If you've ever read any of the abysmal fanfic Star Trek stuff out there just for giggles, then you'll LOVE


BROKE TREK

The English government is about to ban smoking while driving. Can you imagine? Obscene! Anyway, in honor of this idiocy, I present:




Brilliant parody from Firesign Theatre - Revenge of the Non-Smokers

Smoke-easy bartender - Here ya go, but keep it on the Q.T.
Thug customer - Hey! Who you calling a cutie, you king-sized fag? I'll crush your butt!

HOW TO GET THROWN UNDER THE BUS IN A MILLION WORDS OR LESS:

A person has been bawling like a wean-sick calf about a minor amenity in his apartment that does not function up to his high standards. Mind you, 5 other dwellers have a similar amenity and one has an identical item and they all are satisfied with the performance. This is real prince-and-the-pea-type shit. You'd think this ruined his life. Yeah, it may have been less-than-ideal if you're enough of a milquetoast to notice an unsatisfying level of froth from your Mr. Bubble product, but a regular guy wouldn't see this as a malfunctioning feature. (A real man would never even use this feature - so says my ruggedly heterosexual Marine brother-in-law)

Anyway, he complained in June about this feature, and I lined up technicians for repair just to assuage his tender sensibilities. One tech threw it over to another and the complainant said he wanted to coordinate the repair. I let him, and the he - the complainant - dropped the ball - the tech didn't show, and he didn't bother to tell anyone in the office until 6 weeks later. July 31 (hello - remember that some stressful shit compromised my immune system and I got pneumonia? THIS is part of the reason why) I arranged once and for all for a new tech to come finish it. I told the receptionist on the phone "I AUTHORIZE you to do whatever is necessary to complete this repair, regardless of price."
Little did I know I'd be in hospital the day repair was taking place. They went to the office for authorization ANYWAY after I'd greenlighted it on the phone in advance, and the price of repair was daunting to my temp replacement so she threw it up the chain of command in the company where it landed with the owner who kiboshed the repair. Owner then proceeded to do nothing to find an alternative solution to the problem, leaving the person stewing and getting all the more angry at me for the ensuing 3 weeks until I returned to work.

Flash forward, and the person now blames me for every time this was not completed (even though I was out of the office/in the hospital/sick for an entire month of the ordeal) and went directly to the owner of the company (who conveniently failed to mention that he personally ash-canned the last repair attempt when I had it set up 8 weeks ago). Owner called me up and proceeded to bawl me out about not fulfilling my responsibilities saying that I need to learn to deal with people and not just hand problems over to other people to solve. Throwing me under the bus, in other words and acting like some big hero to the gasbag. When owner called me Friday, he knew I was in the office with new prospects and was not free to respond frankly. Actually, I should have, but I can't stand dragging people into a ridiculous stink like that - it's a toxin that ruins the day of anyone it touches.

What can you do? Thank goodness I have options and an exit strategy planned, but for now, it's a steaming plate of nastiness I'd rather not be served. Watch this space. Oh honey, I could tell you some things. I've seen shit that'll turn you white.

Party season has arrived.

WOOHOO!

Thursday night I went to a soiree at this marvelous mid-century modern house. I thought I'd be a smarty britches and make my little silk evening bag so much lighter by leaving the Treo in my car, and I got inside, fell in love and opened my purse to find - alas! -- no camera phone. Wadn't no way in hayull I was gonna schlep all the way back down those stairs to street level in heels for a camera to sneak photos. Serves me right. Anyway, it was positively grand, and I met a lot of wonderful people. I wish I could show you an interior shot, but this will suffice.

Favorite thing anyone said to me all night: "I'm gay, but you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen."

I'll take that compliment.

Saturday night is an awards thingie I'm attending with my sister, and I'm sure I'll have some fabulous stories from that event, too. Now if only it would get cooler - cold weather finery is so much more fun to wear than sweaty summer stuff. I'd be ok if Dallas were perpetually blanketed in snow.

Have a great Friday. It's going to be a fabulous weekend!

You've GOT to love the crap out of Little Britain, especially Vicky Pollard. Then with Dawn French showing up as Vicky's mum? Double-trouble!


no but yeah but
no but yeah but
no but yeah but
but oh my god this whole other thing happened wot i completely forgot to tell you about cos you know caz?

well she got sacked from the bakery counter at the Somerfields in Redland cos she kept licking all the sugar off the donuts and then putting them back on the shelf...

...but anyway she had such a cob on that she went down the Fleece and Firkin with the Redman sisters and drank 15 bottles of hooch and then went back there in the afternoon and shat in a tub of Utterly Butterly.

don't go giving me Thai evils!

I met a couple foodies for 1/2 price Bento box night at Sushi Yama at 8989 Forest Lane in Dallas, Wednesday.

I arrived early and backed my car into a shady spot and read for about 45 minutes waiting for 6pm to arrive. Next door to Sushi Yama is an English pub, and on the other side is an Irish pub. I've wonder if there's ever been a brawl in the parking lot. Prolly not. Prolly no one Irish OR English goes either place.

I sat and focused on my (very good) book, generally, but people were pulling up and occasionally distracting me. They got out of their vehicles and walked to the door of one or the other bars with such resolution, I found myself wondering if any of those folks had applied themselves at any point in the day with so much purpose as that with which they hauled their carcasses into the bar. I sort of associate social drinking with leisure and ease, rather than a desperate need to slake a thirst, so it seemed strange to see people walking toward the bar with the same vigor they'd have if they were walking into a court case they knew they were going to win.

One woman climbed out of her truck and tucked her ugly handbag into her armpit, adjusted her tube top and sashayed her ass right on in, trailing the naff of desperation that is the earmark of the apocalyptic white trash divorcee. Her hair looked amazing.

In 1983.

Jeans didn't fit right. She wasn't any of that, not even the bag of chips. I just wondered what she expected to accomplish, poor thing. I wanted to rassel her to the ground and give her a mini makeover right there, but she had about a foot on me and obviously needed a drink, so she might not have been a willing subject.

The bento box was amazing. It's an array of sushi/tempura/teriyaki-type stuff, and is normally about $22, but Wednesdays it's $11. Coolness. I haven't been there in about 4 or 5 years, so it was nice to go back. In a bento box, you get small portions of a lot of different things. True, some of the things you'll get are stuff you'd never order, but also, sometimes you discover you like something you never would have tried without prompting.

The restaurant was full and most tables were all getting the bento boxes. This is the kind of place I imagine is very much like a restaurant in Japan. It's small, the tables are relatively small and people are sorta crammed together and you all just kind of work around it.

Spilling back into the night a little after 8pm, toob top mama was having an animated verbal exchange with another bar-goer involving lots of non-Sunday-school language. I guess she got her drink on, alright.

I'll bet if I go back to Sushi Yama in 20 years for a Bento box and wait in the parking lot between 5 & 6, I'll see that same woman in that same get-up.

descent into madness...



My sister sent me this video and I don't know why she hates me so.

This has sapped my will to carry on. Goodbye, cruel world.

WHAT THE SAM HILL is up with me getting sales/soliciting calls on my cell phone the past couple weeks? I thought I was on a national do not call registry? Does it expire? Did the law change?

These assholes are calling and killing my minutes on my phone. OMG - I'm going to start bawling them out. I've always used restraint when people call my home phone, but I'm not on a ticking meter with my effing home phone. I'm furious.

Anyone know the answer to this?

I think my dad was wishing Bollinger would axe the foreign dignitary if he ever went swimming and got hog nasty in his ears.

I know a guy who worked in a diving pig show while he was in college in Austin, probably about 25 years ago, or so. Now he runs a restaurant in London, so it just goes to show that even if you must endure a crap job occasionally, you never know where you'll end up. Not that swimming with pigs is a crap job. Unless you get hog nasty in your ears.

Where have all the diving pig shows gone?
Long time passing.

You've got to wonder about anyone who doesn't eat pork. Seriously.

I found a really cool website on which to squander precious time daydreaming about one fine day when I'll have pet chickens. It's fabulous, and called mypetchicken.com and they have lots of info on the noble chicken as pet, etc. I was looking at the bantam Belgian breeds and the Buff Orpingtons which I love just for having a name like Buff Orpington, and of course there's the temptation of having the Foghorn Leghorn variety.

Anyway, I was daydreaming, blissed out on the prospect of chicken ownership when I had this wretched realization: um, chickens like to get up in the morning.

I don't.

You have to coop them up at night so varmints won't gobble them up, and then in the morning, they expect to be let out of the coop to scratch around in the yard. Did you know chickens eat fleas? Ees true. They also eat grubworms and beetles and lots of other garden pests. Maybe I could find someone to share a chicken with? Someone who'd let me have the chicken for a half hour every day. Could I rent a pet chicken? Must investigate...

I preface this post by saying from the git-go that what I write here is admittedly not well-organized. Free-flowing may be the best description and convoluted-in-form the worst, but I have a few things to say about the whole Ahmadinejihad visit to the USA.

First and foremost, our press in the USA has given that man every reason to believe that he would be greeted with open arms in a bastion of American liberalism. When Columbia University invited him to speak, he must have been over-the-moon at the prospect of carte-blanche to proselytize on American soil. Of COURSE he would have loved the opportunity to gloat over Ground Zero, but more importantly, he was met with a very real demonstration of how hostile and irrational Americans are since he was refused that opportunity, and therefore may enjoy a rally in his domestic popularity. After all, weren't there Iranians killed on 9-11? Anyhoo...

My hat is off to Columbia University president Lee Bollinger, who may have committed the ultimate in social/professional suicide: for those ivory-tower types eat their own. Actually, I hope his full-frontal assault on old doo-dad is a harbinger of a changing of the tide, but we shall see. I can only imagine how Graydon Carter's blood boiled at the accusatory nature of Bollinger's questions, and that GC put Vanity Fair staffers to work digging for dirt immediately so that he could cram a hatchet piece on Bollinger in the soonest possible issue of that America-hating rag. Again, congratulations to Bollinger on his cojones latón.

Confronted about the execution of homosexuals in Iran, Ahmadinejihad said:

“In Iran we don’t have homosexuals like in your country.”

With the audience laughing derisively, he continued: “In Iran we do not have this phenomenon. I don’t know who’s told you that we have this.” msnbc.com

Nice. Um, well, maybe they don't have homosexuals because they execute them at every possible opportunity. One of the more outrageous (if that's possible) stories of the recent torment and execution of homosexuals in Iran described two 16 year old boys caught in the act who were incarcerated and tortured for 14 months prior to execution. Generously, Iranian officials give homosexuals the choice of how they will be executed: being hanged, stoned, halved by a sword, or dropped from the highest perch.

Here's what I wonder: in a culture which treats women as chattel and teaches men to disdain women as filthy creatures, how is it surprising that some young men would be repulsed by the idea of sexual congress with a female? Let's be honest - Persia is one of the more ancient civilizations on earth, and anyone who is halfway honest will admit that homosexuality - for better or for worse - has been around at least as long as prostitution. To think that such a garden of enlightenment would have functioned outside that trend truly tests the bounds of credulity.

We may not be perfect, but at least in Western society, a person who is not a traditional heterosexual can live an open life with the comfort of knowing every morning they wake up that they won't be executed by the government that day for their private predilections. Even then, life is not a free ride in the West for gay folk, but at least they have a life with which to fail or succeed the same as everyone else. Despite the "law" of any state, what happens between consenting adults here is not the government's business. Full-stop.

Ironically, in the West, we don't execute some people who should be put down like rabid dogs. We have this thing about fair trials and second and third-chances and whatnot. Come to that, we also don't gather in arenas to watch the execution of human beings for sport, which is so irretrievably barbaric as to addle the wits.

Part of what makes the USA so effing rocking is that as long as you are not infringing someone else's rights, you may behave in private as pleases you most. If you want to participate in some goony, hopped-up weirdness that involves dancing with snakes and blowing smoke on apples, well-- hot-diggity!-- you've come to the right place. The same Constitution that guarantees my liberties does so for all other folks, and although we may disagree on a lot of things, we mostly get through our lives pursuing our individual dreams and we generally respect one another. We have a system in which we can rely on clean drinking water, and our children are not forced to enjoy the dividends of cholera-laced water supplies and the constant threat of malaria and dysentery, evil hot-sauces notwithstanding. The truth of it is that people like the Iranian president and his ilk (and worse) would only find ultimate satisfaction in demeaning civilization throughout the rest of the world, and reducing the common luxuries of the clean, healthy environment we enjoy to the level of third-world standards. He'd be delighted for us all to subsist in mud huts with flies crawling on our eyeballs and daily threatened by the world-wide plague of tuberculosis.

Anyway, about the gayness thing - I think it's really ironic that Ahmadinejihad and his cohorts rail so publicly against homosexuality, because they sure seem like a pack of cocksuckers to me. (Not to impugn cocksuckers in general, you understand. I'm just saying...)

I will wrap this up with Bollinger's words - I can't say this any better:

"I am only a professor who is also a university president, and today I feel the weight of all the civilized world yearning to express the revulsion at what you stand for," Bollinger told Ahmadinejad. "I only wish I could do better."

From Carmina Burana, #12, Olim Lacus Colueram

Once I dwelt in the lakes;
once I was a beautiful swan
O miserable me!
Now I am black
and roasted to a turn!

The cook turns me on the spit,
the fire roasts me through
and I am prepared for the feast

Now in a serving dish I lie
And can no longer fly
Gnashing teeth confront me


As far as I know, this is the highest placed solo for tenor voice in classical literature. The pained mewling of the tenor much convey's the swan's discomfort.

In the 1930s, German composer Carl Orff set these 13th century texts to music, and "O, Fortuna!" is the one you are most likely somewhat familiar with. Its melody was a heavy influence in the theme and variations of the superb soundtrack of Last of The Mohicans. Great stuff.

Here's a bizarre but wonderful video of this aria I found. Several videos I saw featured countertenors(male soprano), which doesn't sound appropriate, in my opinion. This guy is more like a classical Italian tenor, and his technique is superb.

Amazingly, I've lived within a few miles of a Cowboy Chicken location for a few years, but never investigated their food until this week. It was fantastic, actually, and if you live in Dallas, you really should check it out.

I've driven past it about a million times, but this week was the first time to go near the front of the store, which is where they have their rotisserie on full display, great spits of roasting chickens spinning like pretty maids in a row in what may be the ultimate white trash cheap thrill. Yes, I stood for minutes watching them spin round, the wood fire blazing at the back of the oven.

Anyhoo, I was thinking of that this morning, and of how chicken is such a staple of the American diet, and it started me really wondering about chickens. Here in the USA, we generally don't eat the rooster and I'm given to wonder what really happens to the male of that species. Surely, life is sweet for a stud rooster who excels the adage from of 2 girls for every boy.

Of course, everyone has heard of the classic of French cuisine "Coq au Vin" which naturally is an alcoholic old rooster who perhaps is no longer a favorite with the ladies, a newer, more spry male specimen having joined the fowl yard. Apparently, the excess of connective tissue in an older rooster makes for a much richer broth. Who knew?



Another common method of dispatching male yardbirds is their caponization. A capon is a mature male chicken which was castrated at an early age, and the adults of which become very non-agressive and terrific baby-sitters for the baby chicks. (How to caponize a rooster) They also have a higher fat content and are very meaty, and many people prefer this bird to the hen. They also can substitute for the soprano in vocal ensembles. I've seen capon on the menu in Europe, and I've eaten it in dishes in a Belgian farmhouse, and it was superb. Apparently, the castration of chickens is banned in Britain, but for all its Greenpeace and PETA pretenses, I think no such ban exists anywhere in Europe.



So what of American male chickens? What exactly is the ratio of male/female chicks, and are they sexed in the eggs and the excess of males turned into omelettes? Are they the silent victims of the poultry industry? Now that the feds and public are more and more apt to cry fowl over cockfighting, what purpose is left to the average American rooster? Does he wind up in McNuggets?



I'm not losing sleep over it, but I am curious.

Being a resourceful kind of chick myself, I've searched for info, and apparently, along with defectives and slow-hatching females, many male chicks are destroyed upon hatching to make way for more marketable birds. Some males along with females are slaughtered at 45 days as young broilers. Pity, as capon is delicious and is a treat of which the American public seems largely oblivious. You don't know what you're missing.

I'll not abuse your intelligence by providing links to the places I obtainded the above information because I'll never be caught recommending tofurkey or any other virtual meat abominations that other folk content themselves with. I can respect that someone makes another choice than me, but I sure don't like being preached at about anything.

Besides, if we weren't meant to eat animals, they wouldn't be made out of meat.

A while back, I mentioned the tv tax in Britain. Someone who lives there commented and 'splained me how that works, and here it is, fyi:

It is one fee per household, so you can have as many TVs as you like.Student halls of residence are different, each student with a TV has to have their own license.Fees are what pay for the BBC to operate so we grumble, moan and pay up - sad to imagine a world without Red Dwarf/Doctor Who/Fawlty Towers/Life On Mars etc etc

You know, I'd be delighted to pay a tv tax if it meant that commercials would go away. Now on public tv which IS publicly sponsored, they even have commercials. *sigh*

________________________________

Dalai Mama - A thousand thank yous for the recommendation of yarn by Noro. I purchased several skeins of Kureyon 100% wool yarn that was absolutely the perfect color combination and weight.

The Woolie Ewe is perhaps the most estrogen-rich environment I've ever seen, but for a change I didn't mind it, so blissed out was I on fiber mania. I do think I'll make a point of going there on quieter weekdays, rather than a Saturday during hen-party hours.

I have no project planned for it, but I am besotted with the most glorious forest-color thread from Rowan called Kidsilk Haze. 70% super kid mohair, 30% silk. Sumptuous. Can't wait til I can knit - this is going to be something dreamy.

Don't Tase me!

If you're drinking something, you'd better swallow before you watch this. I larfed and larfed.

U-G-L-Y
You ain't got no alibi
You ugly.
Yeah, yeah, you ugly.

Even I will say these shoes are ridiculous.

And that is saying something.

Taj Mahal is coming to Dallas sometime in the next couple months. I may just have to drag my tired old carcass out to see him.

I'm working on 2 crochet projects right now. I'm making a sort of open mesh scarf out of a fuzzy red yarn, and I'm making a doily - my first!- out of several colors of thread. It's good to be working on projects that don't require donning of latex gloves, for a change. As soon as the weather cools slightly, then I'll be firing back up the torch to do some glasswork - the gallery is already pestering me for more stock for the holidays. I'd better step it up.

One tip I wanted to pass along to crocheters was a wonderful product I've found: crochet hooks carved of rosewood - these hooks are so easy to work with, and they feel so much better than plastic, acrylic or aluminum. In fact, they seem much lighter and my hand doesn't fatigue as quickly with the rosewood.

I saw these in the store when I started buying yarn and hooks again recently, but I admit I found the price of the turned rosewood hooks to be off-putting so I didn't buy them at first. At Hobby Lobby, I've spent between 2 and 3 dollars per hook, and the rosewood hooks are at least 5 each. I finally succumbed last week, and for me they are totally worth the extra money. I have poked around online and found the same hooks for $8 each, so if you've a hobby/craft store nearby, you may do well to buy from them.

If you try them, let me know what you think.

This is my 1000th post. I began blogging sporadically in 2002, but only posted daily for the past year and a half. I was planning to put up some favorite music with an interesting video, but Kelly posted this today, and it was too good not to share. I think it's time we hold the people who luxuriate on our dime in D.C. more accountable. Here's to the men and women with enough cojones to confront them.

I'm a kind person, actually. I don't like seeing people suffer.

However, I'm enjoying Murtha's discomfort in this clip. Enjoy:

Really, rilly cool artwork at this site: Book autopsies.

h/t to Kimmer

OK, watch the clip below, and imagine it's me talking about the ranting post I had here which I just removed, blathering about Gettysburg by Newt Gingrich being placed in the Science Fiction section of a local bookseller. Mind you, the book dealer wasn't consistent in placing all fictions in which history was reworked in the Sci-fi section, but based on the comments of James who is a particular fan of the genre, I can see how I misconstroodeded the whole thing.



So, anyway. Never mind.

In truth, 6 days out of seven I wear a dress or a skirt, and I rarely wear t-shirts, but I think I have to have this one:
Vying for my affections in a very close second is another t-shirt from this company which says "Cracker, please!"

Apparently rattlers aren't fond of the essence of malt products mingled with human saliva...

I think we have a new standard for "booger-eating moron." This guy was having a few beers with friends and he thought it would be neat to show his buddies how agreeable his pet rattlesnake could be. He put the snake in his mouth and got a bit of a surprise. Unfortunately, he survived. With any luck, the venom rendered his 'nads no longer viable, but I'm not counting on it.

For Barbara
Mum - They made Frogs Smoke until they exploded

Dunno why, thought you'd like this. Interesting paper art animation. I'm not sure, but I'm guessing they are Icelandic? Dunno. Peculiar, and kind of neat...

omg - Tam is gonna love this in concept, if not in execution (she's beyond my Frogger gaming skills level):

Potty Mouth Ninja

Thanks, Lady Muck!

Here's a rare bit of what to my unbelieving eyes appears an attempt at even-handedness from an unlikely source: Slate magazine article Rigging a Study to Make Conservatives Look Stupid. Blowing out a candle in a blazing building, but, well, any port in a storm.

A study was done on the reaction time in milliseconds to images on a screen, and conservatives were found to be slower to give the correct response, ergo they are stoopid. That's perhaps a crude synopsis, but you've got the link up there; feel free to read for yourself.

Anyway, the author of the article, one William Saletan, takes umbrage at the conclusion of this study and at the nature of the study itself. There are a few apparently fair-minded readers who agree with his conclusion, but it's entertaining and telling to see the rabble of Slate readers jumping on the bandwagon this specious study lurched into motion, so eager are they to find conservatives dimwitted and therefore a waste of carbon.
I did enjoy the following statement from a reader:

The study can reach the conclusion "liberals are smarter than
conservatives" only by making the sort of unscientific, intuitive, and ultimately indefensible leap of faith which science should never make. There is a lot more to adaptive intelligence than can be measured by a few minutes of button-pushing.

The funny thing to me about this is that since there were periods of great cooling and planet-wide tropical heat before the advent of upright bi-pedal humanoids and their attendant SUVs, then how do they justify their intuitive and ultimately indefensible leaps of faith that scientifically "prove" that we have cause global warming? And if in their omniscience they can make these conclusions about a system so enormous as the entire planet, then what's the big whoop about relegating a mere human creature with whom they disagree to the trashheap?

In the comments section for this post, DBA Dude directed me to a clever Dilbert blog post on the same "news" story. Funny!

In 1972, a pair of documentary film makers recorded hours and hours of footage with the Beales in the Hamptons. Big Edie and Little Edie Beale were the aunt and cousin of Jackie Bouvier Kennedy. Big Edie was controlling and narcissistic and insisted her socialite daughter give up her fashionable life (along with prospects for marriage) to take care of their crumbling Hamptons mansion, Gray Gardens. I LOVE this film. I heard several years ago they were making a musical of the film, and I utterly disapproved. Despite my love for opera and its preposterous settings, I find most contemporary musicals to be very nails-on-chalkboard. However, I think they've done a masterful job with some fantastic songwriting.

Here are clips from the original which gives you an idea of the demented energy of these strange, isolated souls. I love the stuffing out of Little Edie, by the way. She's actually rather sweet, just incredibly odd. I can respect that.



Below is Christine Ebersole in the role of Edie at this year's Tony awards. She's fabulous.

Is there any particular order in which the Discworld series should be read, or does it not matter?

I'm reading The Color of Magic and wondered what to read next. It just happened to be the one Pratchett novel they had at Half Price Books that day...

I went to see Death At A Funeral Sunday night. I kept hearing it was like 4 Weddings and a Funeral, which I thought was passably clever, but not the funniest thing ever. Anyway, this was a little darker, actually, and a bit heavy on the scat. I don't know if it was the strange isolation of being one of 5 people in a massive theater or what, but it felt a little hollow. Anyway, worth watching on cable or dvd, but I wouldn't bother with the theater.

[I woke up today thinking "that movie wasn't very good." The trailer I saw on tv for it was funnier. They did manage to convincingly portray a very dysfunctional family, which was more uncomfortable and sad than funny. They also didn't manage to resolve issues with two major characters, so I'm also trying to remember what happened.]

Standout performance was Alan Tudyk, the brilliant character actor from Plano, Texas, of all places. I'm dazzled - I've always thought he was British. Someone should let him coach Miss Johansen on accents.
________________________________

I'm reading The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett, volume I of the Discworld series. Fan-bloody-tastic. Full of snort-yer-beverage-out-your-nose laughs on nearly every other page. Some of it's hilarious, and some of it's just dazzling for being, well, dazzling. Here's one I loved:

She snorted and stood up, tossing back her hair scornfully. It was red, flecked with gold. Erect, Liessa Wyrmbidder was entirely a magnificent sight. She was also almost naked, except for a couple of mere scraps of the lightest chain mail and riding boots of iridescent dragonhide. In one boot was thrust a riding crop, unusual in that it was as long as a spear and tipped with tiny steel barbs. "My power will be sufficient," she said coldly.

Quite.

Anyway, fantastic characters, and I love that one of the über-badasses of the book is female. ROWR!

Who will break a hip on stage first?

• Keif Richards
• Mick Jagger
• Paul McCartney
• Madonna

Strongly suspect these women have worked in apartment management.

Wail on, righteous bitches!

*I'm not so crazy about the music, but I do find the vid therapeutic

The week finally ground to a close, somewhat.

Early Friday evening, though, my sister called me up and told me that she had come in the house and apparently there was a skunk under the house that--as Ambrose Bierce so artfully stated-- had "uttered the inaudible discord of its race."

Anyway, Sis & BIL have been in major spruce-up mode in preparation for putting their house on the market.

Anyone have tips on skunk odor remediation in a 100+ year old wooden house? I'm guessing dipping it in tomato sauce is not going to be an option... There MUST be something can be done?
____________________________

Friday afternoon, Holly so graciously drove into Dallas and brought me a favorite dish from a favorite restaurant I haven't visited in years. Thanks, Hols - you're a peach! Anyway, it was nice to sit in the office, chatting laughing with her, as I've done sore little laughing in that room lately. Today was a three-fer, as someone brought me a goody basket/thank you thingie, someone sent flowers AND then I get to see Holly on top of all that? Bonus round!

I hope to get some rest this weekend and to be better at pinching off work next week - I'm still not 100% myself, and I feel in danger of getting sick again. Going to laze about this weekend, and we'll see how I feel next week. I may need to take an extra day off or some such.

Anyhoo - anyone with suggestions on the skunky deal, please don't be shy.

How dare anyone make fun of Britney's fans!

If you're one of the 27 people on earth who haven't seen the "Leave Britney Alone" video (thanks for burning this into my brain, Ambulance Driver!), you can check it out here. But be sure to come back, 'cause you'll want to see this funny send-up:

oh my goodness, didn't we do Friday once already this week?

I'm going to work late, and leaving early today, since I worked 11 hours yesterday.

I have the worst Crosby Stills and Nash song duking it out with a Britney Spears song in my head. I can't shake it, no matter how many times in inwardly howl "Jesu, joy of man's desiring" and the ABC song. Fatigue does strange things.

Here's a car I've always longed for - the 3 wheeled VELAM Isetta. Super-cute, but I'll bet the maintenance is a bear. I saw Fred Astaire getting out of one of these in Paris in the film "Funny Face" which also starred Audrey Hepburn. I'd probably manage to flip it onto its back like a turtle, though. Anyway, it's really cool because the door opens outward to the front, and I think you actually steer with a rudder-type stick, rather than a wheel.

I always wanted a Nash Metropolitan, but the maintenance was a discouragin' factor, so I never got one. There was a cool woman in Dallas about 15 years ago who'd taken the passenger seat out of her Nash Metro and drove around town with her Great Dane just sitting there where the other seat use to be. It was kind a freaky, and really cool to see all that dog flesh taking up half the car's interior.

I have to admit it's not all about my hair today.

Here's some sobering and important reading.

I've long recognized that Europe is our canary in the coalmine.
That canary is dead.

My hair is curly, but I usually dry it straight, then according to the moisture in the air, by the end of the day I'll have something between long waves to something straining toward afro-dom. OK. Maybe not an afro. Shirley Temple territory? *shrug*

Since I've been back at the office, at least once a week-- usually Wednesday or Thursday, I get bawled out by a resident in one of several states of derangement. 95% of the time, the thing I'm getting griped at over is something I did not specifically cause (or even desire) to happen. 90% of the time, the thing they are griping about is utterly silly and irrelevant. However, I'm at the helm and so it's got to be my neck on the chopping block every time, I suppose. I'm getting better at de-fusing the situations, but they stress me out tremendously. I still am baffled by the blind-siding attacks where I'm accused of (last week it was) "throwing a fit" or something that is obviously silly. Hell, I've been married more than a decade, and I've thrown a fit at that man only ONE time, which is about a thousand fewer fits than he deserved to be on the business end of. I'm not a fit thrower. Not my style. Never will be. So, when accused of that last week, I was sort of blown out of the water. One of these days, I'll have heard everything and nothing will surprise me. Someone will probably accuse me of being Norwegian, or some such.

You see, I'm a dog person: I'm a pleaser. I want to get along and I love making people happy, even though I've been burned for this (obviously) inane urge. I'd like to be a cat person - aloof, self-sufficient, devil-may-care-- but I like to fix things and make things right, so the oblique feline route may never be my path. Oh well.

Anyway, back to my hair: I've felt like my hair looked crappy since I've been out of the hospital. Maybe the meds dulled it or something? I dunno. But today was different: my hair looked so amazing. *ting!* I knew that no matter what shitty thing anyone served up on a platter, I was rocking that 'do and nobody better try and stop me.

I put on my best dress and some heels and went to work. Yeah, I had to dodge offerings from a dung-slinging simian half the day, ultimately requiring me to consult with an attorney, but I felt good up until I left the office at 8pm (I usually leave at 4!). I was actually disappointed that the monkey only called on the phone - it was a pity he couldn't see how relaxed and cute I was looking. That would have been sweet.

So anyway, I was leaving the office and another resident came by and stopped by my car to chat a minute. He's got about a foot on me and I've got about 15 years on him, so I wasn't really thinking flirt-mode, but I think I sorta did. He was smiling, friendly, and I was eager to winnow out a moment in which a resident was obviously pleased to see me. We had a nice talk and as I was about to get into my car he said "I really like your perfume." I said "thanks!" He raised his eyebrows and said "That's really working for me."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was my fabulous hair that was working for him. But then again, I'm a pleaser, so why disillusion him?

You've got to go check out the new blog by JPG - Expert Witness.

This erudite gentleman is a font of information on a great variety of subjects. With 40+ years' experience as a law enforcement officer, he's seen a thing or three in his time, and has a most entertaining way of telling a story.

Here is a post on San Jacinto which he composed and which Holly posted as a guest post on San Jacinto Day. JPG's writing is informative, well-composed and wonderfully engaging. If this is any indication, I think we are in for a lot of great reading at Expert Witness.

Welcome to the party, JPG, and thanks for finally caving to the pressure to blog!

Poking around net, I learned that the ferry no longer runs between Kyle of Lochalsh and the Isle of Skye in Scotland. I know there is a convenience factor with the timing of ferries and all, but for some reason, this sorta bummed me out. That's not to say that someone on the other side of the planet should do their road/bridge/community planning based on the whims of an anonymous person over here. It's just that there's something poetic about ferries, and I suppose there's an appeal to the isolation of living on an island which may only be reached by boat. It's harder for the zombies to get there, for one thing.
The second picture is Glencoe in the North of Scotland. So pretty I had to include it. Someday I'm going back there with a fabulous camera and a passel of massive memory cards.

I just read Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman - incredible book, incredibly fast read. If you like fantastical literature even a smidge, you'll love this book. Hie thee to the market and pick one up.

Now I'm in the middle of Terry Pratchett's The Color of Magic, which is also magically delicious. Or is it deliciously magic? Read it and tell me what you think.

Best of all is Good Omens which is a brilliant collaborative work by Gaiman and Pratchett. One of my all-time favorites.
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Saw Stardust recently and loved it. The film was based on the Gaiman book of the same name, which I haven't read. Great movie.

I also just saw and loved The Prestige. I always intensely disliked Christian Bale, but in recent years I've decided he's brilliant. Call it stealth weirdness or something, but it snuck up on me. I think it was his wickedly funny turn as the eponymous "American Psycho" which was a Bret Easton-Ellis novel whose irony seemed lost on much of the society it lampooned. Anyway, the important thing is CB got it, vamping to Whitney Houston tracks and talking about the latest fragrance from Ralph Lauren whilst preparing to fricasee the prostitute in the next room. Yeah, irony, but kinda funny irony, kinda scary. Whatever. Most people need a new irony chip installed, anyhoo.

re: The Prestige - why is it I want to slap Scarlett Johansen around a bit? Could it be the several British accents she used in this film? Hmmm...
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Most of the pinata mess is cleaned up, and now I've started to crochet again for the first time in years. What'll I make next...?

WORTH IT.

The boy had a grand time, and no rain cloud would spoil his day. Two of the menfolk held a bar in the air from which the pinata was suspended in the living room, as it was too wet and rainy to do the pinata outside. This actually was much better, because no one got dirt or grass in their goody bags. The pinata was way more stable than I'd hoped, and each kid got three turns of three hits, and every single kid managed to knock some candy out. I'd be surprised if any of the 6 kids had less than 2 pounds of candy and toys at the end of the scramble. They really whacked the crap out of that thing, too. The birthday boy knocked off the gun on the very first hit.

I learned a painful lesson last time I made a pinata. I used the free local paper (D. Observer) for the project, not thinking about the fact that although the exterior was completely painted and the text obscured, the explicit strip club ads and escort service ads were plastered all over the inside of the partially disgorged pinata. Cringing as I watched the kids tear into that one, I made a serious note to self to exercise more caution in future about which papers to use.

I gave him a cap rifle with about 1200 rounds of caps. I think he shot about 100 before the party was over. He was thrilled with his little Leatherman knife, and thanked me again before I left. Not bad manners for a 5 year old. He had quite a haul, between all the doting relatives. It was a grand day, and now I'm exhausted.

I hope your week is half as great as my Sunday was.
Cheers, m'dears!

...almost done, and Aunt Phlegmmy's plumb tuckered out...

I had to spend the first half of the day salvaging a saggy gun, which really derailed the whole process. So, I'm happy that I'll at least have it finished and have a gun that's not trying to point at the earth's core.

8:30 addendum:
It's finally finished, such as it is. In some ways it's worse than I planned, and in other ways it's better than I hoped. In any case, it is what it is, and within about 6 hours, it's going to be smashed to bits, anyhoo.

So here's the final flourish - exploding-confetti-Osama-head peeping out the hatch, which I just applied. I generally eschew hot-glue gun for this type project, but yesterday's derailment called for the immediacy of hot glue. I'm pleased how the egg cranium turned out, and the mohair yarn for beard gave a great texture. I'm also quite pleased with the turban.

By the way, the "torso" and hatch lid are made from a Starbucks™ corrugated cup wrapper and a cup lid. I'd like to think someone would be a little irked by my creative license, but that's just the kind of hairpin I am.

OK. this is why I don't have a proper post for Saturday. I'm a zombie, by now, but a day from now, this is going to look amazing. *fingers crossed* I'll be relieved to have it all done, though. Almost all the papier-mâché is complete, and I have 3 chambers to fill and I'll patch those fill-spots in the morning, and then I'll begin painting by midday. The wheel assemblies are a little lower than I'd planned, and I've ash-canned the fender thingies, and I've pared down to a Cliff-notes version. Anyway. All that really matters is good bang for the buck.

I've spent so many hours on this that I keep thinking about those folks who make enormous, elaborate holiday meals over the space of several days, all for the mere enjoyment of watching the family devour same in the space of an hour. Well, it'll be something like that. But it'll be fun.

Strongly suspect this will weigh nearly as much as the boy himself. Watch this space.

It's not wise to mess with the Thunder Bunny™, for she is fierce!
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So now I'm in crunch time with the pinata. The bottom two chambers are drying overnight and tomorrow I'll fill them and seal them up and then seal up most of the next two chambers. I've decided the party poppers (shaped like a bottle with a string you pull and they 'splode) and the bubba teeth and the best candy will go in the turret. I've still gotta get pixie sticks for the gun. Painting this one is going to be fun.

A few weeks ago, the boy's best friend gave him an old knife of his, a worn out imitation of a swiss army knife with a blade too dull to spread peanut butter with. Anyway, Sis told the friend "his birthday is coming up, so you may want to keep your knife because someone might get him a knife for his birthday."
Nephew didn't say anything then, but a couple days ago, he asked my sis "So, who's giving me a knife?" She asked what he was talking about and he said "you said I might get a knife, so I must be getting a knife for my birthday. Who's giving me the knife?"

Smarty britches. Reminds me of myself.

This is gonna be so much fun. I'll try and post more pics tomorrow, and of course I'll show the completed (and demolished) pinata Sunday or Monday.

Tank pinata

Now, be kind. I know the turret is overlarge, but then again, photographed from above it probably seems larger than it is. I pinkie-swear it'll look better by Sunday.
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Famed Italian tenor Luciano Pavarotti died yesterday after a struggle with pancreatic cancer. He was a larger-than-life remnant of an age in which the opera singer was the most celebrated of entertainers, a combination of rock star and royalty, and a symbol of great national pride and culture. He was a performer of great artistic technique with a specatcularly riveting voice and powerful stage presence.

I had a voice teacher who performed in a production in Austria with the Pav some 25-ish years ago, and I have a tasty bit of gossip I learned then, but I'll save that for another day.

Tenor is the most difficult voice to produce in the classical vocal style, and Pavarotti was a master. See the video below, and really only the first minute is enough. Here he sings the duet from Verdi's ultra-tragic La Forza Del Destino. This opera is a pretty big downer, but whose motif is one of the loveliest in the entire classical canon, in my humble opinion. (This motif was also used to great effect in the French films Jean de Florette and Manon de la Source.)

Pavarotti was a temperamental performer, and while he tested the patience of many others with his demands, he was not so forgiving of people he perceived to be wasting his time. About 10 years ago I read that he'd stormed off stage during a dress rehearsal yelling "Turds!" at the other cast and musicians. That's pretty bold. In an age where few people say what they really mean, I have to admire that on some level.

Anyway, notice Pav is wearing specs and reading from printed music, and it would be natural to think "well, he's sorta phoning it in," but notice what tremendous ease he has with the high tessitura - the way the upper notes seem to float up out of him with no great physical struggle - this is how tenor singing should be done. He was a natural, and regarded as a demigod in his native Italy. With no sacrifice of pearl-like exquisiteness, Pav had the kind of tone that cut right through an orchestra like a giant steelie tearing its way through a field of lowly clay marbles. Loved him for always having the hankie, too.



Judging by Russian Baritone Dmitri Hvorostovsky's hair color, I'd say this was about 15 years ago and Pav would have been in his early 60s and his voice might understandably have been in decline. Yet, I hear no effects of aging here. An extraordinary instrument, a brilliant career, and a fascinating reminder of how the sublime and profane can coexist in one person. Bless him.

Tuesday I talked to someone who went to Burning Man festival out in the Nevada desert last week. Theoretically, Burning man is an arts festival, but in truth, it's just an excuse for a bunch of neo-hippies to get drunk and run around naked and stinking in the desert for a week. Ew.

Well, I knew it would be a debauchapallooza, but I didn't think it would be to the degree that it would be unenjoyable if you weren't a strung-out exhibitionist. I've always wondered about burning man, because people take experimental vehicles out there for exhibition, among other things. I also think the guy who runs Survival Research Labs in the Bay area has taken some of his machines out there for demonstration. He's built these big insect-like vehicles, and has a rat or a roach hooked up to electrodes on the machine, and the bug or rodent completely determine the direction the machine moves. It sounds exciting, if a little dangerous. He also likes making exploding things, which sounds interesting.

She said the whole place was stinky and the word "nasty" was a part of every sentence she uttered. She said the naked hippies were covered in sand and just didn't care who saw what. Yuck. (why is it that people who shouldn't be are incredibly comfortable naked? Also, have you noticed there are no nudist colonies for the blind? Hmm?)

I asked if that meant it was horrid to be in a tent for that event. She said they were in an RV, and it was still dreadfully nasty to her. She said the art displays were amazing, but that the rest of it was just too wild for her. The party started at sundown and pretty much went until 9am, so there was no sleeping at night.

Ugh.

They lost me at "acne."

OMG. You aren't going to believe this one. I can't believe it myself.

A luxury goods purveyor from whom I have made several teeny purchases (really, honestly - stuff on monster sales) sent out a teaser today for a splashy line of clothing with tops in the $400-$600 range, handbags in the $600 range, and jeans in the $250-$300 range. The name?

Acne Jeans: "Ambition to Create Novel Expression." Skeptical? Click here and believe.

I didn't just make that up. Was there no one in the company who said "Um, y'all. Acne already means something in our culture - something generally not considered desireable. Surely the negative association would be a disincentive to buy this product, particularly to self-conscious folk who struggle with the blight of, erm, uh, acne."

Apparently not. I spose they've plumb run out of names for jeans, as I mused they had with perfume when I mentioned the Thierry Mugler scent "Alien."

NOT that that is any indication. People keep stopping me and axing me what fragrance I'm wearing. Alien totally rocks, for what it's worth.

Housekeeping

This past weekend was great. Now that I'm really into the throes of the project, I'm so relieved I had one more week to work on the tank pinata than I originally expected. Indeed, the inner structure of the tank (made primarily of balsa wood) has had to be done in stages to prevent such lightweight wood from warping as the first layers of paper dry. It's turning out to be sort of a bastard son of a Panzer tank (for relatively simple lines), though it'll still be wonky and not completely accurate or to-scale. I have plans for one particular final flourish which should warm the cockroaches of your heart, and I can't wait to show you. I'll prolly start posting project photos in the next day or two. I've also decided I'd be really great at fabricating a cast for a broken leg. Let's hope I never have to test that theory out, though.

Monday morning and night I did the final reinforcement of the frame by adding new layers of papier-mâché and especially reinforcing the joins of wooden pieces. Apart from the wheels and gun, the only piece I have left to apply is the turret, which should be a piece of cake, as it sits on top and does not require heavy bones. I don't consider my pinatas a success unless at least 5 different kids successfully breach a chamber. The body of the tank will have 7 separate chambers, and within a day I will solve the dilemma of the wheel complexes. I'm thinking I'll just make the tread/wheels one simple chamber with the wheel details painted on, rather than multiple wheels - that way I can fit in more crap! Also, the wheel complexes will be a quick gimme, smashing off more easily and bearing early fruit for the sluggers. Nothing wrong with a small early payoff, but otherwise, they'd best eat their wheaties that day, 'cause I speck them to earn it.
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I was able to get precisely the Leatherman Squirt P4 tool/knife I wanted for the boy-- the one with the pliers. He'll be thrilled.
Also got him some new swords that make the clinking noises and a cap rifle with about 1200 or so extra rounds. That might last him a day or two. He's such a sweet-natured kid and he's all boy, so it's a joy to delight him. I hope he doesn't pull any frogs apart with the pliers, but then again, that falls under the "all boy" category, doesn't it?
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I got to hear my niece play piano Monday, and at the age of 10, she is becoming quite accomplished. I felt so proud when I saw a Theory book on her piano, knowing she's learning the true mechanics behind all the pretty noises. She's a smart girl, and it's gratifying to see her growing up as accomplished as she is lovely.
I can't imagine loving kids of my own any more than I do those little lambs.
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All the men folk in the family were off shooting high-toned pigeons, so me and ma got to go to lunch and a movie together. I had a great time.
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Funny thing about a good deed paying off, for a change. A friend asked to borrow something from me, so I dropped it by her loft Monday night in a building where I also used to live. I ran into a former neighbor, and we chatted for a bit, and he asked me to be his realtor, so it looks like he'll be my first customer that I help find a home. I'm also going to be listing my sister's house for her in a few weeks, so I may be off to the races toute-de-suite. Busy times, eh?
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I went for Dim Sum with la Kelly of Ordinary Girl fame on Saturday. We went to Northpark so she could go to Lush, but I was feeling wimpy, so we went back to my house and got in the pool for the rest of the afternoon. After Kels left, I got in the bathtub and deployed a Big Blue Bath Bomb. That was great. I should have done one of those when I came home from the hospital. It is full of seaweed and sea salt and lots of yum-smelling stuff.
Thanks for getting me out of my shell, Kelly!
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Last but not least...
I've been brooding about this for about a week or so.

I'm no fan of the tv show Dallas, but it definitely had its moment. Let's be honest: Dallas was a soap opera. Some rocket surgeon in Hollywood is festering to adapt the whole Dallas concept into a screenplay, and apparently this project has been kicked around a few years, and a new director has been hired. This new director has decided to spoof the series rather than the straightforward homage the producing studio originally planned. That I can live with. Even if Dallas was something of an icon, a spoof of same does not amount to desecration, in my book.

However, I take umbrage at John Travolta being cast as J.R. Ewing. Why not Tommy Lee Jones? Why not one of the Quaids or one of the Bridges? Hell, even Harrison Ford could make JR stick. But a New York Italian?
Bitch, please! Please.
How can I say this nicely?
Oh, I can't: John Travolta is simply too effeminate to play J.R. Ewing.

I'm not saying this because of his cross-dressing roles in Hairspray and Stayin' Alive. Despite being an entertaining actor in the proper roles and settings, neither the slightly doughy JT of Pulp Fiction nor the dance-floor ponces of Saturday Night Fever or Urban Cowboy have the cojones to work a JR Ewing joint. JT is simply not a good enough actor to convince that he's been around either cattle or oil wells. If they HAD to cast someone from Pulp Fiction, it would have been better to cast Samuel L Jackson. Or Uma Thurman. She'd make a much more convincing JR Ewing than Travolta.

I'm serious.

Here's a dreamy launch into Labor Day:
Fade Into You by Mazzy Star
Have a great day, and take it easy.

Did you know that there is someone in the world Courtney Love actually described as a dangerous, perverse freak?

He is British comedian Steve Coogan, and 'tis true that she described him that way. She should know, having dated him. Still, you have to wonder how far off the reservation a body would have to be for Courtney to call him perverse, don't ya?

Celebrity poo

While I was deathly ill, I missed out on all kinds of celebrity gossip, and it's still gushing up from the gutter, so let's dish, shall we?

Britney Spears was a total, strung-out mess at a recent photo shoot for a cover article for OK! Magazine. Apparently she insisted on letting her friends do her hair and make-up rather than the professionals and thus looked like home-made crap in the resulting photos. She smeared her greasy Kentucky-Fried-Chicken fingers on the designer gown she was wearing. When her little dog pooped on the set of the photo shoot, she wiped up the dog crap with a $5000 Zac Posen frock. She's officially circling the bowl. Poor thing.

Madonna thought it was a good ideer to inject her B vitamins in the middle of a crowded plane before landing in London. Well, in truth, she was prolly at the front of the plane with the first class pipples, but--talk about a disconnect with reality-- even if it's insulin or some such, isn't it beneath gauche to tie off one's arm and shoot up in public? Seriously. She looks so ropey, these days, with her man-hands and all. She needs to eat some pork-rinds and drink some Karo syrup, if you ask me. Looking very tranny.

Lindsay Lohan is in rehab. Can you imagine how shitty it would be to finally suck it up and face the fact that you've got to deal with your problems, that you have to be honest with yourself and focus on changing, and you check into rehab to find your roommate is a solipsistic world-famous celebrity, particularly one known for being spoiled and ultra-self-indulgent? What fresh hell, indeed. She may be circling the bowl, too. I wonder if she ever considered that maybe she exists to be a trial for other people? Not pretty.

Over at Gallery of the Absurd, 14 has done a brilliant product promo. Yes, now we can all have Paris Hilton's shoes. I laughed until I coughed when I saw this, having always been mortified at how profoundly scary PH's feet are.

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Fantastic quote from Clive Owen in GQ talking about about celebrity, stalkerazzi, etc:

“I have a strong theory that you can go under the radar depending on how you carry yourself. I would argue that the world’s biggest movie star can go into a pub round the corner from where I live, sit in the back, have three pints
of Guinness and walk out relatively unbothered if they’ve got the right attitude. You’d think, looking at some people, that there is a circus wherever they go, that they can’t help it. I’m not so sure about that.”

I sorta always imagined Clive being like that, like he's a guy who would take his own trash out. Frankly, all the females I've mentioned above could benefit from a multi-year assignment of mucking out the stalls at a big horse barn.

IT'S COMING RIGHT FOR US!!!


Someone call Slim Pickens - we've got a big bronc wants bustin'. (Yes, he's hand-less in this version. Deal with it.)
In the years 2029 and 2036, a rugby-ball-shaped 300 meter asteroid passes uncomfortably close to our collective personal space. This has scientists crapping themselves to figger out a way to prevent a possible impact which could kill billions and change life as we know it for a minute or two. Of course, there could be big promotional lead-ins for years where People magazine could show how Barthelona (daughter of Paris Hilton and the kid from The Sixth Sense) would be weathering the nuclear winter in her stylish Banff underground virtually tropical bunker lovepit. The fashion industry would enjoy the upswing of a market-in-crisis mad-dash for the hottest in global cooling gear. Ringside seats for the event will sell at astronomical prices on the orbiting Trump Hotel Casino & Taco Lounge™. In the days before impact, no celebrity crotches would be seen in newspapers and magazines, as the paparazzi will have all gone home to apologize and make peace with their families.

Click here for film

Personally, I think we need to abandon pie-in-the-sky time-wasters such as relying on science and stick to what we know works: we should send Hillary, Obama and Oprah to open a dialogue with the asteroid, see how it's feeling, what it desires, and why it hates us.