Archive for February 18th, 2009


Oh, Enough With The Ass-Clownery Already

Dear Harry Reid,

What the hell is wrong with you?

Jesus Christ, just look at you. A stiff breeze could knock you over. The maternal part of me wants to feed you an roast beef sandwich and a Guiness, Mormon background or no, and send you outside to play in the sunshine. But it’s not play time just yet; we still need to focus on the job at hand. And that job is serving, not just your constituency, but your nation. I know, I know, it seems daunting, but, hey, that’s why they pay you the big bucks.

Roland Burris has now admitted that he was in cahoots with his godfather, Rod Blagojevich. The extent to which he was involved does. not. matter. He has to go. Now. There is a way to expel him, tough though it may be, and you need to utilize it. That’s what it’s there for, after all!

Now, don’t worry about getting people on board. If you’re uneasy about any of the tough talk, just ask Rahm; he’d love to give this guy the half-fingered salute. But you need to do something.

Your indulgence toward Lieberman was disgusting enough, but, if you stand for this, I’m seriously going to buy a ticket to D.C. and beat you up for your lunch money. Because you’re just so goddamned easy to hit.

Your Future

Your Future

The Jabberin’ Wookie


Well, That Was Quick

Facebook no longer owns your ass. At least, not as outwardly as they were proclaiming to before. The plan, as unveiled by The Consumerist, was to give Facebook ownership of anything uploaded thereto in perpetuity. A day, and many angry complaints, later, they rescinded the addendum to their Terms of Service agreement.

Whew! That was close, right?

Check out this documentary, if you haven’t already:

It’s a scary world out there, especially for those with friends. (Yay for bloggers!!!)




What is it with the Jacksons and their obsession with theme parks??? First one devoted to Michael’s love of pederasty children and now this:

One of Michael Jackson’s brothers plans to open a slavery theme park.

From the article:

A museum for the Jackson Five is to be built in Nigeria, American developers have announced, as part of a $3.4bn (£2.4bn) luxury resort including concert halls, golf courses, casinos – and a memorial for Africa’s former slave trade.

The Badagry Historical Resort, located near Badagry’s former slave port, will include a multimillion pound memorial, slave history theme park, five-star hotel and Jackson Five museum. The project is supported in part by Marlon Jackson, one of Michael Jackson’s brothers.

“The Jackson family had been looking for a place to site their memorabilia collection,” explained Gary Loster, chief executive of the Motherland Group, to the BBC. “We visited the site of the slave port in Badagry and Marlon turned to me and said: ‘Let’s put it here, this is right.'”

“It’s such an emotional place, and I think we all felt that it was the right place to have the Jackson family memorial,” Loster said.

The developers’ plans…include a lifesize replica of a slave ship, holograms of the Jackson Five and robot versions of 18th-century African musicians.


He’s Just Really That Into Him

I love Kanye West.  Let me get that out of the way.  Seriously, I am just forever tickled by him and his antics.  His music is a wee bit on the Hammer side of the spectrum for my taste, but, oh, the ego on that guy is just. fucking. amazing. He is a never-ending carnival of self-promotion, self-fellation, and self-obsession. Why do I love this? Ah, it goes back to the ol’ parents, as we all knew it would.

I was recently discussing with my husband our disparate upbringings, and how they’ve fashioned us as people. Specifically, my parents were of the belief that a nice stiff shot of modesty was always in order. This is certainly not to say they weren’t openly proud of us or effusive about said pride; it’s just to say that it was always tempered. My husband’s parents, on the other hand, were unconditionally hyper-proud of their children’s accomplishments, to the point of sometimes, shall we say, stretching the truth about the reality of the situation. We were talking about this because we are still trying to find a happy medium as a way to raise our daughter. (Ask me about her milestones, and I’ll say she’s almost standing by herself and can kind of crawl a bit; according to my husband, she’s walking and talking.) I’m still not sure how to happily marry the two parenting philosophies, and I probably never will be (hey, you gotta screw up your kid somehow, right?), but I know one thing: People who turn out like Kanye West absolutely fascinate me.

I hate to break it to Kanye, but he’s not alone in his land of self-delusion. There was a musician in Baton Rouge (Tabby Thomas) who used to fascinate me the same way. If you asked that guy, he’d tell you that he not only introduced John Lee Hooker to the “geetar,” but also taught Etta James to sing, trained our local middleweight champion boxer, and served as the inspiration for tort reform. OK, that last one was a joke, but the rest are part of what he considers his bonafides. Needless to say, it’s doubtful any of these things are actually true, but it’s got to be wonderful to live inside that head. Really. To think that you are just the greatest thing that’s ever happened to your greatest passion in life.

Me, I’m still of the Groucho Marx philosophy, never wanting to belong to a club that would have me. But I still look in on the clubs–with the people inside who swear they invented the club, fashioned the lounge chairs, and hand-rolled the cigars themselves–with wide-eyed wonder and no little amount of both admiration and amusement. This is the long way of describing how I felt when reading Kanye’s latest interview with Details (is that still around?) magazine:

Put this in the magazine: There’s nothing more to be said about music. I’m the fucking end-all, be-all of music. I know what I’m doing. I did 808s in three weeks. I got it. It’s on cruise control…Someone could be a better rapper, dance better. But culturally impacting? When you look back at these four and a half years*, who’s the icon at the end of the day? Who broke down color barriers? What other black guy would a white person use as a fashion reference?

*in Kanye’s world, 4 and a half years is a “generation.” This is why he’s the voice of a generation, and not just a popular singer in the last half decade or so. I admit: it sounds better his way.

Plus, I will always always always love him for generating the most visibly uncomfortable moment in Mike Meyers’ career:

February 2009