It may not be sheer coincidence that Pilates and pain both start with P.

I think it released all the leftover toxins from some vital organs deep within me and now my eyes are swollen one-third shut. I don't really want to know why. To rip off a description from Laurie Notaro, I look as though I have two potstickers underneath my eyes. Interesting. And lucky for you, that is all I will say.

Except for the part where I dreamed last night I was covered in blood-sucking bats. But that was just my spine readjusting. And my knees. And every backrib that I have. But you know what, I will go back for more of it next Monday night. Pilates, Mistress of Pain, I fear you not.

I will get a lot of web referrals for that last line. Oh well. If you are looking for Flexy Girls, you won't find those here either.

So. I got my Grizzlies floppy hat. I love it. Yes. Thank you. It's reversible.

And now, I want a pink iPod Mini.

I'm sorry. I'm real boring today. I think it's all the extra toxins. Tonight, I'm going to watch a bunch of movies and pretend I didn't twist my spleen in half.





(as I drink a healing green and white tea Fusion, it's good, even though a Molsen Ice might work better.)




Forget the pink iPod.

Coachella or bust.

I have no shame, I don't care if coupons aren't cool. The Grizzlies are my squad so guess who's going to get there early for the free hat? And gonna sit in The Good Seats -- you know, the ones where you can actually see players' facial features and tattoos. Yes, the BOGO* Coupon Woman here scored a 2-for-1 coupon. And I have to get a stinkin' hat even if I never wear it again. Compulsions are hard.

Here's a neato link I got in a Backwash newsletter. It's how you can turn your blog into a book. Blogger soon to be supported. What a great, simple idea. I hope those people make a cool fortune, they deserve it.

Ok, I am deeply saddened because the winning bag of red M&Ms was found, dashing my American dreams of winning that red VW Beetle Convertible. This was disheartening news to me because now I have no real and valid excuse to buy peanut M&Ms anymore. On the brighter side, I can save my money for a Mini Cooper now. Huzzah. By the time I have saved up that much, they'd better have convertible Minis. And if they do now, don't tell me.

I'm off to drown my sorrows in hoops and free hats! Have a good weekend!

*Buy One Get One. Gad, what a nerd.

*


So I just finished this book by Laurie Notaro. Hey NYC Katherine, if you're reading this: Order now, operators are standing by, you'll love it.

Her humor and tone kinda reminds me of a New York version of the "Sweet Potato Queen" writings by Jill Connor Browne. I used to work with Browne's ex-husband at an ad agency in Mississippi. Well, I worked, he schmoozed. Jill on the other hand seems to be an extremely interesting individual who just fills the room with her presence. She'd probably say it was her buxom Sweet Potato Queen bustline and fireball wig that did it. She'd probably be right. Carry on, Southern sister-in-spuds, with your sweet success.

Then there's my acquired taste: Before I read the Notaro book, I eagerly and unwittingly suggested "Geek Love" by Katherine Dunn to the girl who lent me her copy of Notaro. Boy. I guess now she knows I'm one weird science project. My recommendation compared to hers is well... colorful, freakish, staining, and way off-kilter. Needless to say, this is one of my favorite books. I also have "Truck", I think it was written before "Geek Love". So why have I not read that selection yet? Well, because I saw "Big Fish".

Anyone who writes a book that Tim Burton wants to transform into a luxurious dreamfilm must be a newly-discovered creative behemoth with a 750-carat gem-encrusted soul. Outstanding. So instead of reading his "Big Fish", I'm reading another Daniel Wallace book, of which I hope there are many, many more to come.

I ordered it from an online book dealer at Half.com. When it arrived, I was so irritated, I almost hummed it across the living room -- it was a paperback. A freakin' paperback.**

"Dang paperbacks! They're too hard to read in the bathtub with my neato new booklight, oh how typical" for me to complain as I saw this book wasn't intended for resale at all, as it was an editor's proof edition with good ole typos and everything. Ah yes. Even harder to read in the bathtub for fear of smudging the value this copy might have. So far, it's as captivating as the movie was. I'll let you know more.

So my absolute favorite author is of course David Sedaris. "Me Talk Pretty One Day" is so far my favorite one. When I saw him on his book tour a few months back, I was overwhelmed at his absence of ego. In his books, since he's so wickedly sarcastic, so you'd expect him to be some Huge Super-Inflated Bastardo. But he was not. He was exactly the opposite, exactly who I'd hoped he was. He's just good writer. Very good. And apparently nice.

And so months later, here I am buying his recommended reading: "Birds of America" by Lorrie Moore. He says her writing is one joke after the other. I can't imagine anyone being better than David Sedaris. So I'm waiting for this book to come in. And hoping I don't drop my golden copy of "The Watermelon King" my Mr. Bubbles tonight.

I'll let you know how it goes.


*Yes, I ganked these images from the big online bookmerchants. But I ganked one from each to be fair and cross-promote. For free. So don't sue me. And the last link, if it wouldn't work for you, is the catch-of-the-day, cheapestbookprice.com

**No paperbacks were harmed during the making of this entry.

Ooo.

This is very cool. Enjoy.










And this is just neato, with a capital NASA.

Hello to D: Peace, love and humongous Sumo Cookies for one and all. This one just happens to be a Snickers one. Please oh please, don't let there be a strawberry cheesecake one in this site. Or a birthday cake and ice cream one, if that is even possible. I've never had one of these babies, but as my grandma used to say: The bigger the cookie, the bigger the good fortune.*

*She didn't say that. She mainly just chased stray dogs around the backyard with a buggywhip. Doesn't that just explain everything?**

**Somewhat.

Happy Friday.

And Happy Valentine's Day early.

Oh yeah. And if you are one of those people who don't like Valentines' Day, then I understand. But leave me alone with my candy, my red and pink satiny things, my pink champagne, my lil cards for my lil friends, and a really neato present for Ron that'll make him go "aww". Really. Leave me to my better days. See, earlier this week, some pseudo-antitraditionalist announced in a meeting that she and her husband "didn't celebrate Valentine's Day because it was a Hallmark holiday".

Let me break it down.

(1) This is not Secretary's Day.

(2) Even if no one religious was born, died or was tortured in a saintly manner on this day, it's still worthy of celebrating because...

(3) the chances are minimal that any of your obnoxious drunk relatives will show up from three states away just to pick a fight with you.

(4) The main focus is peace, love and candy. I like to receive, but I love to give.

(5) If you don't have or even want the love part, voi-freaking-la, you have a great excuse to hang out with your friends or yourself and indulge in something.

(6) Even sugarless candy is good these days, so it's an Equal Opportunity Good Feeling Event.

(7) More candy and happiness to all who do like Valentine's because it's one of the last mostly harmless holidays.

(8) Hey, I would rather have corn chips than candy most days, but you don't hear me barking about it in meetings.

(9) Make a stand somewhere else. Start with building houses for the poor and banishing poverty.

(10) And lastly, what a beautiful engagement ring you have. In case you missed a real manufactured tradition, some advertiser's marketing department in the last century made that whole engagement ring thing up (coughcough DeBeers* coughcough).

*This person takes it to the extreme view. But I liked it. Opinions are fine, as long as you don't take a whiz on my happy day, snippitysnap.

(11) Eureka, I think this makes me so mad because it's the perfect example of someone looking ye olde gift horse in the mouth. Are you insane? Shut up and enjoy yourself!

As Outkast would say, "Happy Valentine's Day." And, pucker up:





And leave me with my champagne and bubble baths please. Sometimes, it's all I've got in this ridiculously manufactured Reality TV show world. Let me designate and celebrate, and don'tcha dare guilt me, ok Love Hater?


Ok look at me, I'm standing here covered in rant now. Awww. Peace. Truce. Come sit on the couch and stuff yer piehole with me -- we can have a bag of non-winning M&Ms Peanut candy and some fine $5.99 discount wine. I almost punctuated that thought with a Dave Chappell-esque "Bitch", but I editted myself.

Speaking of Outkast, good editting and peanuts, enjoy.

I never needed more reasons to buy M&Ms. And now, I'm dying under my hard candy shell.

It doesn't matter where you live in this world, if I bought a winning bag of M&Ms, the bag with the red M&Ms for the red VW Beetle, you'd hear a small explosion named me.

Sure, it would be cheaper for me to just buy the damn car. But man o man. I want to win that car. I don't care about the rest of it, the 20 Gs, the trip to wherever. I want to win that car, I want to win that car, I want to win that... oh well. I'd probably win the yellow one and look like a bumble bee wherever I drove. Nevermind. And have that dumb song stuck in my head by the guy who killed himself. You know, the singer. Yeah, that one. Blind Melon.



One day, I will invent something. Not (1) this, definitely not (2) this, or (3) this. But maybe something along the lines of (4) this. Nah, these have all been done before. Even the last one.

(1) Flowbees are much more credible.
(2) Too "Silence of the Lambs". Self-control is free anyhow.
(3) Isn't this just a mixer?
(4) It's a 1982 Toyota Tercel taken up to highway speed for 12 minutes.

Barkers.

Hurry, hurraaay, step right up and see the one-and-only super-freaktastic creation known as The Stooping Tardo and little buddy Meatwad. What a great website to locate an adoptable dog in your locality. Hey, getcher dawg on, pass this Dogster link around and brighten a doggie day, maybe even lifetime. Plus, read through the profiles. Not to be punny, but we did howl with giddy delight* over some of the pictures and profiles.

*Ugh, sorry. But come on...look at this this one...and this one...and this one...

(Meaty treats to ljc for this link.)



(Scott the Severe Cat-Hater, avert your eyes for this next one...)



Ok, Googie got jealous, so here he is. Awwwwww....



Note the Bears toque... "DA BERRZ."



Ok, who needs insulin now, that was all way too sweet. All of it.

Speaking of togues, this looks kinda funny, eh?





Also, you've heard that chocolate actually contains antioxidants. It's in the cocoa powder, I read. So since Dove Chocolate makes its chocs with the most refined cocoa, that makes its Dark Chocolate the Antioxidant Choice Chocolate just burstin' with antioxidants. So dose up with Dove Dark Promises.* Can I get a healthy "Huzzah!!" on that one? Word @#$%ing up.

*For some Americans reading: Now don't go Super Sizing, Biggie Frying on this. This only means 4 or 5 Dove Dark Promises a day, max. Hey, it's not our fault we overconsume. Aww, come here, lemme give you a big hug... I can't reach around you. Oh well... LET'S GO FOR SOME TACOS!!

Every now and then, you run into a gruff vendor. And instead of telling him what you really want to, such as "Well, what I really wanted you to do with that project was roll it up real tight and shove it up your ass," I recommend taking it out passively yet aggressively on the keyboard instead with sumo wrestling. Ahh. I feel much better. Bonus points in my case: I'm not spending 48 hours in a holding cell. Thank you. Thank you very much.

Look, Ma.

I drew America, after the forthcoming invasion and reorganization by the Martians Who Think in Square Shapes. Sorry, Maine and all those other states, oh and the Eastern Seaboard. Well, you give it a try. You can even enter Arniie's Etch-a-Sketch contest if you are so much better than me... so bring it! Yes, I'm talkin' to you, West Virginia. You sassy fras corn-pone you.








Thanks, Ma.

Some of them I'm aware of, completely. And some surface from the depths. There's a lot of things I've inherited from my mother. And apparently one of them is laughing at people taking very nasty spills. She had the black-and-white version of Jerry Lewis. I had the full-color version. Not a pretty sight. So I've remained unaware of my genetic stowaway, all these years.

Until now, and it is called the Most Extreme Elimination Challenge on Spike TV. I saw it for the first time the other night, and I cried so hard that I had to wear glasses the next day.

It's one of those really, really physical Japanese game shows that's been dubbed over and re-editted with two guys commenting throughout. Already I'm making it sound extremely flat, but even if you're not into nasty spills, the commentary and the delivery will make it up to you.

Tonight's line up includes four or five episodes beginning at 9pm ET/PT. I'll be parked on the couch. With my glasses. And when Captain Tenneal gives the signal,"Git it awn", that's when I will crumple over and never return.


11:00pm ET episode"Donors and Addicts"

It's the Organ Donors and Recipients vs. the Addicts as our hosts, Vic Romano and Kenny Blankenship, discuss Vic's prior battles with alcoholism. Captain Tenneal has fun with the Donors and shows the addicts some "tough love." Games included: MUD BUTTLERS, THE DASH TO DEATH, ROTATING SURFBOARD OF DEATH, BRASS BALLS, and POLE RIDERS.

Doesn't sound funny. But trust me. Feed the stowaway.

Incredible.

There are few things in life that can top big fat bubble baths, big bundles of velvety ruby and pink roses, snowed in Saturday mornings with corn chips and chili cheese dip, and a snoozing pile of brand new baby puppies with warm, fuzzy bellies. Except maybe every movie from Pixar. Coming this fall, here's a teaser to enjoy. Oh, and ice cream cakes from Baskin-Robbins. Those are pretty incredible, too. Oh yeah, and big fat sparkly clear-ice diamond rings are indecently incredible as well. HINT HINT anyone? No? Ah nuts.




John Ratzenberger was cheezing me hard in these clips, but I got over it with Clip 3. Hey, I'm gettin' good at gettin' over things...

Clip 1

Clip 2

Clip3

You can always count on Altoids.

For their creativity, good marketing and effective candy. Something like that. And the website is just healthy. Try the new gum or sour apple citrus candy. Why? Because they didn't advertise during the Super Bowl (Sorry, I'll be over it tomorrow, I promise.) and because they are just plain, freakin' good -- with or without the curiously strong advertising. Register to view Altoids Cinema just for the kid and the guinea pig experiment alone.

Well, at least I'm not alone thinking that this year's SuperBowl commercials, on the average, were below average. Thank you, Barbara. And don't get me started on what I thought about the adpeople who came up with them. They had enough problems in middle school.

Barring the Staples commercial and of course the MasterCard Visa/Simpsons commercial, I think I have purged most of my disappointment and anger for now, as I scout another continent to call home with a selected thousand books to keep me busy until I die of the consumption. No, maybe that's too extreme, but I am positive that I want to live off-the-grid now. For sure.

But then, unless you are lazy like Michael and can't register to watch something worthwhile, at least I can live in the past with my fonder memories. If it weren't for the SuperBowl Ad-Offs past, we may have never known the likes of Terry Tate and Felcher & Sons. And always remember, the pain train's a-comin', woman. Whoo whoo. $ = :)

The polls are in: No one wants to see Janet Jackson's boobie. So here it is. All over the internet. Since no one wants to see it. Take that, you Mad Cow Brain Burger Eaters, wherever you are.

I'm sure it was just a mistake. An innocent mistake. Jacksons don't do anything weird for attention. Right?

I missed the whole thing myself. I was doing the crosswords, trying to figure a four-letter word for advertising. Really the deepest thing I took away from the whole experience is that Justin Timberlake and Kid Rock really do look like they should be changing motor oil. Everyday. Sometimes on Sundays. Not that they could, I'm sure. Therein lies the pug-faced irony.



(Man. Remember when I used to be nice? Sorry, pugs. You are pretty. All of you.)