Beyond the usual "W" stickers, I mean.

Two instances of vehicular self-expression in the parking lot of a Cow City, Texass Luby's which made me want to slash the tires, kick in the windows, and key the fuck out of the respective vehicles, then find their owners and shove a Lu-Ann Platter right in their throats:

1) A bumper sticker that said, "OBAMA LIED, THE ECONOMY DIED."

2) A license plate with the following characters: XX1 XY1

I love a state filled to bursting with the half-bright, don't you?

"ITS OK TO SAY MERRY CHRISTMAS."

[Sign in front of large Baptist church in Cowburg, original spelling/punctuation and sense of beleaguered persecution intact]

Two things, Internets:

1) That Survivor finale was the most jive-turkey bullshit ending in the history of ever. Even Probst thinks so.

2) The Big-Box Retail Store in Cowburg. Man. I don't know what's worse -- the horrific, stroke-inducing fumes of the nail place by the checkout lanes, or the realization that these people (look to your right, look to your left) outnumber us.

"Is this movie more entertaining than a documentary of the same actors having lunch?"

GodDAMN, do I love Roger Ebert! I always have liked him and gotten a lot out of his movie reviews, but as I have become a fan of his writing and his Twitter feed about movies, life, whatnot (which, seriously, is GOLD -- he is an absolute master of the form), I have become a genuine hardcore fan.

Check this out, from his review of that absolutely shittacular-looking new schmear featuring SJP and Hugh Grant:

Saints preserve us! Not another one of those movies where Hugh Grant and Sarah Jessica Parker end up as the front and back halves of a rodeo clown's cow suit! What's that you say? This is the first one where they've been inside the cow? Does it feel that way to you? What's that you say? You bet they'll be chased by a bear? Come on, now: surely only one of them!

I love that he's so free to be this sarcastic and dismissive -- he's earned the right, after his long career, to not have to take shit like this seriously, Shatner bless 'im.

Dear Shatner Claus:

What do y'all think this'd run me, lease-wise, per month? I'm thinking one around, say, the 50th floor.

My ENTIRE LIFE I've wanted an office in the Empire State Building. My entire life.

I'm not even sure I believe that stuff about the 9-hour sexings.

New term, Internets: "Sting it up." As in, "The Rock n Roll Hall of Fame 25th Anniversary show had its moments, but I could've done without the parts where Sting was Stinging it up."

It means "unnecessary beboppin and scattin or undeserved and unnecessary ponderousness instead of singing something straight; a condition born, one presumes, of an extraordinary sense of entitlement and deeply entrenched pomposity on the part of the singer." Anyone can Sting anything up -- this condition isn't reserved for Sting alone. Paul "Congratulations, You Met A Black Person Once, But Did That Really Deserve A Whole Album Written About It" Simon is one of the worst offenders. James Taylor loves to Sting stuff up (he's a practitioner of a subset of the art, known as "dickimento," in which the fact of what a ginormous dick you are tends to seep through into whatever you do so we can see it no matter what you've overlaid it with). Anybody who performs stuff in a way that's just pointlessly self-indulgent instead of the thing that made you famous? That's Stingin it up.

NOTES:

--DKGOML is not a Sting-hating enterprise, by official policy; we don't hate him at all, actually, especially in context as a Police, and of course as a bassist. It's just, you know -- Sting, GOD.

--In fact, we once chose a black-and-white photo of him from Rolling Stone as the image we copied for our stippling assignment in high school art class, and it turned out pretty well.

--In further fact, we received additional confirmation that we had met someone special when we saw this same image tacked to the wall of our college boyfriend's bedroom, back in his hometown the first Thanksgiving we spent with him. Reader, we married him.

--Try -- just try -- to say "stipple" without sounding like South Park's Big Gay Al.

--You can't do it, can you? Us either.

C'mon, wolf out. Wolf it. Wolf it up.

OK, so can we please talk about this Lautner kid? I mean, I don't really want to talk about him either, but his cheese-eating teenage mug cannot be avoided by sighted persons in today's America, so -- it is to you, Internets, that I turn with this issue.

The issue is: His face looks like it is made of WAX. Poreless, smooth, solid-seeming though the folds be fleshy and the eyes too-deeply set. And not poreless like preteen supermodel girls, either, in that way that can just break your heart -- poreless like, he was born with linoleum skin, which has been buffed to a high sheen. It's fucking bizarre and unsettling, and I find it impossible to believe that anyone, no matter how naive and inexperienced, could find that attractive. And more to the point: I just ... what is the fucking DEAL with this guy? Why the wax face? WHY?

"His brain is squirming like a toad." What? Srsly. What?

OK, this I got via a link from the inimitable Sars:

Morrison was immortalized first by death at 27 and then by three generations of college kids who needed a poster to cover up a creepy-looking stain in their dorm room. That voice plus thirty pounds of extra flab wouldn’t have gotten Jim Morrison past the cattle-call round of “American Idol.”

And I laaaaaaaaaughed and laughed and laughed. Because y’all, Jim Morrison is the most jive frontman of the most jive band ever (Buddyhead says that title actually goes to Courtney Taylor of the Dandy Warhols, but in this instance and ONLY in this instance, they are wrong. I love the Dandy Warhols. Suck it, Buddyhead!).

I had my Morrison/Doors phase. If you are a straight female, a gay male, or a nascent music person of any gender or orientation, you had your Morrison/Doors phase too. Some of you may still be in yours, and for that, I’m sorry (unless you’re still fifteen, in which case you’ll get over it I hope, or you’re coming out of a lifetime of repression in some weird religious subculture, in which case you just go ahead and do what you need to do, old kid old sock).

Mine coincided with the release of the Doors movie (which my friend Lebowski was an extra in! woo!), and that only fueled the fire. The stupid, stupid fire. Plus also the still-awesome Danny Sugerman book, Wonderland Avenue. That shit had me writing Doors quotes all over my textbook covers and in yearbook signings for sure,y’all. Lizard King, Jesus H. Shatner with long locks, leather pants and a hairless chest … oi.

And with the exception of “People Are Strange,” which is truly a cool weird awesome little song, the music … ugh. Blow City, USA.

Thus has it been written, so let it be told across the land.

Oh dear, and I just told the whole Internets to grow the fuck up.

Y'all.

We watched the new Star Trek movie (the JJ Abrams joint), and despite the fact that I CANNOT STAND the whole Trekiverse, from TOS to whatever iteration it's in lately, with or without Wil Wheaton, I really liked the movie. Cool story, looked great, love to see Harold (of Harold & Kumar) gettin work, tripped out on how the Romulan ships looked so ... biological, like nasty burrs and filoviruses (hantavirus, Ebola Marburg, all the good ones).

But the thing is -- and I was really, really surprised, and kept having to, like, step out of the story and ask myself in my head if I was for real or what, on this -- the thing is: That new Spock was hot. As in, strangely but undeniably ... attractive.

You just never know, do ya?

Grow the fuck up.

I'm sick of people bitching and whining all "Waaaaaaaaaaaah, Obama hasn't done every single fucking thing I wanted him to, exactly the way I wanted it, instantaneously! Fuck him! Waaaaaaaah!" Such childish bullshit. I'm not saying I personally want to make hot flamingo love with every single decision he's made, or that I think he should replace Shatner as the Deity, or that he is without fault as a person or as a President -- but:

--He SAID he was going to make mistakes, and make decisions you/me/we would disagree with. He fucking said it. He was being honest. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate that.
--However, I do believe completely that he is trying his level motherfuckin best to do the most good for the most people. This also is a wholly refreshing and unfamiliar feeling.
--Change is slow to come. Sometimes it's a hundred steps backward before it's one step forward. By all means, let's hold him to his word, but can we give him some goddamn space, a little room to WORK? He's only one man, y'all.

Mark Morford said it better than I could. And these lists of Obama's accomplishments so far? Inspiring -- wonderful -- heartening.

Whatever childish fantasies people held about him have by now worn off -- and that's a good thing. Let's let the real person continue his real work, and keep letting him know what we want.

Jeremy Jordan! All right!

Internets, here's something for ya.

I have been laughing like a GOD. DAMN. LUNATIC. for like two days over the line, "At WBH, Andrea mooches an invitation to Steve's to study, because she can't take the Alfred B. Cooke course because she's a poor."

A poor. Oh holy Shatner, I am in TEARS right now ... a POOR!!!!

Heeeee. You're welcome.