Monthly Archives: November 2009

Thanksgiving Plan

Muslim, Jew, Christian, Hindu, black, white, yellow, red – none of that matters tomorrow.  If you’re American, you’re celebrating Thanksgiving.

All across the country friends and families are cutting turkeys and passing gravy.  People are smiling, laughing, fighting, and crying.  Some people are alone and don’t want to be.  Some people are in a crowd and want to be alone.  Some people have tattoos hidden under the table that no one knows about.  Some people are pretending to be consultants when they’re really government spies.  The point is, there’s a lot of stuff going on.

Each of us is a part of something bigger than ourselves tomorrow, our nation’s holiday of Thanksgiving.  A celebration of thanks for when the Native Americans saved the pilgrims from starvation…so that they could live another day and go on to take over the country.  Thanks be!

Enjoy your holiday tomorrow, whatever you do or not do or pretend to do.  And remember, don’t drink and drive.  Some people also die on Thanksgiving.  So don’t be that guy.

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Red Lobster

The other day a commercial came on for Red Lobster.  Now I’ve never been to a Red Lobster in my entire life.  I’ve always kind of thought there was something fishy (no pun intended) about all you can eat seafood.  Why is it that I can’t buy a king crab claw at the market for less than $23/pound, but at Red Lobster I can have all the seafood I want for $9.99?

So there I am, memorized by the succulent shrimp rolling past my TV screen.  Dancing crab legs fling themselves onto a plate.  Fat, juicy scallops roll by next and I’m done for.  My mouth is watering.  This Red Lobster commercial is killing me.

Sizzler is kind of the same deal for me as Red Lobster.  I’m no fan of Olive Garden, TGI Fridays or Ruby Tuesdays either.  Any chain for that matter is largely avoidable in my book.  Am I a snob?  Perhaps, but I get squeamish about large quantities of food that don’t cost as much as I think they should.  Something is going on; like maybe that huge steak is actually 9/10 corn, but looks like a steak because of genetic experimenting and a whole lot of messing with the poor cow.  I don’t even eat steak (haven’t done do since I was about 16), but even I know that a good piece of meat is pricey.  Therefore, if it looks like a steak and smells like a steak, but only costs $12.99 and includes a bowl of mashed potatoes the size of a baby’s head, 3 stalks of broccoli that’s so green they glow, and a heavy sauce they hope will disguise how much your steak tastes like corn, don’t eat that steak.

Red Lobster, your commercials confound me, but I’m still not coming for the seafood buffet.  I’ll just suffer silently as you play your devil’s seduction of shrimp and crab and succulent, salty scallops on my TV screen.  And maybe I’ll get my head tested while I’m at it.  I licked the TV yesterday and I don’ t think that’s normal.

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He Said What?

On Saturday I witnessed something that I just can’t get out of my head.  What does it signify?  Why did he say it?  Maybe you can decipher it and tell me what the heck it all means.

I was at the gym minding my own business (read: people-watching) when I passed it…

He was a larger man in his forties with floppy, blond hair and glasses  who reminded me of across between a yuppy, Ryan O’Neil and a ridden hard-put away wet, Phillip Seymour Hoffman.  He had on a plain white t-shirt that tented over his beer gut stomach and mesh exercise shorts that hit just at the knee.  He was chatting up a thirty-something woman who looked Russian maybe.  She had short black hair with severe bangs and was wearing a red sports bra with low-slung, tight, red exercise pants that had flowers cut out on the sides of her thighs so you could see bare skin.  Instead of sneakers, she had on big, black, furry, snow boots that laced up the front like super Uggs.  Her body was on display to its finest although how she worked out in furry boots, I have no idea.  To be honest, I have to report that in my opinion, she was one of those ‘great body, medium face’ kind of girls.

So there was Ryan O’Neil/Phillip Seymour Hoffman, standing if front of the towel rack chatting up Ivanka Ivanovich when I hear (and I’m quoting it because as soon as he said it, I emailed it to myself from my phone for perfect accuracy),

“I’m happily married and not very wealthy, but I just have to say, you are viciously hot.”

See? See!  See?!  What in the heck does this mean and better yet, who says things like this?  I’m so intrigued, that I’ve decided to use this line myself and see what happens.  Maybe I’ll get lucky.  Maybe the candor about my financial solvency will be a big turn-on.  Whatever.  I’m still absolutely flummoxed.

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Dog Fight

This morning, my 12 pound Shih-Tzu leaped off of the sofa and landed on top of my quietly supine, 80 pound Mastiff.  At which point, she proceeded to bite his legs and crawl all over him like something out of a Three Stooges fight.  The Mastiff had a two foot long, stuffed monkey leg in his mouth (it’s a long story).  When the Shih-Tzu couldn’t get a rile out of him by sinking her two teeth into his ears repeatedly (her fighting method is jump, bite, retreat, repeat), she made a stab at stealing the stuffed monkey leg.  This would be a real coup for her.  The Mastiff, still lying on the floor, looked up at me, ‘really?’ his eyes seemed to ask.

The two dogs are now locked in a vicious game of tug of war.  And by vicious I mean that the Mastiff is still in the same position as where this whole thing started with a stuffed monkey leg hanging out of his mouth…the Shih-Tzu on the other hand, is pulling on the monkey leg with all of her might (in between a little leg biting and ear pulling of course) and climbing it with her mouth like a rope to victory.  Why does she think she can win this fight?  Does she not realize that he’s well, huge?  Any yet she doesn’t give up.  I admire that.  I can only guess it’s because she knew him as a baby.  Although he’s 9 months old now and built like brick $&@$ house, when we brought him home at 9 weeks, he was even smaller than her.  In her mind’s eye, he must still be that tiny little brother.




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The Last Episode

Tonight, Lifetime will air the last episode of this season’s Project Runway.  The episode will take place at Fashion Week in Bryant Park, which happened in real-time this past September.  I of course, will have to wait until this weekend to see the episode online as I am still living in a world without cable television.  I know it’s hard to fathom, but the point is, if you see me in the streets, don’t tell me who won!

There are three talented designers remaining (from left to right in photo):  Althea, Carol Hannah, and Irina.  For the popular vote, I’d like to see sweet, Carol Hannah from South Carolina win.  My hunch (still without seeing their final lines of course) is that Irina (known as mean-a-Irina), a judge favorite, will take home the golden scissors.  Althea’s good too, but my gut says that she’ll get over-shadowed.  Carol Hannah is a very glamorous and body-friendly designer who creates the most exquisite dresses.  My guess is that the judges will like it all, but not be wowed.  Althea is all about construction and I feel like she’ll have some great pieces mixed in with some okay pieces yet once again, those prickly judges will not be wowed.  And Irina will be edgy and pointy and urban chic, and the judges will love it.

But I haven’t seen the clothes yet so this is all just speculation!!!  Maybe Irina totally messed up and made 13 pieces of tacky, pseudo-menswear, maybe Carol Hannah made slinky, urban catsuits, and maybe Althea didn’t do anything but leggings and blazers.  I’ll just have to wait and see…oh I can barely stand it!

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A little seasonal flu has had me out of the office this week and home on the sofa watching Netflix.  When I’m feeling less than dapper, there is nothing better than a series of bad movies, one after the other, hour after hour, all day long until they beat the badness out of you.  There’s an important differentiation, however.  I’m not talking bad-bad movies, like the truly hideous kind you would walk out of a theater for, but bad like you wouldn’t watch it in the theater in the first place because it’s a rental.  Good to medium plot, good to medium acting,  good to medium filming, but it’s still a rental.


On Monday I watched Bolt, My Life In Ruins, Monsters vs Aliens, and Strictly Ballroom.  I got in only four flicks that day because well, I took a long siesta after lunch.  I know, it’s embarrassing really, but I would redeem myself on Tuesday.


I started the day with Castle, my favorite TV show on  Then I moved on to Jungle 2 Jungle, It’s a Boy Girl Thing, Monday’s episode of Lie to Me on, and Mrs. Doubtfire.  The kids movies are the best to watch when you’re under the weather; you can nod off and wake up and still never lose the plot.  Sam disagrees, but how many movies does he watch when he’s sick? One? One and a half maybe before his eyes betray him and shut close?  I think my stamina proves my point.


I’m feeling much more my usual hot stuff today although I may fit in at least one Disney movie before noon.  Or Pixar.  Or anything with Tim Allen.  Watching kids movies is better than any anti-aging cream I know of plus, you don’t rack up bragging rights with 30 minutes of Lawrence of Arabia and 30 minutes of The Grapes of Wrath.  The numbers don’t lie; seven movies, 2 TV shows, 48 hours, and a case of the flu.  Sha-zam!

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The Baby and the Crack

True story: on Friday the 13th, a toddler at a Minneapolis day care crackbaby_daycarecenter was found sucking on something.  Nothing unusual about a 13-month old, little boy putting a foreign object into his mouth, right?  Wrong.  When a staff member took the object out of the child’s mouth, she found a hard ball of crack cocaine.  The baby had found it on the floor and like babies do, stuck it in his mouth.

Luckily, the crack ball was wrapped in plastic and the seal did not break in the toddler’s mouth.  None the less, he was rushed to the hospital.  A thorough search was done of the premises, but no other stray crack balls were found.  One heroin triangle and a marijuana octagon were found in the play area, however.  Those were left undisturbed as no child had yet decided to suck on them.

The bigger problem at hand is, whose crack ball is it?  The staff members swear that it must be a parent’s and have begun drug testing everyone who works there.   If it is a parent’s, the picture is bleak.  Wake up, get dressed, grab your crack ball, drop of the baby at daycare, do your crack ball, go to work, pick up the baby, buy another crack ball on your way home, make dinner, and then do some more crack.

Maybe drugs should be legalized.  That way, the people who are going into the pharmacies to buy their crack can be given some birth control as well.  A ball of crack, a ball of sperm killer.  A shot of smack, a shot of no-baby-for-you.  A bag of pills, a bag of can’t-get-pregnant.  This seems like a no-brainer.


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