I'm no journalist, but

Original post is below.

Furthermore, from Global Food Crisis series at the Washington Post:

"Beef or goat meat is now so expensive -- about $1.20 for a tiny portion -- that the family has given up meat completely, eating cheap dried fish instead. Rather than seasoning their sauces with vegetables and peanuts, they now use the tough leaves of baobab trees, the gnarly giants that flourish here in the dry lands south of the Sahara.

To soften the sour taste of the leaves, Lingani mixes in potash, a paste made by boiling down water strained through ashes from wood fires."

That's right. They're seasoning their food with ashes.
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If you're gonna write about people struggling to buy groceries, you might not want to make these two stars the focus of your story:

For Some Ohians, Even Meat is Out of Reach
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Hedy, Hedy, Hedy.

It's not fair to judge these people. And they can't drive, so they don't have easy access to healthy, inexpensive food.

Right.

Here. Read this: Africa's Hungry Horn

Especially this part:

"In recent months, aid workers have seen a 400 percent rise in the number of young children slipping through the stages of malnutrition: first becoming listless and withdrawn, their arms and legs growing thinner, their skin peeling off as it dies, and finally their bodies swelling, a condition caused by severe protein deficiency."

Then look at these two fat fucks again and tell me who is really suffering?
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I am listening to: The washing machine
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Disgusted

Sometimes

Sometimes you're just reading the news tra-la-la:

Sewage Plant Named after Bush

Pelosi Calls Bush a 'Total Failure'

Hotel of Doom Wakes from Coma

And you see this:

"The firm has put glass panels into the concrete shell, installed telecommunications antennas -- even though North Korea forbids its citizens to own mobile phones -- and put up an artist's impression of what it will look like."

Wait.

North Korea forbids its citizens from owning mobile phones?

Really?

I'll admit most of what I know about North Korea comes from Team America, but damn.

No mobile phones?

U.S. citizens are suffering grief and aggravation over the ongoing iPhone crisis, and North Koreans can't have cell phones?

Okay.

By all means, name sewage plants after our president.

But also. Also.

Also show appreciation for what we have and where we live.

Because George Bush is a First Magnitude Fucktard, but Kim Jong-il, he ain't.
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I am listening to: Galileo - Indigo Girls
I am reading: Neil Steinberg, Sun-Times
And I am: Still waiting for my iPhone

What they won’t do for a laugh

I’m walking from the Quincy El station towards Union during my daily planes, trains and automobiles trek from the office when I see them again: The Abortion Nuts.

They’re standing on the sidewalk along Adams holding huge signs featuring grotesque photos of supposed ‘First Term Abortions.’

Again, I’m all for free speech.

But you’d think the gory signs would lend a somewhat somber mood to the occasion.

No.

A more animated Abortion Nut holds another sign: ‘Honk if You Love Cuddly Wuddly Jesus’ or something like that and she’s yelling and laughing like it’s a veritable celebration of dead fetuses on the side of the road.

Yes. She’s laughing.

Probably not the impression you want to leave on all of us crabby, tired commuters.

At least not if you want us to take your ignorant, misguided protest seriously.
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Ignorant, Hedy? Misguided? So you’re pro-choice?

Hell yeah, I am.

But be careful here.

I’m saying their protest is ignorant and misguided, not their opinions.

Because if you really want to reach people with a message you feel strongly about, it’s not a great idea to stand in our way holding offensive, disgusting signs.

If they wanted to engage us in an intelligent, meaningful conversation about abortion, I’d be all for it.

But the shock value – coupled with the despicable laughter – does nothing to help their cause.
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I am listening to: Blasphemous Rumors – Depeche Mode
I am reading: Neil Steinberg in the Sun-Times
And I am: Astonished

Frederick Smalls from Massachusetts: Get a Life

Oh. The humanity.

It's all "grief and aggravation" for people like Smalls who tried to buy the new iPhone today.

Grief? Over a mobile phone?

Un-fucking-believable.
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I am listening to: The cries of countless disappointed iPhone users
I am reading: Web copy
And I am: Disgusted

Escaping the idiots

It started shortly after I boarded.

SNAP.

SNAP.

SNAP.

SNAP.

Oh. God.

Someone is clipping their nails on the train again.

Yes. It happens more than you’d think. It’s incredibly gross.

And I never thought I’d say this, but I’ll take gross over extended periods of irritating any day.

Because the silly twat wasn’t clipping her nails, but snapping her gum.

Every two seconds.

SNAP.

SNAP.

SNAP.

SNAP.

Plus, the train was delayed several times due to freight traffic so all of us in the seventh car on the 5:26 to Aurora last night endured more than an hour of this infernal snapping.

Better still?

She stopped snapping her gum only to TALK ON HER PHONE IN A VOICE LIKE THIS.
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Hedy, why didn’t you just move to another car?

I thought about it. My blood pressure would’ve gone down considerably.

But this is America, folks.

I shouldn’t have to move because someone is irritating me. I shouldn’t be the one inconvenienced by idiots. Right?
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Okay, it’s barely 7 a.m. on Friday.

And idiocy abounds.

I pass a beer distributor on my way to the train station.

Every morning big, beautiful land barges of beer make their way out into the world so slobs like us can get blasted and bloated.

It’s fabulous.

Except this morning, the dude driving the huge Heineken truck (and I fucking hate Heineken) didn’t see me, pulled out and nearly ran me off the road.

To his credit, he gave me the little ‘Sorry, I’m an asshole’ wave, but this did nothing to dislodge my heart from my throat.
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Then, more idiocy at the parking ticket machines.

A dorky corporate chooch cuts in front of me to the only open machine and PROCEEDS TO DIG THROUGH HIS POCKETS, THEN HIS WALLET FOR MONEY.

While I stand there, park card in hand. Like always. Waiting. Ready.

Better still, this particular idiot had to go back to his car (we know he didn’t forget his head, because that was clearly lodged up his ass) and I ended up winning the Race for the Train anyhow.
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Here’s the thing. With that gum-snapping twat, I could’ve moved to another car. I should have.

But there was no avoiding the Heineken dude or the ticket chooch this morning.

I was forced to move out of their way so they could do what they needed to do, even though I clearly had the right of way in both cases.

So here’s the lesson of the today, kiddies: Be grateful for the days when you can escape the idiots, because most of the time they’re completely unavoidable.
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I am listening to: Train sounds
I am reading: My guy Steinberg at the Sun-Times
And I am: Grateful

A Susan-worthy sidewalk snippet

Dashing through Union Station last night to catch the 5:49 and I am stuck next to this guy, who is wearing a blue suit and walking very slowly:

“Derivatives!”

[BELCH]

“Derivatives!”

[BELCH]

“Derivatives!”

[BELCH]
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derivative |diˈrivətiv|
adjective
(typically of an artist or work of art) imitative of the work of another person, and usually disapproved of for that reason : an artist who is not in the slightest bit derivative.
• originating from, based on, or influenced by : Darwin's work is derivative of the moral philosophers.
• [ attrib. ] (of a financial product) having a value deriving from an underlying variable asset : equity-based derivative products.
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Somehow I don’t think this guy got hammered out of hatred for some Warhol wanna-be.
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I am listening to: Jay Leno muted
I am reading: Not much lately
And I am: Tired but happy

Adding to Pos' Pet Peeve Series

Pet Peeve #56: Talking heads who stutter at the beginning of every sentence.

It's an unbelievably ridiculous trend I noticed about three months ago while listening to some self-important retard on NPR.

The following was captured tonight in less than 10 minutes of watching three separate broadcasters on MSNBC covering the sad news about Tim Russert:

Of of of the moment...

It it it is stunning...

And and and maybe deeper...

That that that's good journalism...

Or or or NAFTA or other agreements...

I I I could give him the state of...

He he he was able to do that...

And and and even if I didn’t have a personal friendship with him...

When when when anyone heard he was on the phone...

Attention Broadcast Journalists: STOP STUTTERING.

It's worse than saying "um" or "uh" repeatedly because it's obvious you know what you want to say, you're just trying to be trendy. This affected stuttering doesn't make you sound thoughtful and it doesn't make what you say more interesting, it just makes you sound irritating and stupid.

Spit it out. Or shut the fuck up and let someone else speak.
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I am listening to: Dirty Laundry - Don Henley
I am reading: Sin in the Second City by Karen Abbott
And I am: Still sad

Oops

Look up 'oops' in the dictionary and you'll probably find this story:

Stalker's sex video sent to police

Here's a summary for you lazy, unemployed types like me:

A stalker filmed himself masturbating and sent it to his victim's mobile phone while she was at a police station making a complaint about him.

Reason #6,321 why I love technology.
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Question: We're all mobile phone users. Am I the only one trying to get my mind around the logistics of beating off with a camera phone?

It just seems like the whole thing would end up rather jerky. Maybe that's the point.
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I am listening to: Trends in Ethics Training at Georgia State University
I am reading: Sin in the Second City by Karen Abbott
And I am: Thrilled

Because they're assho...oh nevermind

This was just too obvious to pass up: Preparation H Finds Place in Club Circuit.

Feel free to insert your favorite punchline here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Almost Famous soundtrack
I am reading: Literally, The Best Language Book Ever by Paul Yeager
And I am: Not itching or burning, thank you very much

For the love of money

Ever get that feeling like your head is just going to explode all over the couch?

That's how it felt this morning after reading this asinine story from the New York Times: "It's Not So Easy Being Less Rich."

Yes, folks, in case you were concerned: "The economy is an issue even for people who don’t need the money.”

Their spouses could leave them when they discover that their net worth has collapsed to eight figures from nine. Friends and business associates could avoid them as they pass their lunchtime tables at Barney’s or the Four Seasons. And these snubs could trickle down to their children.

“They fear their kids won’t get invited to the right birthday parties,” said Michele Kleier, an Upper East Side-based real estate broker. “If they have to give up things that are invisible, they’re O.K. as long as they don’t have give up things visible to the outside world.”

Oh the humanity. Really.

I think this was the part when my head started feeling all kersplody:

Wives from Greenwich and Scarsdale are selling 2-carat to 35-carat single-stone diamond rings. One recent client explained that she was selling $2 million in diamonds she rarely wore, because her friends wouldn’t notice that they were gone. She said, ‘If I sold my Bentley or my important art, they would notice.'

Did you catch that people? This poor woman was forced to choose between selling her big bag of bling or her Bentley.

It's like Sophie's Choice. I could just cry.

Of course I know there's this other world of uber-wealthy fancy-pants folks out there relaxing in their Rolexes -- I grew up watching The Beverly Hillbillies so I've got a pretty good idea how they live.

But is right now really the right time to remind the rest of us how much the rich are suffering -- gainin' weight and goin' brunette -- because they can't afford their personal trainers and hair-doers?
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I am listening to: For The Love of Money - The O'Jays
I am reading: E-mail invitation to a user conference
And I am: Busy

Tornadic

Just once I'd like a local reporter to interview some selfish prick after a big storm and hear: "Ya know, I lost my bitch of a wife in that tornado, but I've still got all my STUFF and that's really what matters most."
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I am listening to: Planes flying, birds chirping, me burping
I am reading: Other blogs
And I am: WOW good

You will take my carrot when you...oh, nevermind

Have you heard about this?

The FBI is reportedly recruiting 'moles' to infiltrate protest groups in Minnesota in anticipation of the Republican National Convention there in September.

"What they were looking for...was an informant—someone to show up at 'vegan potlucks' throughout the Twin Cities and rub shoulders with RNC protestors, schmoozing his way into their inner circles, then reporting back to the FBI’s Joint Terrorism Task Force, a partnership between multiple federal agencies and state and local law enforcement."

And then there's this:

The effort’s primary mission, according to the Minneapolis division’s website, is to “investigate terrorist acts carried out by groups or organizations which fall within the definition of terrorist groups as set forth in the current United States Attorney General Guidelines.”

Vegan potlucks? Are hotbeds of domestic terrorist activity?

Are they planning on tossing tofu into Lake Minnetonka a la the Boston Tea Party?
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Now. I'm not a professional journalist. But I've had a bit of schooling/experience in this area.

So I am compelled to point out that the only source for this story is a student and admitted petty criminal named 'Paul Carroll', who didn't want his real named used in the City Pages article. Everyone else involved - the U of M Police Sgt. Erik Swanson who initially contacted Carroll and FBI Special Agent Maureen E. Mazzola - declined to comment for the story.

Between the peculiar vegan potluck reference and the mysterious Ms. Mazzola, this sounds like the makings of either a) a fabulous stir-fry dish or b) an excellent story for The Onion.

Don't get me wrong, I believe Bush & Co. are fully capable of something this ridiculous, but one flimsy story does not a conspiracy make.

I just think it's rather cute when typically rational, intelligent people take a tiny, poorly sourced story and turn it into the 'birth pangs of a police state'.

C'mon, people. Let's leave the hysteria to the right-wing creationist whack-jobs.
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I am listening to: Jason Mraz - I'm Yours
I am reading: The Adventures of Johnny Bunko by Daniel H. Pink and Rob Ten Pas
And I am: Having a salad

The long-awaited job search update

So I joined one of these whoop-de-freakin-do executive job search sites.

Clapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclap.

Here’s how it works: You pay $30 for the first month of Premium Service and you get exclusive access to Big Corporate Hoo-Ha job openings. And they proceed to up-sell the hell outta you because they think you’re Miss Got Rocks for joining an executive search site.

Seriously. I signed up on Tuesday. It’s Thursday. In that time, they’ve sent me 10 e-mails. Mom doesn’t even write that often. Although perhaps it is wrong to assume that I’ve been a member of the Premium Mom Service all this time. Note to self: Call brother to find out how many e-mails he gets from Mom each week.

Anyhoo.

As part of the Premium Hoo-Ha Service, the first thing they throw at you is the ‘complimentary’ resume review.

Mine was anything but complimentary. Of course I didn’t need Brittany the Executive Resume Analyst telling me my resume sucks bung.

I know.

It’s embarrassing. I’m a writer. And my resume sucks.

Here’s why.

Ask me to write about anything – butt socks or cuddly-wuddly Christ or Craig Ferguson – and I’ll happily oblige. But when it's time to write about my (ick!) accomplishments, I’ll sit in the corner with a dazed look on my face and a stringy bit of drool running down my chin right to the floor.

Nice visual, eh? Too bad I can't put THAT in the fucking resume. Executive summary my ass.
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Executive search site? Executive, Hedy? Who the hell are you kidding?

Right. Well. It is a bit of a stretch, isn't it?

To be honest, I’ve never really felt entirely comfortable in the corporate world. And after the lovely and memorable experience working for The Turd, I’d much rather spend my summer being anally raped with a Hillary Clinton action figure mowing lawns than working some suck-ass 'real' job.

The very thought of going back to corporate marketing feels so wrong and stupid and foolish that if I had balls, they’d be shrinking up into, well, wherever balls go when they get scared and shrink up. Still, for now I need to go through the motions of finding a traditional marketing gig until I figure out what the hell I really want to do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
More from Brittany's brilliant resume critique:

“You are a premium member of I’maBigCorporateHooHa.com BECAUSE you’ve got the valuable experience, the superior skills, the unique qualifications and most importantly the DRIVE to get that next big corporate hoo-ha job (yes, we redirect people who don’t fit our profile; it is in our best interest to do so).”

No.

I’m a premium member because I PAID $30.

Nobody pre-screened me to find out if I ‘fit’ your profile. It was all “AMEX, Visa or Mastercard?” and “we automatically re-new monthly memberships” so don’t give me this crap about being specially qualified to receive your service. I’m guessing if Gromit still had a credit card, he could sign up for this site and receive an equally enlightening resume critique.

“In today’s competitive environment, it is impossible to over-emphasize your ball-licking capabilities, Mr. Gromit.”
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Miss Got Rocks? Who's that?

Don't ya know? I learned about this from Jim's Mom, who grew up in Chicago: Miss Got Rocks is an old-time name for a rich chick. She is often seen with The Big McGaffer -- the wealthy powerful dude that everyone secretly fears/hates.

For some reason I always picture The Big McGaffer with giant forearms like Popeye.
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But wait, there’s more:

“Your resume is a bit too long at six pages. The average resume these days is two pages with three being acceptable at senior levels.”

The funny thing is, my resume is a little over two pages. So I’m not exactly sure which resume she reviewed, but it sure as hell wasn’t mine. Turns out, the whole 'complimentary resume review' was just one big form letter with tiny bits personalized to make it sound as if she'd really spend serious time considering the merits of my resume.

Of course with the stalker-esque e-mail blitz over the past two days, I get the feeling that even if I’d submitted the one and only Pulitzer Prize winning resume, I’d still be deemed ‘the ideal candidate for a resume rewrite’ at the low low price of $695.

That’s right.

We’re eating hot dogs and mac & cheese for dinner and seeing Iron Man at the matinee ($10 for two tickets!) but I’m supposed to pony up seven hundred bucks to have some silly twat who can't even count re-write my resume?

No. Thanks. Now I'm off to figure out how the hell to work ball-licking into my executive summary.
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I am listening to: Wherever You Will Go - The Calling
I am reading: Real Simple magazine
And I am: Wondering where the balls go

You will take my balls when you...oh nevermind

It's been a busy, busy week for them thinky Florida lawmakers to be sure.

Florida Trucks Avoid Castration

"A provision in a highway safety bill that would have banned drivers from attaching replica bull testicles to their rear bumpers was snipped from the legislation."

Outstanding.

Especially since this news comes the very same week that Florida lawmakers blocked an amendment to a bill that would have authorized the first ever state-issued specialty license plate for Christians. The plate would have featured a cross, a stained glass window, and the words 'I believe'.

Final score: Balls 2, God 0.

Sure, the Christians lost out legislatively speaking this week, but the real losers are the Florida taxpayers footing the bill for all of this silliness.
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I am listening to: Great Balls of Fire - Jerry Lee Lewis
I am reading: Pharyngula
And I am: Headachey

Your lifelong dream

Climbing Mount Everest. Achieving total enlightenment. Finding a cure for cancer.

What is your lifelong dream?

Hopefully it is slightly more ambitious and interesting than David Blaine's lifelong dream, which he accomplished on the Oprah Winfrey show yesterday.

Have you heard about this?

Blaine broke the world record for holding his breath.

Yep.

Immediately after being extracted from a large water-filled sphere, Blaine said: "A lifelong dream. I can't believe I did that."

Yeah, we can't either. Ya self-important fuckstick.

Since when does holding your breath for a long time qualify as entertainment?

He's just a pathetic grownup version of Billy Evans -- that irritating boy from second grade who would eat a bug and/or one of his own boogers for a dollar and/or the Hostess Cupcake from your lunch box.

Oh, wait. FoxNews has dubbed Blaine an 'endurance specialist'.

I dunno. Endurance specialist?

Jim is an endurance specialist after a couple glasses of really good Scotch.

Not some attention-starved twit who spends a month suspended in a glass box over the Thames.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Well, what's your lifelong dream, Mrs. FancyPants?

I'm so glad you asked.

Hedy's To Do Before She Dies List

Win an Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay
Orbit the Earth
Live in Paris for one year
Craig Ferguson

Ta-da! Clapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclap.

See what I mean? Important, meaningful stuff.

Okay, maybe not that last one. But one can dream.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So, dear friends, what happens after we finally accomplish our lifelong dreams? Do we die?

At least in the case of Mr. Blaine, one can only hope.
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I am listening to: Mariah Carey - Dreamlover
I am reading: Nothing right now
And I am: Dreaming