Five Things: 10/29/13

I don’t really know what day it is because I’ve actually been working. Yep. I think I mentioned it before so I won’t go into the gory details. Wait..come to think of it..I can’t go into the gory details because I’d have to kill you all.

1) Apparently, scrotal lymphedema IS a real thing. See, I thought I was just being clever when I was a stripper in Greece and needed an authentic-sounding name. Via the DailyMail.

(via TLC/Las Vegas Review-Journal)

(via TLC/Las Vegas Review-Journal)

So, Wesley Warren Jr. had a …. wait for it …132 pound scrotum since he was a youngin. He could barely move, and he had to wear an oversized hoody upside down so his scrot could be covered. Plus, he had to lug around a plastic milk crate with him everywhere he went so he has something to place his sack on while he was chilling out. Long story short, he had it removed, but here’s the rub–turns out his wedding tackle is teeny, so he’s having a tough time finding love.

And that’s alllll I’m gonna say because if I say anymore, I’ll get into a heap o’ trouble.

2) “Britney Spears’ music used by British navy to scare off Somali pirates”

Via The Guardian.

Who knew that screeching like a cat caught in a washing machine with a wombat would actually scare would-be terrorists or pirates or whatever the term is these days?? Britain knows what to do. Their wit cannot be topped. They get it, and those of us across the pond can only give them a slow clap and an approving head nod.

We can’t top it. Seriously, it can’t be done.

I mean, we can but that would involve shooting the terrorists/pirates, but this way only their ears bleed and gets them scurrying from daylight–never to come out ever again.

I’ve never sat through at Britney song so I don’t know just how shrill she is…hmm…there’s no time like the present.

3) Um, I don’t know of a time when it hasn’t been cool for broads to toke up.

Will It Ever Be “Cool” For Women to Smoke Marijuana?

 

4) As for Banksy, I don’t care what he has to say about the WTC. He should just stick to making awesome scribbles on buildings n’ such. See, this is one of the many problems with the Internets–people who, in the pre-Internet age, wouldn’t get recognition are now getting lots of it. Sure, much of that recognition is good from some folks/causes, but for some, well… NO.

5) Time for a palate cleanser–need to get rid of that Britney mess from earlier.

Enjoy.

 

Can You Get the Door For Me? THANKS!

News flash for those of you who aren’t paying attention: I’m a curious critter by nature. I read a lot, I like to try new things, I seek out new experiences—you get the idea. I get curiouser and curiouser with each passing day. Tis a blessing and well, a curse. Why a curse? You’ll see in a sec.

The Internets have added so much to my curious ways–mostly for the better, but then there are instances when I just want to poke my eyes out with a sharp stick then move to Antartica where nothing of this sort could EVER hurt me.

This is one of those instances.

Here.

Can’t really see it? Allow me to open up your world just a wee bit more.

ERMAGHERD!!

ERMAGHERD!!

ERP A DERP IS THERE FOOD HERE?

ERP A DERP IS THERE FOOD HERE?

"I heard you needed pest control!"

“I’d like to talk to you today about religion.”

Sometimes I think this blog should be equipped with a defibrillator because posts like THIS and the ones about arachnids and clowns, tend to make my heart stop cold. I’m sure it does the same for my three readers.

This is how I roll folks– zombies, Freddy and aliens don’t scare me. This kind of shit scares me because it’s real. It’s a living, breathing being and not something that was created in one’s mom’s basement whilst wearing worn out boxers that have been hanging off one’s ass since high school.

Evolution decided King Cobras were a necessity to this planet for whatever gat-damn reason.

More like a necessary evil.

All I know is, that’s one more door I won’t be opening.

Nocturnal Emissions

Insomnia sucks for the most part, but what it doesn’t suck at is getting me to gaze into the deep, dark crevasses that make up what’s left of my soul. Some nights I think of fluff — like fuzzy kittens, soap scum and sweaters made out of love, merino wool and sunshine.

Then, there are the nights when I can’t get the frightening images of acid wash jeans, people who insist on wearing PJs out in public, post-WW1 German porn and the Dave Matthews Band out of my noggin.

Tonight is no exception and here’s what’s rattling around in what’s left of my once-semi-brilliant mind.

1) When the first-time writer of a hit movie tells an interviewer that he/she just simply sat down with a “How To Write A Screenplay In One Weekend” book, and wrote that semi-literate–but funny celluloid sensation–they’re lying to you.

Here’s what really happened: The studio wanted to work with this person because they’re popular and funny. So, these clueless execs buttered them up, then asked them for an idea and maybe a rough draft of a script. Upon first the reading, the must-hire D-girl who’s fucking the junior exec, quickly learned that this particular popular person is much better at doing late-night sketch comedy. Ahem–mum’s the word, see. So, the studio then hires a team of script doctors (at about $200k a pop) et voila–hit movie!

2) While I’m on the Hollywood trip, here’s another tidbit: When an actor/actress/singer thanks their assistant in their Oscar/Golden Globes/Emmy/Grammy acceptance speech, they’re really thanking their drug dealer. True story.

3) Bulimia never, ever goes away–it just manifests itself in other forms–like the urge to dye one’s hair purple, or start a blog, or build the original Roman Empire out of unused tampons.

4) Naming your children the correct name is vital to their future. Adorning them with monikers like Brittany, Tiff’ny, Zephyr, Madison, Schylur/Skylar, or Savannah, well, they’re bound to grow up to be total assholes, and will either yank their puds for money or spend a lot of time spinning nekkid around a steel pole at a dank truckstop bar on the interstate. I can’t believe that unimaginative parents in this country feel the need to sully the awesome reputations of two of my favorite cities by naming their sub-mental spawn “Madison/Madysun” or “Savannah” because both names are “unusual.” Get over yourselves because you’re only doing your kids a disservice by bestowing them with awful names. Stick with the classics.

5) If you insist on naming one of your kids Marquis, at least have the fucking sense to pronounce it correctly–it’s “Markee” not “Markwiss.”

6) The more I think about it, the more I believe that Stalin was just misunderstood.

7) Write Yiddish and cast British. Never fails. Ever.

8) Once I deem you to be a douchebag, there’s no way to recover. It’s just best to move on and realize that me calling you a douchebag is actually a gift–a kick in the ass of sorts–to get you to fix your douchebagness. Trust me on this–I’m a damn good judge of character.

9) OJ did it.

10) I’ve said this before, but there is no such thing as a social media/content management guru. If you introduce yourself to me as a social media/content management guru–and say it with a straight face–well, you’re about to be called a word that rhymes with schmoucheschmag. Gurus can only be found in ashrams in India, by the way.

11) My god–I love peonies.

12) You know, that rug really DID pull the room together.

13) I can really see a future with this gentleman. He’s all sorts of secksy in his thong, and not to mention his pathway to adventure, which has me a-quivering by the way.

Picture 3Is that a cat?

14) There’s nothing wrong with nom-nomming on chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream frosting for breakfast, lunch and dindin. But you must realize that stuffing your face with all that chocolate goodness will cause you to resemble a mutant hamhock after about a day of this diet. Never fear monkehs–that’s why god invented eating disorders.

15) Everyone should own this album.

ffym

For those of you who have difficulty reading the above image, it’s Ben Harper’s “Fight For Your Mind.” It’s haunting, sensual and beautifully produced.

One of my fave songs ever–

You’re welcome.

16) Elvis is king–Costello, not Presley. Puh-leeze–I’ve never cared for that drug-addled twat.

 

 

 

News trough dump

Two weeks is long time between posts, but I’ve been busy dealing with my parole officer and other assorted goodies.

I have been paying attention, however.

Lucky for you mooks.

My plan now is to expand my job search because I haven’t had a lap dance in a long, long time and am in dire need of one. I’ve heard the Salvadoran lap dances are something to behold too. Just ask the fine folks who protect our POTUS.

From TPMMuckraker.

Report: Secret Service Had Salvadoran Sexcapade In 2011

Of course they did!

Secret Service agents partied at a strip club in El Salvador that the owner claims is frequented by DEA and FBI agents and some brought escorts back to their hotel ahead of President Barack Obama’s 2011 trip, according to a report from Seattle’s KIROTV, a CBS affiliate.

The news station spoke with an unnamed subcontractor who said he partied with about a dozen Secret Service agents at a strip club in San Salvador. He claimed that members of the Secret Service advance team paid for access to a VIP section of the club and were provided with sexual favors. At least two agents, the source claimed, had escorts check into their hotel rooms.

I bet the FMLN was bumming they weren’t around to join in. But to be fair, they were probably regrouping somewhere.

The owner of the club told the news station that a large number of agents “descended” on the club the week before Obama’s visit and said they were there at least three nights in a row. He claimed that U.S. embassy employees as well as FBI and DEA agents frequented his club.

The Secret Service isn’t responding directly to the new allegations but said they’ll look into any credible accusations.

“The recent investigation in Cartagena has generated several news stories that contain allegations by mostly unnamed sources,” Secret Service spokesman Brian Leary said in a statement to TPM. “Any information that is brought to our attention that can be assessed as credible will be followed up on in an appropriate manner.”

Some people have THE best jobs. The nice thing is, I am helping to pay their salaries so in a way, I’m living vicariously through my tax dollars. I hope my tax dollars find a way to Salvadoran sex show next, or pay for a blowie from a toothless whore behind the ‘hey Meeester Seeecret Service man, wanna hump-hump cheap cheap’ bar down the street.

NEXT.

White dudes are really quaking in their Dockers with this info.

From the Census Bureau. EDITED FOR SPACE.

2010 Census Shows Interracial and Interethnic Married Couples Grew by 28 Percent over Decade

GOOD. After all, this is what America is about, or is what it SHOULD be about. We’re a melting pot. Always have been. It’s never been a white country. EVER. Time for white folks to get over it or they’re the ones who are gonna be missing out. Yes, I’m white but I get it, see?

The U.S. Census Bureau today released a 2010 Census brief, Households and Families: 2010, that showed interracial or interethnic opposite-sex married couple households grew by 28 percent over the decade from 7 percent in 2000 to 10 percent in 2010. States with higher percentages of couples of a different race or Hispanic origin in 2010 were primarily located in the western and southwestern parts of the United States, along with Hawaii and Alaska.

     A higher percentage of unmarried partners were interracial or interethnic than married couples. Nationally, 10 percent of opposite-sex married couples had partners of a different race or Hispanic origin, compared with 18 percent of opposite-sex unmarried partners and 21 percent of same-sex unmarried partners.

Love knows no color. Simple as that.

Other findings ..

  • There was a 41 percent increase in unmarried partner households between 2000 and 2010. Opposite-sex unmarried partner households grew from 4.9 million in 2000 to 6.8 million in 2010. Same-sex unmarried partner households grew from 358,000 to 646,000 from 2000 to 2010, or from 0.3 percent of all households to 0.6 percent of all households.
  • Multigenerational households — households containing three or more parent-child generations — increased from 3.9 million in 2000 to 5.1 million in 2010. Nine percent of households in Hawaii were multigenerational households, which is the highest for the nation.
  • There were fewer households with people under the age of 18 living in them than in 2000. These households dropped from 36 percent in 2000 to 33 percent in 2010.
  • The percent of households with people 65 and older increased across the decade. In 2000, 23 percent of households included someone 65 and over, compared with 25 percent in 2010.

So, gay households are on the rise. And, the shitty economy has forced parents to live with their kids AND/OR kids to move back in with their parents — in Hawaii. Aloha! Here I come! Couple that with people living longer and you’ve got a loud, dysfunctional, nicely-appointed house overlooking Waialua Bay.

This is why Mike Myers sucks.

Unleashing “Wayne’s World” on us was the start, but then pointing out his wedding ring in a loud & obnoxious manner to a friend of mine after he sat next to her and she acknowledged him with just a head nod, just shows you how big of a festering choad he really is. Now everyone is going for their 15 minutes with this song. A little originality people! You ONLY have 15 minutes.

I dig Queen.

Always have, but this isn’t one of their better songs. Yes, it’s well known but that doesn’t make it GOOD. It’s overplayed. Waaay overplayed and that makes it suck out loud. Adding kids to the mix doesn’t make it cute or clever, it makes it pathetic. The kids are cute though.

How is this gonna work?

I’m a terrible perfume snob and while I like the idea of  the quest to create the bestest stank in a bottle ever, it won’t work on the tee vee. And with 3D polluting story lines, Smell-o-Vision is extreme.

Even John Waters tried it. Once.

Cheesy title about taking chances goes here

On Wednesday, I’ll be winging it out to Los Angeles for about 2 months to look for journalism/media work. I’ll be subletting a place from a young actor who will be setting up shop for 6 months in NYC to star as Happy in “Death of a Salesman” opposite Philip Seymour Hoffman on Broadway. Mike Nichols will be directing. After a few starts and stops with dealing with sublets on Craigslist, I found Finn and Sarah’s place, had it checked out by one of my dearest, most trusted friends, and after getting his thumb’s up, I went for it.

To me, at this stage in my life, subletting an apartment is a big chance. Yes, it seems small to someone who’s had an easy go of it, but for me, right here-right now, it’s HUGE.

However, in the past, I have taken huge chances — and — surprise, surprise — risk taking has worked out well for me. Hard to believe, eh? Yeah, it’s hard for me to believe at this point in time too. I do this thing, see, this thing where I look back on my past experiences and remember them as being purely awful and disastrous. Funny I think that way considering they weren’t … maybe it’s the fear and gnawing anguish I felt that made them seem tantamount to drinking hemlock. The fear of miserable failure perhaps. The worst is remembered — not the joy felt by someone who eventually succeeds. And succeeds BIG.

So, here’s an edited list of the chances I took. The successful ones. Wait, all of the big chances I took were successes. Imagine that…they really were. I’m still getting used to the concept of McCrabass succeeding.

1) Sweet 16 in the land of Jerry Lewis worshippers- It was scary but oh so fun, and I learned to worship Reblechon cheese and the French language. Yep. Look it up. That summer I was introduced to Flaubert and Beckett. Need I say more? Oh, and I learned the French reallllly love Barbra Streisand. (thanks to my little sister, Catherine Shandler, for reminding me of this time — she inspired me to write this post.)

2) Westward, ho! Hey, when your parents say you MUST GO TO COLLEGE BUT WE’LL PAY FOR IT, you take advantage of it and go to the unfamiliar, the distant, the strange. Well, LA wasn’t that unfamiliar: Older sister Liza and two of my cousins, Jane and Caroline, were out at Occidental College so I had ventured out there a few times. I didn’t decide on Oxy though, I wound up at USC. Turned out to be a big mistake, which takes us to chance #3.

3) Left USC for UW/Madison — mid-year — mind you. Transferring mid-year just isn’t done, young turks.  Yeah, I was desperate to get the hell outta LA and far away from the ultra-conservative, ultra-Greek USC. Gag. So not a good fit for the tough-to-mold McCrabass. So, I took a huge leap of faith and ended up at a school I had never even visited.

Hot damn, I got lucky because I fell in love with Madison. How could one NOT get the warmies for Madtown?

Or my personal fave …

Who knew that once I set foot on campus that I would have to study? Something that wasn’t exactly encouraged at USC at the time. At Wisconsin, I studied Film, African languages and politics, and psychology. My first love was film, and what happened with that love affair is explained next.

4) Westward, ho part deux. Shit howdy — talk about wingin’ it. I had maybe one contact out there, but I worked that contact over like an old French whore. I was the networking queen and that skill kept me employed in the business for about 11 years plus another 2 or so back in Chicago. But, before we get back to Chicago (you knew it was coming), let’s chat about McCrabass in LA. I worked on movies. Lots of them. I made lots of friends — many of whom I’m still in contact with today. I had some serious relationships — one ended up in an engagement which eventually went south, one ended up with my friend Lisa dumping my recent ex’s CD player on the floor of his condo whilst helping me move out, then mimicking “Roseanne”: “I hate myself for that.”

Then there’s the Lump (affectionately nicknamed by David B), and a couple of decent fellas I managed to run off or who managed to turn out to be choads. In short, the LA-based McCrabass Man Pile is quite large.

5) Sweet Home Chicago. The last few years in LA, Ursula kitteh and I were fearless but that made us weary so we packed up the Honda and headed east — to the wilds of west suburban Illinois then into Chicago — where I dove into film teaching, improv training, marriage, journalism graduate school, journalism employment, then soul-sucking unemployment and other, tawdry various forms of humiliation which I have discussed here previously. I’ve been here for about 11 years, and most of my professional tenure here has been a right pig fuck of a disaster. The upside of this chance was I got to be with my family and that has been wonderful — worth the humiliations. They’re my rock, part of my soul and I wouldn’t be splayed on the floor in the middle of the night, banging out this post if it weren’t for them and their unending love and support.

Now, these days, things are different. A new chance has to be taken because Chicago is dead to inexperienced, but older than the normal newbie journos like me. No one wants to hire the older, way smart broad with tons of life experience. They want to hire young and clueless. Fine. Go for it. I just don’t need to witness the bad crap while freezing my tits off. I’ll do that in LA, thankyouverymuch.

6) Everything old is new again. On the 11th around 2pm, I’ll be cruising down the freeway heading toward my sublet, and with each minute I’m in LA taking in my new life there, something from my past LA life will come creeping into my mental Rolodex. It’ll be up to me to decide whether or not to file it or trash it. I’ll probably end up using some of it to enhance this chance I’ve been given. I’ll treat them as blessings, a lesson but one thing I’ve already realized–I’ll never go home again.