The Great Impastor

meg·a·lo·ma·ni·a- n.
1. A psychopathological condition characterized by delusional fantasies of wealth, power, or omnipotence.

2. An obsession with grandiose or extravagant things or actions.

Glenn Beck wants to be your Megalomaniac in Chief. Within a matter of days, he's declaimed from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, declared his ministry as spiritual guide to the disenfranchised, appropriated God and Martin Luther King, and launched his own news website, The Blaze. Oh, and channeled Moses, but that's such an old schtick (oops, I pun).

It's tempting to use my brand new laptop and my brand new blogging year (Second Blogoversary countdown: 359 shopping days left!) to write my fanny off on this subject, but the research all by itself has been so much fun that I'd hate to put too many words in the way. So tag along as I follow the Yellow Brick Road to visit The Great Oz.

Orson Scott Card, Mormon author referenced by NYTimes:  “Mormonism is not just another form of Christianity — it is incompatible with ‘traditional Christian orthodoxy.’” Amen! Absolutely correct! We send out missionaries to every country that will allow them to enter precisely because we believe that the gospel of Jesus Christ is incompatible with “traditional Christian orthodoxy.”

Russell Moore, Dean of The School of Theology at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary:

A Mormon television star stands in front of the Lincoln Memorial and calls American Christians to revival. He assembles some evangelical celebrities to give testimonies, and then preaches a God and country revivalism that leaves the evangelicals cheering that they've heard the gospel, right there in the nation's capital.

American news media pronounces him the new leader of America's Christian conservative movement, and a flock of America's Christian conservatives have no problem with that.

If you'd told me that ten years ago, I would have assumed it was from the pages of an evangelical apocalyptic novel about the end-times. But it's not. It's from this week's headlines. And it is a scandal.

Michelle Boorstein, The Washington Post (8/31/2010):

Longtime Beck-watchers said he has always made references to his faith journey, his conversion from Catholicism to Mormonism, his crediting God with saving him from drug and alcohol abuse, professional obscurity and "friendlessness." But in the runup to Saturday's rally, Beck talked publicly and privately about God working through him, calling a pre-rally event Friday "Divine Destiny" and lining up evangelical pastor John Hagee and other religious leaders to appear with him."I'm a little nervous about that kind of talk," said Janet Mefferd, a nationally syndicated Christian talk show host who said most callers Monday wanted to talk about Beck. "I know he means well and loves this country, but he doesn't know enough about theology to know what kind of effect he's having. Christians are hearing something different than what he thinks he's saying."

 This isn't the first time Beck's faith has been scrutinized. Prominent Mormons haveoccasionally criticized him as being an entertainer, not a theologian. After an interview in 2008 with Focus on the Family, the article was pulled because some of the group's supporters thought it was wrongly validating his conversion experience. 

Glenn Beck, on Fox News Sunday: "You see, it's all about victims and victimhood; oppressors and the oppressed; reparations, not repentance; collectivism, not individual salvation. I don't know what that is, other than it's not Muslim, it's not Christian. It's a perversion of the gospel of Jesus Christ as most Christians know it."




Jillian Rayfield, Talking Points Memo, quoting Glenn Beck in the same interview shown above:

Host Chris Wallace also told Beck that "in the 40 years that I've been in this business, I have to say I've never seen anyone quite like you. You're not a newsman. You're not a preacher. You're not a politician."

"I'm a dad, I'm a concerned citizen," Beck replied.

Wallace also asked Beck about Jon Stewart, who's mocked Beck repeatedly on his show. "I think he's funny," Beck said of Stewart. "Quite honestly, I think he should write me a check."

Lacy Rose, in her Moneywood column for Forbes.com:

As I detailed in our Beck cover story this past spring, his now $35 million-a-year empire includes a variety of Web offerings as well as a popular radio program, Fox News TV series, books, podcasts, speeches, newsletters and stage shows. (To see how he makes his millions, go here.) 

Screenshot of Beck's other website, The Glenn Beck Program:

That headline reads:" Moses was high on drugs:Israeli..."

And the intriguing article noted above reads:

Moses was high on drugs: Israeli researcher

March 4, 2008 - 10:20 ET

High on Mount Sinai, Moses was on psychedelic drugs when he heard God deliver the Ten Commandments, an Israeli researcher claimed in a study published this week. 
  
 Such mind-altering substances formed an integral part of the religious rites of Israelites in biblical times, Benny Shanon, a professor of cognitive psychology at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem wrote in the Time and Mind journal of philosophy. 
  
 "As far Moses on Mount Sinai is concerned, it was either a supernatural cosmic event, which I don't believe, or a legend, which I don't believe either, or finally, and this is very probable, an event that joined Moses and the people of Israel under the effect of narcotics," Shanon told Israeli public radio on Tuesday. 

 Which naturally leads me to conclude that Glenn Beck was confused about exactly who was calling:

How's my hair?

Preface: it has taken me considerably longer than my fellow hens to hatch here on our blog. I was quite premature when born in true life, I've been running behind ever since ;-). 

Quick back-story: I've never liked snow-globes. My world was violently shaken and disturbed like one on the 11th of this month when my grandmother passed away. Her death was not unexpected; in truth, it was a blessing. And in truth, my heart remains splintered. At my core, I know it's best; still the fragments that split off from the rest of me hurt like hell and want her back more than anything. Not everyone is gifted with a profound relationship with their grandparents...many of my friends have never met or hardly knew theirs. My gift was two-fold: a grandmother who spoiled me rotten, and a beautiful heart who made up the difference for what I lacked, a mother. 

Healing through humor: My grandmother, Martha Elizabeth "Betty" [Rose] Meigs was not a vain woman, but like most women (especially southern women of her generation) liked to look her best. When she was well, she (again, like most women of her generation) had weekly appointments at the "pretty shop"...her salon. She had the same stylist, Darlene, for nearly 30 years. I thought of her salon as her personal version of Cheers; rather than "Norm!", she received a rousing "Ms. Meigs!"...accompanied with the obligatory (though genuine) darlin', hon, or sweetie. Once she's been washed, curled, and set - the 6 days until her next appointment were dedicated in large part to maintaining her 'do. This involved a special pillow behind her neck while she was seated in her recliner (which was an electric lift-chair), button-up blouses or tops which where placed very carefully over her head, bonnets for bed, bonnets for rain, caps for the shower, umbrellas for wind, daily maintenance with a pick & either Aqua Net or White Rain, and in case of emergency...curlers or touch-up with a curling iron. Aerosol hairspray was undoubtedly the primary contributor to her carbon footprint. The bedtime bonnets were hysterical. She and granddaddy ordered or bought anything they thought might work better than what they were using at the time. None of them worked, but like her dedication in the 80's to Publisher's Clearinghouse, she was persistent. She'd fuss at me for sharing these photographs, but did allow them to be taken...and also had a great sense of humor. One of them is of her (hair fixed) after a trip to see Darlene. The others are just a few examples...

Priorities: Grandmama, Granddaddy, and I went to TGIFriday's for dinner a few years ago. Once we'd eaten, I pushed Grandmama (she was in a wheelchair) to the parking area behind the restaurant where Granddaddy had pulled the van around (there wasn't enough space between the two handicapped spaces to let wheelchair lift down). I stood with/behind her (our backs facing the van so she could be wheeled backward onto the platform) while Granddaddy operated the lift. It wasn't working properly, so we traded places...hoping I'd have the Midas Touch. Being the stubborn the man he is, he insisted on trying to help me and turned away from Grandmama to fiddle with the buttons. It's important to note that the brakes on this particular wheelchair left a lot to be desired. He turned back to her a moment later - only to see her and wheelchair, suddenly equipped with turbo speed, flying across the [ever so slightly-inclined] lot. She hadn't squealed, yelled, or said a word. Her body was positioned just as it had been, perfectly seated with her hands folded in her lap. The only movement was the rolling of the chair and her - bobbing up and down (in a perfect upright..sort of fixed form) as though she were being wheeled by one of us...just at warp speed. Granddaddy yelled "SHIT!", which caused me to turn around as well; the chase was on. The area was clear of cars and she was headed for a curb + hedge. She had a lengthy lead on us and reached the curb before we did. Her front (smaller) wheels rammed into the curb; the chair tipped forward, paused, and fell flat black onto the [much larger] wheels. We were panicked...worried that she had been hurt through the violent jostling and confident she was frightened. Her concern? Her concern was that she'd nearly gone head first into the hedge...which would have messed up her hair. Clearly, she was fine. I was doubled over with laughter that reached 'round to my obliques. Granddaddy, entirely flustered, snapped at her...and asked her why she hadn't yelled for us. She hadn't been able to see we were distracted with the lift, and said she figured Granddaddy was pushing her. Why (or for that matter, how) he would have been pushing in that direction or at that speed...I have no idea. Because she was okay, I can say without guilt that seeing her fly across a parking lot with zero reaction on her part, is one of the funniest things I've seen. We had met at the restaurant that evening; once in my own car, I called my Dad...barely able to tell the tale because I was still laughing so hard. 

Thank the Lord it didn't mess up her hair. 

Dr. Laura and the N-Word Meltdown

I've been mulling over Dr. Laura Schlessinger's on air n-word meltdown for the past two weeks. My friend, writer Mark Olmsted, calls Dr. Laura's n-word rant a "positively orgasmic repetition of the word."

Dr. Laura's agitation with the black woman who called her show to ask for advice on handling racially insensitive comments from her white husband's white friends was very clear. She immediately suggested that the caller was overly sensitive to questions from her white husband's white friends asking her to explain all things black. Feeling that perhaps Dr. Laura didn't fully understand her concerns, the caller offered what she considered to be an egregious example of offensive comment.

CALLER: How about the N-word? So, the N-word's been thrown around --
SCHLESSINGER: Black guys use it all the time. Turn on HBO, listen to a black comic, and all you hear is nigger, nigger, nigger.
CALLER: That isn't --
SCHLESSINGER: I don't get it. If anybody without enough melanin says it, it's a horrible thing; but when black people say it, it's affectionate. It's very confusing. Don't hang up, I want to talk to you some more. Don't go away. (Follow this link to read the entire transcript or to listen to the audio.)

Jeez Dr. Laura, what's so confusing about this? The n-word was used as the most degrading insult that a white person could use in speaking to or of a black person for more than 300 hundred years. It was not ever used with affection by white people. I won't belabor this point. Thoughtful people already get it and trying to reach the lame-brained Dr. Laura and her clones is about as rewarding as trying to teach a pig to salsa.

What I don't understand is under what circumstances does Dr. Laura or any white person want to use the n-word? Is it a desire to be able to greet black people with a joyous, hello n-word? Or to demonstrate one's street cred by dropping the word in casual conversation? If you are white and feel that your freedom of expression is severely impacted by being unable to freely use the n-word, then I have a suggestion. Develop a close, affectionate relationship with a black person, and then ask your new BFF if it's okay to call him or her the n-word.

Clearly, Dr. Laura isn't alone in her resentment that there is a double standard when it comes to the use of the n-word. Comments abound from Internet users lamenting, "Why is it okay for black people to use the n-word but white people can't?" By the way, it appears to only be white people (not all, just some) who are feeling deprived. I've never heard any Latino, Asian, or Indian people who are woebegone because they have been denied the use of the n-word.

In spite of Dr. Laura's repeated use of the n-word (11 times in under seven minutes), I find her use of the word to be the least offensive part of her comments. Her assertion that the only reason that black people voted for Obama was because he was half-black says far more about her racist assumptions than her fascination with the n-word.

SCHLESSINGER: No, no, no. I think that's -- well, listen, without giving much thought, a lot of blacks voted for Obama simply 'cause he was half-black. Didn't matter what he was gonna do in office, it was a black thing. You gotta know that. That's not a surprise.

What absolute arrogance to assume that her vast "black" experience has qualified Dr. Laura to identify any set of behaviors as a "black thing." She also tells the caller that it's the caller's problem that she doesn't have a sense of humor.

CALLER: I know what the N-word means and I know it came from a white person. And I know the white person made it bad.
SCHLESSINGER: All right. Thank you very much. Thank you very much. Can't have this argument. You know what? If you're that hypersensitive about color and don't have a sense of humor, don't marry out of your race.

Perhaps I'm just humorless, but it has never crossed my mind to laugh at being called the n-word by a white person.

Dr. Laura appears particularly obsessed with the use of the n-word by black comedians on HBO; she mentions it more than once in her discussion with the caller. She takes particular offense at the notion of the n-word being restricted to use by only black people.

CALLER: Is it OK to say that word? Is it ever OK to say that word
SCHLESSINGER: It's -- it depends how it's said. Black guys talking to each other seem to think it's OK.
CALLER: But you're not black. They're not black. My husband is white.
SCHLESSINGER: Oh, I see. So, a word is restricted to race. Got it. Can't do much about that.

The doctor is correct; there is a double standard. The n-word is loaded with history and all sorts of emotional baggage. White people don't get to say it to black people. That's what this is really about. If white people want to call each other by the n-word, I really don't care and I've never heard any other black person lamenting that white people are calling each other by the n-word. The prohibition isn't against using the n-word; it's against white people calling black people niggers. You can't say it because we won't tolerate it any more. What black people say to each other has nothing to do with it. I laugh at jokes in which black comics say the n-word because it's a shared joke, an insider thing. We don't have any problem with white audiences laughing at the use of the n-word by black comedians, but white people do not get to address us under any circumstances by that word, so get over it and move on to things of substance.

By the way, comedian Jeff Foxworthy self-identifies as a redneck and he's darn funny doing it. When is the last time you've heard black people getting all bent out of shape because we want to call white folks rednecks?

Nobody Says It Better

Lately, I've been lamenting that I've not heard the President explaining his position on some important issues. I'd forgotten about his weekly addresses!  Hat tip to Left Leaning Lady for reminding me, and to True Blue Texan for asking where we'd be today if there had been a McCain-Palin victory in '08.  A little gratitude improves my 'tude amazingly.  And nobody says it better than The Prez:



Be sure to visit our two new blog buddies linked above video.

Paranoia In The P.U.

I've taken to counting on my recumbent exercycle/TV news sessions at the gym for blog inspiration, which sounds lame now that I've said it out loud--kind of old womanish, kind of like somebody who doesn't get out much. Both true. Yesterday was looking like a bust for inspiration, a slow news Saturday, so my muse was taking a snooze. Until the man on the adjoining bike opened the door for me to a wormhole that links to the Parallel Universe.

Quick and dirty Jack Webb-style backstory:  Man older than me (I hope!), Dr. Koop beard, khakis and suede slip-ons (at the gym?). Cleverly disguised as a college professor, but wrong context. Fishy. Asked him if I could change channel from belly dancers to CNN (considering the location, it seemed safer than asking for MSNBC). He agreed, saying his source was usually FOX, but he didn't mind checking out leftist propaganda. Said he thinks everybody should open their mind to opposing viewpoints. Ignored him. We finished up about the same time and he started talking. Hate that.

I must say, I've heard that opening-the-mind thing often lately...good for the brain, keeps you young, sickeningly virtuous, all the stuff I aspire to...so I was thinking about trying it out as I watched the screen, searching for some gold-plated leftist propaganda to start from. Those guys on CNN are good; I couldn't spot a single obvious piece of leftward slant. But I wouldn't, of course, because that's how good they are and how blind to reality they've made poor, stupid chumps like me.

Spitting image of Exercycle Man

So, Dr. Koop assumes correctly that I don't watch the O'Reilly Factor, sez he's got a scoop for me, just the facts, and I could say I'd heard it from him first: Hillary Clinton is just waiting for Obama to show some weakness, a little blood in the water, and she'll turn in on him like a shark. That's the obvious plan she and Bill have. She'll run against Obama in 2012 and it's going to be ugly. "Just look at the way Bill's been disagreeing publicly with Obama and Hillary has gone suddenly quiet. They're moving in for the kill. And that whole big wedding, where she looks so nice and friendly? Don't let her fool you. The Democrats want to put her up against Sarah Palin, but Obama won't be willing to step aside, so they'll just let her rip him to shreds. You watch. I guarantee it." I felt like Jodi Foster in "Contact."

Me, with a big grin: "Thanks for the tip! I can't wait to put that up on my blog. I'll be famous!"

Okay, I was having him on, as they say in Great Britain, sending him up, which wasn't nice and was more fun than I've had all week. Who doesn't want to be the first to announce proof that the oft-theorized Parallel Universe, where everything is just like here but the opposite, really exists and rides the adjoining exercycle at a little gym on a defunct Air Force Base in Myrtle Beach?  Besides, he wasn't from this planet, so I threw away the Emily Post and enjoyed myself.

I've read the Hillary for Defense Secretary rumors and the Hillary For Vice President rumors. I'd even read the UKTelegraph piece speculating that Obama really doesn't want a second term; apparently he wants to be Planetary Potentate of the Post-American World. But the notion of Hill and Barack battling it out for CinC with the Democratic Party backing Hillary is actually news to me. I miss a lot. So, naturally, I looked it up online. Dangerous fun, Dear Reader.

I found nothing I would call a credible source. I found some video clips of Bill O'Reilly predicting back in July that there would be Armageddon in the Democratic party in December. But Google News produced some tidbits that could only be messages from the P.U.

From John Schlimm, a beer-empire inheritor and author of  beer-based cookbooks, we have the theory that the Hill For Veep idea is just a smokescreen from the Obama White House to try to contain viral rumors of a Presidential challenger.

I’ve always been convinced that Hillary Clinton would find her way back to the Oval Office one way or another.

Therefore, the recently reignited chatter about her being considered as President Obama's 2012 running mate is the most exciting news I’ve heard since…well, since the news broke that Levi Johnston is running for Mayor of Wasilla.

BUT, hold on just a minute, because it gets way better: Even more titillating than these two juicy nuggets is the less-reported Washington insider buzz that Hillary is actually…drum roll, please…plotting to run against President Obama for the Democratic nomination in 2012.

WOWSA!

Did someone say, “DRAAAAMA!”  (Now you’re speakin’ my language.)

My, my, my, which delicious Hillary rumor to devour first?  Dare I be so gluttonous?

Consider how she graciously conceded to Obama after what was anything but a tiptoe-through-the-tulips race for the nomination, and then publicly supported him with unbridled enthusiasm and smiles (What a good sport she is!  No sore loser here! WINK-WINK).

Next, Hillary surprisingly accepted the position of Secretary of State, essentially getting in bed with the enemy (Translation: All to gain unprecedented access to the new administration and the world – literally).  She then spent the last two years crisscrossing the globe as our top diplomat, gaining critical acclaim and even more followers from abroad and at home – all on Obama's dime.

Aaaaand, was it mere coincidence that the Clintons recently hosted THE Wedding of the Year, making the world collectively go “Ahhhhhh”?  Cue the wedding photo, showing them ensconced in that rarified Kennedy-esque glow. 

 Righty-o. Mr. Schlimms latest scholarly tome is entitled, "Harrah's Entertainment Presents...The Seven Stars Cookbook." 

And, in a piece that insults every ethnic group and social subculture that has ever been ignored or maligned, Susan Dale, on her Guns & Patriots blog for Human Events ("Leading Conservative Media Since 1944"), in an article named "Hillary Clinton Proclaims: I Will Be The First Black Female President,"...

The person the mainstream media has decided is the savior, or is that saviourette, or perhaps saviourelle, maybe saviourix, of the Democratic Party is…Hillary Clinton?

This is total desperation on the part of the left.  Isn’t there anyone remaining in their ranks who is younger than Methuselah, who has only one chin and weighs less than 200 pounds?  Nobody likes, wants or knows what to do with old women or fat children.  Ergo, how must an old fat woman rate?

Nonetheless, it is sad, but true, but that as a woman, if you look like Hillary, and will do so even more by the time she would run again, to appeal enough to the electorate to win the election on the part of said woman would be…er...challenging. Except, of course, for other old fat women.  Aging hippies, they are often charitably called.

Is another of her problem her voice?   (terrifying)  Is it her accent?  (auditorily vexatious)   Is it her laugh?  (horrifying)  Is it her bad grammar?  (seemingly irreversible)  Is it her being a natural hater? (bitter and hateful)  Is it still her unfortunate appearance?  (God love her, she can’t do any more than she’s done)  Is it her constantly saying ‘ya know?’  (worthy of capital punishment, as far as I’m concerned)

She will never be anointed the first black woman President. She will, however, have to deal with the newly awakened American people.  Americans now know what the left is capable of, which is the destruction of their country.

Gosh, I thought it was Sarah Palin who always said, "Ya know?," but that's just how it looks on this side of the wormhole.

Are you thinking that I picked out the dumbest, least known, least listened-to pundits in the Parallel Universe? I would have thought so, too. Susan Dale's site features ads for semi-automatic pistols and one of those Facebook widgets that shows how many people Like the Guns & Patriots blog.

36,812 people have bothered to hit that little thumbs-up button. That seems like a lot more folks willing to go public with their imbecility than I would have expected. Except in the P.U. 

Weighing In

Congratulations to my fellow North Carolinians. We managed to eat our way up onto the Top 10 Fattest States list this year. Last year we were only No. 12, so it took no small effort to heft our fat asses up there.

Having observed my fellow citizens in swimsuits at the beach this summer, I am certain this was no fluke. We deserved this distinction!

On the other hand, South Carolina still outweighed us, coming in at No. 9, even after they tightened their belts four notches. Last year they were No. 5. That seems to indicate that some of them really were hiking the Appalachian Trail last year while the rest were eating boiled peanuts and she-crab soup.

Mississippi is the reigning champ, and Alabama and Tennessee managed to tie for second place. Southern states dominate the list. We don't take our eating lightly.

Obviously.

Need to gain a few pounds? A trip on I-69 to I-81 from New Orleans to Baltimore might be a trip worth taking, just based on the shading of the obesity map below.

Maybe we can't educate, but we sure can masticate.

It seems just plain wrong, though, that Wisconsin didn't make the Top 10 after adding Krispy Kreme cheeseburgers to the State Fair menu last year. Maybe next year, Cheeseheads.

Georgia dropped from 14 to 17, an amazing feat with Paula Deen restauranting, magazining, teeveeing, and advertising calories galore non-stop. If the pounds she's passed along were money, we'd all be rich.

Oregon shrank 10 spots. Amazing! Could anything short of mass exodus do that? Nike is headquartered there. Maybe they said "Just DO it" and everybody did.

If you're going to New England and are sensitive about your weight, eat and go to the bathroom in Pennsylvania and don't get out of the car again until you get to Maine. You can stop in New York if you're desperate, I suppose, but the rest of the trip takes you through skinny states with skinny people.

Colorado was No. 51, the leanest state. It took me awhile to see how they managed that. I don't mean diet-wise, but where that extra state came into play. Seems the measuring committee included the District of Columbia on the list. DC came in at No. 49. Members of Congress must have emptied their pockets before they weighed in.

Colorado looks pretty skinny on the map and I think I know why.

New Englanders eat fish and chips and clam chowder, NC folks eat barbecue, Virginians love their ham, and Cajun food is big in Louisiana. So what do Coloradans eat? I did a little research and two foods popped up on several sites:

Green chili rellenos smothered with green chili (which probably runs through like the Colorado River) and Rocky Mountain Oysters.

Mountain oysters? Just how badly do you want to be thin?

Don't Brood Over It

Frogdancer at Dancing With Frogs posted some ideas on why the chicken crossed the road.

KINDERGARTEN TEACHER: To get to the other side.

PLATO: For the greater good.

ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross roads.

KARL MARX: It was a historical inevitability.

TIMOTHY LEARY: Because that’s the only trip the establishment would let it take.

CAPTAIN JAMES T. KIRK: To boldly go where no chicken has gone before.

HIPPOCRATES: Because of an excess of phlegm in its pancreas.

ANDERSEN CONSULTING: Deregulation of the chicken’s side of the road was threatening its dominant market position. The chicken was faced with significant challenges to create and develop the competencies required for the newly competitive market. Andersen Consulting, in a partnering relationship with the client, helped the chicken by rethinking its physical distribution strategy and implementation processes. Using the Poultry Integration Model (PIM) , Andersen helped the chicken use its skills, methodologies, knowledge, capital and experiences to align the chicken’s people, processes and technology in support of its overall strategy within a Program Management framework. Andersen Consulting convened a diverse cross-spectrum of road analysts and best chickens along with Andersen consultants with deep skills in the transportation industry to engage in a two-day itinerary of meetings in order to leverage their personal knowledge capital, both tacit and explicit, and to enable them to synergize with each other in order to achieve the implicit goals in delivering and successfully architecting and implementing an enterprise-wide value framework across the continuum of poultry cross-median processes. The meeting was held in a park-like setting, enabling and creating an impactful environment which was strategically based, industry-focused, and built upon a consistent, clear, and unified market message and aligned with the chicken’s mission, vision, and core values. This was conducive towards the creation of a total business integration solution. Andersen Consulting helped the chicken change to become more successful.

MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.: I envision a world where all chickens will be free to cross roads without having their motives called into question.

MACHIAVELLI: The point is that the chicken crosses the road. Who cares why? The end of crossing the road justifies whatever motive there was.

JERRY SEINFELD: Why does anyone cross the road? I mean, why doesn’t anyone ever think to ask, what the heck was this chicken doing walking around all over the place, anyway?

FREUD: The fact that you are at all concerned that the chicken crossed the road reveals your underlying sexual insecurity.

BILL GATES: I have just released the new Chicken Office 2010, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your cheque book.

OLIVER STONE: The question is not, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” Rather, it is, “Who was crossing the road at the same time, whom we overlooked in our haste to observe the chicken crossing?”

DARWIN: Chickens, over great periods of time, have been naturally selected in such a way that they are now genetically disposed to cross the roads.

EINSTEIN: Whether the chicken crossed the road or the road moved beneath the chicken depends on your frame of reference.

BUDDHA: Asking this question denies your own chicken nature.

RALPH WALDO EMERSON: The chicken did not cross the road … it transcended it.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die. In the rain.

COLONEL SANDERS: I missed one?

SALLY H. PENNY: Because the ones on the right side of the road were loons, still arguing over the President's religious affiliation.

Got one? Let's hear it! 

Awesome

Thanks to Sally...

Recycled ATC Tuesday

Here's an artist trading card I created awhile back. 


Given all the manure the Republicans have been shoveling about the proposed Islamic community center in New York City, I thought it was quite fitting to post it today.  Enjoy...

Artist trading card created by Ima June Pullet (aka TexasTrailerParkTrash)

Eat Pray Love Shop

[This post is Rated P for Pop Culture, Parenthetical Phrases, and Poor Taste]

 For Elizabeth Gilbert fans, Julia Roberts' "Eat Pray Love" movie is the place to be on this hot, hot weekend in the South. I asked the gals on the weight circuit this morning if they were going to the matinee and got nothing but blank looks--how can that be? I thought the entire female population of the country was waiting at the ticket window for this flick! For a popcorn lover like me, who buys the Butt Buster Bucket and eats two-fisted, I might as well be watching "Eat Eat Eat." Have you read the book? Are you going? Did you love it?

I "read it" as an audio book, which worked wonderfully because Gilbert's writing voice is entirely conversational; she writes much as a blog writer does, speaking directly to her readers. Thereafter, I "read" read her Last American Man, which was a psychological picture of an obsessive-compulsive uber-hero. It was good, but I like that sort of thing. And I finally got around to reading Committed, the follow-up to EPL, which was right up my alley. It's not been as well-reviewed, but I almost preferred it. The book uses the story of her relationship's somewhat tortured and torturous path toward marriage as the infrastructure of an anecdotal study of marriage across cultures.

Gilbert interviews the women she encounters in her travels about their decisions to wed and what marriage means in their world, employing the conceit that the insights she gathers along the way will inform her decision...which is foregone, since she can't bring her beloved back into the U.S. unless she marries him (a timely nod to the immigration issue--has this chick got timing or WHAT!?). She also references a few scholarly studies on marriage, but it's not a scholarly work in itself. It's Liz; you'll recognize her.

The author and her husband Jose Nunes, own a business in Frenchtown, New Jersey, Two Buttons Imports, which also looks just like me, as we say in the South. The website is charming, Frenchtown is charming, Elizabeth and Jose are probably charming, and I'd like nothing better than to show up at their front door, eat one of Jose's fabulously simple dinners with them, drink a little wine, and shop myself silly in their warehouse. I imagine they'll be beating people off with a stick after the movie's aired for a whole week in a row. The online shop isn't open yet, but you just know that's because Liz and Jose have been busy offering a lot of relaxed, warm, and intimate dinners and impromptu picnic lunches to a few thousand of their closest friends. Bookmark that link and check often.

Two Buttons Imports

Segue. So I was sitting in traffic in our little tourist trap town (Last weeks before schools starts, so we sit in traffic a lot. Welcome to our beach, now beat it), when I noticed this rear window decal on a pick-up truck cum rifle rack (tourists, retirees, and rednecks comprise 97% of our traffic):

Blasphemy for Gilbert fans! Okay, clever but...jarring. Which came first, the book title or the deerslayer's mantra, do you think?  I got curious and looked it up online, just googling the motto, and found it on Cafe Press. There, I discovered that I hadn't really experienced jarring yet.  


Here's jarring.

Cafe Press Maternity T-shirt

We are famous in this neck of the woods for being tasteless, but I can't even wrap my head around that item. Ya'll better stock up; Southern women like to have all their Christmas shopping done by the end of August. (What the hell IS THAT?! I keep hearing it in the South. I don't even think about Christmas until Thanksgiving, which comes the week after Labor Day, right?)

If you don't know anyone who's expecting, perhaps they would like to be. This item is bound to effect the overpopulation issue one way or the other:

The "Classic" Thong - $12.00. (It could ONLY be) Made In The USA

Imagine with me, Dear Reader, the set of circumstances under which this gift might be the very thing.

Namaste.

Follow-Up: Best Answer To This Question--Ever!


I cross-posted this entry from Mature Landscaping, where my daughter, Paula, left the perfect comment that I just had to share:


Paula Said:
WTF? what the heck does "hunt dead" mean? is it a zombie hunter reference?
zombie hunters are making a comeback, there is a zombie TV series in the works in Hollywood.

So.... dedicated goth girl finds herself knocked up and hits the internets for maternity clothing that will allow her to maintain her goth-y look and express her inner turmoil through clothing choices.

Knowing that vampires are SO .5 seconds ago, and based on the fact that she saw the zombie TV show propaganda at Comic Con this year, she was wickedly close to showing some emotion when she found the "'Make satirical fun of movies my Mother enjoys' meets 'zombie humor'" section of tackyFreaksFrocks.com online store.

Based on this back-story, which is the ONLY logical explanation for the words "eat, sleep, HUNT DEAD" to be printed on a maternity shirt, the REALLY TRAGIC marketing disaster made here is....

 offering it in PINK! What self respecting, tradition dissing, ex-vampire now zombie-loving, knocked up goth girl wants a PINK maternity tank top! Duh.

A Hill Too Far

You complete me

We Americans are fond of the idiom "over the hill"--so fond, that we like to capitalize it, throwing Over The Hill parties for thirtieth birthdays. And fortieth and even fiftieth, although most folks have already had that party once by their sixth decade, black balloons and all. The exact location of The Hill is up for grabs in this postmodern age, but, wherever we locate it, none of us is pleased to be Over it. By 62, I thought I'd pretty much traversed all the obvious acclivities and could loll around for a while in It's All Downhill From Here before I had to Bite The Big One.

Yesterday, I learned there's a hill I had never known to dread: the first duet doctor's appointment. Who the hell knew?! And isn't that in violation of the HIPAA regulations or something? As with so many other bizarre affronts in life such as middle school talent show tryouts and childbirth, I was in the middle of it before I knew what had hit me.

When the internist we both see scheduled us for back-to-back appointments, we thought it was sort of...I don't know...sweet? We both like our doctor's staff. Like old people everywhere, we try to treat them personally and entertain them while they are trying to deal with someone on the phone by showing them pictures of our grandchildren, complimenting their new hair color, tattoos, or cheek piercings, etc., so we know they love us and see us as the charming, fit, and youthful couple everyone knows us to be. Certainly, once the schedule had been made, we endorsed it as energy-saving and efficient, a practice like recycling that everyone should adopt if at all possible. So we rode together to the doctor's office, feeling just a little smug and sanctimonious, because WE were carpooling down the length of our own driveway and the whole .45 miles to the doctor's office. A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.

I should interrupt myself here to say that I've about had it with togetherness lately. Over the past three years, we've spent half our time in our own average-sized house and the rest cheek-by-jowl in a 650 sq.ft., one bedroom apartment in California; we've driven one borrowed vehicle while there and learned to coordinate our outings; we've signed up for the annual family plan at the gym and usually go at the same time because...well, we were each going, anyway. We are such a Unit, our grandkids call us both PappyGigi. This was not intentional; it just happened.

dvorak.org

It started a few years ago when eye surgery made it hard for me to drive at night because the headlights turned into blinding fireworks, but I swear to you I could still cut my own meat if I ate any. We are not one of those couples who exist in a boundary-free, undifferentiated, co-dependent muddle. Our marriage has certainly not devolved into one of those jostling, one-upmanship sorts of relationships. I'm a whole human all by myself and perfectly at ease with full individuation. And I'm starting to need my own space in a way that might involve one of those Freddie Kreuger gloves.

My appointment was first by fifteen minutes, (I won) so I was a little taken aback when the nurse stuck her head out and called, "M_______s!" Plural. Not Mrs. M_____ or Mr.M ______. Did she mean both of us? She did.

We each stepped up on the scales in turn (he'd lost five, I'd lost two, so he won), had our respective blood pressures taken by the brusque nurse (my diastolic was lower, so I won), and found ourselves sitting side-by-side in the examining room, waiting for the doctor like you'd wait for Your Featured Presentation at the movies. At least we got to sit in narrow chairs and weren't left nudging each other for butt space with our four legs dangling off the exam table, playing King of The Hill. It was starting to feel distinctly surreal in there. And crowded.

You know how long those waits are. By the time Dr. W, a gentle, thorough, soft-voiced woman from Bangladesh of whom we are both fond, came in, I'd begun to imagine things. I'd gotten pretty far with my scenarios...all the way to: she's going to announce that one of us has requested a sex-change operation and she likes to have couples discuss these things with her ahead of time. What do you say at a time like that? After trying on several broadminded responses, my mind had flitted back to the Freddie Kreuger gloves when the door opened.

It was a perfectly normal visit. Almost an anticlimax, really. She checked my blood pressure again herself to follow up on that low diastolic number, but, naturally by that time both my numbers were high. She put that down to "white coat syndrome." I thought I should bring up the heart palpitations I'd begun experiencing quite recently--just minutes ago, in fact. She gave us each the same amount of time, obviously careful not to indicate that one of us had been the better patient. She went over our blood work, ordered a routine mammogram for one of us and discussed WNL PSA numbers for the other--your usual His and Hers check-up. It was all just too unorthodox to take in, and I think I can speak for both of us when I say there was just a whiff of favoritism to it. You know how you can always tell these things no matter how hard they try to cover it up.

We walked out still a little disoriented, and, in tandem knee-jerk fashion, agreed when the woman at the desk offered us back-to-back appointments next time. When I am amazed, I just don't think that well on my feet. All the short way home, we talked about why Dr. W. had done our exams that way and all we could conclude was that she makes that a usual practice with married couples of a certain age if they seem amenable to it...

because, at 62 and 65, she knows they've pierced the leading boundary of The Dementia Zone. 

In fact, I think she suspects one of us. Probably the flakier one.

Incontinence? It All Depends...

I was walking with my Mother down an aisle of our supermarket today on our way to the checkout stand. She’ll be 91 next month and no longer drives. (Thank you, Lord.) Still, she’s pretty independent and lives quite comfortably by herself in her own home, so more power to her.


We just happened to be in what is euphemistically known as the “feminine hygiene” aisle. What that really means is, if you’ve just gotten a visit from “Aunt Flo”, or it stings when you pee, or your lady parts are itching like you sat on a hill of Fire Ants, then this is the aisle for you.

My Mother knows (at least I think she remembers) that I’ve had a hysterectomy, so when she gestured with a smile toward all the pads on the shelves and asked “Need some Kotex?” I replied with a chuckle and said “No, thanks. Don’t have the equipment anymore.”


What I didn’t say was that I’ve merely traded one curse for another. Monthly periods for stress incontinence. I don’t know why they say “stress” because it usually happens when you’re enjoying yourself (like having a good laugh) or it sneaks up on you without any advanced warning at all.


The only stress involved is when you know you’ve just peed your pants.


Why is life like that? You suffer through adolescent acne and about the time that clears up, you discover the crows have been walking all over you at night and left their prints embedded in that “delicate skin around the eyes”, like that frickin’ Andi McDowell tells us in those annoying commercials.


You endure 35 or 40 years of having a period every month, complete with cramps, bloating and the desire to rip the heart out of the next person who says you’re being too emotional, and then, oh happy day, it stops.


You no longer have to wear the “back-up” pads that are necessary because the tampon industry, in their desire to protect us from Toxic Shock Syndrome, retooled all the tampons so now they’re about as absorbent as a chiffon scarf.


All of the joy of finally being free lasts but a nanosecond in time, because it is soon replaced by the need to wear Poise pads EVERY DAY to prevent those “little accidents” caused by a weak sphincter which, up to now, hasn’t given you any problems since the day you were successfully potty trained.


Sheesh.


Apparently, my Mother doesn’t share this condition with me. I have never seen her put any of these products in her shopping cart. Plenty of wine, bacon and Snickers bars, but no incontinence pads.


It seems that stress incontinence can be caused by injury to the pelvic floor during childbirth. My Mother has always said that giving birth to me and my older brother was “like falling off a log” because we were only 6 lbs. 6 oz. and 5 lbs. 11 oz., respectively.


When I had my kids, it was like giving birth to a log—twice. And both of those logs weighed nearly 9 lbs. and one was in bass-ackwards to boot.


I’m surprised I still have a bladder.


So I dedicate this ATC in honor of Andi McDowell and all of the ladies who wish to regain their youthful looks (and sphincters.)

Help, I've Fallen...yadda, yadda, yadda

Cartoon created by Ima June Pullet (aka TexasTrailerParkTrash)

How Many Words Is This Worth?

From Rene Maltete, via Octopus at Swash Zone:

My dear Peeps, how many words does it conjure for you?

p.s. The lettering on the sign: Is that 7 Peaches or 7 fishereries?

Lessons from a Fat Girl

I just read a blog post by my friend Nance about the politics of food. I found it intriguing because I had never given much thought to there being a political aspect to what we choose to eat. However, I think Nance presents a point of view that appropriately stirs up the brain cells; check it out.

I was rolling along just fine until I got to the image that Nance posted at the end as a sort of what not to look like. I know Nance, and she was merely illustrating her overall thesis about food, the environment and health. Still, give her an Afro and a really good tan and the woman in the photo could be me.

I'm fat. I don't like the word obese; it sounds like some greasy substance you sell in a can. Weight is a major issue for a lot of us. Most of us who are fat are uncomfortable talking publicly about weight. The first lesson that a fat girl learns from her mother is not to draw attention to herself. Don't do anything to make people look at you such as wear bright colors or laugh loudly and maybe they won't notice that there's a fat girl sitting in the corner.

I wore a lot of pastel colors as a child. It was a faux pas to dress a child in black (the alleged slimming color), so pastels were preferred to bright reds, blues, and greens. To this day I hate anything in a pastel color; give me something in a bold magenta print with teal accents, or an animal print.

I suspect that fat boys have similar experiences but I've never been a fat boy and I write what I know. I do know that fat men appear to get away with less disparagement, at least they do in straight culture. Think of the television or film career of fat actors; they have wives (slim, pretty wives), or girlfriends. They get to have romantic scenes. They get to play the lead. It's still big news to have a fat woman play the lead in a television show. Drop Dead Diva made the news when it debuted a year ago because the lead actress was plus size.

People who would never disparage anyone based on race, ethnicity, or sexual orientation fail to even recognize the daily insults that they and others toss at fat people.

The focus should be on maintaining a healthy weight but we live in a culture where looks are everything. Attractive people are more likely to be hired and more likely to be promoted. If you're fat, perfect strangers feel that it is appropriate to comment on your weight. If you're fat, people take pictures of you from the rear, always a fat person's worst angle, of which you are unaware and use it as a warning of what not to become.

As for fat people, we still hide in the corners, trying to avoid attention. Most of us are unwilling to bring fat prejudice out into the light because to do so means drawing attention to ourselves. We laugh at the fat jokes and cluck disapprovingly at the image of some hapless fat person in an ad about the nation's obesity problem. We allow the image of fat people as lazy, unattractive, and willfully fat to go unchallenged. We are secretly grateful when there is someone in the room who is larger because we are able to escape the dubious distinction of being the fattest person present.

At age 55, I've gotten beyond having my feelings hurt by offensive comments about my weight. I still have my insecure days when I'm convinced that I look like a small tank, but most of the time I see myself in a more positive light. I have a standard comeback to rude comments when I feel that one is warranted, "I'm fat and you're stupid. I can always lose some weight." My friend Burmadeane came up with that one years ago.

However, most children and teenagers haven't made peace with their bodies and go through untold emotional pain as they receive a consistent message that they are worthless. Don't misunderstand, I think efforts to teach healthy eating and the joy of movement are needed. However, there is a big difference from conveying a message that being physically fit will enhance your enjoyment of life and conveying the message that being fat is akin to wearing a sign around your neck that says criticize me, emotionally batter me until I have no self esteem left and then tell me how it's for my own good.

I think that some of the animosity expressed by fat people towards healthy eating campaigns and efforts to combat childhood obesity (that word again!) masks hurt feelings and insecurities. To be fat in a culture obsessed with appearance is to be a fair target for ridicule and shame. It means being a teenage girl out with your friends and having some woman whom you have never met stop you and tell you that you are going to die young if you don't lose weight. It's having people become so obsessed with the issue of weight that they forget there is a human being in front of them and not an obesity problem.