Really Stupid Shit Part Deux

I know you’ve all been out there waiting with baited breath for a sequel to this really popular post because when you get right down to it, you just can’t get enough stupid shit. But I like to change things up lest I end up in a rut, so rather than favorite stupid shit – I think we’ll go with annoying stupid shit this time out.

Ready? Good. Here we go

Stupidest remaining Idol Contestant: Tie. Sanjaya the bad singer with the good hair and blindingly white smile – who couldn’t sing if his life truly depended on it. He is only still on the show because weeping pre-teens can’t tell the difference between love and their impending hormones. It’s sweet in a real icky kind of way. But I hate to break it to you folks, he is one of the Top Ten. Any arguments that maybe they should have stopped at season 5?

The other ‘idol’ vying for the title is Chris Sligh (Sly? Are you kidding?) who is the self-appointed “Taylor” contestant for this year. He acts like a dark horse (he thinks), sings the same songs/material as Taylor (tries to Christ-i-cize it?) and just goes off key and nasal, does the fro thang, strolls through the crowd but looks like he wants to slap them out of his way rather than interact. Oh and his fans are calling themselves the Fro-Patrol. Excuse me while I puke. This kid is about as sincere as Paris Hilton while she is hanging out with her girlfriends’ boyfriends unchaperoned. He is the biggest phoniest jackass of a contestant I’ve seen on the show. I’ll bet the voice isn’t really his – he probably pipes it in through his ass from some high tech Ipod mike accessory. Pass the barfbag.

Stupidest Title for a movieMimzy or some shit. I don’t CARE if it is good. You just don’t call a movie Mimzy if you expect anyone over the age of three to go see it. Hey Joe, see any good movies lately? Oh yah Marge and I saw Mimsy – it was really fabulous. Jeez – come on!

Stupidest Talk Show Host: Rosie O’Donnell. What her producers seem to be missing is that talk show hosts are supposed to encourage the guests to talk. Not to slap them, gag them and force feed them their personal, commie, leftie, eco-whacko, insane-o views. Or am I missing something?

Stupidest TV Show: Oh there are soooooooo many but let me pick one from the new batch of shows. Now, mind you I am not going after any reality shows since in my mind they really aren’t tv shows but more like amatuer contests that are televised. No, I’m going after real, shows that are supposed to be real. Okay – Studio Sixty. I mean, hello? What the frick are they thinking here? First of all is Amanda Peet really going to go for Bradley Whitford? The guy has a huge head, it’s even a little scary. Imagine that coming at you ladies for a little good night smooch. Oh yeah. And then Matthew Perry is so schizoid he needs at least 10 offices for all his personalities and the girl he is supposed to be in love with is just too normal to ever really be attracted to a malignant narccissist like him and all his self-righteous spewing crapola. And remember folks, this is supposed to be a comedy, which means funny, right? While really all they are doing is tripping over themselves to spout whatever political ‘message’ is cool and p.c. and see who can talk the fastest. In a phrase it SUCKS!

Stupidest Rock Star: Hands down Bono: Where oh where do I begin? Okay, first of all is he really even that good of a singer? He is ugly as sin – so ugly in fact, he has to wear sunglasses everywhere he goes so the ugly rays do eat the flesh from his face and that of his fans. But what really makes him suck is this pompous, sanctimonious world peace faux world leader act of his. Does he really think anybody (who doesn’t want to get free tickets to rocks concerts populated by other pompous egotistical rock stars) is even remotely interested in his world plan? Sorry bub, but you actually have to get elected by people who know they are electing you, in order to have a say in what my country is going to do about anything. And by the way champ, get the hell out of the U.S. and U.S. affairs, who the hell asked you? How do you get off even hinting at what my tax dollars should be spent on? How dare you take my tax dollars and take credit for what they buy. Kiss my grits, dude. Big time.

Stupidest shit people do to their kids: A picture                             

is worth a thousand words. It’s not bad enought that this child is probably going to be raised by some doped up biker dude and biker chick, they have to turn him into some sort of mini me before he can even learn the words to protest. This mirror image approach to child rearing is just another disease of the yuppified self-absorbed. They don’t want to have children for the joy of having them and raising them to be their own man or woman – but rather they want to raise little clones of themselves so that they will be immortal.

Stupidest phrase: Politically Correct. What in the hell is correct about talking gibberish. I mean under what set of rules, grammar or otherwise does any of this doubletalk even begin to be correct? As for politics – we all know politics are lies and run by the lying liars who lie to get into office. So if something is politically correct isn’t the translation something like perfect lying?

Stupidest Shoes: Those sneakers that are really skates, no they are sneakers no they are skates, no they are sneakers that are skates – they are two, two, two shoes in one. What they are is an accident waiting to happen. It’s bad enough some fool came up with the idea but people are putting them on 6 year old who barely have enough sense not to play in the street much less navigate skating shoes down shopping market aisles . Which of course they don’t and they run smack into you and glare as though you are the cause of all their unhappiness. Between junk food, computers, Ipods and the fact that poor little Johnny shouldn’t have to actually walk to anyplace in the world (not even bed) this ain’t helping in the fight against adolescent obesity.

Stupidest Disease: Again, sooooooooooooooooo many to choose from but let’s go after restless leg syndrome. I mean, come on is this really a disease? From what I’ve read it’s just a magnesium deficiency, which I’d guess you could fix by taking magnesium. Why does every little thing that happens have to be a disease or a genetic defect? Why in the hell isn’t there one damn thing that people are supposed to be responsible for?

Stupidest News Story: The paternity of Ana-Nicole’s daughter. Come on folks, is this really news? I mean are things out there in the big, wide world, so easy going and calm and uneventful that who fathered an aging sex symbol’s daughter gets the headline banner. Not just once but for weeks? Really? So, like world hunger, world peace, tornados, beheadings, none of that takes precedence? Just what I thought all journalists are pussies and idiots who didn’t get their parents’ moneys worth on those fancy prep schools they all attended.

Other things that are just plain stupid pisser offers:

1. People who are too afraid to drive their cars. These are the folks who cause accidents and claim to be in them.

2. Claiming the price of gas is all because of the evil oil companies, with no mention of the taxes, initiatives, regulatory fees and every other little piece of garbage that is added to the price of gasoline which is hidden. No…let’s not tell the truth, let’s blame the guy that provides the goods.

3. Property taxes. Explain something to me, if you own something why would you pay someone else a tax for owning it? What Einstein thought this one up and why the hell does anyone pay it?

4. Giving anyone too young to pay for one on their own, a cell phone. What is the matter with parents today? They give 8 year olds cell phones and Ipods and then wonder how they get hit by cars. Aren’t kids absent-minded enough, you really have to give them things that will completely blot out the world around them? Why not just invest in that Matrix Condo Development now?

5. That cashiers can’t count. You know a bagillion years ago I worked as a waitress and often had to take money at the cash register. So if the bill was $2.26 and they gave you a five so you would count their change back to them like this: 27,28,29,30, 40,50,75, $3, $4, and $5. These days, they take the receipt and pile the bills and the change on top of that and jam it into your hand while peeking at the register to see how much they gave you. Not to mention the fact that they expect you to get the hell out of the way because the guy behind you is about ready to explode because you want to put your change back in your wallet before you grab your bags.

6. Restaurant workers who don’t speak english or have such a difficult time speaking it you cannot understand a word they say – especially at the drive through window. Sorry, but if you’re in America I believe you must speak English well enough to be understood – because if you can’t speak my language do you really think I’m going to trust in the fact that you’ll get my order right or my change? Get real.

7. The cigarette police, the fat police, the second hand smoke police (take your pick) they are the self-appointed assholes who must save society from itself while getting a whole of power for themselves too. Personally, I’m holding out for the bullshit police. I’d love to have some yahoo come along and save all of us from the bullshit that we’ve had shoveled on us from day one. I mean, have you ever asked yourself why it is that despite the trillions of dollars that have been donated and funded into heart disease, cancer, AIDS and so on that there is still no cure for any of it? Don’t you wonder why? Seriously? I’ll tell you why – it’s because they are now cottage industries that hire tons of people who would actually have to find work if cures were found. Most of that money never gets to the level of those who honestly want to find cures or solutions – it gets stuck at the administrative level. Please go save someone who needs saving and leave me alone. I am willing to accept responsibility for my actions.

8. Social Security and Medicare: Is there anyone of my generation out there who has any dillusions that they will collect one cent of the social security and medicare we have funded over our working careers? Anybody? Cuz if so, I have a bridge in Brooklyn you might want to take a look at.

Alrighty then, that’s about all my wee brain can come up with today. Feel free to add to the list.


I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

Hey Everybody, I wanted to do a quick post and introduce a couple of blogs that I think are fabulous.

Never Goodbye is brand new and authored by a friend of mine, Popsgirl. Not long ago, she discovered her father was suffering from dementia and has found herself in the role of caretaker. No easy task since she is in L.A. and her father in Alabama. She began journaling the experience to give herself some perspective and as an outlet for her feelings about the situation. She has a decidedly humourous take on the rocky road that life has put her on and offers, I think, an interesting take on the situation.

For her take on the whys and wherefors, check out her post – Short End of the Memory Stick Sometimes not remembering what happened yesterday or even five minutes ago has its advantages. Yesterday doesn’t drag you down or rob your attention from what’s happening now, and every moment is new and fresh, leaving you to enjoy life today. That’s one way to look at it.Throughout the travails and memory loss, my dad maintains his sense of humor. That passed down trait of “perceiving the humor in life” serves us both well. Dad’s memory slippage continuously rides a teeter-totter between lucid moments when he remembers his telephone number and moments of complete disorientation when he can’t find a glass in the kitchen. The same cupboard housing glasses for twenty-five years eludes him. You never know on which side of the teeter-totter he will sit. Laugh with us and shed some tears as I tell you some stories about my dad.

The second blog is Keeping the Promise…faith in action Authored by Andrena, a lovely woman whom I’ve recently come in contact with. She is originally from the South Bronx..came to Lutheran Theological Seminary in Philadelphia almost 4 years ago. Will be finishing up in December and will be waiting for her own church Her husband passed away 13 years ago from AIDS and is herself HIV positive and has been coping with that for several years.

In her own words I started the ‘get a grip’ back in 2002…started blogging cause everybody else was doing it…’started keeping the promise’ a few weeks ago…when i came back from Toronto, Canada for the AIDS conference (got a few tatoos, tongue ring, nose ring, another ring :-)…dreadlocks down my back..) She also served in the US Army for six years and came out as a Drill Sergeant. No cream puff, to be sure.

The blog: For me, my part in keeping the promise as a religious leader is to put a face to the HIV virus, and speaking publicly in congregations about myself in order to eliminate the stigma, discrimination often associated with this disease. Don’t know what (the blog) is going to evolve into. Right now, it is just used for my reflections on the conference, things i learned at the conference, and as I am waiting on interviews to be public, and as I begin speaking at functions, it will serve for those reflections. What it will evolve into, if anything, is not certain yet. I welcome people reaching out.. It would be great if you guys could pop by, say hello and look around. I’m sure both Popsgirl and Andrena would be delighted.I have added both blogs to my sidebar as well.

Thanks a bunch.


Memories of My Brother

Twenty years ago, my brother died of AIDS. I think about him a lot – nearly every day – and for some reason I am compelled to talk about him now. This is probably going to be a ramble so if you don’t feel like indulging me, it’s okay.

He was a funny kid – a bit of a loner. Chubby from day one and always made fun of by the other kids because of it. Looking back on it now, I wonder if he was diabetic, it does run in my family and he was positively addicted to sugar. He used to drink Hersey’s chocolate syrup straight from the can.

Whenever we argued about what to watch on television, he would win the argument by sitting on me. Decision made.

He was an artist. He always could draw and paint and did it effortlessly. And he would draw on anything. The last piece I had of his, was drawn on an old grocery bag – it was a self-portrait – very telling because I could see the resignation in his eyes.

He also was an actor and a comedian and was in countless school plays and skits. His most notable performance was of the father in the musical “Bye, bye, Birdie.” I remember sitting in the auditorium and watching him be so goofy onstage and how much people laughed at his antics.

When he was 21 he married his first and only girlfriend, Ginny. She was a sweet and shy girl. They had a daughter, Rebecca about a year later. Adorable, with big brown eyes with the nickname of Bunky. My parents adored her.

I fell out of touch with him for a while – sending and receiving the occasional letter. He was in Michigan and I was in California. Mom sent me pics of their new son, Andrew and a bit of news here and there.

Then came the letter. He had realized he’d been living a lie and was gay. I was stunned and yet not. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind I had wondered about it. Naturally, since I come from a midwestern, blue-collar family, all hell broke loose. My parents ending up divorcing – his ex moved away and took the children. Alan, my brother, stayed in Michigan for a while and then moved to parts unknown.

For years, I interogated my mother about Alan. Did she know how he was? Where he was? How I could reach him? And she always insisted she did not.

About six months before he died, I had a horrible dream that we were both trapped on a tropical island and I watched as two men killed him. I tried to call out but could make no sound. I couldn’t move, I was helpless to help him. I woke and called my mother and asked her if he was sick or if something was wrong. She insisted he was okay but still would not tell me how to reach him or where he was.

In the summer of 1986, my little sister came out to spend the summer with me, my other sister was living in California at the time and my mother was on a cross-country vacation with her new beau. When she landed in California, we decided to all get together for a girl’s night. Which turned into a nightmare.

After a couple of glasses of wine, mom started to break the news to us. Alan had AIDS and was dying. Both my sisters and I were stunned and freaked. Not knowing what to say or do or how to feel. It was one of the most horrible days of my life. Fear and concern for him, regret of all the time I didn’t spend with him, all the laughs we never had, all the forgotten birthdays, the ‘I-love-you’s’ never spoken.

A sense of urgency overtook me and I stayed up all night writing him a letter – telling him everything that was in my heart. Telling him that there were no axes to grind, I loved him and always did and that was all that mattered. And that he shouldn’t worry about anything. He was loved, nothing to forgive. Period. I fed-exed the letter and heaved a sigh of relief when I got confirmation he had received it. I was mad at myself for not having the money to fly out – so broke at the time. I should have found a way, but I didn’t.

I called his ex, who had recently resurfaced with the kids and told her about Alan and gave her all the contact info for the hospital. I called my father and aunt and just everybody trying to find out more information because my mother had just disappeared on her vacation and nobody knew where the hell she was.

The next day my aunt called and told me Alan had passed away. His lung had collapsed and he didn’t survive the surgery. I spoke to his doctor and to his nurses. They were wonderful and kind people and talked to me for hours. For that, I thank them. I also spoke to the two friends who were with him the whole time, to the bitter end – Barbara and Jamie. To me, they are angels. I thank God, that they were there and that he didn’t die alone in a hospital in Boston.

I discovered he received my letter and his friend, Jamie read it to him many times before he died. And that the letter meant something to him. God bless Fed-Ex!

Unfortunately, Ginny didn’t have the time to get to Boston with the kids to say goodbye to their dad – but at least they knew where he was and what had happened to him. What comfort that is for them, I don’t know. And I have tried over the years to be whatever kind of connection I could be for them to him.

He was my brother and I loved him. And I miss him still. The world lost an artist and I lost my first best friend.