Wednesday, August 25, 2010


Punishments That Were Considered Completely Routine and Utterly Unremarkable In My Hometown School System, Back When I Was In It, From Sixth Grade Onward

--D-hall, aka detention. Required you to sit in some off-season coach's classroom for I think 30 mins after school. You weren't supposed to do homework or read, just meditate upon your crime.

--Sentences. Assigned in increments of fifty. You'd go to the office, get a slip of paper with the week's sentence on it (usually some sort of moral), and write that on a sheet of looseleaf the required number of times and turn it in at the office.

--Wall sits. The week's group of miscreants (or an ad hoc group, in the moment) would have to put their backs against a wall and scooch down till their thighs were parallel to the floor -- sitting without a chair, basically -- and stay there till whatever insane meathead was in charge told them they could stop. Usually 1-5 minutes in total.

--Licks, aka getting your ass beat with a paddle by some kinky-minded sociopath with rage issues. The number of "licks" depended on the severity of your offense and was stipulated by the teacher or official who sentenced you. The ones who enjoyed performing this duty -- all men, grown-ass adult men, whaling away on teen and preteen boys and girls -- had their own special paddles, with stuff carved into and written on them, and would lovingly caress them in class, name them, use them as pointers, hold them above your head mock-(real)-threateningly, etc.

Dunno if they still do any of this -- for the record, I only ever did sentences or D-hall, although there were plenty of kids who'd choose the licks to get out of writing, say, 200 sentences. Also you could sign a paddle if you got beaten enough times with it. People are crazy.

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Sunday, August 22, 2010

Apropos of nothing ...

... you guys know what a great movie is? I'll tell you: Midnight Madness.

Made in 1980, one of the dozens and dozens of movies I've seen dozens of times* because my family had HBO** in the early going, but y'all -- OK, so I haven't seen it since at least 1988, but it was good! Remember Michael J. Fox, all misunderstood & whiny? And how all the teams wore color-coordinated sweatshirts in that bulky 80s polyester cut? And FAGABEEFE? And "SomeWHERE ... in the Bonaventure Hotel!"?


*Including but not limited to: Looker, Just One of the Guys, Class, Turk 182, Twilight Zone: The Movie, April Fool's Day, Valley Girl, Savannah Smiles, How I Got Into College, Beastmaster, Secret of NIMH, Eddie and the Cruisers, Superman III, Arthur, and V (a ... soccer movie? ... starring Sylvester Stallone? I think?).

**Horrible Body Odor! HA ha! O that never gets old!!!!

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Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Thoughts in the company cafe this morning

So here's the thing: A "breakfast strata" with roast mushrooms, heirloom tomatoes, artichokes and herbed goat cheese is a fine thing, and quite enjoyable. But when it is bought and eaten instead of the "breakfast crepes," with choice of a dozen savory and sweet fillings, which you thought would be on offer but ARE NOT, for UNKNOWN REASONS -- the strata loses. It just does.

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Friday, August 13, 2010

The awesome and the puketastic

Internets, I have but two things to say to you today:

1)This man is a true American hero. I want him to be the mayor of Queens, the governor of California, and the Grand Marshal of the Macy Day Parade -- and henceforth, whenever I quit anything, it shall be with Master Steven Slater in mind: Some form of curse-riddled public address, a showy exit, and a coupla beers for the road (followed by hot sex till the cops get there). Fuck yeah!

2) Whereas this -- THIS -- makes me want to puke. Puke puke puke. Gaudy ribbons of lunch-flecked slurry, waves and eddies and snarls of it filling the corners and spattering the ceilings of all the rooms in all the world. Puuuuuuuuuuuke. I got it from one of my favorite sites on the Internets -- STFU Believers -- and am as yet unsure what part of it makes me puke most violently: the writing, or the point of the story.

--The writing: Like a ghostwriter for Stephenie Meyer, this shit. I've found that all these modern-day Xtian parables (which are 100% complete dingo diarrhea, btw) sound the same; there are people who "give" "slow chuckles," they're always smiling and saying things "gently" (general abuse of adverbs is a habit with this crowd), and the tone -- oh the tone. Perky, earnest, clean, full of overwrought symbolism -- it makes me want to go on a tri-state ARSON SPREE.

--The point of the story: Mens are bad (except Jesus and Daddy). Your un-poked vaginer = the entirety of your value on earth and in heaven forever and ever amen. Your father gets to know when you have all your "firsts" with guys. (NB: Of course it's guys -- you're not a homo faggot lesbo, are you?) If you "give a man your pearl," wink-wink, and you're not married to him, then you're a cheap slut who disrespects herself, God, and her parents and deserves to be banged and dismissed by anyone and everyone and GOOD DAY TO YOU, we don't love you anymore and neither does Jesus and never will any man, you little whore.

I've already goddamn told you what you need to do to protect and aid your daughter, you sick creepy fucks! Now go do it.



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Monday, August 09, 2010

Also, Mary preferred to sit inside and sew on her nine-patch colorblock quilt because she's a goody two-shoes kiss-ass little twit.

Or: Further Adventures in Children's Lit
Sparked by a comment I was going to leave over at Sarah Brown's joint, which comment became overlong and moved itself over here instead:

1) I have started reading Little House on the Prairie to my almost-three-year-old. It is pretty awesome, and she likes the sound of it, and follows the story remarkably well. But I'm glad she can't actually read yet, because I have had to do some on-the-fly editing-out of this and that -- such as the Ingallses basically being HOME-INVADED by some Indians while Pa was away (it is really a terrifying chapter, no kidding), and how Ma is constantly mouthing off all racist about Indians in general (even before the home invasion).

2) Speaking of home invasions (Cat in the Hat, GOD), I never knew how much a person could grow to hate Dr. Seuss. Now, a bunch of y'all just went "Noooooooooo!" and started composing defenses of the man and his work, but y'all -- Y'ALL -- have never had to read "Blue Fish Blue Fish" for the eighth god damn night in a row, all that "Ish Wish Dish" and "Zans cans" and "seven-hump Wump" shit.

3) And speaking of editing, I don't edit the ending of Henny Penny, where HP, Cocky Locky, Goosey Loosey, Ducky Lucky, and Turkey Lurkey stupidly follow Foxy Loxey into his lair and he and his wife and kids EAT THEM ALL UP. Because DAMN, y'all, get some brains and don't follow a fucking FOX into its LAIR.

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"Right then. Happy Christmas!"

Can we all please agree that last night's Mad Men was the best episode in the history of ever? I do not spoil, because I love, but y'all -- Don and Lane's Excellent Adventure -- holy Scotch-swilling SHATNER was that fucking awesome.

Go watch it, you.

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Friday, August 06, 2010

It's almost not fair ...

... how breathtakingly beautiful Emma Watson is. But I can't even be envious, because it's just ... a level above. You can't be jealous of a goddess, you know? And why I mention this now is, it's RIDICULOUS how pretty she looks with her new pixie cut -- major religons could be founded on the basis of this young woman's photo alone.

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Monday, August 02, 2010

Yes, that's COUNTING the fact that I don't have to wear a girdle to work.

FM(W)L: Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce vs. My Day Job

--I have never gotten groped in any of my personal regions by anyone at my office.

Point: Day Job

--No one drinks while at my office.

Point: SCDP

--No one need be a closeted LGBT person at my office.

Point: Day Job

--No one calls me "girl," and a penis is not a requirement for supervisory positions.

Point: Day Job

--No one smokes while at my office.

Point: Day Job

--If my boss were to make a pass at me, A) No, B) Hell to the fuck no, and C) one hundred dollars cash American would merely be Exhibit A in the prosecution's evidence file in the mega-tsunami of a lawsuit that would immediately follow.

Point: Day Job

--I am required to spend an entire day this week cloistered with my "team," during which we will "learn more about our personal communications styles, find[ing] ways to be dynamic and influential with our clients, colleagues, bosses, employees and the media;" there will be "behaviorally based techniques, an individual workbook, and role-playing exercises," as well as "some of us" doing "a few minutes in front of the camera" so that we "can receive video feedback."

Game, set and match: SCDP

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