Five Things, The Damaged Shoulder Edition: 1/15/14

So, I done gone and dislocated my right shoulder. I spent a few hours in a Chicago ER crying and writhing in pain–totally being ignored by ‘the best health care in the world.’ Not good. After a fentanyl drip, two batches of x-rays and being “out” when the docs jammed my shoulder back where it belongs, I finally went home. You’d think that would be it, but NO. It wasn’t until after I got home some 6 hours after I was wheeled into the busy ER, that I realized my left arm was seriously injured (have a bruise that looks like an eggplant), and I had contracted a nasty case of frost bite….yes, FROST BITE.. on my left hand.

Frost bite? Where am I? Mt. Everest?

Over the next few days, the shoulder pain turned into to a dull ache, and the pain of the frost bite and bruised arm came roaring in. Sure, I had good drugs, but I can’t handle the strong stuff. Hey, I have a hard enough time maintaining control of all four limbs without big pharma..why would I want to dull my senses and possibly bust my noggin?

While it is better, I am treating myself to an MRI on Friday, so when I meet with my bone doc next week, I’ll know if surgery is the answer or a bionic arm.

I’m going for the bionic arm because fuck yeah.

On with the show.

1) It’s 111 degrees on the Australian Open courts. 

Yaroslava Shvedova of Kazakhstan receives treatment by trainers during her first round match against Sloane Stephens of the U.S. at the Australian Open tennis championship in Melbourne, Australia, Tuesday, Jan. 14, 2014.(AP Photo/Aaron Favila)

Yaroslava Shvedova of Kazakhstan receives treatment by trainers at the Australian Open tennis championship, Tuesday, Jan. 14, 2014.(AP Photo/Aaron Favila)

2) While we’re on the subject of tennis, I’d be happy to de-crampify either of these gentlemen’s asses should they start to feel the heat down there.

The Ass Master: Roger Federer (via Men's Tennis Forum)

The Ass Master: Roger Federer (via Men’s Tennis Forum)

Screen shot 2014-01-15 at 10.30.53 PM

Rafa Nadal’s good side.

Even when Rafa’s picking his seat, it’s still sexy.

Screen shot 2014-01-15 at 10.34.12 PM

 

3) Folks, we gotta figure out a way to keep society from sliding down Crap Mountain.

Sadly, this ain’t helping.

“Men Want to Wear [Leggings], And That’s A Fact!” Say Meggings Man Owners

No, no they don’t. Men don’t want to wear something that’ll make them look like a Ken doll.

Screen shot 2014-01-15 at 10.53.24 PM

 

Unless you’re running down the … No. No. These aren’t appropriate ever.

 

4) She’s my idol.

Great Great Grandma Celebrates Turning 100 By Hiring a Stripper

(via Gawker)

(via Gawker)

She rolls hard. With a tiara.

Go Granny!

5) Here’s some food for thought: If an owl was really attacking you, you’d know it.

Multiple owl attacks reported in Springfield

Bored owls are fun owls!

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Grand Dames in Tuk-Tuks

If you want to see a sweet movie, go see,

Even though I spent years working in the movie business, I am not a movie reviewer.

Surprised?

A lot of folks think you can’t have one without the other, which is horseshit. I love movies and worked on a lot of them. I watch a lot of movies but loving them and working on them doesn’t automatically make me a film critic — even though I now make my living as a journalist. I’ll leave that to the pros like AO Scott and Roger Ebert. Plus, reviewing movies just doesn’t do it for me. I’m too cerebral when it comes to movies. Why? I don’t know.

If you want to read simple, intelligent and straight-forward reviews, check out my friend’s blog. He doesn’t post that often, but when he does, it’s an entertaining read.

But sometimes, I break my own rules. I saw “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel” today with a friend and we both dug it. It’s charming, heartfelt and fun. The cast is stellar and the scenery is breathtaking.

Go see it.

Now I want one of these to tool around in.

Weller, Paul Weller

Some folks dig the Beatles. Others dig the Dead. Many like me dig Zappa and Mary J.

However, I dig Paul Weller most of all.

Paul Weller

Weller is an incredible song writer and a musician. Yes, he’s a rare bird–he sings and plays things like gee-tars–at the same time! It’s madness!

In this day and age with all of that horrible screeching that people consider singing (I blame “American Idol”), and the use of the shit-blanket auto-tune, it’s a comfort to know that singer/songwriters are somewhere … out there … still making great music. They might not be pretty, but hot damn, they know how to write great lyrics and play real instruments. Granted, he doesn’t have the best voice, but his talent as both a lyricist and musician make up for his sleepy voice.

Weller gets it right every damn time he puts pen to paper and a pick to strings.

Here’s a sampling, but I suggest you check out the album “Wildwood” — you won’t be disappointed.

Plus, he puts on one helluva live show.

The Weaver — lyrics by Paul Weller.

Can you put a smile back on, all these faces
Of all the people from such different places
And if you can succeed, what then will you achieve,
With a different tune to play, you’ve been saving for a rainy day

Will you heal the scar that’s on, the years been wasted
The tears spent of the past, just filling spaces
Or is love forever gone, banished to a smaller part
Hide behind your wall and start, to get to the very heart

An’ if you wanna shoot the moon, make sure that you know why
Careful, fly too soon, better let someone else try

I’m the weaver of your dreams, I get rid of your bogeyman
I’m here to smash the shell you’re under, an’ get you into another thing

I’m the weaver of your dreams, I put paid to the rocket men
I’m here to break the spell you’re under, an’ get you started with another plan

Could you put a kiss back on, the lips so twisted
Waiting for the chance to start, dipping into wishes
Or is love forever gone, banished to a smaller part
Hide behind your wall and start, to get to the very heart

And in the midst of the darkest night
Think of me and hold me tight
So that I might live to see
All the weaving of my dreams

Country — lyrics by Paul Weller

I know a place not far from here
Where lifes sweet perfume fills the air
And if you want I’ll take you there
If you want I’ll take you there

Into the light out of the dark
Where only love can heal your heart
And if you want I’ll make a start
If you want I’ll make a start

This place I say – half hour away
Is that so far to go – so near
And further on we’ll find the time
And lose the discontent we feel – that we feel

I feel the time we’ve yet to reach
Is not yet within our own belief
But I feel sure that time’ll come
If it goes on at all, said – if it goes on at all, whoa – if it goes on at all, 
hey – it goes on and on and on and on 

I know a place not far from here
Where fresh cut grass will fill your hair
And if you want we’ll lay a while there
If you want we’ll lay a while there
If you want we’ll lay a while there.

Enjoy.


The Adventures of Clive

(To be read with a loud, jaunty English accent)

” ‘ello! Wot’s this then? You following me, guv’nah? Wot? No? Then wot you doin’ then? Oh? You want to know where I got my sporty tam o’shanter? Cheerio! I bought it at Harrod’s! I think it makes me look rather dapper and jolly, yes? I’m the toast of the savannah! Wot’s that there? A lion? Oh, cheerio old chap, pip pip and all that! Oh? Wot? Stop following me, you posh lion you. Don’t be a daft prick! Run along now! Wot am I doing? I’m on my way to see Nigel the elephant for a spot of tea and perhaps some biscuits. He’s a right fellow, that Nigel. He used to work for the East India Tea Company, that’s right! He has some new baccy he wants me to try  and I suppose he wants to chat about that trollop of a wife of his. I’ve always thought she was a right twit, see. Nigel also wants me to join his cricket team. I told him I’m not beastly enough to play. Oh no, good sir! I most certainly am not! I’m sure that gray bugger will try to convince me now I can assure you. He’ll most certainly say ‘Poppycock Clive! Stop being a prig and come play!’ I’ll just sip my tea. Well, that’s it. Pip pip, cheerio and all that rot.”

Fox on the Run

I love music. I love iTunes. Love. Big love.

Since I’m not working, I have music on all day long. The tee vee is only turned on when I go to Bikram so the cats have something to watch when I’m not around. Also, it’s on at night so I can catch up on all the news–and to watch some of my guilty pleasures.

Go ahead and judge. I don’t care because you all have your own guilty pleasure demons to deal with everyday. Instead of shaking your head whilst saying, “That sad, sorry McCrabass. What shame her friends and family must feel whenever she talks about the magic that is Richard Marx’s ‘Don’t Mean Nothing.’ ” To that I say, hold that Danielle Steele yarn up high and praise its anorexic, overdone plot. Be proud of your guilty pleasures, dammit! Thanks to iTunes, I am now able to buy allll the guilty pleasure tunes I can get my paws on. Like this one. This gem too. England is the home of some of the most innovative pop music, but it owes us all an explanation for Sniff n’ the Tears. Don’t laugh Canada. You have some splainin to do.

The muses of hip hop have to answer for this tune. I do love it and can’t wait to teach the lyrics to my niece, India. Explaining my musical choice for my sister and brother-in-law’s darling daughter will be worth buying court side seats for.
This song feels like foreplay. Hey, I’m just going by what Mr. Smith says because he’s the oracle of one-note actors and musicians.

Don

(can he really be called a musician though?)

I have Mr. Donny Iris to thank for this evening’s final selection.
Here we go again, McCrabass ain’t learned her lesson yet.