There's A Sale At The Chichen Store.

I have a love/hate relationship with the American shopping mall. On one hand, I hate the mall. On the other hand, many of my childhood memories involve the mall. And on the other hand, outside of an airport or a subway, the mall is prime people-watching space. (I bought an extra hand at Williams-Sonoma. It's one of those salad hands. Great for when you want to include three points but only have two hands.)

When you grow up in a town with freezing winters and nothing to do, you spend a lot of your weekends at the mall. An image of my father walking about 50 yards behind us with all of our winter coats and hats and scarves, our shopping bags, our giant lemonade from Hot Sam's Pretzels, and my mom's purse, is forever burned on my mind. The food court, the carousel (did you ever notice that kids have to wave at their parents every time they go around on the carousel? Every time. It's pretty freakin adorable, and also, the only thing you can do on a carousel.) and hide-and-seek in the department stores (I suggest jumping in the middle of circular racks of clothes). And all of this was before cell phones obviously, so every trip to the mall included at least one page over the mall sound system. "Martin Family, your father is waiting with your coats at the information kiosk."

There's been a steady flow of news about the fate of malls because of the economy. Reuters reported today that the second largest mall owner in America just filed for bankruptcy in what would be "one of the biggest real estate failures in U.S. history." That's crazy, and part of the reason I think malls are so gross. All that wasted space and all that sprawl for 35 senior citizens to power-walk around. What do you think will eventually happen to all those malls? Housing? Schools? Greenhouses? Probably Costco. Either that or giant city-size laser tag arenas. Which, when combined with an Orange Julius, might not be so bad.

Easter.

It's too bad that after years of holiday meals and gatherings, my entire extended family has grown to overlook our collective randomness. It's nothing new, so no one really notices. I imagine the people who work as ushers at Cirque du Soleil experience something similar. "Oh, that? Yeah, I guess it's pretty weird. I don't know, I've seen this like 300 times."

No one comments on the insane amounts of food anymore, or the fact that a celebration means about seven solid hours of force-feeding. No one tries to argue with my grandma as she shoves money at us, yelling for us to take it. And then once you've accepted the money with thanks, no one's eyes grow wider with confusion when she continues to yell at you to take it. I used to think to myself, "Gram, I'm holding the money, what more can I do? Should I ingest it?" Now I know that a five-minute scream for me to "take the money!" is also part of the gift.

In general, volume is never discussed. If my throat or ears don't hurt after a holiday, I wasn't with my family. And for holidays like Christmas or Easter, when a certain character arrives, I try to make my way to the bathroom before the big announcement, because the commotion makes me nervous. "SANTA IS HERE!!!!! GO GO GO" "THE BUNNY IS IN THE BACKYARD! RUUUUUN!" Followed by a scene similar to the footage of when the Beatles first came to America.

And unfortunatley, because it happens so often, Sabrina doesn't even think to take pictures of things like my Uncle Greg walking out into the dining room with a Halloween mask on, or sitting in the living room watching golf with a Halloween mask on. This year I really would have loved a picture of my little cousin Christopher pointing to the framed photo of Billy Joel on my grandma's table.
Actual exchange:
Christopher: (pointing) Who's that?
My Uncle Steve: Billy Joel.

No further explanation.

Has It Been An Hour?

Whenever celebrities talk about the environment they have to mention light bulbs. They can't help it. It's the one instance in which the figurative light bulb above their head is the literal answer.
"How do you reduce your carbon footprint?"
"Um, well... [ding!] Light bulbs."

In a symbolic act meant to bring attention to global warming and steps we can take to reduce energy use, Earth Hour will take place this Saturday night at 8:30. Conveniently, Earth Hour is basically about light bulbs so celebrities were able to get on board.

I'm all for symbolic acts. I do symbolic random acts of kindness as often as I can. Like when I see someone carrying heavy bags, I try to make whatever I'm carrying look heavy too so that person doesn't feel like they're alone.

For Earth Hour, people of the world are asked to shut off all unnecessary lighting at 8:30 PM. 8:30 local time. Your local time. So it's not really a single hour-- more of a shifting global hour. A stadium wave of darkness, if you will. That doesn't do much for the solidarity thing, knowing that people in France are already done with their dark hour and free to walk about their homes without bumping into furniture.

While discussing Earth Hour on his show, Larry King asked, "You don't want people to turn off their car lights if they're driving down the street?"

Well, no. Thanks Larry. But maybe you could turn off one of the 3,000 light bulbs you have on behind you. And maybe you could stop being on TV.

Not everyone is so keen on the idea of having to shut off a few lights for 60 minutes. In her article for the AP, Caryn Rousseau included a quote by ice cream shop owner Bob Gerense, who said, "I'm going to get everyone I know in my neighborhood to turn on every light they possibly can to waste as much electricity as possible to underline the absurdity of this action ... by being absurd."

You'd think a man in the ice cream business might be a little more concerned with climate change.

Oh, I Enjoy It.

These things never get old:

-Asking people to say something five times fast. It's better if it's not a tongue twister at all. "Hey, say 'butter' five times fast!" It's just fun to see who will play along. Plus, I'd rather not waste my time with a person who refuses to say something five times fast. What's your problem? I know you're saying it to yourself in your head.

-The pinky-finger and thumb "call me" symbol accompanied by the requisite whispered "call me."
A few reasons why I love this one. First, who decided that a pinky and a thumb was the best representation of a phone? Phone technology has come so far that most phones look more like the palm of your hand than anything else. But I bet you a dollar that if you held your palm up to the side of your head and whispered "call me" people would just think you were trying to talk about the person sitting next to you. Palm to the side of your head means you're trying to block out a secret. So I don't know if the phone symbol will ever be able to make the switch. It's this lasting archaic institution.
Another reason is that personally, I find the universal "call me" hilarious. When your awkward stage lasts from 12 to 27, the pinky-thumb phone is a nice way to make yourself laugh after failed attempts to talk to strangers.
"Hey, can I buy you a drink"
"No."
"Oh, OK. Call me."
Close-range exaggerated whisper with a symbol. It's not for everyone.

-And Rachel Maddow on any show. What's not to love?

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

Rain Dance.

I'm really horrible at basketball so anytime I'm near a hoop I'm usually shouting "Old School!" or "Let it rain!" as I hurl the ball nowhere near the rim. People get sick of that after a solid minute so I've become really amazing at watching basketball.

College basketball (namely 'Cuse hoops) ranks about #5 in my top ten favorite things list. The month of March always brings that ranking up to a buzzer-beating tie-breaker with my #1. If you don't like college basketball in general, that's no big deal. I don't understand how you couldn't, but it's not a personal flaw. But if you don't like college basketball in March, there is something seriously wrong with you.

Let's look at a list of things, shall we?
*Miracles
*Euphoria
*Cinderella Stories
*Beer

Taken independently, each item in that list is pretty great. But if you combine each item and then add a basketball and a crowd of cheering fans, that list becomes entirely freaking awesome.

The best thing about March basketball is that anything can happen. See: Syracuse's win in 6 overtimes vs. UConn in the Big East Tournament. SIX OVERTIMES! Basketball 'til 1:30 in the morning! Do you know how stressful/amazing that game was for SU fans? When you're literally exhausted just from watching a game, you know it was good.

And yesterday on SportsCenter President Obama filled out his bracket, which I have to say, was one of the more enjoyable things I've watched on television lately.

So break out your Jock Jams CD, throw on your favorite old college hoodie, and enjoy the madness!

The Doctor Will See You Now.

I'm sure I'm not the only person who hates the waiting room at the doctor's office. A stack of magazines does very little to keep your mind off where you are, or why the people around you are there--which is usually what you're wondering when you look up from that July 2008 issue of US Weekly to stare at them. Waiting rooms are uncomfortable, and awkward, and scary. I get enough of the first two in my everyday life and I could really go without the scary. Once when I had to get my wisdom teeth pulled, "O Fortuna" was playing in the waiting room at the dentist. I swear to you, that's true. I almost ran out of there.

I had to take Stella to the vet last week for a check-up and I realized that dogs have it easy. Stella had no clue where we were but she was fine with it. Unless it's the park, or your place, dogs probably have no idea where they are most of the time. I'm floored with how chill they are about that. If that was me I'd be like, "Seriously, where are you taking me?" All she knew was that there was a cat in a cage sitting on the bench next to us and she was going to try with all her might to wiggle out of my arms to get to it.

You know how they say pets resemble their owners? Well, for some reason I couldn't stop imagining that each animal in that waiting room behaved exactly like their owners do when at the doctor's. This was pretty fun and helped pass the time.

Also, I learned a great tip from Stella when she had to get weighed in by one of the assistants. She stepped onto the scale and then just before the weight fully registered, she ran off. I had to put her back on the scale four times until eventually they just put down an estimate. I'm totally doing this the next time I have to be weighed for anything. So much better than taking off your shoes, right? Just hop on, and then quickly jump off and run around the nurses station a few times. "Um, Ms. Martin, could you come back here please?"

When we finally went in to see the vet Stella still had no clue what was going on but she just kept wagging her little tail and kissing everyone. I really think she had a great time. Which leads me to believe that the real problem with the heath care system is the lack of treats.

I'd Like To Solve The Puzzle.

A sign in front of an Elks Club Lodge said "PA HETTI DINNER."

Not exactly cryptic, but it made me think.

Were the S and the G really missing? Or were the two guys in charge of buying letters on a budget? And if so, was "pa hetti" really the most obvious choice? A three-year-old might say so, but I can't imagine anyone driving past the sign and thinking, "Mmm, pa hetti dinner. Reminds me of Rome."

In an unrelated note, is anyone else offended that Vanna White still has a job?

Name Your Vegetables.

A new study suggests that kids are more likely to eat vegetables if they are given a "cool" name. LiveScience.com reports, "186 four-year-olds were given regular carrots and, on other lunch days, they were given the same vegetables renamed X-ray Vision Carrots. On the latter days, they ate nearly twice as many."

Ah-doy-ee!

Who wouldn't want an X-ray Vision Carrot?! I want one right now.

I don't care how old you are, food tastes better when you make it fun. If a side dish has a funny name, I'm on board. If a meal has a theme, I'm there. Who can forget the baby shrimp, baby corn, baby back ribs episode of Full House? And I'm 27, but I still make my pancakes into shapes. Is this weird? Probably. But go make a dinosaur out of batter and then come talk to me.

Some vegetables are blessed with awesome names but if you have to help the others out I say do it. Swiss Chard could use an ounce of cool. Rhubarb sounds like a lost Golden Girl, while Sweetcorn is too innocent, and Broccolini probably gets the crap beat out of him. Obviously the vegetable with the coolest name and the most street cred is Radicchio. Radicchio could release an album if it wanted.

If vegetables were renamed after American Gladiators, we'd all be eating our daily 5 to be sure. Just a big salad packed with Blaze, Turbo, Gemini, Zap, and Laser with a little Ranch dressing on the side.

Clearly, I have the culinary sophistication of a four-year-old.

I Don't Get It.

Just a few of my current sources of confusion.

*The Sunday Styles section of the NYT included an article about a new club in LA and described the dress code as "Depression dominatrix." "Bowler hats, suspenders, vintage that sparkles. 'No coat or tie,' said John Terzian, an owner. 'You just have to look right.'"

How does that Saturday night conversation go?
-How do I look?
-You like like an idiot.
-Perfect. Oh snap, can't forget my whip and my "Need Work" sandwich board.

*Soulja Boy's latest song is called "Kiss Me Thru The Phone." If this isn't about some new emoticon, he should really throw in a few lines about how embarrassing it is to contact your wireless provider after you've swallowed your SIM card.

*Gwyneth Paltrow has a lifestyle website called Goop.
So now there's Goop, Gaga. (That's Lady Gaga to you. Because nothing says refined, well-spoken woman quite like Gaga.) GooGoo, Boo, Boo-Boo, Boo hoo, Bah Bah, Ba-haha, and of course, poop. But somehow to use that in any sort of pop-culture reference would be crossing a line.
When an artist with a dance hit named Lady Poop launches a website about organic food and inner peace, I'll check it out.

*Lids has a line of comic book hats with different comic book sound effects on them.

Unless you want complete strangers to yell "Bamf!" at you wherever you go, why would you ever buy this?

Baby Steps.

It's early, but I'm going out on a limb and saying that the word of the year for 2009 will be "Transparency." I hear someone mention it everyday. Although, Merriam-Webster's Word of the Year in 2007 was "woot" so what do I know?

w00t (interjection)

expressing joy; similar in use to the word "yay"

w00t! I won the contest!

In these times of uncertainty following an era of secrecy and shady deals, Transparency is the amazing out-of-town guest we can't wait to introduce to everyone.

"Transparency! So glad to see you! I don't think you know Wall Street or any of the major banks."

"No, I don't believe I do."

"Hi."

"Have you met Government? Local, State, Federal?"

"Perhaps briefly. Did I see you under oath that one time?"

"Hello."

"You'll have to excuse Big Business. He really wants nothing to do with you."

"I get it. That whole, 'You don't want to know how your sausage is made' kind of thing?"

"Exactly."

I'm always hopeful when Obama talks about transparency for the stimulus. It's just a good idea to put the truth out there. Plus, it benefits everyone to know how, where, and when the BILLIONS of dollars are spent. Recovery.gov is the website meant to be the "centerpiece" of the effort for transparency and accountability. Woot! Transparency! Woot! Accountability! These a big words! So what do they mean exactly?

So far, this is the money info we have on recovery.gov.

OK, well it's a nice chart. To the point. I'd like to learn more and conveniently, there's a "Learn more" link which brings me to this:

Hmm, this information seems vaguely familiar.

And maybe it's just me but I'm usually worried by an "Other" category. 8 billion dollars for "Other." Is "Other" party supplies? Because that'd be a lot.

This is the first effort to ever do anything like this so I'm willing to give recovery.gov time. But fingers crossed that the next installment of transparency isn't just these same numbers in a pie chart and pictograph. OK, just kidding. I love pictographs.

Don't Let A Cheese Hit Me.

The Amazing Race never disappoints. I'm sort of obsessed with it for three reasons.

1) Travel turns people into the truest versions of themselves.

2) Whenever I'm lost I like to pretend that I'm on the show. And I'm pretty horrible with directions so I get to do this a lot. Once when attending a friend's wedding outside of Vancouver I was so terribly lost and thought I might miss the whole thing so I basically stopped and asked every person in BC for directions. One woman ran over to me, poked her head into the car to look in the backseat and asked with excitement, "Is this for The Amazing Race?!" I was so upset at the time I was like, "No!" but deep down I was like, "Unofficially, yes. Yes it is."

3) The show explores what I think is the fundamental question faced by humans in every culture: How should we waste our time? I love that every country, small town, or village has their own answer.

The premiere episode of season 14 aired last night and the contestants were given the task of bringing 200 pounds of cheese down a steep hill. Why the cheese makers don't store the cheese at the bottom of the hill to begin with was not discussed. However, I was pleased to learn that the combination of cheese wheels and steep hills should be added to the list of things I find amusing.

You See?!

I deleted the original post I wrote explaining my history with wild animal sightings because I got tired of people making fun of me. But here's a rundown if you're unfamiliar:

- Two summers ago, while eating breakfast on the deck at my parents' house, I saw what I thought was a mountain lion in the apple orchard. I alerted everyone at the table and as the large cat came closer to the house, I yelled for everyone to run inside. I had also read just days before about a bear sighting in the area, and might have yelled something about that too. People enjoyed pointing out that there are no mountains around my parents' house and it was determined that the mountain lion was a feral cat. Everyone made fun of me.

- Months later, while driving around Letchworth State Park, I was convinced I saw a monkey riding on the back of a motorcycle. Aware that I already had one strike against me with the mountain lion, I debated not saying anything. However, I was so sure that I had seen a monkey and that the sighting would vindicate me, I shouted it out and demanded that we turn around to follow the motorcycle. It turns out it was a grown man riding around with a stuffed orangutan on the back of his bike. Everyone made fun of me. To be fair though, who the hell does that?

-Months later, on my way home from a trip to Boston, I was one of only two cars parked at a rest stop on the thruway. Standing outside of the car drinking a coffee and stretching, I saw something moving in the distance. Squinting to make it out, I noticed that it was quickly running in my direction. It was super fast and coming right at me and I knew I wouldn't have enough time to get in the car. I debated jumping on the hood of the car, but I froze with fear and just stood there as the large cat with its giant tail ran right past me. After it happened I got in the car and could only laugh because I knew no one was going to believe me. I called my mother and even she said, "Ooh, was it a tiger, Jess?" I later received numerous emails with the subject line, "Was this the cat?" which included pictures like this.

So anyway, I was thrilled today to hear about the sightings and recent capture of a bobcat on Staten Island. A bobcat. Staten Island. Who's laughing now, fools?

Back In The Vault, Ariel.

In yet another sign of the crumbling economy, Brooks Barnes writes in the NYT that the Walt Disney Company has decided to change its DVD business model. Could it be an end to The Vault?

With overcrowding and significant increases in costs for food and medical coverage, Disney can no longer afford to adequately care for the characters in The Vault. Disney's vault system, releasing characters for a limited time and then locking them away for 7 to 10 years, has drawn sharp criticism from rights groups and children wanting to watch a digitally remastered Pocahontas while they're still young enough to enjoy it.

During her 2007 release, Cinderella sat down for an exclusive interview with Lisa Ling to speak out against the conditions. She claimed characters were not properly monitored and that the cast of The Lion King had eaten most of the members of The Jungle Book and at least 32 Dalmatians. She also accused Disney of not providing Quasimodo with proper physical therapy and said Sleeping Beauty had been subjected to numerous tests for drug companies, namely, Ambien. When reached for comment, Disney sent a letter written by Pinocchio saying that he loved The Vault. Pressed for video showing Pinocchio reading his statement, Disney declined.

With the possible release of all the characters due to lacking funds, employment experts stress that this may be a difficult time for them. "The job market is tight right now and a lot of these characters lack employable skills. I'm afraid being able to talk to animals, or actually being an animal, isn't what companies are looking for in a recession. Most of them will probably end up on reality shows."

But according to Barnes' article, Disney won't be letting anyone loose before their scheduled release. The company simply wants to produce fewer discs and change packaging to cut costs.

Activist protests are anticipated in Orlando and Anaheim.

A Three Million Dollar Lesson.

If Super Bowl commercials have taught me anything, it's that watching horses fall in love does not make me want a beer.

"I'll handle this, Violet. Why don't you take your three-hour break."

Newman: Oh, calm down everyone. No one's cancelling any mail.
Kramer: Oh, yes, I am.
Newman: What about your bills?
Kramer: The bank can pay 'em.
Newman: The bank. What about your cards and letters?
Kramer: E-mail, telephones, fax machines. Fedex, telex, telegrams, holograms.
Newman: All right, it's true! Of course nobody needs mail. What do you think, you're so clever for figuring that out? But you don't know the half of what goes on here. So just walk away, Kramer. I beg of you.

So I'm sure by now you've heard the red alert that the postmaster general wants to cut mail service down from 6 days a week to five. This news has been on par with the peanut paste thing. "Don't eat peanut paste! It's contaminated!" Thanks for that. I was consuming most of my peanut products in paste form. But apparently the post office could lose as much as $6 billion next year if they don't make the switch. Do you know how many postcard stamps that is?!

I think the 5-day service switch is a great idea because no one really appreciates the mail anymore. I bet the people waiting on the Pony Express to roll into town were pretty freakin' amped to see that Valpak.

According to the Associated Press, the post office needs to send about 9 billion more pieces of mail this year to meet its budget. If they let Bernie Madoff get involved to start those chain letters that we used to get in fourth grade, maybe people would be willing to go through a book of stamps to receive good fortune. If every American sent out 20 letters every week for 52 weeks, and the post office cut service to 5 days, plus holidays, and increased the price of the forever stamp, forever, I think the budget concerns would be a thing of the past.

Or maybe they should just start charging a fee to rent a pen at the post office. Because they never have pens there.

Problem Solved.

So I hear Lost is back. I'm not a fan. I've mentioned this before. During the first few seasons whenever people started talking about the show I'd ask them to explain the plotline to me and then three words into their explanations I'd add, "But say it with a straight face."
If people could get through a rundown of the program, dropping words like "monster" without smiling, I'd know not to talk to them about TV again.

One of my roommates in San Francisco was really into Battlestar Galactica and I made the mistake onetime of sitting down to watch it with him.
"So these people are in space?"
"Yeah."
"Then where do they get those salon quality haircuts?"

And then he hit pause on the Tivo until I left.

I get that these shows thrive on suspended disbelief and people dig that, but the Lost thing is out of control. The Wikipedia page for Lost is about 30 times larger than the Wikipedia page for Einstein's Theory of Relativity. Let's have a little perspective people.

I only bring this up because I overheard what I'd consider a genuine argument the other day as someone yelled, "It's NOT a dinosaur!"

The yelling thing scared me. Watching Lost fans struggle to keep a straight face while saying "blob" or "tropical polar bear" used to be good for a little laugh. But I don't want one of these freaks to cut me. From now on if I hear anyone mention the show, I'm just going to say I don't own a television anymore. My TV was misplaced on a flight home from Australia.

Write That Down.

Listening to a list of the nightly specials at restaurants has started to make me feel uncomfortable. Due to the complexity of the food some restaurants now serve, it's become a Top Chef story hour of ingredients and preparation techniques as the server tells a tale about where each dish was locally harvested and why there's foam on the plate. The overuse of adjectives doesn't help either. I have no idea what an auspicious salad is supposed to taste like.

Hearing, "Let me tell you about tonight's specials" gives me the same feeling I get when a person starts to sing or play the flute on the subway. OK, this might be awhile. Should I look at you? Should I look away? Should I nod at everything you say or smile when you name something I like? Should I interrupt your flow of information with an "Oooh, that sounds good" or hold that until the end?

There must be some sort of unwritten rule for handling this. There seems to be an unwritten rule for almost everything else.

People love talking about unwritten rules. I think it's because the lack of solid evidence frees them to make any claim they want. "I'm sorry, but if the car in front of you leaves their blinker on for more than a mile, you're allowed to rear end them. That's just an unwritten rule."
You can learn a lot about a person through the unwritten rules they mention--and also by looking at the front of their car.

It's amazing how many lists of unwritten rules are posted on the internet.

"12 Unwritten Rules of Cellphone Etiquette."
"The Unwritten Rules of Movie Watching."
"25 Unwritten Rules For Writing Rules That Should Remain Unwritten: A Novel."

Everyone has their personal favorite. Unwritten rules for travel, waiting in line, eating. Years ago I learned about the unwritten rules of Bingo. I won't pretend to know anything about Bingo Etiquette except to say that it exists and involves a dauber. Note: If you ever want to get kicked out of a Catholic school's basement during a Wednesday night game of Bingo, call a false Bingo twice in a row. How do people not know you're joking when you shout "Bingo!" after the first number is called?

Elevator Etiquette is one of the unwritten universals. Nothing brings people together on the rules of social behavior quite like standing in vertical transport with strangers. Save for that lone weirdo, we all agree that an elevator trip is life's pause button. Who we are, what we're doing, where we're going, where we've been--it's all canceled out on the elevator. Maybe because lifts were originally meant for freight we all just assume that role.

Some people nod when entering an elevator as if to say, "I'm entering the elevator now" and most people will nod back in confirmation, "Yes, you are." A fake smile is often used here as well. More of a frown than a smile, an elevator fake smile never exposes teeth and it states in the quietest way possible, don't talk to me.

It blows my mind when couples say they met on an elevator. Seriously? How?
The danger is that an elevator ride can make anyone who says more than, "floor?" seem like a charming wordsmith. These are usually the same couples who a few months into the relationship complain they they're having trouble communicating.

Most unwritten rules boil down to one of two things: Be quiet or show up with wine. So I guess I need to start looking for mime restaurants with a corkage fee. No lengthy explanations, just nightly specials trapped in a box or being pulled from the kitchen with invisible rope.

Edward R. Murrow Would Be Proud.

It's a shame that they edited this video because when I saw it this morning the guy kept interrupting Heidi Collins asking to show the water trick while she repeated over and over, "I'm sorry, we have to get to some news."

Is it just me, or do you get the feeling that local weatherman were the kids in school who used to lick their shoes?

Get Out Of My Head Robot Voice.

I had a dream last night that T-Pain was my roommate and we threw a party to help teach people how to recycle.
A dream dictionary that could figure that one out hasn't been written yet.
But I guess it's easier to understand than the recurring dreams I was having about The Supernanny.

Try To Follow This.

The following is from an actual conversation I had with my father the other day after a wind storm. The word "generator" has been omitted about 30 times.

"Well, the power's out! Lines are down all over the road! The wind snapped the poles like toothpicks! You think the wind cares? The wind doesn't care!"
"I've never really thought about the wind like that before."
"We had to have Garr help us hook a generator up to a tractor to get some power going on the farm."
"I'm sorry, who?"
"Gaar."
"Is that some sort of mythical creature?"
"You've heard me mention Garrr before."
"Garrgh, the Norse God of Portable Energy?"
"He works over at Suburban Electric."
"I don't know what that is. They install generators?"
"No, but I guess Garar knows a lot about generators."
"Enough to hook them up to tractors to heat homes?"
"Yeah."
"And his name is Gar?"
"It might be short for Garfield or Gar...Gar...I don't know."
"Anyway..."
"Oh! Remember that party your mother and I went to for Margot's birthday at the Belhurst Castle in Geneva?"
"Who?"
"Margot Bill Frank's wife."
"Margot Bill, Frank's wife? Or Margot Frank, Bill's wife?"
"Yeah."
"Dad!"
"Bill Frank worked on our refrigeration for the storage. Margot is German."
[Blank Stare]
"Look, the point is, Garr was at that party."

Having a conversation with my dad is remarkably similar to playing Three-Card Monte except that I'm never told which card I'm supposed to identify.

Blank Stare: Thanksgiving Edition.

Still not in comic strip form. Drawing boxes obviously requires more energy than I'm willing to exert.

Frame 1: Deb this chicken tastes like pork tenderloin.
Frame 2: It's eggplant.
Frame 3: Blank Stare.

Frame 1: Jess, have you given any more thought to going back to school to be a veterinarian?
Frame 2: I have no idea what you're talking about.
Frame 3: Oh, I don't know.
Frame 4: Blank Stare.

Frame 1: Hey dad, what does tare weight mean?
Frame 2: Empty weight.
Frame 3: Does tare stand for something?
Frame 4: Yeah, empty.
Frame 5: Blank Stare.

Frame 1: Jess, this is delicious! You could be like that celebrity chef Lance Bass.
Frame 2: Blank Stare.

Frame 1: That's a nice color for a car.
Frame 2: Yeah, it looks like a pearl.
Frame 3: No, it was a man in there.
Frame 4: Dad, I said PEARL.
Frame 5: Oh. Well she looked like a man.
Frame 6: Blank Stare.

Frame 1: Vermont plates!
Frame 2: Yup.
Frame 3: You know, Vermont's slogan should be, "Come to Vermont for a nice meal and a good book."
Frame 4: Blank Stare.

(T)issue.

I was watching the CEOs of America's Big Three automakers beg for money last night in front of the House Financial Services Committee (because that's how I do) and was slightly disappointed that no one brought up the issue of Kleenex in the rear windows of Lincoln Town Cars. I guess that's not what the meeting was about, but it has always sort of bothered me.

Has anyone ever sat behind a Lincoln Town Car at a red light and NOT seen a box of tissues in the rear window?

Seriously. Anyone?

I want to start a photo collection of different Town Cars I see with tissues in the rear window and call the collection, "I'm Driving And I Need A Tissue But I Can't Reach Because I Drive A Lincoln Town Car And The Box Is In My Rear Window."

I'll need to work on the title.

As Seen On TV.

"If any of you are looking for any last minute gift ideas..."

The Aqua Globe. This is something you fill with water and stick into your plants to keep them watered. Right. That seems like an extra step I wouldn't be willing to pay for. You still have to remember to water something. Plus, having to hear, "Did you water the Aqua Globe?" would probably send me into a rant about the Aqua Globe every time.

Debbie Meyer Green Bags. These magic bags keep your fresh produce "fresh" for weeks. Few questions here. Why is Debbie Meyer buying so much fresh produce if she knows she won't be eating it for 18 days? Why not just buy a fresh green pepper when you need one? What is running through Debbie Meyer's head at the market? "Oh, cucumbers. I might want one of those in three to four weeks. Better buy 12 of them now." The commercial for these bags says, "Here are baby carrots after 26 days!" Maybe Debbie doesn't like baby carrots as much as she thinks she does.

The Slanket. Don't even get me started. All I'll say is that in all honesty, without exaggeration, I am afraid of this thing.

And on Sunday I saw a commercial where the man from the Oxiclean ads was selling a health insurance plan. That seems like a sound choice. Medical coverage from a man who feels compelled to throw red wine and ink on everything he sees. Why not refinance your mortgage through the ShamWOW! guy, or apply for a student loan with the people who brought us Kinoki Foot Pads?

Call now.

Productive Day.

Gloomy weather is good for me when it comes to getting things done. I have a ton of stuff to take care of and so far I've put a pretty nice dent in the list.

1) Dance around to Janelle Monae's "Many Moons" for 5 minutes, or an hour. Check.

2) Brainstorm ideas for an online cooking show called Pinscher of Salt where Stella makes sandwiches. Check.

3) Stare at things. Check.

I should be a life coach.

Work In A Bikini!

That was the actual title for a job posting on Craigslist. "Work In a Bikini!"

The exclamation point kills me. I usually don't even wear a bikini to the beach, but gosh, I never thought about showing up to work in midtown in a bikini. That might be pretty exciting! And winter is right around the corner! Working in a bikini in the winter! Cool!

I read the ad merely out of curiosity (I'm not qualified. I get it.) and it turns out it's to work as a food server in a restaurant. I shouldn't be surprised I guess. This economic downturn has caused most other people who work in their bikinis to lose their jobs. Just this morning CNBC was talking about the spike in unemployment rates for bikini-clad accountants and the Detroit area is losing bikini-wearing auto manufacturing jobs left and right. I recently read that the entire law firm of Mono, Micro, Tankini & String folded, leaving associates there wondering what to do next.

The ad for the Craigslist posting described the ideal candidate for the position as "fit, attractive, experienced in restaurant and bar operations, and comfortable working in a Bikini." Makes sense. They also asked job applicants to show up to the interview with "heels and a bikini." That makes sense too. No mention of a cover letter or résumé, but I assume that goes without saying.

"So I see here you've had experience working in a bikini before?"
"Yes, that's right. After getting my degree in Swimwear Studies, I worked for Beach For America for two years in Chicago and then went on to work as a molecular/cell biology Research Assistant at a university here in the city."
"Oh, but that wasn't in a bikini?"
"Well, the job didn't call for it, no. But I do prefer to work in a bikini and I ALWAYS do research in a bikini."
"O.K. good."

Because I have issues with restaurant cleanliness, it's particularly upsetting to me that bikini jobs are limited to working in food and beverage. You'd have to be a pretty big perv to overlook the fact that people are serving you food in their underwear. It's gross. I'd be like, "Could you do us a solid and throw some pants on before you bring out our appetizer sampler? That'd be great, thanks."

Getting To Know You.

Helping D setup an online payment system for an account this morning, it occurred to me how much you need to know about yourself to fill in the security questions. I remember when the only question was "What was your High School Mascot?" or "What is your mother's middle name?" and even trying to answer those questions took five seconds of serious thought. But now there are multiple questions. So many in fact, that she had to write down the answers and file them. That seems insane to me. That security questions about oneself are now so wide in scope that a person needs to keep a "me" cheat sheet in their filing cabinet. "My favorite band? I started this account online in the 90's, I have no effing clue. Let's see, what was my favorite band in 1998? Aqua? That can't be right."

In the event that you can't remember your password, which is highly likely because it often must include 3 digits and an umlaut, these security questions are meant to help verify that you're you. But what if you can't even verify it? Trying to recall the answer to a question you filled out seven years ago is difficult, but if the question concerned something about personal taste at the time, it's nearly impossible. My nightmare would be having to call customer service and run through a list of possible answers I might have given to security questions.
-We're sorry that you're having trouble accessing your account. Can you remember how you answered the "What did you want to be when you grew up" question?
-Um, was there another question?
-Well, we have to start on this one.
-Oh. Um, did I say teacher?
-Let me check. No, that wasn't the answer given.
-Doctor?
-No.
-Um, MacGdkjfhds?
-Sorry?
-Um, Macfrummsblerg?
-Miss Martin, I can't understand you.
-Did I type MacGyver?
-Yes, okay. And now I just need to verify your social.

I let D pick her questions and fill out her answers and afterward she agreed that they were ridiculous.
"One of the questions asked me to name my greatest fear."
"Really? What is your greatest fear?"
"I don't know. I said choking."

It's A Common Sense Thing.

Imagine you're out to eat when the waiter announces your order to the entire restaurant. "Excuse me ladies and gentleman, she said she wants tonight's special. Yea or Nay?" And then by a show of hands, the entire dining room votes on your meal. "I'm sorry, the other customers think you should have a salad."

It'd be totally ridiculous, right?

But the gay marriage ban that passed in three states on election night isn't so far removed from this restaurant scenario.

Entire states were asked to walk into a voting booth, close the curtain, and decide whether or not a gay person should be allowed to marry someone they love. A majority of voters in California, Arizona and Florida decided they should not be allowed that right. I don't remember being asked to vote before any of my straight friends and family members got married.

I've never been cryptic about my views on marriage, but I am deeply concerned with actions taken to limit rights and the use of bigotry to hold a nation back from achieving equality. And that's what this is all about--equality. The idea that gay people are somehow different, or deserve an altered set of rules to exist in America is insulting and dangerous. It creates an idea of "the other" and is a breeding ground for injustice. What worries me is that this is not really an issue of marriage (as long as it's between consenting adults, does anyone honestly care who anyone marries?) but more of a device used to spread intolerance.

There are suggestions that gay marriage leads to the destruction of the family (huh?) but I like Ellen's response to these claims:

"I don't know what people are scared of. Maybe they think that their children will be influenced. And I gotta say, I was raised by two heterosexuals. I was surrounded by heterosexuals. Just everywhere I looked, heterosexuals. And they did not influence-- I mean, I had dabbled in high school, who didn't? But I think people are going to be who they're going to be. And we need to learn to love them for who they are and let them love who they want to love."

Note: The blog has taken a political turn as of late. Back to reporting on the absurdities of life soon. But on some level, I think the political posts qualify.

That's What I'm Talking About!

Obama's win last night was America's win. "This is your victory" he said. And because the coverage kept showing Oprah so many times throughout his speech, I really thought America was going to win her favorite things as well. "Can we give everyone in this great nation a Weber Grill? Yes We Can! Oh, okay. I've just received word that no, no we can't."

But unlike other victories where the enthusiasm fades away awkwardly, with the camera zooming in on some fan with a slowly waving foam finger, Obama's/America's win last night resonates. If anything, it feels more like victory today. To actually feel inspired by a political leader, to see the results of grassroots efforts and to watch a nation come together as a nation, you start to think, holy crap, we really can. It's huge. (But it's still a no on those grills-- I checked.)

Vote Tomorrow!

Well, it's about that time, people. (Finally.) So many things have happened during this election that I decided to put together a little list of the highs and lows. But lists can be boring, so please sing this list aloud to yourself to the tune of "We Didn't Start The Fire."

Freddy Mac, Fannie Mae, Fundamentals A-Okay
Town Halls, Live Debates, Can I Call You Joe?

Joe Six-pack, party division, automakers, television
Oil prices, polling devices, The Rachel Maddow Show.

(Instrumental Break)

Colbert runs as "favorite son," superdelegates overdone,
Fred Thompson's presidential run called Law and Order: WTF?

Socialism, skepticism, idealism, optimism,
Health care, warfare, Kucinich's wife.

(Chorus)

Robocalls, op-ed pieces, talking heads, rally speeches,
Flag pins, middle names, snowmachining spouse.

Troopergate, swing states, pig and lipstick, interest rates,
Wal-Mart moms, Neiman's spree, Russia's by my house.

Tim Russert, SNL, Mitt Romney ( told ya pal).
Katie Couric, Late-Night Diss, NYTimes, Maverickyness.

Brokaw played clock-referee, weird touch screen map thing on TV, Hillary, Tina Fey, what else do I have to say?

OK, you get it.

Vote.

Move Over Sexy Hobo.

I was a "hobo" for halloween basically every year of my childhood for two reasons:

1) It was always freezing by the time halloween rolled around and any costume I was wearing was covered up by a sweatshirt, a winter coat, and one of my dad's flannels before I was allowed to go outside.
"No one will know what I am!"
"You're a hobo!"

2) I actually was a hobo one halloween and we kept the plastic cigar and bindle on a stick that the costume came with, so those things were given to me at the last minute, every year.

Anyway, I know the sexy costume discussion is brought up annually, but it really has become ridiculous. Think of any costume you've had throughout your life, add "sexy" in front of it, and I'll bet you a sexy dollar they sell it somewhere on the internets. Mark my words, by October 31, 2009, Sexy Crayon and Sexy Pumpkin will be making out together somewhere in America. In the meantime, these are for real.

Sexy Dirty Cop
Sexy Queen Bee
Sexy Rag Doll
Sexy Army Nurse
Sexy Lady Bug. (really?)
Candy Corn Witch Sexy Costume
Sexy Gangsta Lady
Sassy Gangster Jumpsuit Adult Costume (for the sexy gangsta lady's business meeting)
Sexy Pirate Booty (well played)
Sexy Victorian Pirate
Sexy Renaissance Pirate (because there's a serious difference in period piece costume design)
Vixen Pirate Wench (out of stock)
Buccaneer Beauty
Playboy Buccaneer Beauty
Sexy Zorro
Sexy Ghostbuster
and Sexy Hobo (which is just the bindle and the cigar. brrr.)

V's co-worker is going as "The Conspicuous Ninja," wearing brightly colored spandex, bells, and covering his sneakers in bubble wrap so it snaps when he walks. I'm sorry, but one funny play on words costume is sexier than all of the above combined. Puns and ninjas beat out Sexy Candy Corn Witch every time. And seriously, what the hell is a candy corn witch?

Your Call Is Important To Us.

Robocalls were the big story on cable news yesterday. Apparently the automated calls are growing nastier and more frequent, inundating and annoying the voters in key swing states. CNN reported that studies show "half of us hang up on our robo friends" while "other voters listen angrily and then hang up." Question. How were those studies conducted? Over the phone? And how scientific is a study that concludes that all telephone calls end with someone hanging up?

It's a sad commentary on our times that 12 days before the most important election of our generation, the issue news networks are covering concerns not wanting to go over our monthly minutes. Joe Biden recently insisted that McCain stop the robocalls sent out by his campaign, saying, "John, stop your ads! Bring down those robocalls!" Kind of has a "Tear down this wall!" vibe to it, only, it's about pre-recorded messages. Imagine the historic significance of a Reagan speech that demanded, "Mr. Gorbachev, stop calling my home during the dinner hour!"

Aside from spreading untruths and being ridiculously annoying, the robocall thing is upsetting in that it shows us how little politicians have learned about America. Namely, that if you absolutely must use robocalling techniques, you absolutely must hire Samuel L. Jackson to record the message. No one is going to stay on the line while Giuliani bashes Obama, but if Samuel L. Jackson had a few things to say about Snakes on the Straight Talk Express, I'd probably put the call on speakerphone.

Note: Given the nature of the name Robocall, it's nearly impossible not to think of RoboCop. I really wanted this post to be about RoboCop, but I'm not sure I've ever actually seen that movie, so I came up with very little. I did, however, stumble across the tagline for the 1987 film. "Part man. Part machine. All cop. The future of law enforcement." And I thought to myself, why is this not the tagline formula for every movie? And then (true story) I stumbled across the tagline for Beverly Hills Chihuahua-- "50% Warrior. 50% Lover. 100% Chihuahua"-- and realized that it already is.

Suspended Disbelief.

This has been a hell of a week for suspension.

David Blaine started it off on Monday by hanging upside down over Central Park for 60 hours. MAGIC! Only, he didn't actually remain suspended for the entire 60 hours. Cameras caught him taking breaks, standing on platforms and stopping for water about once an hour. In an article in the TimesOnline, Veronica Schmidt quoted a spectator as saying, “Finally, after 15 minutes or so, Blaine went back to being upside-down. There wasn’t much to see. He just hung.”

Anyone who as ever been a babysitter has probably seen a living room version of this stunt as a little kid hangs upside down over the side of a sofa.

John McCain was obviously so impressed by Blaine's illusion that he decided to pull a suspension trick of his own. Calling for the suspension of his campaign to deal with the financial crisis, McCain hinted that the debate scheduled for tonight would have to be canceled, he skipped an appearance on David Letterman ("you work on commission right? big mistake, big! HUGE!"), and pulled an impressive disappearing act from the political stage that would make Sarah Palin proud. Is it just me, or do you see some sort of traveling magic show in the future for these two? Something involving shooting rabbits in a hat from a helicopter.

Anyway, in the same way that bystanders in Central Park were utterly unimpressed by forty-five minute intervals of David Blaine's purple face, Americans and the media called McCain's bluff. They spotted the wire, or the mirror, or the hidden tiger, or dove up his sleeve or whatever other magic analogy you want to use. People, you can't suspend a campaign! There's no crying in baseball, there's no basement in the Alamo, and there's no suspension in politics! Where did he honestly think he was going to go during this suspension? Washington?! Did he forget that there are a couple of cameras in DC right now covering the death of money?

The Great McCain's trick was up when he arrived in the Capitol and people noticed that his campaign suspension simply meant that instead of helping to reach a financial agreement, or facing Obama on the issues, or actually running for president, he just hung.

Might I Suggest A Bake Sale.

I pay attention to the news, but I usually zone out during the stock market stuff because the flashy charts and ticker thing scrolling along the bottom of the screen at the speed of sound make me dizzy. So all I ever hear is "blerg blah blah...Bear Stearns..blah blah, Fannie/Freddy...blerg blah...oil....bloop blah...subprime... blah blah blee poptarts..." and then i'm like, "Hold up. Poptarts?" until I realize I just want a breakfast pastry and I shut off the TV.

But to use a lyric from an old Alan Greenspan song, "The economy is fucked, and I hope you have a new place to stay because chances are you don't live here anymore, and the government now owns all of this Wall Street debt meaning you taxpayers out there are basically screwed for a few years while we try to figure this out. Baby."

That song was called, "Milkshake" and later remixed by Kelis, where it lost most of its economic undertones.

I won't go into a rant about the state of things and how we got here, but I have to question these huge government bailouts for these irresponsible companies. Yesterday the Fed gave the failing insurance company AIG an 85 billion dollar loan saying the economy would be in worse shape if the company was just left to die. OK, I don't know if that's true or not, but dude. $85 BILLION??!!! And we're giving that money to a company that has clearly demonstrated that they can't handle their ish. It boggles the mind.

I'm sick of Wall Street giants messing with everything and then pulling a Steve Urkel, "Did I do that?" when Americans start to feel the strain. And I'm even more upset with the fact that the government just keeps throwing money at these businesses that didn't really try to help themselves.

When we were in school and needed money for a school trip, what did we do? We sold shit. We made everyone we knew buy $1 candy bars and crappy coupon books. Yes, it sucked, but it usually worked. If companies like Lehman Brothers had stopped whining for five minutes to pick up a big-ass case of M&M's and sold about one hundred million of them in the subway, maybe they'd still be around. And if someone in Washington had told the people at Bear Stearns or AIG to have a car wash to raise funds before asking for federal cash-monet, maybe normal citizens wouldn't be so mad right now.

All these Wall Street big shots were bright enough to make millions of dollars for themselves while creating this mess. The very least they could do before having the rest of us pay for their mistakes is bake and sell a few hundred billion trays of brownies. That's all I'm saying.

What Are You Doing To My Towels?

While shopping in Philly over the weekend we overheard a sales clerk mention to a customer, "Just so you know, we're having a special today and anything you buy can be mammogramed for free."

The customer paused for a second before asking the girl to repeat herself.

"We're giving away free mammograms with purchase."

Standing next to a giant sewing machine in the store, I glanced up at a line of people waiting to have their initials put on polos.

Smiling to myself about the obvious mistake, I grabbed a sweater from the shelf and made my way to the dressing room, just to be sure.

Picture Day.

Typing "picture day" immediately reminded me of picture days in school. Those were pretty much the worst, right? All of my school pictures were taken before the golden age of digital photography so whenever the photo packages arrived with the 8x10 of my non-smile and half-closed eyes peering through the window of the Lifetouch envelope, I just shoved the whole thing in my bag before my friends could ask to see. Kids always compared photo packages too for some reason. Like your parents loved you more somehow if you signed up for package A, which came with 105 pictures, as opposed to package E, which came with a yearbook photo and one wallet.

The photographer's main job was to pass out combs, as if it was going to be a fly-away hair that ruined the picture and not his shoddy work or the ridiculous background choices. Sitting in front of a neon green or bright purple background was wonderful for a child of the 80's. All of my elementary school pictures look like advertisements for highlighters. But the really exciting backgrounds like "outer space" or "autumn" were the most memorable. I have a space picture. I also have one in which I'm sitting in front of what appear to be lasers. All of those pictures are still in my parents' house, shoved in drawer of the dining room hutch.

My sisters and I recently met up with Deb and Steve to have a family picture taken. I know a lot of families do this regularly (and include a pic with their holiday update letters, letting the world know how great their lives are, even though no one asked) but my family has never actually taken one together. So because we were all able to meet at the same time, my mom scheduled a session and we went to have our first ever professional family photo.

We all decided to wear white button-down shirts and jeans because it's classic and because we always wanted to be in a Gap commercial. I've mentioned before how I have a terrible sweating problem, so I refused to put my shirt on until the very last minute and had to keep explaining to the photographer that I had my shirt with me, and I'd put it on when she was ready. She claimed she was ready so I got dressed and 25 minutes later, as she was still setting up lights, my shirt was ruined.

My mom's one request before going into the studio was that she didn't want to sit on the floor. "It can be a casual picture, I just don't want to get on the ground." So of course, once we were ready to take our places the photographer said, "I want to try a few different things. To start, mom, why don't we have you lay here on the floor." and my mom happily agreed. The photographer arranged the rest of us and started to take the pictures, using different suggestions of things people might find exciting to get us to smile. The problem with this was that my dad finds everything exciting, and agrees with almost anything people say. So as she was using her smile technique, my dad kept turning around to tell us how great her ideas sounded.

Photographer: OK, Martin Family! You're going on a cruise!
Dad: Oh, a cruise girls! That sounds like fun!
Photographer: Mr. Martin, up here please. OK, and you just won the lottery!
Dad: Oh! Better get those tickets, today might be our lucky day!
Photographer: Just a smile please. Keep your head facing the camera. And, you're out at your favorite restaurant.
Dad: Oh, Jess, what was that place in San Francisco? The rolls!

By the end of the session the photographer was just saying "smile."

We took a whole bunch of cheesy family pictures and then my sisters and I wanted to take a few together, so the woman asked my mom and dad to get up and step aside. However, my mom had been seated on the floor for quite awhile, and her knees were not agreeing with her, so she was having some trouble getting up. Sabrina gave her a hand, but apparently my mom was just going dead-weight, so my dad rushed over to help, sort of lifting her from behind, as Bri pulled on her arms. By this point my mom was giddy, and she started to fall back a little so I went over to assist my dad and Sabrina but realized that my mom wasn't making any effort whatsoever to help herself up. Naturally, this made me burst out laughing as Nessa shouted at the photographer to take the picture. "This should be the family picture. Please take it!"

She didn't. But I'm thinking of having a portrait of the scene painted.

Our Future Is Not A Blended Beverage.

For the entire campaign, the Republican Party has sounded something like this: Pay no attention to the concrete facts of the last 8 years because those things are all about to change. Using the same traditional organic GOP ingredients (truthiness, gut politics, restricting civil liberties, and ignoring a growing class of "have-nots") John McCain is gearing up to make something incredibly new and delicious.

"But wait," you say. "If John McCain is using the same ingredients, how will the product be any different?"
Well, foolish consumer, we're blending all the old solid stuff together so that you can't really see it anymore and it goes down easier. Solid to liquid. That's change that the phases of matter demand you believe in! Plus, you drink it! With a straw!
"But I still don't see--"
I'm sorry, no more questions at this time.

John McCain's change is a smoothie. If there is difference and change in his plans I'm having trouble deciphering. Sometimes I get a little piece of something crunchy, but I think it's most likely a raspberry seed. I can see the allure of a Smoothie Plan. Bush gave us two terms of Garbage Plates so we're all looking for a more sensible option. But don't blend up a Garbage Plate, offer me a free boost, and expect me to think I'm at Jamba. I'm not suddenly going to think that conservative policies are good for me because they're mixed with whey protein, or that limiting a woman's right to have a say over her own body, or pretending gay people don't exist somehow makes sense when served with a smile.

And while Jamba Juice recently discontinued the "Femme Boost" from the list of free boosts it offers because many smoothie enthusiasts didn't want vaginas (I'm not sure that's the actual reason, please don't sue me Jamba), John McCain, maverick that he is, thought to bring that femme boost into his campaign--proving the old adage, "Political Strategy is like a nine dollar smoothie."

Choosing Sarah Palin as his running mate was clever, I'll give him that. The Republicans were obviously thinking of the thousands, maybe millions of Hillary supporters who are still steamed about her loss and Obama's failure to put her on the ticket and McCain's team concluded that CLEARLY, women will vote for a woman just because she's a woman, regardless of her policies. I'm sure the brief sent to McCain about the Palin choice included a copy of Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants with a post-it attached that read: You see? They all stick together no matter what! It's genius!

Palin was the best choice for the McCain Campaign in that people are now actually talking about the McCain Campaign, but no one has gone so far as to mention what flavor she brings to the mix. She's new, and exciting, and made a joke about a dog wearing lipstick. That's good enough for Washington. I saw a picture of someone holding a sign at a rally that read, "Sarah, you had us at Hello." Are you serious? The person holding that sign better stay out of Wal-Mart because they're going to want to nominate every elderly person who greets them at the door. And are we really kicking it back to the Jerry Maguire references for this campaign? McCain's next speech will include a variation of the "Ask not what your country can do for you" line when he pleads, "Help me, help you! Help ME! Help YOU!" or maybe, "My friends, do you know that the human head weighs eight pounds?" And the crowd will start to cheer in unison, "8-pounds, U-S-A! 8-pounds, U-S-A!" as Palin slaughters a moose that has been brought out onstage.

In the last two weeks Palin has brought so much attention to the tired blend of old ideas that McCain has been trying to push that people have overlooked that John McCain is trying to sell us a tired blend of old ideas. My biggest fear is that we'll all realize too late that something tastes familiar.

It's Like A Golden Books Title.

"I'm in a relationship for three years. His name is William, but really his name is Ratbones."

Right.

I have to say, Stella from Project Runway is really growing on me. She usually has the best line in every episode, like when she said a lot of bikers in this country watch the Olympics or when she reminds us for the 100th time that she "doesn't do this." The best part of the show this week, perhaps the best part of any reality show ever, was when Stella made a phone call to her boyfriend, Ratbones.

"Uh, guess who?"
Pause.
"It's me."

People with names like Ratbones usually don't like guessing games. Remind me to tell you about the time I was paired up with a man named Snakepiss for The $10,000 Pyramid.

Anyway, I guess the two of them want to start a label together, but don't you think "Stella and Ratbones" is a name better suited for a series of children's books?
"Stella and Ratbones Make Leather Vests"
"Stella and Ratbones and the Adventures of the Bad-Ass Kitten"
"Stella and Ratbones Meet Their Biker Friends To Watch Old Kerri Strug Footage."

You Have A New Fridge Request.

Kevin J. O'Brien wrote an interesting article in the NYT discussing advances in home technology and the push within the consumer electronic industry to have all appliances connected to the internet--all of them. O'Brien writes, "a world in which televisions, stereos and computers — even dishwashers and refrigerators — can communicate with each other over a wireless home network."

Hmm, let's think about this for a second. Ignoring the fact that a household full of inanimate objects that can talk seems like something straight out of Pee-Wee's Playhouse (Let's get Chairy a Wii and a Wireless router), can you imagine how annoying this would be? When someone has a computer in front of them, or their Blackberry, or their iphone, it's obvious that they're not paying attention to you. And usually that's OK because you're probably texting someone else anyway and it's nice to be alone, together. But to have every appliance in your house connected to the internet and talking to each other?! You'd never get any respect. It's a binary code recipe for disaster. Oh, and you better get used to reading binary recipes because when you ask your oven to print out granny's favorite cookie recipe it's going to come out like this: "001010001010101111001010.11110001010101000010010. 100010101010010010110010. 1001010100100100 11100010010010010001110 1010110101 10101010010101 10101110."
Followed by some sort of tongue sticking out of oven emoticon.

Imagine how difficult it will be to wash the dishes or veg in front of TV when everything you own is online, meeting other appliances on e-harmony and poking things they met at Best Buy. You'll no longer be able to open the fridge to grab a beer, you'll have to send an IM request to the fridge to see if it's a good time. Every command will be typed over the internet, but because all of your appliances will be busy updating their blogs, you'll have trouble reaching them. Suddenly getting in touch with your stereo will be as difficult as tr ying to meet up with that friend you keep playing phone tag with. I give you, the future.

[Microwave Request On]: I want some tea.
Microwave: Talk to the stove.
You: No, it takes too long and I want to go to bed. Please? It'll only take a minute.
[Incoming Message from Stove]: WTF?
You: Oh, sorry. No, you know what i mean. it's just... i have to fill the kettle...wait for it to boil.
Stove: No, you know what? save it. [Stove has signed off]
You: So microwave, what's the deal?
Microwave: I'm busy.
You: It's after midnight, what are you doing?
Microwave: Looking at porn.
You: sears.com isn't porn.
Microwave: Oh yes it is.
You: You're disgusting.
[Microwave is away]

[Stereo Request On]: Hey could you play the cd i have in there.
Stereo: brb.

[TV Request On]: Show TiVo list.
TV: oh hi.
You: Show TiVo list.
TV: Oh, i should tell you that i cleared out your list to make room for all of Ken Burns's documentaries. PBS is playing them back to back.
You: You're never going to watch all those!
TV: I know, but i feel smarter just having them there.

[Incoming message from fridge]: Yo, you're going to need milk for tomorrow morning.
You: You're telling me now?!
Fridge: Sorry, lost track of time. Also, something in the vegetable drawer smells rank.
You: I'll get in in the morning.
Fridge: I'd prefer you do it now.
You: I'm going to bed, I'll throw it away in the morning.
Fridge: You suck. I hate it here. We all hate it here.
You: Is that true?
Fridge: Yes. Some of us were talking and we want to be donated to the kidney foundation
You: I think that's only for cars.
Fridge: Well then we want to be treated better around here. No more abrasive cleaning products. And Coffee-Maker deserves a day off every once in a while. It's just a respect thing.
You: Yea, OK. you're right. I'm sorry. I'll clean the drawer. Hey fridge?
Fridge: Yea?
You: Are you still running?
Fridge: Yea, of course I'm always run-- Oh, wait a minute! YOU! That gets me every time!

Ten Things To Do Before London 2012.

Well, the Olympic Games were fantastic. A 17-day exercise in having my mind blown. It all started at the Opening Ceremony where we played my new favorite game, "Are People Under Those Boxes?" (Note: My old favorite game "Hat or Hair?" is still a classic and the rules are simple. When someone with large hair or a furry type hat walks by, ask, "Hat or Hair?" The answer never really matters. If you're bright enough to ask, you win.) In China, it seems that the answer to the "Are people under Those Boxes?" question is always yes. People were under everything during that ceremony. Chinese people are the Russian Dolls of people. No country will ever top that ceremony. Ever. The organizers for London's Opening Event should just blare The Clash throughout the stadium and have Harry Potter sitting in a spotlight eating fish and chips, because to put any more effort into it would be silly.

The mind-blowing continued throughout the Games. This is a small list.

*Synchronized swimming. Did you see this?!! I mean, seriously, it's not human. Absolutely amazing considering the sport was invented at a fourth-grader's pool party after everyone got sick of making a whirlpool.

*Ping Pong (mainly because the athletes had to chase after their own balls showing the world that if it's played in your parents' garage or at the Olympics, the game doesn't change)

*The Weightlifting event I watched where the announcer described the weight one man was lifting like this: "Go grab the family next door, put the husband, the wife, the kids, all on a bar and then throw it over your head."

*All things Phelps. The kid's insane. Michael Phelps was declared a national hero, the most popular person in the world, the greatest athlete of all time, Employee of the Month, Miss America 2009, and Bob Costas went on record saying he was in love with him. I also enjoyed the personal life piece NBC put together that showed Phelps sleeping with his dog before getting up and eating cereal, playing Guitar Hero, and going to a Chinese buffet by himself. People, if that's the formula then I should be the greatest Olympian in the history of the universe.

* And two former SU rowers won medals for their countries! This one is huge. Anna Goodale brought home Gold for America and Helen Tanger gave the Netherlands Silver. When we used to run stairs for crew I remember Helen sprinting around the Dome yelling, "Two at a time for strength!" as I ran one at a time. It helps explain why she's an Olympic Silver medalist and why I seriously debated buying one of these things for my apartment.

But if I want to make it to the 2012 games as an athlete, I have to get my act together. By then I'll be 30, and that seems like my last chance, unless I want to do something like shooting because that sport's motto seems to imply that age doesn't matter. "Got A Finger? Then You Can Shoot!" (I forgot that shooting was an Olympic game but then I remembered the Winter event where people cross-country ski and stop occasionally to shoot at things. Makes sense. Because when I think skiing, I think, bring the gun.) So here's my list of things to do before 2012.

1) Stretch.
2) Research Rhythmic Gymnastic Supply Stores
3) Buy Ribbon on a stick
4) Buy leotard
5) Shuffle through ipod for ultimate floor routine song. (Note to self: Revisit Baha Men)
6) Practice waving ribbon on a stick
7) Eat Cereal
8) Play Guitar Hero
9) Eat 12,000 calories a day at Chinese buffet
10) Stretch. I know I said it twice, but it really is important.

Unofficial Gallup Poll.

What Will Be The Most Popular Halloween Costume For 2008?

a) Batman
b) The Pregnant Man
c) The Pregnant Batman

"It's a beautiful name for a boy or a girl. Especially a girl... Or a boy."

"I defy you to come up with a better name than Seven."
"Alright, let's see... How about Mug? Mug Costanza. That's original. Or Ketchup. Pretty name for a girl."
"Alright... You having a good time now?"
"I've got fifty right here in the cupboard... How about Bisquick? Pimento? Gherkin? Sauce? Maxwell House?"
"Alright already!"

Seinfeld never ceases to be relevant.

We were talking about "The Seven" episode last night while watching Project Runway because I was convinced that one of the models was named Candle.
-Did she just say Candle?
-I think so.
-That girl's name is Candle?
-Yeah, I guess.
-Happy Birthday, Candle. How about mug?
It turns out her name was Kendall, but after hearing Candle a few times, I decided that she looked more like a Candle than a Kendall. And actually, compared to what celebrities call their kids, Candle isn't such a weird name. (Unrelated story: One time I was in Yankee Candle and saw a sign that said "Please Don't Eat The Candles.")

Anyway, I thought of the bizarre name thing again today after reading an article about a young girl in New Zealand who had to have her named changed by a family court judge. The name given to her by her parents was Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii, and the judge felt the name set her up with a social disability. The article didn't mention her last name but it really would have been another nail in the coffin if it was Weiner.

I don't know how I feel about this. On the one hand, kids can be cruel, and she'd probably have people doing the hula dance around her until she turned 19. I can see how that could get old. (Talk to poor Macarena Weiner. She never got over it). But on the other hand, no one would EVER forget her name. That's huge.

People are always forgetting my name. My parents--who named me--have trouble remembering. My neighbor, who I met probably 7 times before moving in here, and now see everyday while walking the dog, always introduces himself to me. What does my name have to be for you to remember that we've met 75 times? I have to say, Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii is looking pretty good.

And how many repeated names do you have in your cell phone? It's hard to tell people apart, right? No one will ever delete her from their cellphone after thinking to themselves, "Hmm, Talula Does The Hula From Hawaii...Did I meet her through work? Or was it at that party? The area code looks familiar, but I just can't think of who that might be. Talula...Hmm...Does The Hula...Hmm...From Hawaii...Nope, not ringing any bells."

The article said that the girl's new name wasn't made public because the court wanted to protect her identity. However, I saw a few reports online that said the judge overseeing the case was leaning toward Candle.

In An Ironic Turn of Events

Matthew McConaughey's son was born with a shirt on.

Shall We?

If a pollster called you right this second and asked you to name the one thing America needs more of, what would you say?

More dance shows. Exactly.

Because while candidates and the media keep talking about healthcare, Iraq, the economy, and the environment, what this nation really needs right now is a another televised tutorial about how to dance. It's not enough that we all know how to pop it. We also need to learn and understand what it means to lock, and drop it. It's called current events, people. Pay attention. And to date, there just haven't been enough shows on TV to dispense all the necessary information to the public.

So I was recently overjoyed to see an ad for a new dance show called Master of Dance. Without Master of Dance, those looking to learn about the issues could only turn to this tiny list of dance shows:

Dancing With The Stars
America's Best Dance Crew
America's Best Dance Crew Season 2 (But shouldn't it actually be called America's Second Best Dance Crew?)
Step It Up And Dance
So You Think You Can Dance?
Your Mama Don't Dance
Dance War: Bruno vs. CarryAnn
Dancelife
The Deadliest Dance on the Discovery Channel
Ice Road Dancers
Law & Order: Flap Ball Change Unit
Iron Dance America
How I Met Your Dancer
My House is Worth Dance?
Ellen
And Dance Dance Dance Dance Dance which is currently in pre-production

Today's Secret Word Is...Tomato.

Listen carefully to the conversations of those next to you on trains, in restaurants, or at the market and you are sure to hear one word: Tomato. If salmonella and food recalls teach us anything, it's that people love to talk about salmonella and food recalls. People love to talk about foods they can't eat in general (See: Vegans, vegetarians, those with gluten allergies, and every elderly person alive) but the food recall puts everyone in the same boat. Suddenly, we all can't eat the same foods and if we don't tell someone about it, our heads might explode.

The E. coli in spinach had everyone talking a few years ago. I was working in the food industry during that time and nearly every person I spoke with asked about spinach.
"Is it safe to eat spinach yet?"
"Well, I can't eat spinach, I know that. But do you have something like spinach?"
"Are you serving spinach?" "Yes." "YOU ARE?!" "No, I was just kidding." "You shouldn't joke! The E. coli!"

Mad Cow had people talking for years, but I think most Americans thought of it as the Pop Rocks/Pepsi urban legend because the subject was usually only brought up over a burger. "Oh, this looks good. Hope I don't get mad cow!" (note: a rancher with many heads of cattle is said to have "mad cow" and this only added to the confusion during the whole beef scare)

But this tomato thing really has people talking. I've had three people in the last two days tell me how upset they were that they couldn't get tomatoes on their sandwiches. Really? The tomato absence ruined your day?
"Was it a BLT?"
"No."

This morning a stranger at the produce shop in our neighborhood (ironically called Top Tomato) started to list for me the tomatoes I could and couldn't eat. I was buying bananas.

And while out to eat last night, a debate at our table began concerning an appetizer that contained tomatoes. In a tone very similar to a child's declaration of bravery, a friend said with a shaking head, "I'm not scared. I'm not scared of tomatoes."

If you want to try a fun social experiment, casually slip into conversation that you're on an all-tomato diet and see what happens. If at least one complete stranger doesn't scream at you, I'll give you a tomato.

Why Sure I Am a Coward.

So it's been unbearably hot in New York. I was going to put up a little post about the heat called "Baking Like a Toasted Cheeser," but it was mostly about how much I sweat and the fact that no matter how I look when I leave the apartment, I always arrive at my destination looking like a crack addict. I will say though, the heat has not deterred tourists from taking rides in those human rickshaws. How can people ride in those things? Having a person pull you around like a horse while you sit and enjoy the view? The people who employ these pullers in this heat are without a doubt sadists and I find myself giving them dirty looks as they pass. Most of them are probably wondering, "Why is that sweaty homeless girl staring at us?"
But I digress.

A break from the heat finally came last night in the form of a breeze during Shakespeare In The Park's production of Hamlet. During one of Hamlet's monologues, the breeze started to pick up slightly and leaves from the park started to swirl around the actor. Everyone in the audience thought this was pretty sweet and even the actor looked weirded out by his apparent control of the weather. He raised his voice and the intensity of his words grew. With that, the wind grew. More leaves and wind whipped around the stage while lightning started to flash from behind the theatre. The entire audience turned to see if it was a lighting effect. The wind picked up faster. Hamlet's character, screaming now in a storm on stage, raised his sword (idiot, there's lightning) and everyone in the audience cheered while turning to look at everyone else to figure out what the hell was going on.

I'm not going to lie, it was creepy. I heard people in front of me and behind me say that they were getting scared and maybe they were thinking about King Hamlet's ghost but I was more concerned with the fact that the entire set was made of metal and the lightning was still flashing. I looked to Bob and my sisters, who were at the show with me, and we were all like, "Let's get the hell out of here."

So we jumped up out of our seats and followed the other people who were running out of the theatre to avoid the thunderstorm. By this point, the wind was crazy. I can't stress this enough. Ushers were yelling at people to leave the park while Sabrina calmly approached one of them and asked, "Now who do I speak to about possible tickets for a make-up performance?" The usher looked at her and screamed, "Get out of here! It's dangerous!"

That's all I needed to hear. I'm terrible in emergency situations and as soon as even part of my worst case scenario thoughts are confirmed, I run. People exiting the theatre ran, but no one was running to leave the park so I started shouting "Anon! Run! Posthaste!" because those seemed like the things to shout in an emergency situation at a Shakespeare performance. People still didn't run. It wasn't until I started jumping over huge branches that had snapped off trees that everyone around me started picking up their pace. Maybe it also had to do with the fact that I yelled, "The trees are falling! The trees!"

Lightning flashed again and again and I thought of the metal buckle on my bag as a lightning rod so I held it out away from me as Bob and I ran faster through the park. Wearing his sunglasses to fight the flying debris he shouted, "This is fun! Let's go get a drink!"

I began to run in zig-zags because I thought I remembered reading that you should do that if heavy branches were falling off trees in parks. Or was that if you were being chased by a car? Or being shot at? I couldn't remember. I just kept running because the visual of me being crushed by a branch kept popping into my head. We ended up running into an open lawn with fewer trees and jumped a gate to get out of the park. Waiting at the corner to run across the street to the subway, I noticed that Brina and Ness weren't with us. When they finally emerged from the park they immediately started yelling. Apparently Ness had been following me but got caught in a bush trying to jump the gate and I didn't hear her shouts for help because I was already gone. Sabrina had tried to keep pace but I broke out into unnatural speeds after seeing the falling branches and she didn't see where I went. Who knew I could run like that?? Maybe I should pull a rickshaw.

Anyway, I think people's true colors shine through in situations like this.
I was convinced I was going to die by branch, Sabrina was looking for comp tickets or the name of the person in charge of the theatre so she could list her grievances about how the staff was trained, Ness was just going along with what everyone else was doing, and Bob was looking for a cocktail.

At least it cooled down outside.

I Before E, Party People.

I heard three similar songs in a row yesterday on the radio and then waited for the DJ to mention something about the theme, but he did not. It's possible that he didn't plan or notice the resemblance because it seems to be an increasingly popular trend in P-O-P-ular music.

Spelling out words in songs has become about as common as the use of the words baby, or girl, or club. Actually, I'm pretty sure that if you just spelled out Baby, Girl, and Club, and then put a catchy little beat under it with a few instructions to clap, you'd have a hit on your hands.

I saw you in the c-l-u-b (clap clap clap)

You were standing next to m-m-m-me (clap clap clap)

B-a-b-y can't you see (clap clap clap)

G-i-r-l

And that doesn't even rhyme, or make sense, or sound good. And that's ok. There's a song out now about an elevator. Anything goes.

The three songs I heard on the radio were Fergie's "Glamorous," Danity Kane's "Damaged," and a guy named Webbie with "Independent." (Webbie really kept it street with his rap name. I definitely feel more confident with my choice to go with Baby Bok Choy as my name for my debut EP)

Fergie and Will-i-am basically took the spelling thing to its extremes on their own. Will-i-am incorporated it into his name. That's dedication. D to the E to the dication. In "Glamorous," F to the E,R,G the I the E shows us that glamour means being able to spell glamorous many times. Also, she shows us that one word can take up the entire hook of your song if you spell it slowly enough--a lesson for all you aspiring song writers out there. Can't think of more lyrics? No problem. Just pick a word to spell, and then slow it down.

In their song, "Damaged," Danity Kane (could Sean John P.Puff Diddy Daddy please stop making the band?) asks with perfect spelling:

"Can you fix my h-e-a-r-t?

Cause it's d-a-m-a-g-e-d"

This song is about heart disease and has a serious message about plaque buildup. It is also not very g-o-o-d.

My boy Webbie holds it down with perhaps the best spelling lesson of the year with his song "Independent." "I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T, do you know what that mean?" I've heard this song twice and haven't stopped spelling independent since. I'm thinking of switching political parties.

Spelling words in song isn't going anywhere and I imagine it will grow. Soon there will be entire songs spelled out so that while you're driving down the road listening to the radio you'll be like, "H-A-N-D-S U-P, R-N-B-Y-C-O-T-K-V...what's this song about?..." [crash].

And imagine the pressure at the club. Not only do you have to dress right and dance well, but now you have to be a good speller. People at clubs are going to start overhearing things like, "Yeah, she's cute, but she misspelled neighbor."

Note: I'm not really into the club scene, go figure, but just so you know, "bub" as in "bottle full o' bub" is referring to champagne, NOT bubbles. I made that tragic error when I showed up to Les Deux with this thing:

Anyway, I'm hoping the pop-spelling will work into an educational tool somehow, like School House Rock feat. Timbaland and Mnemonic Device. Look for these upcoming tracks:

The K is silent, fool

Spell Check on AutoCorrect

Except After C

and Sound it Out.

That ish would be bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.