Sunday, January 15, 2017

I Learned to Speak Spanish from Color Me Badd

Actually let me revise that. I didn't learn to "speak Spanish," exactly. According to the ever-reliable Google Translate, I learned how to say the following in Spanish, very well, repeatedly, and in a soulful, extremely cheesy R&B ballad voice:

Girl, you are my life

The tenderness
And joy, my love
And this dream
With you it will be true (yeah yeah)

"Yeah, yeah," it turns out, is the same in both Spanish and English. 

Now. You might be questioning the utility of this sentence for a heterosexual teenage (at the time) girl. You'd be right to do so. My time would have been much better spent studying more rigorously in my college entry-level Spanish class words and phrases like "where's the bathroom, it's kind of an emergency" and "where can I find some Aloe for this vicious sunburn."

But sadly it wasn't meant to be. Although my Spanish professor told me I had a "good accent," I owe that to a youth spent eavesdropping on the denizens of Northern Manhattan and Spanish Harlem, which caused me to name my first Cabbage Patch kid "Mira Galinda." 

This was the sad terminus of my Spanish language knowledge, bolstered, once again, by the four-dude power vocal group Color Me Badd. Truly you must, and I mean MUST watch or re-watch the video to "I Adore, Mi Amor." 

Even as a young tween, I knew these guys were not my type. All I wanted was for a smart, funny, mildly-attractive tall boy with good taste in books and movies and limited sexual aggression to fall hopelessly in love with me. It didn't really get my motor running to think about a greased-up hard-body with a pencil-thin mustache and more hair product on his head than you could find in an aisle of Wal Greens serenading me yearningly while dry humping me up against a palm tree.

Anyway, this video is four minutes of your life you will never get back, and I promise, you won't want to.

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Congress to My Friends and to America: Drop Dead.

I didn't really mean to become friends with Frances. Not because I'm unfriendly, but simply because I dreaded the idea of hanging out with one of my daughter's random friend's parents. This was NOT my idea of a good time. 

But the squeaky wheel gets the grease, and Paige had squeaky-wheeled me into calling "Lena's mom." I scrawled a half-assed note and dropped it in "Lena's mom's" school folder with my phone number.

I was sort of relieved when I didn't hear back right away, because frankly I was a little bit intimidated by the vibe of "Lena's mom." I'd seen her in the hallway of the girls' preschool and she seemed tough, even by my born-and-raised-in-NYC standards. I'd witnessed her road raging out at someone on the way to school one day. I'd overheard her talking about halibut fishing on her dad's boat in Ketchikan. I was to later discover that Frances was a key member of any zombie apocalypse team, with wide-ranging practical skills from elaborate cake-baking to pickling and canning to gardening to tire-changing to giant boat-driving. In other words, a doomsday-prepper's dream. At the time though, she was just another parent at preschool, and a bit of a spicy and frosty one at that. 

Fast forward to a call back, a playdate, many cocktails, many more playdates, and even a moms-only birthday trip to Seattle, and it's safe to say Frances is one of the biggest friend scores of my adult life. And I owe it all to Paige's persistence at nagging me for a playdate with Lena.

Right about the time we became friends, Frances was finishing up chemotherapy for lymphoma, with which she'd been diagnosed shortly after her second daughter, Aurelia, was born. One of the first parties she invited me to was a celebration of completing chemo. (She's also a great event planner). 

I'm thinking about Frances today and the millions of Americans who Congress is effectively telling to drop dead. When I contact our Senators, which I've been doing a lot of lately, I hear nothing back, and they're voting as we speak against the life of my friend and the lives of millions of other people with preexisting conditions who did nothing wrong besides have the misfortune to get sick in America.

What Congress is doing is nothing short of murder. It's bad enough that its membership is beholden to corporations and lobbies instead of the American people. Now their petty partisan brinkmanship, pandering, and in-fighting is literally killing their constituents. 

Remember, the people who will be harmed here are the same people who elected these Senators and Representatives to advocate for their best interests. So now, instead of doing that, they're robbing them of the health coverage they've come to rely on and that they need to survive.

God forbid Frances or others in her predicament experience a recurrence of cancer, because treatment cost six figures the first time. Unfortunately, the chance of a recurrence is high. Frances had direct radiation to her breasts, lungs, and thyroid every single day for a month and has a weakened heart as a result of chemotherapy. 

What will she do if her cancer comes back? Nothing, if Congress has anything to say about it. "Repeal and replace" is a great catchphrase, but it doesn't mean much when there's actually no replacement. "Fixing what doesn't work" is also a nice idea, if only that were the plan. 

But let's not kid ourselves. That's not the plan, because there is no plan. Congress isn't fixing shit. It's kicking down a big tower of blocks because it hates the kid who built it.

Millions of Americans of all political stripes stand to lose health care coverage under Congress's latest base and craven shenanigans, leaving them with what, leeches and blood-letting in supposedly the wealthiest democracy on earth? 

The truth is that a full repeal of the Affordable Care Act--especially elements like coverage to age 26 and of preexisting conditions--is deeply unpopular, but Congress doesn't care. It's determined to do away with the ACA because of a juvenile political vendetta that no American who has ever been to a doctor in this country gives two shits about.

There are no words for how fucked up that is. Actually, there's one word for it: 


Frances and her girls, Lena and Aurelia, and Cayo, their rescue dog from Belize. Blogged with permission.

Friday, January 13, 2017

Behold! My Son is a Genius Because He is Moving Chess Pieces Around a Chess Board and I Must Document His Unparalleled Intellect on Social Media for All the World to See

Hark! All ye fellow Type-A-ish parents who have alighted upon this blog post and BEHOLD

Gaze now upon this photograph with a searing envy, for my son Isaac is a genius. Ask me how I know. Go ahead. I'm waiting . . . still waiting . . . thank you.

I know, because he is moving chess pieces around a chess board, and it is my duty as a First World Parent to document his unparalleled intellect on social media for all the world to see.

Many parents choose to withhold their children's names from humble/regular bragging because of internet sketch and so-called "anonymity" and "respect." Well, it's 2017 and privacy is dead, fools. Ever heard of Julian Assange? 

I didn't think so.

And anyway, you must be made to know that my son's name is Isaac, because Isaac is a genius's name. Just ask Isaac Asimov, the famous biochemist, historian, and novelist; or Isaac Newton, the inventor of calculus. Also ask Isaac Hayes, who in case you didn't know wrote the score for Shaft, a famous 1971 blaxploitation film that you probably haven't seen because you have shitty taste in movies and music and your favorite two jams are "Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond and "Drift Away" ("give me the beat boys, and free my soul, I wanna get lost in your rock and roll . . . ), and you think Old School is shit-your-pants hilarious when it is objectively not even remotely amusing.  

In any event, you can't actually ask these Isaacs anything because they're all dead, but presumably you get my point.

I firmly believe children grow into their names, which is why I named my first-born boy-child "Isaac" and not "Track." Why? Again, because I wish him to fulfill his destiny of becoming the next Garry Kasparov (minus the burden of being named Garry with one "r" much less two), as opposed to a block-headed jock with a sunglasses tan and an assault record bigger than his handgun collection.

But I digress. The most important thing here is that you, fellow parents who sustain their own egos by living vicariously through their children, appreciate that Genius Isaac is six years old and moving chess pieces around a chess board. Never mind that the only two things he appears to know about chess are that "white goes first" (because of course), and how most some a few of the pieces move.

That is beside the point. 

The point is, I knew instantly when I saw Isaac engaged in this activity that I'd been thrust--happily albeit unwittingly--into a "pics or it didn't happen" moment. I know some of you have your children in chess lessons and also chess competitions and are prone to posting scores of your children's chess-based successes on the internet.

Well, now I would like you and the rest of the world to know that stiff competition (in both chess and humble/regular bragging about chess) has arrived in the form of the rising-star chess genius that is my son Isaac moving chess pieces around a board.

On a final note, please admit that "Drift Away" and "Sweet Caroline" are now both stuck in your head.

Thursday, January 12, 2017

America Announces Divorce from Reality


In a cataclysmic split all but guaranteed to rock geopolitical forces around the globe, America, age 238, announced today a legal separation from Reality, with ultimate plans to divorce the 13.8 billion-year old concept.

Court documents filed in federal district court in Washington, D.C. and exclusively obtained by O.H.M. cite "irreconcilable differences" and "adultery" with an unnamed, minimally-endowed orange millionaire with the temperament of an irascible toddler and a "FUPA."*

Anonymous sources tell O.H.M. that sometime during the past two years, America became "fed up" with Reality's "relentless and abusive barrage of facts" in the form of climate science; evolution; the ethical, medical, and economic benefits of basic health care; Russia's cyber-hacking of America's election; assertions that the couple will never build a wall along the Mexican border; debunked rumors about piss fetishes and secret birth certificates; the fiction of "reverse racism" and "white genocide"; sporadic church attendance; and an overall resistance to wild conspiracy theories perpetuated by mendacious profiteers and mentally unstable talk radio hosts. 

For its part, Reality has countered by accusing America of ongoing and unspecified "assaults."

America and Reality issued a joint statement through their respective representatives, Senator Jeff Sessions of Alabama and renowned astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson, requesting "privacy out of respect for our families during this painful and difficult time," and reiterating that the couple's number one priority remains their 318.9 million humans. 

America and Reality have not been seen together since the United States Supreme Court issued its decision on marriage equality in June 2015. As of November 2016, America has moved out of the couple's joint mansion in the nation's capital and into a small double-wide trailer in the Upside Down.

Both parties are seeking sole legal and physical custody of the couple's citizenry, with no visitation rights or spousal support.

*Fat Upper Pubic Area

Image result for divorce image

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

My Ears are Bleeding and We are All BEYOND Fucked!

From the following auditory assaults inflicted on us during Trump's "press conference:"
  • Spokesman Sean Spicer: "The fact that BuzzFeed and CNN made the decision to run with this unsubstantiated claim [#GoldenShowerGate] is a sad and pathetic attempt to get clicks." (Oh reeeeeeeeeeeally? Like how 8 years of birtherism was Trump's sad and pathetic attempt to undermine Obama for personal fame and profit. Also, this guy is catching the Trump speech bug of overusing the words "sad" and "pathetic." Waiting for a "loser").
  • Trump on Jobs: "We're going to create jobs. I said that I will be the greatest jobs producer that God ever created." (Now God is in the business of making "deals?" M'Kay).
  • Trump on Inauguration: "I look very much forward to the inauguration. It's going to be a beautiful event. We have great talent, tremendous talent. The 20th is going to be something that will be very, very special; very beautiful." (Great, tremendous, beautiful, and four verys! America does love a good show).
  • Trump on #GoldenShowerGate: "It's all fake news. It's phony stuff. It didn't happen. And it was gotten by opponents of ours, as you know, because you reported it and so did many of the other people. It was a group of opponents that got together--sick people--and they put that crap together . . . President Putin and Russia put out a statement today that this fake news was indeed fake news. They said it totally never happened." (Pot meet kettle. Totally. Also, "gotten by" = choice grammar. And also, Russia said it never happened? Awesome. Case closed).
  • Trump on Russia Hacking: "As far as hacking, I think it was Russia." (Recall that you literally asked them to hack the election during the campaign, so, um, good job).
  • Trump Referring to Himself in the Third Person: "If Putin likes Donald Trump, I consider it an asset not a liability . . . If Putin likes Donald Trump, guess what, folks? That's called an asset, not a liability." (Seriously only very, very, very, very SICK individuals commit the grammatical DISASTER of referring to themselves in the third person; the asset v. liability question is up for debate, unfortunately).
  • Trump on Miss Universe: "I was in Russia years ago, with the Miss Universe contest, which did very well." (Gotta get that plug in for the beauty pageant. Yes, we are still talking about beauty pageants).
  • Trump on His Business Sacrifices: "Over the weekend, I was offered $2 billion to do a deal in Dubai with a very, very, very amazing man, a great, great developer . . . a friend of mine, great guy . . . and I turned it down. I didn't have to turn it down." (Such a martyr. Again with three verys, one amazing, AND three greats!)
  • Trump Lawyer Sherri Dillon: "The primary conflicts of interest statutes, and some have questioned it, is Section 18 USC 208 and it's simply inapplicable by its terms."(This was my fave moment of all. Here's some Con Law 101 for Sherri: the emoluments clause "trumps" any act of congress. You're welcome, that'll be $550). 

Image result for bleeding ears

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

If #GoldenShowerGate is Wrong, I Don't Want to be Right

In what the New York Times is calling an "unsubstantiated report," a "competent and reliable" British intelligence operative has offered up some "compromising and salacious personal information about Mr. Trump," chief among which is that while on business in Moscow, Trump rented out
[T]he presidential suite of the Ritz Carlton Hotel, where he knew President and Mrs. Obama (whom he hated) had stayed on one of their official trips to Russia, and defiling the bed where they had slept by employing a number of prostitutes to perform a 'golden showers' (urination) show in front of him.
The stunt would have been more impactful BEFORE the Obamas stayed in this suite, but Twitter is nonetheless pissing its proverbial pants with joy at the prospect of this slightly improbable "leak" being true as opposed to FAKE NEWS. As the title of this post suggests states, however, if this golden shower rumor is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

The jokes about "information leaks," "Wikileaks," "urinal lot of trouble with Vladimir Peetin," "PEEOTUS," and "Russian to the Potty" more or less write/have written themselves, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't squirt out a few more.

We should! 

For nothing is piss-your-pants funnier than kink-shaming Russia's Manchurian toddler, who is on the cusp of being installed as the first Czar of Kremlin West, f/k/a the White House. 

As the saying goes, not all that glitters is gold, but all that's gold glitters for Trump, including, apparently, urine.

My one beef with this unsubstantiated report peeport is that it's less clear than urine if the prostitutes just peed on each other while Trump watched, if Trump peed on them, or if Trump actually got peed on himself. Regardless, this would be the least objectionable and disqualifying aspect of a Trump presidency, for who among us has NOT hired hookers to perform a "golden showers (urination) show" for us at a five-star hotel?

Trump can pay for 100 hookers to pee on him all day every day for all I care, if it means it will distract him from bombing us all into a treasonous oblivion. 

Natch, it took all of nine minutes (i.e. less time than it takes the average two year old to use the potty) for Trump to exercise his trademark zero self-discipline and weigh in on pee-pee gate IN ALL CAPS. I am now breathlessly awaiting unassailable video of Russia's alleged "kompromat!"  LET THE TROLLING COMMENCE!!

Many People are Saying that Jeff Sessions and Peter Pettigrew from Harry Potter are the Same Person

I don't know if it's true or not--this is just a rumor at this point. All I can tell you is that many, many credible sources have called to tell me they are 99.9% sure that Jeff Sessions and Peter Pettigrew from Harry Potter are the same person.

Think about it: Have you ever seen Jeff Sessions and Peter Pettigrew together? Even when Peter was living as his alter-ego animagus, Ron Weasley's pet rat, Scabbers? I didn't think so! 

And when you look at the other similarities, the entire thing starts to look VERY SUSPICIOUS. Look at the evidence:
  • "Peter Pettigrew" was nicknamed "Wormtail," and "Jeffrey Beauregard Sessions" is nicknamed "Jeff." If you rearrange the letters in those four names, some of the letters are common to all. 
  • Peter Pettigrew first reunited with Voldemort in the forests of Albania, in order to enter into the Dark Lord's service. Sessions reunited with Vladimort (a.k.a. Trump) in the forests of Alabama, in order to enter into the Dark Lord's service.
  • Jeff Sessions is a vocal opponent of pretty much anything that his Christian faith would suggest he look upon with some degree of charity: LGBT people, sick people, women, minorities, and immigrants. Similarly, Peter Pettigrew masqueraded as a sewer rat before his true identity as something even worse than a sewer rat was revealed.
  • Jeff Sessions and Peter Pettigrew are both of English ancestry.
  • Both have earned a "zero" rating from the Human Rights Campaign.
  • Same freckle on forehead and same exact ears.
Something is going on. I hope the Senate does its due diligence on this appointment. I don't think it's too much to ask for Jeff Sessions to produce a birth certificate confirming once and for all that he is not, in fact, secretly Peter Pettigrew from Harry Potter.

The dishonest media is giving us all a bunch of fake news by not making a bigger story out of this. VERY SERIOUS.