing up the little guy so you can get the new Oprah's book selection half price. Go buy your wares at one of the "stores" (they dare not speak its' name, like it's Candyman or Voldemort, for goodness' sake). All the suffering, so you can have your things. Oh yes, you must be hungry; have a bite at the local McMultinational death burger--that should make you feel good. Can you hear the cows screaming in pain?


Does any of this sound familiar? Save the earth, Free trade, Stop the corporations from taking over the country... I have always wanted to ask this question: have you ever been to a local coffee shop? I might be generalizing, but coffee shops and diners stink. Overpriced; service is lousy and from the minute you sit down, they want you to go. I always shop at Target; I love Target--sorry, vintage overpriced duds aren't my thing anymore. And as far as I'm concerned,
I hate fast food; I've learned not to trust food that smells the same coming in and going out
(don't make me spell it out; idisgusting). If you want to eat a McRib, God bless--your insides
will probably explode, but you will enjoy it going down your gullet.


The world in general is a scary place, filled with lots of nasty dictators, thieves and vile scum.

Fine; if it makes you feel better carry a bag to the supermarket, support your local whatever, fight the good fight, carry your silly heart on your sleeve, just don't do it in front of me. I laugh and point.

Multinational death burger

Do any of you have friends that just make you cringe?

Not cringe in a good way, like your drunken friend from college--still drinking and whoring like it's 1994. Every time its the same--starts out fun; hours later she's in a supply closet, blowing the porter crying in a puddle of bile. You cradle her, brush away her vomit crusted hair and whisper gently, "It's okay; your stepdad isn't here. Let it go; he cant hurt you".

The whole time, you're filming it on your cell phone and stick it on YouTube.


How about this group: vegans. Not the wimpy "I only eat fish" types; the no leather, wool, silk,
won't eat meat, cheese,dairy. Always against animal testing, want to blow up research labs, attack the ASPCA and generally thinks that people are scum. Just a bunch of Tofurkey eating loons. I had a debate class with one of these wack jobs in college. We had to choose between saving a baby or a dog and she picked the dog. She put a higher value on Marmaduke-- granted, he could really get into some funny shenanigans, but we are talking about a baby, people.

Now if it was the choice of baby Hitler and Lassie, maybe she might've had a point.


But thats the problem with these people. Chickens don't have a soul; cows are cute, but dumb, and you know what? No matter what you do--how many animals you save--Clarice, the lambs will not go silent. Trust me; if I'm in the ocean, the shark that will rip me to shreads isn't thinking about my existence.

Eat a damn cheeseburger and put on some ill-fitting leather pants.

This is just a start. Next time, I'll write about the Mother Jones types; that should be fun.

Every time I let down my guard, the irritation starts

It's easy!--is it? A little bit of love from LeFig.

Those stupid "Easy" buttons; you know the damn Staples commercial. Things are tough, so you press the Easy button and magically, things are perfect. Now, as revolting as the commercial is, you know what's worse--people who buy the damn thing. Why are you buying a useless piece of red plastic crap? And why does the teller at my bank always have one at her station; why is this nimrod handling my money? Should I be surprised if she had a wall filled with Kathy cartoons and a poster of the "Hang in there baby" cat poster--ecch. If any of you out there have an "Easy" button and you are constantly pressing it, every time you do that, you lose a small piece of your soul.

There's nothing about today that interests me except tommorow

Ever see people with their hair and clothes like it's obviously from two or three decades ago? They were probably in high school at the time; that was probably the last time they thought they looked good or felt good, for that matter.


I say this because I went to a show expecting the worst and was completly won over.

I saw this group, From the Jam. No Paul Weller; it was the other gents, Bruce Foxton and Rick Buckler. When I say the show was fantastic, I kid you not--the band was tight and played all the songs perfectly. In fact, to borrow a quote from Goodfellas, "if you close your eyes, you would think it was the real person" (when Henry's in the bar with his buddies and their mistresses, just in case you forgot). The venue--perfect; to be able to drink, sit in a comfortable chair and watch a great show--priceless.


One final thought: I loved the fact that almost everbody there looked as if they were older than me and no stupid dress up (except for one jerk outside skulking around in a wet parka; he walked as stupidly as he looked). It is so sad to see adults at punk shows wearing the old uniform; it was just people there to enjoy the music.

I almost never go to shows anymore, so to have this time was fantastic. And think--somewhere
out there, some soccer mom was taking her kid to a Hannah Montana concert, wishing she was in my seat, and probably has a plaid skirt and creepers in a box locked away somewhere; she listens to her Jam CD's when the kids at school. Some lady with all her memories and a pair of ill-fitting bondage pants from twenty years ago.

I tell you what you need to know when I think you need to know it

Damn you, the torpedoes, and the horse you road in on.

Good thing I'm not a gambler; I'd lose the house. Not that I own a house--who needs that headache; all seems like a big gamble... Buy a house, then the neighborhood goes to hell and now gas prices go sky high and you can't make the morgage; now you live in a cardboard box. Thanks, I'll rent.

Me? I live under no illusion that one day my ship will come in; that ship has sailed. The reality dingy for me. What's the expression--don't have a pot to piss in or a window to through it out of. Ah, lovely street wisdom; something your drunk uncle might say (probably after he inappropriately touched you). Seeing the way things are going with the job and housing market, you would think you more people would be doing nose dives off buildings.

And speaking of suicide, I was given this pearl of wisdom once: what's the difference between someone who attempts suicide and someone who actually does it? Gumption--probably a little luck too. Tax season is here; maybe I'll get a refund--hope springs eternal, but I'm sure I have a better chance on picking the right team to win the Super Bowl. And hey, at least that's tax free money.