New spirit

“So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism, of responsibility, where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves but each other. ”

- Barack Obama
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I didn't vote for Obama, but I will pray for him."

I must've heard that 10 times during my morning commute.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You can't find a newspaper in the Loop this morning.

I grabbed the last Sun-Times off the rack at the Walgreens on the corner of Wacker and Jackson.

In the words of my favorite Scottish-American:

"It's a GREAT day for America!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The office buzzing about Obama
I am reading: The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
And I am: Feeling like America grew up last night

Last place

Where's the last place on the planet you'd like to be?

I'll go first.

With your Mom in the surgery waiting room at the hospital where you were born hearing the words 'malignant' and 'mass' and 'pathology report' and 'chemotherapy' while your Da is still in recovery.

That was Friday.

The surgeon was fairly certain he got it all and was surprisingly upbeat about the whole thing. Now we're waiting on the pathology results to figure out next steps.

Of course we know Da's answer to the 'last place' question.

He's an old-school tough guy who's done nothing but love his wife and kids and work his ass off his whole life. The last thing he wants is any of us fussing over him. But fuss we will for sure.

I'll be taking a break from this for a while. Nothing seems all that funny or interesting these days.

It's Monday night. And being here in Illinois -- acting like everything is normal -- is now officially the last place I'd like to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Gives You Hell - All-American Rejects
I am reading: The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
And I am: Here, really wishing I was there

The perfect set

My good friend Dave is the inspiration for today's post, which would have been decidedly LESS interesting had I proceeded with the original plan to write about the pseudo-inspirational crap you might find on a grande-sized Starbucks coffee cup.

Yep. Let's all take a moment to thank him right now. Say it with me:

THANK YOU, DAVE.

Anyhoo.

First off: I've never been in a strip club. Plenty of opportunities, never been. Those of you who know me well might find this surprising. But it's true.

Here's why: For some reason, I really like the idea of ending my days being able to say "I've never been to a strip club."

I fantasize I'm this shriveled up, out-of-her-freakin-mind old broad scooting around the nursing home wearing nothing but a housecoat and a gummy grin, goosing old guys and yelling: "I'VE NEVER BEEN TO A STRIP CLUB!"

Maybe.

Or maybe it's because I've done pretty much everything else and it feels kinda good saying that.

Maybe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
According to Dave -- who I know for certain appreciates a good neighborhood bar over a strip club any day -- there is such a thing as The Perfect Set.

We're not talking fake tits here, either, although I'm sure Moe would happily weigh in on that topic.

No, we're talking about music.

Three songs. Up tempo, mid tempo and slow. The Perfect Strip Club Set.

Got it?

Here is Dave's perfect set:

She Loves My C@*k by Jackyl
Don't Want No Short Dick Man by CJ Gee
I Touch Myself by The Divinyls.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wasn't entirely sure how to spell Divinyls so I popped over to my iTunes library to check it.

And I was shocked - SHOCKED - to learn it wasn't one of my songs.

It's an all time favorite, yet I'm not an owner.

I'm very disappointed in myself right now. Don't get me wrong, I still love myself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Top strip scenes in movies off the top of my head and in no particular order:

The Full Monty - the final scene.

Yep. That's all I got. Sorry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I decided to go all Googly on the subject -- search for 'top strip songs' -- and found this sad woman with the unintentionally ironic moniker 'knowitall':

strip clubs are ******* lame and gay grow up. what kind of man wants to sit around with 30 other guys and get a hard on. maybe they should all just jack each other off and admit they are all ugly and retarded thats why they cant get any real women.

Jesus tits. Lighten up, honey. Perhaps if you stepped away from the computer once in a while you'd actually have a shot at getting popped in the cooter. Then maybe you wouldn't be so angry and concerned about how other people have fun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After much thought, here's my perfect set:

Naughty Naughty - John Parr
Purple Haze - The Cure
Black Velvet - Alannah Myles

Runners up:

You Can Leave Your Hat On - Joe Cocker
So Hott - Kid Rock
Cream - Prince
D'Yer Mak'er - Led Zeppelin
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Confession: Since the first time I heard it back in the early 90's, I've always wanted to strip to Purple Haze by The Cure.

Take a listen. I think you'll agree it is a surprisingly strip-worthy song.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here's me, texting Jim last night: "Quick: What's the best strip club song of all time?"

Jim: "Pour Some Sugar on Me"

Me: "I figured"

An hour later (keep in mind, he's been in Las Vegas, the Dancing Cooter Capital of the Planet, since Sunday).

Jim: "It's been so long since I went to one I don't know what's popular."

Me: "Right. It took you long enough to come up with that answer. I was waiting."

Jim: "My personal favorite is Lick It Up by Kiss."

Me: "There ya go."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So what's your perfect set? What makes the perfect stripper song?

Isn't 'popped in the cooter' fun to say?

Say it with me: POPPED IN THE COOTER.

Thank you, Dave.

Clapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening: Hedy's Perfect Set
I am reading: Still nothing
And I am: thinking about installing a brass pole in the basement

Dubious distinctions

Sitting in a meeting the other day, I heard this:

"He received the networker of the year award from. . ."

I'm bummed for not catching the bestower of said award, but at that point I had to tune out, my mind racing as it was.

Networker of the year? There's an award for people who make small talk with strangers while downing crappy crudites and piss-warm wine?

Who knew?

And how does one become networker of the year?

Is it based on the number of business cards collected? Name badges from inane seminars? Free plastic pens?

"That rat bastard Randy won networker of the year because I had to miss the Women's Business Associates Technology Specialists Hiring Information Executive Resources Networking Forum Hoo-Ha Roundtable Club last month. I should've just blown off mom's funeral. It's not like she woulda missed me."

I fucking hate those things. Mostly because I'm an introvert.

Well. I'm a high-functioning introvert, which means I can tolerate small talk as long as Jack Daniels is also in on the conversation.

The fact is, anyone who achieves Networker of the Year is most definitely NOT spending enough time in the office - oh, I dunno - actually DOING things that will make a DIFFERENCE.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of dubious distinctions, have you heard that Chicago is now the murder capital of the U.S.?

YAY, Chicago!

Clapclapclapclapclapclapclap...wait.

Yep.

#1 in murders, capped off by the recent Jennifer Hudson family tragedy which is just off-the-charts fucked up.

What's worse - and I knew I heard this correctly but had trouble finding the quotes - is this:

Serious crime is up but arrests are down in Chicago, and some police officers say they are working the streets less aggressively out of resentment toward their new chief and fear of being second-guessed by him.

Yes, this a fairly complicated issue. Chicago cops have been working without a contract for like, 100 years, or something. And apparently someone decided it was a good idea to hire an outsider to head up the Chicago Police Department. The nerve.

Here's what I just don't get. These guys are cops, right? With guns? Tough guys trained to handle difficult, tense, incredibly dangerous situations to protect the public?

Right.

So if they're being paid to do a job (by taxpayers, nonetheless), yet they're slacking off because they don't like their boss, how does that make them anything but whiny, slacking little bitches?

Just asking.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Confession: I have a somewhat dubious distinction myself.

We know, Hedy. You're joyfully post-coital.

No, that's not it.

I make the World's Greatest Grilled Cheese Sammich.

Seriously. If ass-hats like that networker of the year can get a plaque for yapping all day, I oughtta get something for the masterful way I melt cheese between two buttered slices of bread, yes?

At least I've got Gromit's vote locked up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Are you on LinkedIn? It's like MySpace and Facebook for fancypants executive types.

The thing that kills me is the 'Answers' forum - where curious and/or helpful folks can ask and answer questions presumably related to professional matters.

This week's Top Expert is Dave Maskin, a self-dubbed 'trade show traffic builder', who has answered a whopping 386 questions.

Yep. 386 questions.

I'm guessing he's unemployed. Or he's a 'consultant' which is workspeak for unemployed.

Anyone with enough time to answer 386 questions in one week is a) Not getting laid and b) Desperately needing to get out of the house.

Perhaps he should go to a networking hoo-ha seminar event forum club.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Daily Show
I am reading: Nothing, too tired lately
And I am: All dubious and shit

Joyfully something or other

"You're FAMOUS!"

That was my friend Jeff on IM yesterday morning.

"?"

"Sending post-coital songs to Neil..."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Post-coital. His words."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Let's backtrack.

On Sunday, my guy Neil Steinberg complained about the dearth of decent love songs over the past 15 years.

He asked readers: "Do they write good love songs anymore? And what might they be?"

Post-haste, I sent the following:

I'm Yours by Jason Mraz.

Cheers,

Heather S______
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's a great song. Apparently Neil agreed. Sorta. In yesterday's column.

Heather S______ suggested 'I’m Yours' by Jason Mraz, a joyfully post-coital, reggae-syncopated song.

Joyfully post-coital? JOYFULLY? POST-COITAL?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hey Mom, I'm in the Sun-Times today."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, just search for 'joyfully post-coital' and you'll find me."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's better than making the news for something illegal. And it is semi-poetic, I suppose.

Actually, I believe 'joyfully post-coital' was the phrase under my high school yearbook picture in 1984.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Great. This is just great.

Thanks to Neil, I'm now the #2 Google hit for 'joyfully post-coital'.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jason Mraz's I'm Yours is joyful. Yes.

Post-coital? Hell, no.

It's romantic. It's about jumping into something with both feet and no regrets. It's about shedding your ego and starting fresh.

If you want post-coital, check out Smell Yo Dick by Riskay. It reeks of post-coital. And it's catchy. Certainly not one of the top 50 love songs from the past 15 years, but it has some seriously sticky staying power. So to speak.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So any thoughts on great love songs from the past 15 (okay, maybe 20) years?

Here are some of my favorites:

Candy - Iggy Pop & Kate Pierson
To Make You Feel My Love - Garth Brooks
Rhythm of Your Shoes - O.A.R.
Skyway - The Replacements
I Don't Want to Miss a Thing - Aerosmith
Come Away With Me - Norah Jones
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I suppose the better question is: Do you and your favorite someone have a song?

We do. And it's not remotely post-coital.

Of course applying 'coital' to anything by Bob Dylan would be a bit of a stretch.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: You Belong to Me - Bob Dylan
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Joyfully post...oh, whatever

My favorite s-word

Here's someone accusing McCain of being a socialist eight years ago. She's a student from Moe's alma mater, no less (wait for it):



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Please note: I did not call John McCain a socialist.

Jon Stewart from The Daily Show did, using irony and humor.

The fact is, Obama and McCain aren't socialists.

They're both outstanding Americans - who have done far more with their lives than you or I could ever hope to - and who have very different ideas about how to best serve their country and its citizens.

If we could get beyond the outrageous accusations, we might just be able to figure out who is best qualified to lead the free world for the next four years.

Wouldn't that be lovely?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Who Knew - Pink
I am reading: Neil at the Sun-Times
And I am: Still giggling over the whole sheep f*@cker thing

Sad dog

This is what a very sad dog looks like when his favorite person has been gone to Europe for two weeks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The furnace running
I am reading: Neil at the Sun-Times
And I am: Really wishing it was Friday

Welcome!

It’s been an interesting few days here at HedyBlog.

I’ve been called classless. Stupid. Immature.

And those are the really charming parts.

I’ve rejected more comments over the past three days than I have in the entire three year history of HedyBlog.

It’s nuts.

Aside from discovering a veritable ass-load of unhinged, angry people, here is perhaps the most interesting thing I’ve learned from all of this: There seems to be a popular misconception about why HedyBlog even exists.

Let me clarify.

I don’t write for you. Or you, either.

Let’s repeat that last part just in case you Lazy-ass Republicans didn’t catch it the first time:

I DON’T WRITE FOR YOU.

And although I am profoundly grateful for my regular readers and the great friends I’ve met through this silly hobby of mine, I don’t write for them either.

I write for me.

It doesn’t cost anything but time. It amuses me, keeps me writing and helps me figure things out.

Then why publish a blog, Hedy? Why make it public?

I started this blog because I don't like talking on the phone much and it was the easiest way to let my friends near and far know I'm still alive and cussing.

Obviously it's turned into more than 'what I did over the weekend' and, much to my unfettered delight, certain people have come to expect updates on a regular basis.

But still. I write for me. Not them. And not you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I just realized the first post ever published here at HedyBlog is worth re-publishing today:

Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Welcome

"I never know what's going on with her."
"She doesn't call, she doesn't write."

Problem solved!

Welcome to Hedy's Blog.

Just to set expectations, here are a few:

1) I'll update this on a regular, yet random basis to keep you in the loop on what's going on in my world.
2) This blog is rated "R" so expect swearing (surprise!)
3) The opinions expressed here are entirely my own. If you don't agree, get your own blog.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Well now it all makes sense, Hedy. I'm surprised you have any friends at all if you don't call or write them very often.

Yeah, I was expecting that. More ugliness. Fabulous.

If your definition of friendship involves chatting with each other 20 times a day and cuddly-wuddly sleepovers every weekend, that's GREAT.

I don't understand it, but if it works for you, that's GREAT.

That said, you probably wouldn't understand my definition of friendship, either, so let's agree not to judge each other on that and move along.

Sound reasonable?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Here’s the upside to all the commentary carnage over the past few days: I’ve had a serious case of the giggles lately because it appears that all these ugly, angry comments have come from men.

Why?

My assumption is due to the other apparent misconception that I’m somehow very concerned with the number of people who visit my blog and the number of comments I receive.

"Let's see, 15 comments. Eight of them were from you, three from me. That leaves a big 4 from others. I guess the Great and Powerful Hedy is not quite as great as she thinks."

Typical male preoccupation with quantity and size.

Wait. I shouldn't generalize. It's not fair, is it?

Typical short-statured, small-penised male preoccupation with quantity and size. That's better.

Again. I write for me.

HedyBlog gets a respectable number of hits per day. If you’ve contributed a comment or two here, you know I don’t always respond. I comment on a handful of other blogs because I find them interesting and I have something useful to contribute, not because of some silly, obligatory, circle jerk quid pro quo.

Life is not a contest, folks. It doesn't matter how many hits or comments you receive, it's all about offending as many people as possible.

That was a joke.

Speaking of jokes, here's another thing I learned: Angry people are, by and large, rather humorless. And irony is challenging for them. I think it has to do with the whole tiny wiener thing. I think.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What about the Lazy-ass Republicans comment? Sorry folks, but that was not a generalization on all Republicans - some of my very favorite people fly with the right wing.

It was meant for Republicans who ask silly questions (How the hell do you know what Obama is? He hasn't done anything! Tell me what he has done while senator.) when the answers are right here. And here. And here.

And don't even get me started on someone who refers to a person as a 'what'.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anyhoo.

If you choose to read this blog (and freedom to choose what you read is one of the very best things about living here in America, don’t you agree?) that’s great.

Thank you.

But if what I’m saying bugs you to the point where you’re firing off ugly, angry missives to someone you don’t even know, it’s time to step away from the computer and think about why you’re so angry.

Surely it can't be me. Or this silly, immature, classless blog.

Perhaps you need to get laid more often.

I know that’s why I’m angry lately. Well, that and the economy. But while both involve getting fucked, the one has nothing to do with the other. Really.

More jokey irony there, FYI. Feel free to beat me up over bein' classy with the really bad swears some more. But only if it makes you feel extra cuddly-wuddly good about yourself. And thanks, but I realize jokey isn't a word. Neither is tiny-wienered.

Also: I’m not publishing angry comments here anymore.

It’s not because I don’t like hearing other opinions, it’s because of the frightening and downright creepy nature of them.

If you’re going to make outlandish statements (He’s a socialist!) please give us all the benefit of your wisdom and provide a link or two backing it up. Otherwise, you’re wasting your time here and I’ll say it nicely this time: Please move along. Please find another place to vent. And for the sake of your loved ones, seek help for your anger management issues.

However. If you have a reasoned, interesting, thoughtful perspective on the topics covered here, your comment always will be published. Promise.

So. To summarize:

1) I don't write for you
2) I especially don't write for angry men with tiny wieners
3) If you happen to be angry and/or tiny-wienered, please stay away (a very good policy even beyond blogging, right ladies?)
4) Thank you. And welcome.

TA-DA!

Clapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclap!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Daily Show
I am reading: Truth, justice and normalcy by Leonard Pitts, Jr. in the Trib
And I am: Not writing for you, either.

Intellectual curiosity

intellect |ˈintlˌekt|
noun
the faculty of reasoning and understanding objectively, esp. with regard to abstract or academic matters : he was a man of action rather than of intellect.

curiosity |ˌkyoŏrēˈäsitē|
noun ( pl. -ties)
a strong desire to know or learn something : filled with curiosity, she peered through the window.

Intellectual curiosity
A strong desire to learn more about a person, a thing or a way of life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Have you heard this phrase? Intellectual curiosity.

It’s been tossed around a lot in the media lately with regard to a particular presidential candidate.

In fact, after Sunday’s Meet the Press, we can safely say it’s become the ‘gravitas’ of this decidedly crappy campaign season.

I looked it up because I didn’t want to assume I knew what it meant.

And that’s pretty much the definition of intellectual curiosity.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Remember gravitas?

From Latin for ‘big heavy balls’, gravitas became a veritable media darling after Bush chose Cheney for VP.

My how things have changed.

I wonder if there’s a Latin word for Moose-lovin’ maverick.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Intellectual curiosity.

It means never assuming you have all the answers. Never assuming that you know everything there is to know about a person, a thing or a way of life.

It means constantly striving to understand our world and why people do the occasionally bat-shit crazy things they do.

It also means seeking out diverse information sources and opinions, rather than relying on the sources that reinforce your view of the world. Taking an objective view of things before drawing conclusions.

I suppose there is a certain comfort in having everything figured out. You can categorize people: good/evil, right/wrong, conservative/liberal, democrat/socialist, greedy/generous.

We're all guilty of it occasionally. Because it simplifies things. Makes it easier to understand this highly complex world of ours.

But the people who have all the answers all the time – the people who have everything and everyone neatly packaged and labeled – scare the living hell out of me.

Because if you have it all figured out, you’ve stopped asking questions. You’ve given up trying to understand people.

And that’s where all the good stuff is.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: I Wish You Love – Rachael Yamagata
I am reading: Leondard Pitts Jr. in The Chicago Tribune
And I am: Quietly curious

A fleeting memory, a banished wish

The Houston Chronicle endorsed Obama yesterday. The paper hasn't endorsed a Democrat since 1964.

But as of Friday, this sort of thing is becoming rather commonplace and is not the point of today's post.

Reading this from the Houston Chronicle's endorsement sparked a memory from the day McCain announced his pick for VP:

Perhaps the worst mistake McCain made in his campaign for the White House was the choice of the inexperienced and inflammatory Palin as his vice-presidential running mate. Had he selected a moderate, experienced Republican lawmaker such as Texas Sen. Kay Bailey Hutchison with a strong appeal to independents, the Chronicle's choice for an endorsement would have been far more difficult.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
IM'ing with a friend on August 29, 2008:

9:54:21 AM Jeff: McCain just pandered to women....
9:54:24 AM Jeff: you gonna fall for it?
9:55:34 AM Heather: lol
9:55:40 AM Heather: I don't really like him much
9:58:07 AM Jeff: yeah... but he picked a WOMAN to run as his VEEP... doesn't that mean you are required to vote for him & her?
9:58:46 AM Heather: oh jeez...didn't know that
9:58:54 AM Heather: who'd he pick? Kay Bailey Hutch?
9:59:11 AM Jeff: Governor Palin Alaska
9:59:23 AM Heather: ahhh interesting
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I would've liked to see what a truly qualified vice presidential candidate would've done for McCain's campaign -- be they Kay Bailey Hutchison, Liddy Dole, or Rudy Giuliani.

I would've really liked that race.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Bears beat up the Vikings
I am reading: This article regarding the income inequality gap from the WSJ
And I am: Wistful

A Grand Day Out

Sometimes I scratch the door to Go Out and Pee.

Often, especially following meals, it's to Go Out and Poop.

Occasionally, it's for what I refer to as the Grand Pottée: A Pee, followed by a Poop, capped off with yet another Pee.

She always feels compelled to offer instruction as I depart.

"Go Out and Poop," She says helpfully, as if I need guidance on this, the most basic of bodily functions.

But on bright and glorious days like today -- I, Gromit Dog -- scratch the door for something else: To Go Out and Sun Myself on the Deck.

She loves it when I do this. She told He it's a sign of my Superior Intellect.

Meh.

As if any celebretard doesn't appreciate the simple act of sunbathing.

Still.

She didn't quite understand the appeal, as She prefers the chaise lounge.

Until today.

Sprawled on the deck in my usual spot by the impatiens-filled pottery, basking in the glory of a decidedly perfect late-autumn day, suddenly She's next to me.

On the deck. On her back. Smiling. And sighing.

"Now I understand," She says. "The wood is wonderfully warm. It feels good."

She snaps a photo to commemorate the occasion.

Superior intellect, my fuzzy little ass.

But She'll get there eventually.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Animal Planet
I am reading: Investigations of a Dog by Franz Kafka
And I am: One Smart Puppy

Interesting

The Chicago Tribune endorsed Obama today.

The first time in the paper's history that the editorial staff has chosen a Democrat. It was founded in 1847.

Also today: The Washington Post (another relatively conservative paper) announced it is endorsing Obama as well.

Here's what is most interesting: Both of the papers cited McCain's choice of running mate Sarah Palin as a major reason for their decisions.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Amazing Life - Jem
I am reading: The endorsements
And I am: Fine

Where I'm from

Pet peeve #3,874:

"Oh, you're from Michigan? Where?"

"Mount Clemens...well, where I grew up they call it Macomb now."

"Is that near West Bloomfield?"

"Um, no, it's er, northeast of Detroit."

"Oh. I only know people from West Bloomfield."

God...DAMMIT.

If you haven't guessed, West Bloomfield is where all the 'My car is worth more than your home' people live.

Makes me feel like I'm in that scene from Caddyshack when the wealthy kid says 'Really...are you going to Harvard?' and Danny replies 'No, I'm going to St. Copias of northern. . .'

Yep.

What really kills me is this: Michigan is a HUGE state. Huge.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Round Here - Counting Crows
I am reading: Updates to my event wiki
And I am: From the CLEM, dammit!

Endorsements

Jeez, Hedy. Enough with the politics. We're sick of it. We're sick of bad news. And we're tired of all the negativity.

I know! So these endorsements involve two of America's favorite pastimes: Entertainment and Shopping!

YAY, America!

Movies

Freedom Writers - This is an amazing true story. A step way, way above any of the other white-teacher-makes-a-difference-in-the-projects flicks. Worlds better than Finding Forrester (my former favorite in this genre). I've watched it twice in the past 24 hours. If you watch one movie in the next two weeks, make it this one. Relatively kid-friendly with a tiny bit of violence and language, but so powerful.

Ironman - I'm more of a Merchant Ivory chick, so I don't get much from the comic book movies. But this is fun for one reason: Robert Downey, Jr. He's brilliant and captivating. A bit of violence, but again, fairly safe for kids.

The Color Purple - Hadn't watched this movie (based on Alice Walker's Pulitzer Prize winning novel) since the late 80's when, flipping through the channels, I found it a few weekends ago. It's as powerful as ever. Amazing story - amazing cast. Fuck Out of Africa. This movie should've won the Best Picture Oscar.

The Full Monty - This is like the anti-Christ of Merchant Ivory films but I love love love it. Watch it with subtitles on because the accents can be dodgy. I cry laughing over the gnome interview scene every time. In my top 10 favorites of all time.

The Queen - Speaking of Brit flicks, this film gives us a glimpse into the weird, wacky lives of the royal family immediately following Princess Di's untimely death. I don't know how accurate it is. Hellen Mirren's queen cries over a dead buck but is a cold-hearted bitch when it comes to Diana. Sad but interesting.

TV Shows

True Blood - I read Salem's Lot by Stephen King in high school. Before that, it was Detroit's Sir Graves Ghastly who lovingly introduced me to all of the classic horror flicks, including Dracula. That said, I'm not a huge fan of vampire books and flicks. That silly-ass born again twat Ann Rice ruined it for me. However. This show, written by Alan Ball -- who created Six Feet Under and American Beauty -- sucks you right in. Sorry. Still. Amazing characters and fantastic writing, but not at all kid-safe.

The Big Bang Theory - Confession: I'm a geek freak. Be smart. Make me laugh. And I'm all yours. Watch this show if you want to understand what churns my butter.

Dexter - You know those chicks who write letters to prison inmates? Although this show's serial killer (who only kills really bad people) hasn't been caught yet, I finally understand those nutty broads. Fascinating premise. Good writing. And Captain Yummy Pants, Michael C. Hall is a real killer.

Products

Apple wired keyboard - I went to Best Buy with the intention of purchasing a new Apple keyboard for my desk at work. Against my better judgment (it's a long story) I came home with the Rocketfish Bluetooth keyboard - an utterly disappointing piece of shit for several reasons: Lame set-up instructions, a virtually worthless web site, and (most important) a loud, clunky keyboard. I came home and took the time to pair the keyboard with my Mac that night rather than having to fiddle with it in the morning at work. It took six (!) times to get the Mac to recognize the keyboard and when I got in the office the next day, it didn't remember the keyboard. And yes, my Mac was set to remember the hardware. I returned to Best Buy that night and got the Apple keyboard. Soft, silent and remarkably well made. Bonus: The Apple keyboard was $10 cheaper so I had extra cash to get the Ironman DVD for Jim. So, the lesson here, kiddies: When you have the opportunity to purchase something from Apple, don't fuck around, just do it.

Pill Pockets for Dogs - Gromit is a decidedly middle-aged dog. He's on more meds than us, and that's saying a lot. And he's no fool (as you well know). You can't bury the pills in his food because he'll eat around them. Pill Pockets are perfect for providing pills to your persnickety pooch.

Gap Undies - I pretty much hate this store. The clothes are overpriced and lately they feel cheap. But I wandered in a few weeks ago and they had a sale on squirrel covers so I picked up a few. I have to say they make me feel like Gladys. Gladys, Hedy? Yes. Gladys. Glad-ass. Happy bottom. Good stuff.

The Pet Trainer - I'll never forget this. The first time little 8-week old Grommie visited the vet, his doctor told me two things: 1) I hope you didn't get this dog for protection, because he's a sweetheart and 2) He will always tell you exactly how he feels. In case you haven't noticed, Gromit can be rather outspoken. Which is a nice way of saying he has a tendency to bark his ass off. Especially if you're swimming. Or eating dinner. Or simply in the other room, ignoring him. A couple months ago Jim's mom picked up the Pet Trainer for us and it works remarkably well. It supposedly emits an ultrasonic tone that is irritating to dogs. I dunno, but every time we hit the button, Grommie squinches up his face just like Sarah Palin when Katie Couric asked about her foreign policy experience. The best part? We don't have to actually use it any more. If he gets barky, we just pull it outta the drawer and he shuts right up. Smart dog.

Dr. Feelgood's face balm - About 2 p.m. every day, my face gets about as greasy as a Mr. Beef's Italian, which is best eaten off of the sports section of the Chicago Sun-Times because Mr. Beef doesn't provide trays. Anyhow. Back at my face. It ain't just T-zone, either. It's AOFF-zone. As in All Over my Fucking Face. But no more. Dr. Feelgood - in spite of the unfortunate Crue-esque name - is fantastic. No more Mr. Beef forehead. As Jim likes to say: Just a steamin' pile o' cute.

iPhone - If God had a mobile phone, it would be the iPhone. Of course there ain't an app for talking to The Lord just yet, but I'm sure those clever buggers over at Apple will announce it soon. Email. Internet. All kinds of cool gadgets wrapped up in the easiest, most comfortable, most useful phone you could ever want. Can I get an amen? AMEN!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Bad Things - Jace Everett
I am reading: Not much
And I am: Relaxed

The opposite of Arab is....

Here's a transcript from an exchange between McCain and one of his supporters at a recent rally. They're talking about Barack Obama:

"He's...he's an Arab," says a woman from the audience.

"No. No ma’am. No ma'am. He’s a decent, family man citizen that I happen to have disagreements with on fundamental issues," says McCain.

Did you catch that? Here's the video.

But HEDY - you PROMISED you weren't going to write about politics.

This is more of a social commentary than political. Truly.

So the woman calls Obama an Arab and McCain says "No, he's a decent citizen."

As if the 3,500,000 Arab Americans living here in the United States aren't decent citizens?

Well, I'm sure some of them are complete assholes, but it's not as if simply by virtue of being Arab, they're automatically terrorists, criminals, and liars.

Right?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The Chicago Marathon, waiting for Meet the Press
I am reading: Stoking fear of The Other by Steinberg
And I am: Sad

Quiet

Unlike my friend Moe, I have no legitimate excuse for not posting this week.

He's right, you know.

Our lives will change because of what's happening in the global economy.

Although you wouldn't know it. The parking lot was jammed as usual at the Chicago Premium Outlet off of I-88 this afternoon.

And there was an hour wait at the restaurant we went to last night - so we ended up eating at the bar.

So. This means either a) People don't realize how bad things really are or b) They realize and are making themselves feel better in typical American fashion by drinking, eating and shopping.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Freedom Writers
I am reading: Research on Bill Ayers
And I am: Tense

The Zen Question

"What don't you know and how will you learn it?"

"Great question. They say that wisdom begins when you admit what you don't know. I'd like to end this debate with perhaps the first honest, direct answer of the evening. I don't know if I'll be able to accomplish all the things I've been talking about throughout this campaign. I don't know when this fuckstorm of an economy is going to turn around. I don't know if you'll be better off four years from now. But I do know that putting you - the American people - first for a change and really listening to what you know about this great country of ours would be a good start towards learning more about the things that I don't know. Thanks for listening to us tonight; it's time we started listening to you."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: NBC5 News
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Really craving some candor

A bit of non-partisan frustration, if you don't mind

Senators Obama and McCain: ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTIONS.
~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: A bunch of blah blah
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Frustrated

Best day

We're heading into this highly anticipated Big Wedding Weekend as my friend Susan so lovingly pointed out yesterday.

It's 9:33 a.m. And I'm eating Cheez-Its for breakfast.

I'm not crazy, just incredibly hormonal.

Yep. Perhaps one of the most emotionally-charged events in recent memory and I'm fixin' to bleed.

I was choking up at the rehearsal last night. Without serious help from Jack Daniels today, I'm going to be a blubbering pile of snot before we even make it to the church.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Are you glad you married me?" I ask yesterday, after a lovely and unexpected afternoon visit with the Bride and Groom.

It's not quite enough to be cramped and bloated and crabby, I have to become a bleeding Mrs. Beasley doll -- pull my cord and instead of 'Would you like to try on my glasses?' or 'Do you want to know a secret?' it's the same four questions:

• Do you love me?
• Do I look fat?
• Are you glad you married me?
• WHERE IS THE CHIP DIP?

~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Are you glad you married me?"

"Yes. It was the best day of my life."

"You're lying."

"Yes. I'm lying. It was the day Karen Abbott gave me a blowjob. But our wedding was a close second."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
And that is what I wish for our dear friends Steve and Judy on this brightest and most blessed of days: Laughter.

Keep laughing together and your best day will never be behind or ahead of you, but today.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: This Will Be (An Everlasting Love) - Natalie Cole
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Bleeding and blessed

VP schmeepees

I peed in my pants a little when Biden said 'Bosniacs.'

Da says she lost; Mom says she won.

I've promised not to talk about this until I can be nice, so I'll just say G'night and God Bless Ya to Joe SixPack and the Soccer Mom.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Tom Brokaw talking like he has marbles in his mouth
I am reading: Nothing, too tired
And I am: Sleeping in tomorrow

The question

"Hedy, when it comes to establishing your world view, I was curious, what newspapers and magazines do you regularly read to stay informed and to understand the world?"

"I'm so glad you asked, Katie. I read the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the Chicago Tribune on a daily basis. For a more global perspective, I also read the International Herald-Tribune and the Scotsman. I listen to the local NPR station as often as I can. For a more irreverent (yet truthful) perspective on world events, I subscribe to the Daily Show via iTunes and visit Fark every day. I also have Google reader set up on my iPhone so I can do a quick scan of news first thing in the morning. As for magazines, I subscribe to Newsweek and Real Simple. My husband gets Playboy and I read that every month, too. Great stuff in there about major Supreme Court rulings and whathaveyou."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Amazing Life - Jem
I am reading: Here Comes Everybody by Clay Shirky
And I am: Informed

The perfect sandwich

“So I read your blog. You’re not going to write about politics or religion anymore?”

That was Mom on the way to the train this morning.

“Nope. Not until I can figure out how to do it without being offensive.”

“Well that’s good,” she says.

“Yeah, we’ll see how long it lasts.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Watching late night TV on Monday, it hit me: The ingredients for the perfect sandwich.

The perfect sandwich, Hedy? Is this what it’s come to? Recipes?

Right. I don’t cook.

Last night I turned off the oven light All By Myself and received a standing ovation from Jim and our friend You Know Who.

To be perfectly honest they didn’t exactly stand up. Or clap. But it was a proud culinary moment nonetheless.

Anyhow. Just because I don’t know my way around the kitchen doesn’t mean I don’t know what tastes good.

So here ya go:

Hedy’s Recipe for the Perfect Sandwich

1) Russell Crowe
2) Craig Ferguson

Ta-da!

Clapclapclapclapclapclapclapclapclap.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were expecting bread and condiments, not beefcake? C’mon.

The idea of Craig and Russell making a Hedy sammich is sometimes the only thing that gets me through the day.

Well, at least since yesterday.

Before then it was more of a Craig Ferguson flat-bread pizza with a smidge of extra virgin olive oil. And a banjo.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hedy, your sandwich seems a little meat-heavy, won’t that be rather, um, filling?

Exactly.

Bon appétit!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Don’t Tell Me - Madonna
I am reading: Here Comes Everybody – The Power of Organizing Without Organizations by Clay Shirky
And I am: Hungry

The point of my story

I was fortunate to spend last Sunday afternoon with my dear friend Susan, and, as expected, the conversation turned to God and politics.

She shared two stories with me:

Last week she found herself walking to work next to a woman – obviously a Democrat – sporting an Obama button on her bag. Seizing what Susan thought was a great opportunity to learn more about a supporter of this candidate, she asked the woman: “Would you mind telling me why you’re supporting Obama?” The woman looked at her coldly, almost angrily, and said: “No, I don’t like sharing my views on politics.”

We agreed that – whether you’re wearing a symbol of your faith or a political button – if you’re going to advertise your beliefs, you ought to at least be willing to talk about them with curious strangers.

The other story involved her son. Apparently he has an Obama bumper sticker on his car. Sitting at a red light last week, a woman in the car next to him – obviously a Republican – started yelling at him about supporting a man she considered a terrorist and/or the Anti-Christ.

The point is, while it was obvious that both of these women held decidedly strong political views, neither of them was doing their chosen candidate any favors by their actions.

Which brings me to the point of my story.

I love this blog. I love what it’s done for me personally. It keeps me writing every day, helps me figure things out, and gives me something to do besides my other hobby, eating.

Most of all, I love how it helps me stay connected with people from all over the world – my oldest friends like Moe and Nelson and DewMama and my newest friends like Susan and Dave and Pos.

But I realized this week that I’m no good at writing about religion and politics.

I’m offensive. A caterwauling shrew.

A caustic bitch, as my dear friend You Know Who lovingly calls me.

The fact is, like those two ladies from Susan’s stories, I’m not doing my politics or my faith any favors by writing about them here.

So I’m not going to talk about that stuff until I can figure out a way to do it without being rude.

I suspect the solution involves story telling. The best stories don’t beat you over the head with a moral – they sneak up on you, surprise you with how you feel, and offer lessons that can transform your life and your views.

Thanks, Susan, for sharing your stories. And thanks to all of you for staying with me for this long story.
~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Breathe Me - Sia
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Still learning

Bread and circuses

I went to the Bears game last night and, while I enjoyed it very much, I couldn't help but look out into the crowd of orange and blue and think about bread and circuses.

According to Wikipedia, it is Latin (panem et circenses): An ancient Roman metaphor for people choosing food and fun over freedom. It often appears in commentary that accuses people of giving up their civic duty and following whichever political leader offers to satisfy their decadent desires.

Biggest financial meltdown since the recession and we're screaming at the Eagles.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Off on Your Own - Al B. Sure!
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Tired

Attention Dave & Pos

Get this, guys.

We've been censored.

I thought we lived in America. But in the Land of Moe, no dissenting opinions are allowed.

Moe has removed us from his blog roll. I discovered it this morning and sent him the following text message:

"You deleted my blog from your list. Nice."

His reply?

"Until after the election...I don't promote anger and bitterness."

Anger? Bitterness?

This, from the whiner who cries censorship if he has to wait more than five minutes for me to publish his comments?

From the guy who, just yesterday, was ready to sword fight with some nail-clipping schmoe in the sauna?

From a guy who nearly gets his ass kicked on a golf course because some golfer is taking too many practice swings?

Moe invented anger and bitterness.

So it's not surprising that he's also a closet Communist.

But Chairman Mao Moe has spoken. There will be no dissent in the People's Republic of Moe.

So what say you, comrades? Are we deleting him from our blogs, too?

Or are we gonna take the high road, be charitable, and show Moe what true blue Americans are all about?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: SNL
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Censored

Best quote re: Palin

"My cringe reflex is exhausted.”

This, from Kathleen Parker, a conservative syndicated columnist.

Me too, Kathleen. Me too.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Craig Ferguson
I am reading: Not much
And I am: Cringing

A fart in church

I didn't watch the debate.

I know.

I have priorities. And my good friends will always be more important than politics.

That said, I came into it at the point when Biden was offering his assessment of what transpired.

Then -- like a fart in church -- NBC's Brian Williams says: "Although invited, Republican Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin declined to comment so we have former mayor of New York City Rudy Giuliani here to give the Republican perspective on tonight's debate."

Heh?

Palin is sidelined and Giuliani (arguably the most liberal Republican on the planet) steps in? WTF?

Oh. Right. Did you see this? Maybe you didn't. Here it is again:



Honestly, my favorite part is when that wacky bitch says: "Our next door neighbors are foreign countries. They're in the state that I am the executive of."

Yep.

"They're in the state that I am the executive of."

A heart beat away from president and she's ending sentences with a preposition.

I could cry. Or laugh. I can't decide. Wanna debate?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Post-debate blah blah
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Confident

I got me some foreign policy experience, too, dagnabbit

Just watch this moronic bitch and tell me she should be leading anything but maybe the annual Girl Scout cookie sale:



Hmmmm...reminds you of another video, doesn't it? Such as...



Furthermore, I grew up in Mt. Clemens, Michigan -- a town about 30 minutes from Windsor, Canada. I'm no beauty queen, but I guess that makes me an expert on foreign relations.

"You see, the Canadians, are uh, right over there and ya know, uh, sometimes their Canadian coins get mixed in with our U.S. coins, so I'm not only an expert on foreign policy but on international monetary policy, too. Except you can't use their coins in our parking meters, which is a real bummer, ya know? You betcha. Alrighty."

Fuck that. Cookies are too yummy and important to be trusted to this silly twat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Entourage
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Disgusted again, sorry

This side of the room

It’s your standard-issue dorm room. One of thousands on this mid-sized, Midwestern college campus.

Snug. Yet functional. With just enough room for two beds, two desks, a fridge, and a TV.

As for its occupants, they will struggle to share this space because they are worlds apart.

On that side of the room, it’s White Sox. And tits. No reading material beyond the required and ridiculously expensive textbooks. There’s a box of Kleenex on the shelf by the bed. It’s bland. Average. Orderly. Nothing at all extraordinary or unexpected.

But on this side of the room, it’s another story.

It’s Tom Wolfe and Hunter S. Thompson. A psychedelic poster graces one wall, a Fear and Loathing poster, the other. Pencil drawings taped above the bed. Empty liquor bottles stuffed behind the bolster. This side is delightfully – almost intentionally – cluttered.

These two kids are freshman. At the dawn of their professional adult lives.

Who are you betting on?
~~~~~~~~~~~
People like us – from this side of the room – don’t take the standard, acceptable path to get where we are.

Some people call us courageous. But following our own path has always been more about instinct than bravery.

Things don’t always go according to plan for us because, quite frankly, there is no plan.

We don’t always follow the rules. Because some of the rules are downright ridiculous.

We don’t learn from the mistakes of others – preferring to stir up our own share of fresh (often silly, always exciting) screw-ups.

What’s ordinary bores us. We’re drawn to everything sophomoric and irreverent and rude because it helps us escape everything that’s expected and typical and normal.

We’ve disappointed our parents and friends, teachers and bosses. But these are the same people who are still around, rejoicing the most when things go well for us, because they knew we had it in us all along.

We’re attractively normal looking (much to our disappointment and undying dismay) but are always more comfortable among the freaks on the fringes.

We’re scarred. But rarely scared because we’ve survived more than our share of self-induced shit.

We’re atypical addicts. Food, sex, drugs, booze – you name it, we’ve got it. But there’s no AA meeting, no counselor, no ‘Higher Power’ that’ll rid us of our demons because we know them so well, they know their place, and we genuinely enjoy having them around.

We know damn well why we do the crazy-ass shit we do – we’re often excruciatingly self-aware – but will rarely change because it’s what keeps us so alive, so lively.

We don’t talk much. When we do, it’s meaningful. It has to be. Our silence, coupled with our innate inability to follow anyone (ever) makes us reluctant leaders. We’re destined to disappoint our followers, too, but they’ll stay with us because we’re the only people honest enough to tell them the really right thing to do.

We’re happy to play The Fool – keenly, often uncouthly stating the truth when everyone else remains silently satisfied with lies.

We are also capable of great foolishness. But don’t be mistaken – we rarely suffer fools.

It could be intelligence. A bit of creativity. However, we believe it’s mostly some cosmic quirk that allows us to experience a little more success than most. We also know we’re quite capable of losing everything at any moment, so we tend to be more grateful than most, too.

We’re the kids from this side of the room. Bet on us.
~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Dissident – Pearl Jam
I am reading: The Pleasures of the Damned: Poems, 1951 - 1993 by Charles Bukowski
And I am: From this side of the room

Traveling with Balzac

A few years before we were married, I met Jim in Paris for a long weekend.

It was a great trip -- he was in Europe for work and I got there a day early, visiting the Palace of Versailles by myself.

Once he arrived, we made a beeline to the Eiffel Tower. The next day, the Louvre. And a very memorable evening in Montmartre.

But the best part of the trip was an ages old cemetery called Pere-Lachaise. It was fascinating. Tons of famous people are buried there. Moliere. Proust. Gertrude Stein. Jim Morrison.


And the famous French novelist and playwright Honore de Balzac.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Speaking of Balzac, I sat across from this guy on the train yesterday.






















Hedy?

Yep. You bet I snagged a shot.

They were so impressive I felt like a tourist all over again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Purple Haze - The Cure
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Traveling with Balzac

The Fictional President

If you were ever a fan of West Wing, read this amusing column from Maureen Dowd at the New York Times: Seeking a President Who Gives Goose Bumps? So's Obama.

"You were raised by a single mother on food stamps — where does a guy with eight houses who was legacied into Annapolis get off calling you an elitist?"

I sure miss Jed Barlet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Sunday house sounds
I am reading: Everything
And I am: Voting for Aaron Sorkin

How you know

Someone asked me this question the other day:

‘How do you know that you're in love?’

Great question.

I told her if she’d asked me 20 years ago, my answer would’ve been way different than today, but beyond that I’d have to think about it.

It’s been a few days and here’s my answer:

Beyond all the flowery crap, being in love comes down to two things: How you feel about what the two of you have in common and how you feel about the things you don’t have in common.
~~~~~~~~~~~
It's September. Nineteen years ago. And I'm deeply in love (the first time) with Jim.

It's a lazy Saturday afternoon and we're making out on the couch at a condo I share with two roommates. I can’t recall why we weren’t upstairs naked and abusing each other in all sorts of amusing ways, but anyhow.

“Look at that,” I say, coming up for air. “You have three moles in a triangle on your arm.”

“Yep,” he says.

“Look. So do I.”

This odd coincidence gets added to the short but growing list of things we were discovering that we had in common – right after a love of fast cars and out-of-the-way beer gardens and the raw, sinfully sarcastic humor of Sam Kinison.

The point is, back then we were looking for things that we had in common to reinforce the rather uncontrollable and irrational feelings we had for each other.

It was fucking hot. It was love.
~~~~~~~~~~~
At some point in the relationship, however, you begin to notice the differences again.

It happens right about the time the guy you love and share the odd polygonal birthmark with says he’s going to come over after a golf outing but decides to stay out partying with his buddies then shows up at your door at midnight wielding his whiskey dick.

The fact is, it happens.

You begin to come out of that initial euphoria and throttle back on noticing the things you have in common and start noticing the differences again.

If you’re self aware and not needy and/or co-dependant, you quickly realize either a) There are too many things that you don’t have in common for the relationship to survive or, hopefully, b) There are just enough things that you don’t have in common to keep things interesting for a whole lifetime.

That’s the extremely cool moment when you and your partner go from arguing about your differences, to laughing about them. It's when you go from loving all the things you have in common to loving all the things you don't have in common.

Then you’re in love all over again, only better.

Make sense?
~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Bad Things – Jace Everett
I am reading: Neil Steinberg at the Sun-Times
I am: Still here

Push

Oh. Hey. That’s not good. He/she’s really struggling in that wheelchair. It’ll take hours to get anywhere. Should I go over? Wait. See if there’s someone. Nope. Nobody to help. What would Susan do? She’d definitely help. Don’t hesitate. Just do it. Okay. I’m doing it. Wait. Some disabled people don’t want help. Asking them is offensive. But he/she’s really having a hard time. Hey, if asking causes offense, at least you asked. You’ll regret it if you don’t. Remember: What would Susan do? Okay. Here goes.

“Wanna push?”

“Oh? Yes. That would be great,” replies the somewhat bedraggled and unshaven yet obviously grateful he.

“I live right there,” he says, pointing a gnarled finger at the poshy entrance of a high-rise condo building less than 20 feet away.

Disabled. Loaded. Yet no one to help.

Interesting.

Then, a rush of words as I wheel him towards home:

“I try to do this on my own but it’s hard and I’m not even supposed to be in this thing anymore thank you so much for stopping I really appreciate it.”

“Are you in physical therapy?” I ask.

“Yes, that’s where I’m coming from.”

“They sure beat you up, don’t they?”

“YES and they don’t give you any breaks, either, I was really sweated up today.”

“I’ve been there,” I say. “Were you in an accident?”

“Sorta. I had a heart attack and they gave me the wrong medication and I had a bad reaction to it and it put me in a coma for a while.”

I’m rescued from having to say ‘That’s terrible’ or ‘What a shame’ or some other inane comment because we’re at the entrance where a tall, impeccably dressed black man hustles around the security desk to open the door.

“Could you take me upstairs?”

“I can’t leave the desk,” says the security man.

“No, I was asking her,” says the man in the chair, thumbing his shoulder.

Silence of the Lambs. The creepy pupa dude asks the chubby chick to help him load a chair into the van. I’m the chubby chick. He’s not really disabled. It’s a scam and he’s gonna get me upstairs and starve me and make a swimsuit outta my skin and no one will ever see me again. Nobody even knows where I am right now, just walking back from lunch. But he's old and lives in this ritzy-titzy condo and the security guard saw me and he obviously needs help and oh what the hell, Heather, have a little faith in the universe for once.

“Sure.”

He’s Mike. I’m Heather. He’s on floor 9 please. The hallway is all polished hardwood and much darker than I thought it would be.

“Right over here,” he says.

My heart is in my throat as he struggles to put the key in the door.

Now. Now. NOW. If this is one of those scary Stephen King stories from your childhood, NOW would be the time when he leaps up out of the wheelchair -- transforming from a weak old geezer into a crazed psychopath with Super Human Strength -- and shoves you into his lair.

Serial killers have lairs.

Rich old cripples have condos.

I roll him through the doorway, careful not to cross the threshold.

“Thanks again for your help today,” he says.

“You’re welcome. Take care.”

And thank you for not being Ed Gein.

So.

Incredibly stupid? Or just every day kindness to strangers?

What would you have done?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: If I Ever Feel Better - Phoenix
I am reading: Salesforce.com stuff
And I am: Chubby and helpful

The Washington Post does your homework

In case you're wondering which of our fine presidential candidates is going to raise your taxes, the Washington Post has created an excellent graphic that should clear things up.

Start on the left with 'Family Income in 2008 dollars' and locate your household's annual income below. Then slide your eyes across the grid to see what the two candidates have in store for your tax bracket. McCain is in red for Republican. Obama is in blue for Democrat.




















Surprised? Me too.

McCain is running ads claiming that Obama will raise taxes on the middle class.

Of course the Republican candidate believes 'wealthy' begins at $5 million, so it's easy to see how he'd think folks making more than $2.87 million per year are middle class.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"But Hedy, you can't trust the liberal media. They made up this graph to make Obama look good."

Actually, the Washington Post is known for its more conservative views.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yes, McCain's plan lowers taxes for everyone.

But here's what bothers me about this graphic: under McCain's plan, the percent decrease in taxes gets higher towards the top of the graph and goes down to practically nothing for people at or near poverty level.

I'm not a math person, but it sure seems like it ought to be the other way around. Do you know what I'm getting at?

0.2% of $18,000 amounts to dick. And 4% of $2.87 million is, well -- like I said, I'm not a math person -- but it's a veritable ass-load of money.

Call me crazy, but don't people with lower incomes need the higher percentages than people making millions of dollars per year?

Better still, why can't the tax cuts just be equal across all income levels?

"But Hedy, Obama is worse! He's raising taxes disproportionately on the wealthy and that's not fair, either!"

Agreed. Obama's plan isn't fair, either.

But I think we can agree that Obama's plan provides more significant tax relief for more of the people who need it most.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Of course, if you care about big issues like abortion or the environment or the war in Iraq, the Washington Post graph won't help you make a more informed decision.

But if you're willing to pay more taxes because your candidate can effect change on issues that matter more to you than money, then that's pretty cool.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"But Hedy, both of these plans are essentially bullshit -- no one really knows what'll happen once either candidate is in office. Remember Daddy Bush's promise about read my lips?"

True.

Put the numbers aside then. And look at the core of each tax plan -- which one provides more help to more people? What does that say about the candidate's intentions - whether the tax plan gets implemented or not?

What does it say about Obama that he wants to help regular working Americans keep more of their paychecks? And what will it do for our economy if a majority of people have a little more money to spend?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Blah blah blah, Hedy. I'm so fucking tired of this crap. I just want the new season of Heroes to start."

I know. It's exhausting. I'm tired, too.

But we gotta do this, people.

We gotta care enough about our country to make an informed decision on November 4. Now more than ever, your vote matters.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Sex and Candy - Marcy Playground
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Tired

And he's a patriot, too

You know how I feel about Craig Ferguson.

Well, he took it to the next level Wednesday night with this monologue on 'our sacred right as an American' to vote.

Watch it. Register. Vote.

He doesn't care who you vote for and neither do I. Just do it.

And Craig? If you're reading this, CALL ME.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Silly evening news
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Enamored

Perhaps crazy

“You know you’re flying on 9/11,” I say to Jim this morning.

“Yeah, kinda weird,” he says. “But I’ve done it before.”

“I know, but isn’t it odd that there wasn’t any news about terrorist threats in the U.S. all summer? Not a peep. It would be just like the Republicans to lull us into a false sense of security and then BAM! There’s an attack on the anniversary of 9/11 and McCain wins in a landslide.”

“Yes, it would be just like them, wouldn’t it? Because you know George Bush was the one who actually ordered the 9/11 attacks.”

“I KNOW! See? So be careful today.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What does it say about the state of affairs here when someone like me – arguably liberal, but hardly a nut-job – is speculating on a government orchestrated terrorist attack in order to screw with the presidential election?

Well, you are kind of a nut-job, Hedy.

Right. Kinda.

But seriously, with the economy, the war, oil prices, and scandal after financial scandal, would you be all that surprised if Bush & Co. figured out a way to mess with the election?

Be honest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Clear skies across the country today,” said the weatherman on WGN. “A quiet day, weather-wise.”

When I think about that day back in 2001, the morning weather report is always the first thing that pops into my head.

A quiet day. Right.

Then I remember what happened the night before.

I’ve never told anyone this until now.

It was a normal night. I went to bed before Jim, like usual. I’m lying there, all cuddled in, when all of a sudden this overwhelming feeling of horror and grief came over me.

I couldn’t breathe, I was crying, and completely terrified. For no reason.

I understand now that it was a panic attack.

I’d never had one before. Or since.

There was no stress in my life, no reason for it to happen right then, and I guess that’s the reason why I remember it so vividly – because it was very, very out of the ordinary.

Now I’m not saying that I had a premonition or anything – of course no one could predict what happened that screwy, scary day.

But if it ever happens again, I’m hiding in the basement all day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
An attack on the anniversary of 9/11?

Too obvious. People might expect that. Plus, it could reflect badly on the current administration and given enough time, people could blame McCain.

I know: Let 9/11 pass quietly and lull our clueless citizenry into an even greater sense of false security. Then BAM! Stage a Super Secret Strategery U.S. government-sponsored terrorist attack two weeks before the election.

The ultimate October surprise.

That close to the election, it’ll scare the crap outta everyone. Folks will be too busy mourning and praying and vigilizing that they’ll elect that great patriot and war hero John McCain in a landslide.

Yep. That’s it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hedy, you're officially crazy.

Perhaps.

Add that to the catalog of damage that Bush & Co. have done to this country. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Crazy – Patsy Cline
I am reading: An explanation of the Fannie/Freddie bailout by Steve Chapman at the Trib
And I am: A nut-job, kinda

Lips and assholes

Straight outta the shoot:

"So have you ever put lipstick on a pig?" asks David Letterman.

"No," says Obama. "But it might be fun to try."

"The McCain camp has demanded an apology. They say you called Sarah Palin a pig."

"Technically, she would be the lipstick. The failed policies of John McCain would be the pig, following the logic of this illogical situation."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Another infernal Viagra commercial
I am reading: This guy
And I am: Craving hotdogs

On My Own

He’s away again this week.

He thought hiding the Bag of Eternal Gloom in the closet would keep me from figuring it out, but He was mistaken.

Because I am Gromit, Genius Dog.

I conducted a full investigation while He was showering and, upon discovering said B.E.G, proceeded directly to the middle of the floor in order to affect my very best Woe is Dog pose.

I’ve perfected it over the years. It starts with the eyes. Always the eyes.

It’s a withering glare, quickly followed by a brief, hopeful ‘You’re Not Really Leaving Me Alone with She Again’ glimpse.

Then, when I know I have He’s full attention: unimaginable, soul-penetrating Peepers of Grief.

If it’s allergy season, I can actually work up a few tears.

Of course in my life, there’ve been few exceedingly sad moments, so I try to imagine not being able to lick my wiener ever again. It works pretty well.

Then I flop down on the bed, carefully positioning my hindquarters so that’s all He will see upon exiting the bathroom. As soon as He is within earshot, I let fly The Whole-Body Sigh. In truth, it’s more of a groan than a sigh and often can be heard in the next room.

It’s highly effective.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s Wednesday, Gromit,” She says with more enthusiasm than ought be allowed before 7 a.m.

“He’s coming home tomorrow. And Grandma is coming to visit you today.”

I respond with one of my more advanced maneuvers: The Sigh, quickly followed by a Roll Over and Face the Wall combo.

Don’t get me wrong, Nobody’s better than She when it comes to leg massages and ear scratches. And She is the Queen of the Butt Rub.

But my whole standard of living goes down when He’s away.

For example, upon returning from my morning constitutional, I expect breakfast accompanied by fresh water in my bowl.

He knows this. I suspect it is because He is a man, although He doesn’t lick his wiener ever, which is unsettling, since wiener-licking is without question the greatest joy of being a member of the male species.

Anyhow.

He knows the schedule. He sticks to it. After eight years, He ought to.

She, on the other hand, is always fiddling around cleaning things and doesn’t get to my food before I’m at the door, with my Terse Bark, demanding to be let in.

And that’s another thing. I never have to break out the Terse Bark with He. He is always at the door, waiting to let me in. Better than a garage door opener, He is.

“Sorry Grom, let me get that for you,” She says, as if sorry makes up for having my entire day ruined because of a flagrant schedule violation.

Then, with nothing more than a Bye Grom, Love You Dog, Be a Good Boy, She leaves.

Be a Good Boy. As if I have a choice. As if I could be anything else.

And it’s only Wednesday.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Those damn morning doves on the chimney
I am reading: Nothing, She never brings the paper in, either
And I am: Dog of Woe

Waffles, anyone?

Okay, Sarah Palin is a lying little bitch. With a stinky crotch.

Well, maybe not that last part. But she's no good with the facts, that's for sure.

Please read this. And this. Oh, and this.

This is why we should never rely on our 'feelings' when it comes to political candidates. We need to investigate their background, their accomplishments, their ethics.

I broke my own rule. Never again.

Also: Here's a huge, heartfelt apology for Taxman. I'm sorry, sir. Feel better.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: The rain
I am reading: Mists of Avalon by M.Z. Bradley
And I am: Feeling much better now

Big Red Boners, Laying Pipe: A Special HedyBlog RNC Update

I like Rudy Giuliani. I once thought he could be the next president.

But his speech at the Republican National Convention sucked.

He talked about terrorism. Because it's the only thing he's capable of talking about.

Sadly, somebody forgot to tell him that nobody cares about that stuff anymore.

It's 2008 -- not 2001 -- and I'm sorry to bring out this tired old Clinton-era phrase, but it's about the ECONOMY, stupid.

I don't know anyone who's worried about terrorists. But I know plenty of folks scared shitless about the economy.

It's not "Boy I sure hope Al Qaeda doesn't come back."

It's "Boy I sure hope I can make my mortgage payment this month."

We're not afraid of terrorists attacking our buildings, we're afraid of a very real, imminent threat: The shit-ass economy attacking our way of life.
~~~~~~~~~~
On the other hand, Sarah Palin was great.

She talked about laying pipe and drilling. And white, gun-toting men across America saluted her with a collective Big Red Boner.

Seriously, I didn't want to like her.

But she's genuine and tough and interesting. And, God bless her, she's capable of giving a roiling political speech without sounding like a caterwauling shrew.

She confronted the issue of experience head-on and in some respects, kicked 'community organizer' Obama to the curb.

Sure, she was a little disingenuous talking about the 'pride' involved with her 17-year-old daughter's unplanned pregnancy, but what the hell.

Oh, and then there's this: With a new special needs baby and an unplanned grandbaby on the way, was it right for her to accept the nomination for VP? What about her family? How will she manage all of this?

"Nobody's asking Barack Obama how he's managing his family while running for office, so it's not fair for us to question her decision to take on the role as VP, Hedy. It's sexist."

Bullshit.

Asking the question isn't sexist, it's honest. Because let's face it: Moms do everything. Dads are great, but Moms think of - and do - practically everything. It's what they do.

And that is precisely why I think Sarah Palin would make an excellent vice president.

She reminds me of the amazing, dedicated, where-the-hell-do-they-get-the-energy moms I know. There are a bazillion unsung Sarah Palins out there right now who care enough to get involved in the PTA and on school boards and in local governments to make a difference not only for their own kids, but all kids.

We need more strong, dedicated people like her getting involved in government so they can do the same kick-ass job for our country that they do for their families and their local communities.

Plus, she talked about laying pipe. Which is sexy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: I Am Woman - Helen Reddy
I am reading: Mists of Avalon by M. Z. Bradley
And I am: Probably not voting for McCain, but this new chick has made it really fun to think about

You wanna know

"You wanna know why I like you?" says my chiropractor this morning.

"MMMmmm?" I reply, face down on the table.

"Damn, that's it? I was really hoping you'd help me answer that question."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Bad 70's music
I am reading: The Mists of Avalon by M. Z. Bradley
And I am: Damn fuck shit hell hurty again

Spam

"Please fuck me this is not a joke"

It's rare that spam gets my attention anymore, but this subject line prompted me to open the e-mail Right Away.

My mind was racing during the Michael Phelps millisecond it took to click, then load. Could it be...Craig Ferguson? Someone with a yet to be identified life or death medical condition? Moe?







Nope.

Turns out it was someone named Melodyxkon2 inviting me to chat via Yahoo messenger.

Hmmm. Melody. xkon. 2.

Enticing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ever get a spam e-mail you just HAD to open? Are you still getting spam?

The only reason I even see spam anymore is because of Yahoo - it was the first personal e-mail account I ever opened and is only used now for placing orders on-line or for signing up for news sites that require a login.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So what'd you do with the e-mail, Hedy?

Sadly, I had to forgo a humorless roll in the hay with the tuneful two-time felon.

But I know just the guy who would LOVE that sort of thing.

Click. Forward. Send to: MoeWanchuk@ElitistHornyPigs.com.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Gromit breathing
I am reading: The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley
And I am: Not falling for it again