Charmed, I'm Sure

I took a test today.

[Let me just note that this test is probably all over the world of blogs and livejournals right now. Give me a break.]

It was actually interesting, and different from most of the other "personality type" tests out there. I'm not sure if it's best to go with your first instincts or to think about your answer, but I was pleased with my result. I would have thought I was "charismatic" or even a "star," but I'm okay with "charmer."

I am the Charmer. Charm is seduction without sex. Charmers are consummate manipulators, masking their cleverness by creating a mood of pleasure and comfort. Their method is simple; they deflect attention from themselves and focus it on their target. They understand your spirit, feel your pain, adapt to your moods. In the presence of a Charmer you feel better about yourself. Learn to cast the Charmer's spell by aiming at people's primary weaknesses: vanity and self-esteem

Symbol: The Mirror. Your spirit holds a mirror up to others. When they see you they see themselves: their values, their tastes, even their flaws. Their lifelong love affair with their own image is comfortable and hypnotic; so feed it. No one ever sees what is behind the mirror.

See, and you all thought (okay, I thought) I bring all the attention on myself. But it is true, I make people feel better about themselves. They're so happy they're not the decrepit drunk that I am, they perk right up!

Sounds Like...

I just noticed that part of Julian Lennon's "Valotte" sounds like "I'm Under Your Spell" from the Buffy musical. Or vice versa. You know what I mean.

It's really eerie how much Julian sounds like his father. It's probably a good thing that he gave up recording. Lots of sick people (like me) out there trying to hold on to a dead man.

New York Seven, Here I Come

I'm so excited. The Republicans are coming! The Republicans are coming! Just think how good it will be, economically, for New York. Just think of all the visitors and press and, you guessed it, protests! I'd just love to be part of something nutty. I never have been arrested. I'm not saying that lightly, either. I know what it means to be arrested, to have that on your record. I just don't feel as civily disobedient as I should be. I have until next year to pick a cause. Should it be reproductive rights? Gay marriage? Oil drilling? Constitutional liberties? General anti-Bush sentiment? There's just so much to choose from. I want to pick something middle-of-the-road, though. Nothing so fluffy that it goes unnoticed, but nothing so militant that it results in a walloping with a nightstick. I'm open to suggestions.

Beam Me Up, Rael

Dude, that's no clone. If it were really a clone, they'd freely offer up the DNA tests. These people think the mothership is on its way. Do we really believe they're cloning people? It's probably not even a baby. Some Dutch lesbian (not in Holland) is running around clutching a package of Quaker Oats to her bosom, convinced the aliens will make it a real baby. These folks are coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs, you know? Oh! Yes, I have an exception for my opposition to cloning legislation. As in my proposed parent licensing, cloning can only be performed by people who have taken an extensive psychological exam to prove they aren't nut-jobs who believe aliens inhabited Earth.

Recommended Daily Allowance of Irony

More reasons why I don't fit in with the other Gen Xers: I don't see what so cool about ironic detachment. Sure, I can be sarcastic and mocking, but that's only about things I genuinely dislike and would spend no significant time on. Like Ann Coulter. What I mean is the tendency for some people to take part in an activity -- like bowling or singing at a piano bar -- because they find it amusing that people still do that sort of thing. They listen to New Wave because the synthesizers sound "so old fashioned." They wear shirts they think are ugly because it makes them cool. See, I'm not like that. I really enjoy bowling and I don't think there's anything pathetic about a bunch of people enjoying themselves singing showtunes. I honestly think "Oklahoma!" is a great song. I think all electronic music sounds hopelessly modern. I've been known to wear ugly shirts, but they're not the kind anyone likes but me. And I couldn't care less.

I'm sure it's much more exciting and cool to take some Ecstacy and visit the local piano bar for the express purpose of laughing at the patrons*, but I just don't get it. Call me uncool, call me mundane, but I like like things other people happen to think are corny, rather than like things because they're corny. Does that make sense? My interest in kitsch is not an actual interest in kitsch, but the simple fact that a lot of my interests are considered kitschy. Still, for some reason, that makes me the object of some ridicule among some of the less secure people I've encountered. Not that I care; if I did, I wouldn't loudly proclaim my love for karaoke and playing with Barbies. Speaking of playing, I found something that makes me happy every time. If I feel down, or just not giggly, I just push the stomach of my Tickle Me Cookie Monster and watch him laugh and shake all over. It's like a magic elixir! You can't help but be cheered by that little guy! I keep him on my couch for accessibility. Yay, Cookie Monster!


* Full disclosure: I met someone in a bar this weekend who said he loved Marie's Crisis, but his reason was that it was so hideous to see all of the "washed-up ex-actor old homos" singing their hearts out, and he found that funny. Isn't he the pathetic one?

Move Over, Gary Wright!

I got my brand-spanking-new SunRise alarm clock this weekend. I still overslept this morning, but I guess I just need to get used to it. I definitely felt less surly. I just didn't want to get out of bed. During my post alarm naps, I dreamed some weird stuff, of course.

I dreamed I was in my parents' cabin in Tennessee, but it was a little different of course. I couldn't keep the lights turned off, because they kept going on and off by themselves. Then I saw my Christmas tree was on (and with blinking lights), but I knew I had taken it down. I saw it in three pieces (it's artificial), then when I went to the closet where I was sure I had stored it, it wasn't on the floor anymore. I chalked it all up to ghosts, which, even in the dream seemed a little odd. I dreamed it was 10:22 and I was going to have to call in late to work. Earlier, I dreamed that I was in college, and I was looking at my Palm Pilot. For some reason I had scheduled exercise at 8 am, like that was ever going to happen, so I deleted it. I said to the kids nearby that I was so glad it was my last year because my classes were spaced out and I didn't have to rush off right after class. Danny Masterson was in my class, and he told me he liked my leather jacket, but I scoffed because it's just the regular kind, nothing special. I dreamed I jumped some chick because she bothered me. For the first time ever, I prevailed in a fight in my dreams. This is, of course, something I would never do in real life. But it was satisfying in the dream. I also dreamed about all three of my most recent jobs, as if they were one. I think my brain was just trying to get my ass out of bed. Lights are connected to the alarm clock and the fight is connected to karate, which I have tonight. Everything else is pretty obvious. I wish I could remember my first dream of the night. That one gets lost in the ether.

Just as an aside, The New York Sun should just give up. They're still giving away free papers to drum up interest. I didn't take one because I don't have time to read it, and also, their crossword is annoying (read: too hard for me).

So Very Dirrty

I was just thinking about how much Christina Aguilera has changed over the past couple of years (don't ask me why, I'm not really sure), so I went to her official website to look at some recent pictures of her. She actually looked nice at this year's Grammy Awards. After reading an interview with her in Jann Wenner's birdcage liner, I started to think that I have said mean things about this person that I've never met without actually listening to her music or to anything she has to say. I can say I'm not down with her fashion sense, on the whole, but that's about it. Also, she doesn't seem to have a face so much as a face created by makeup. If I didn't know what I was looking at, I might guess they were pictures of CA, but she's not exactly always recognizable. I can easily confuse her with Shakira, which is not something you could have ever said about Madonna, who was (is) always instantly recognizable because of her strong features. CA has some kind of mush face where she is most recognizable looking upward. Maybe that's why she wears so much eyeshadow.

Sad Day

I just heard that the best friend of a very good friend of mine died last month. I didn't see him much, because he spent a lot of time in Puerto Rico with his mother. Luis was a great cook, and very sweet. I remember one summer when I scratched my hand on his rose bushes, he came out with antiseptic and band-aids and fixed me right up. I feel very sad for my friend, as he and Luis has been best friends and roommates for many years. One of the reasons I walk in the AIDS Walk every year is because Luis told me he got a lot of assistance from GMHC. I know some people don't feel they do a good job, but Luis' endorsement was good enough for me.

Aargh

I just wrote this great rant about sex editors who don't seem to like sex but I lost it. I don't have it in me to recreate it, although I probably could. Sigh.

What's Snoo With You?

Happy 2003, kids. Never one to let me down, our illustrous president has given me the quote of the day.

"You said we're headed to war in Iraq. I don't know why you say that," Bush told reporters. "I'm the person who gets to decide, not you. And I hope this can be done peacefully."

I'm so glad he's the person who gets to decide. Good thing we're not worried about all those pesky checks and balances any more. Whew!

You know, I keep having this feeling that Saddam Hussein has never had any intention of attacking America. It seems like he prefers to wreak havoc in his own country, where he feels very powerful. I mean, you'd have to be a total dumbass to want be the leader of a sovereign nation and think about attacking America. Terrorists, I understand. They're not beholden to any government, nor do they have any power of their own. Nothing to lose. But Saddam has a lot to lose.

So, what did you do for New Year's Eve? I got pretty terrifically drunk, but I was at the home of friends and I was able to pass out on their futon. I still hold the title of Last Woman Standing, thank you very much. The next day was painful and miserable, but after a nap, some Coke and an Iron Chef marathon, I felt up to trudging home. I'm sure this isn't the best way to spend the first day of the year, but again, the calendar is completely arbitrary as to the "beginning" of a year. I mean, it happens in the first few weeks of a season, for goodness' sake. Anyway, according to the news last night, I'm a binge drinker. They define it as having five or more drinks at one time. On the weekends, I definitely fit that category, and I don't really go out during the week anymore. I'm too old to be doing this to my body, but I'm going to have to train myself to drink slower and less. It's not good when you're hungover from your hangover.

Forget That Acquaintance, Willya?

Last post before 2003!

Reflection. Worked at the BID, arranged my mom's funeral, went to Hawaii, threw a few events, almost fell in love, saw my friend Betsy get married, got a new niece, went to the best lake ever, saw a few movies and a few plays, caught The Who and Robert Plant in concert, slept around, drank too much, smoked too much, tried a new illegal substance, didn't like it, changed jobs, lost my good perks, took up karate, found a great piano bar, boycotted Pieces, made new friends, started blogging, got sunburned, went to two parades, used the public library, decorated for the holidays, stopped going clubbing (for lack of clubs), bought one new pair of boots, hung out in Ithaca, drove to Cincinnati with Larue and actually drove, gave up red meat, started eating it again, started drinking more caffeine, stopping again, quit smoking, started again, ate far too much food from McDonald's, overslept, went to IKEA, got a couch and a shelf and a bookcase, made my apartment more homey, became a member of PBS, did my fifth AIDSWalk, and generally did the living thing.

Resolutions. To be more positive. To make myself happy. To get to work on time. To be tolerant of stupid people. To get to karate twice a week and voice lessons once a week. To spend less money on cigarettes and booze. To take a vacation somewhere warm and sandy. To sing as much as possible. To visit with my friends more. To see more movies and plays and watch less bad television. To be a nice person. To be nicer to my father.

Hopes for the new year. No war with Iraq or anyone else, for that matter. Improved economy, especially my personal economy. To meet a nice man. Development of some kind of singing project for me. Repeal of the smoking ban. Capture of Osama bin Laden, already. More people voting and becoming politically active. Fewer teenagers wearing thongs and giant pants (too much to ask, I know). A new album from The Who. Happiness and safety and comfort and love.

Have a happy New Year, and a safe New Year's Eve. They don't call it "Amateur Night" for nothing.

Hair Today, Clone Tomorrow

I know all of my readers are waiting with baited breath to find out what I think of cloning.

I caught a little round table discussion on PBS last night and was disappointed to find that that Viera woman from "The View" was on it. I've never understood what she has to offer, but hey, the opinion of regular people is good to hear, too. Seemed that everyone agreed that cloning wouldn't be offered to the average joe who loses a child or can't get pregnant in the near future, but it would someday be a possibility. When the scenario was given to Viera that her child had died and the doctor made the offer of cloning, she responded with the reasonable "Why couldn't we just adopt?" to which some lunkhead said, "But why should you have to?" Aaargh! What a dork.

My take is this: cloning, like in vitro fertilization before it, is unnatural. If you can't get pregnant the old-fashioned way, that's nature's way of balancing. Nature's trying to tell you to adopt, take care of the excess offspring that the overly fertile can't care for. It seems basic to me. Too bad if you can't find a sweet little blond haired, blue eyed baby who looks like your husband. If the only reason you want to have a baby is to continue your bloodline, and you can't do it naturally, nature doesn't want your bloodline. I would think that in an age where bloodline is actually less important that it's ever been, people would be more prone to adopt. If you must have a little baby, get a doll. Raising children shouldn't be a selfish endeavor. Unless you need farmhands, of course. That's a completely different story. Maybe it's my total lack of a maternal instinct working here, but I just don't get why people are so het up about having babies. Yes, it's important to populate (to some extent), but if you can't do it, there are plenty of children who need to be cared for and saved from a life of sociopathic behavior.

Clones are just twins who aren't born at the same time. I think we can all agree that twins are in themselves an aberration, but one that usually turns out okay (except in the case of conjoined twins, which I think proves the aberration theory). Now, an aberration is not necessarily negative, but it's not the optimal result. With fertility drugs and treatments, women are having litters, and not even through cell division, but through multiple embryos. That's just twisted. Of course, I'm also squicked out by organ transplants, so maybe my view is skewed.

To sum up, I'm against human cloning (as I am against in vitro fertilization and other fertility treatments), but I'm also against legislation against it, because I can't see how it could hurt anyone except for the parents and the clone. These kinds of medical issues (read: reproductive issues) shouldn't be legislated as they have less impact on society than they do on personal family dynamics. Genetic selection is a different story, and that just freaks me out. If people start creating more babies that are "perfect," those who aren't will be unjustly persecuted. That's a societal issue and it should be addressed by the government in some way, though I'm not quite sure how at this point. Make sense?

It's That Time of Year Again

The end, that is. Time for retrospectives and soft-focus follow-up reports on the "news" stories of 2002. I think I'll avoid the television just to maintain my good cheer.

Television was very nice to me Buffy-wise this weekend, though. At 2 am on Sunday, I caught one of my all time favorite episodes, "Hush," from Season Four. Fairy tale monsters called The Gentlemen steal the voices of the people of Sunnydale, then visit them at night to cut out their hearts. Sounds basic, but the cast does an amazing job of expressing being speechless. In the beginning of the episode, you (in hindsight) see how talking has been burdensome for our Scooby gang. After the voices are stolen, Riley and Buffy finally kiss because talking isn't in the way, Xander shows his love for Anya, which he can't express verbally, Willow bonds with the stutter-prone Tara through silent magic, and Giles gets a much needed rest from the yammering of the Scoobies( + Spike). My favorite scene has Giles explaining The Gentlemen with an overhead projector and hand-drawn transparencies. He plays Saint-Saens' "Danse Macabre" in the background, which is one of my favorite classical pieces and perfectly fitting for the "presentation." Some of the misunderstandings of non-verbal communication are hilarious. Plus, Giles' drawings are too cute. The final battle scene, wherein Buffy gets her voice back and screams to kill The Gentlemen is intense. This was Emmy-worthy stuff, but did anyone care?

Sunday afternoon UPN ran the final episode of Season Five ("The Gift"), the last season on the WB, what I think of as the last season of the "real" Buffy. It opens with the best "previously" segment ever. Every time I see it, I just stare, mouth agape. Giles' voice says, "Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer," and they show scenes from the beginning of the show, faster and faster, until it's a flickering stream of images, everything, Oz, Riley, Angel, Spike, Dru, the Master, Adam, the Mayor, Faith, Giles in a sombrero, Buffy kicking butt, Willow and magic, Miss Calendar, just everything. It's so cool. I know I have it on tape somewhere. The rest of the episode is actually pretty good, too, for Season Five. The return of Joel Grey; Giles kills Ben after Buffy stomps Glory using the Dagon sphere and the troll hammer (suggested by Anya) and a wrecking ball wielded by Xander ("And the glorified bricklayer picks up a spare."); the Buffybot gives an encore performance; Willow retrieves Tara's mind from Glory and they combine magic to repel the flunkies from the tower; Spike does his best to protect Dawn; and Buffy sacrifices herself to save both Dawn and the world, because she realizes that this is what the spirit guide meant when she said, "Death is your gift." Sure, it makes no sense to you, but to a long time watcher, all of these pieces are important. I'm just happy I got to see two Joss directed episodes within 15 hours. I may be ready to start back on the first season now, since Season Seven is bringing me just slightly more enjoyment than Season Six (aka "The Season of Suckiness"). I think I could even watch Seasons Four and Five with pleasure after the last season and a half of mucking around on UPN. Poor SMG.

Puttin' on the Ritts

Herb Ritts has died. I don't know what to say about him, but I always admired his work. Few photographers could do what he did.

Hooray for Today

I have great hopes for 2003. That's an odd sounding year, 2003. Speaking of the way years sound, it's "two thousand three," not "two thousand and three." I can't believe it when supposedly educated people -- people who are paid to speak, for goodness' sake -- say "two thousand and two" or "two thousand and one." Numbers aren't said that way. The word "and" implies that a fraction is forthcoming, like "twelve and one half." How do these people write checks, "one thousand and twenty-five and 50/100?" I'm sure the argument is that it's different when it's a year, but I'm not buying it. If it were so, we'd be saying "twenty oh-two" (like "nineteen oh-two"). I guess I'll just have to file these folks with the people who say the current millennium started in 2000 and think it's acceptable to wear white shoes after Labor Day. Even those folks can't bother me right now.

Happiness of happiness, the Showtunes channel has played 1776, "More" from Dick Tracy, Godspell, and Tommy. I can tell I'll like this DJ.

Time moves so quickly. Yesterday's tragedies fade into the past before they can be properly understood. Processed into our popular culture or personal lexicon, things like 9/11, the dot-com bubble burst, and the 2000 election debacle become less real, less tangible. History is important, we must know what has come before and learn from our mistakes, but some things you can't fix. Sometimes, you have to forget the past and move forward, living in the present. It's horrible to live in the past and foolish to live for the future. What's left but the now? Sure, keep your eye out for the consequences, but what's the point of all this agonizing?

I'm going to make myself happy. I'm the only one who can do it, and I hardly ever try! I can't believe that for so many years (even back in high school), I denied what I really want to do because it wasn't sensible, wasn't a sure way to pay the rent. I'm tired of being sensible. I might as well be dead, or worse, living in Knoxville. Consider, I could be married right now; I had the chance. Living in some hick town, slaving away at a sixth-rate ad agency, breeding and baking and driving a minivan. Ew, gag me with a spoon, please. The real hilarity is that I'm here in New York City doing basically the same thing, without the husband. How stupid. How boring! It's taken a few years for me to regain my courage, but maybe it's that old saying, you have to hit rock-bottom first. Well, kids, watch out, because I'm shooting up through the water fast. I'll be sticking around the Big Apple for a few more years, because this is really the only place for me to do what I want.

Speaking of accomplishments, I got my second stripe on my white belt at karate last night. The last ten classes took forever because I was a slacker, but I should get my next stripe before the end of January. I've got tons of excuses for why I didn't go very much in the last two months, but none of them are any good, because they're just excuses. I was sick, I had cramps, I missed the bus, I was depressed. Oh, please. Those are about as good as my excuses for being late to work. The plain truth was I chose not to go, or if I had been less of a lazy bum, I would have made it. So, let's not dissemble.

I just watched Love! Valour! Compassion! again this week. I love that movie, although it does make me cry a lot. Just like Philadelphia, although the latter doesn't have the funny moments that make it worth a second watching. It also doesn't have the fabulous John Glover. I also watched Little Voice, finally. Jane Horrocks was phenomenal. Bubble is one of the best BritCom characters of the 90s, but this is a truly impressive performance. I would have loved to have seen both movies in their stage versions. Last night, the feature presentation was Carmen Jones, Oscar Hammerstein II's all-black musical set to the music of Bizet's Carmen. It was great, although I wasn't clear why Hammerstein emphasized the Amos n Andy style dialect: "dat" instead of "that," "dere" instead of "there," "I's," "You is," etc. It seemed far too old-fashioned for a movie set in the late forties. I also didn't understand why Harry Belafonte and Dorothy Dandridge didn't sing. I guess opera was just a bit out of their ranges. (At least it wasn't Marni Nixon playing Carmen, as she sang for Natalie Wood, Audrey Hepburn and Deborah Kerr!) Dandridge was nominated for an Oscar for that part, and I can see why. I doubt there had been such a strong black female character on screen ever before, much less in a leading lady role. If you haven't seen any of these movies before, go out to your public library and borrow them!

Ho, Ho, Ho... Oh, Forget It

I'm not recovering well from the weekend. Thankfully, nothing is going on at the office today. I have to bake cookies tonight for the two dinners I'm going to this week. Little green butter cookies in adorable holiday shapes. They're so easy, even I can make them. Actually, holiday snacks are my best dishes. I made the family cheese ball for my company party on Friday, and it was a big hit. Cream cheese, crushed and well-drained pineapple, chopped green bell pepper and a little seasoned salt, mixed well and sprinkled with chopped walnuts. Or, if you don't have a nut chopper, you can always put the walnuts in a Baggie and hit them with a hammer, like I did.

It's nice of my friends to invite me to their homes for Christmas dinner. In some way, though, it makes me even more aware of being alone. This is the second Christmas in a row that I've been boyfriend-free for the holidays, not to mention the other thing. Who's going to wake me up with hot chocolate on Christmas morning or stuff my stocking with little candy bars and tangerines? I just realized that this is really the first year I'll be waking up alone on Christmas morning. There's always been someone, at least my Mom. Wow, that's nice and depressing.

I think the song "Boogie Fever" is really underrated. I love a song that includes some reference to heat and dancing, like "Disco Inferno" or "Hot, Hot, Hot." That's good stuff.

It's Too Easy!

Get ready for some AP links...

Erstwhile human being Paul McCartney proves his status as "World's Biggest Git" once again by switching the credits on 19 Beatles songs. This isn't the first time he's tried to weasel out of the "Lennon-McCartney" credit. Yes, Paul, it's very sad that when you made the initial agreement to use that credit that your name came second. Maybe some foresight would have helped there. Also, if it doesn't matter what the credit says, why change it? I like many, many of the Beatles' "Paul" songs, but I think Paul McCartney is a right bastard.

The movie version of Chicago has been nominated for eight Golden Globes. I hear it's supposed to be pretty good, and I'm happy to see musical hitting the big screen, but Renee Zellweger and Catherine Zeta-Jones? I'm appalled that Bebe Neuwirth wasn't cast in the film. She has screen experience and is the Broadway favorite. It reminds me of when Michelle Pfeiffer was cast in the movie Frankie and Johnny after Kathy Bates won a Tony for her work in the role. Speaking of Frankie and Johnny and the Claire de Lune, Rosie Perez is taking over for Edie Falco on Broadway. These are good choices. I know Pfeiffer used to be a smack addict, but I still can't see her playing "run down" very well.

Another celebrity thinks his opinions on world politics are worth as much as his box office returns. Sean Penn took a little trip to Iraq to tag along on the fact-finding mission and was apparently misquoted by the Iraqi News Agency. This one is so weird, it could be reprinted word for word in The Onion and not look out of place.


Anti-Choice Is Not Pro-Life

So, at the UN population conference, Assistant Secretary of State Arthur E. Dewey says, "The United States supports the sanctity of life from conception to natural death," and "There has been a concerted effort to create a gulf by pushing the United States to violate its principles and accept language that promotes abortion." I am so tired of people saying these things in the name of the United States. There is nothing in our Constitution or our laws to agree with the first statement. Our Supreme Court upholds a woman's right to have an abortion, and it's not right for the US delegation to block responsible international reproductive policy. This is scary. How soon will the administration turn within and attack its own citizenry? The reactionary nature of this administration would be laughable if it weren't so frightening.


One Ring to Rule Them All

I saw The Two Towers last night. During a particularly climactic scene, I thought to myself that Lord of the Rings would be our generation's The Ten Commandments. It's truly epic and awe-inspiring. You really have to see the film on the big screen, with the good sound system. Peter Jackson's use of extreme close-ups and unthinkably long longshots just wouldn't play as well on a 13-inch TV. It's a very stimulating series. So far, I've cried at both films, for different reasons. I don't want to give anything away, but I do have to say, "Go, Ents!" I want to put Elijah Wood in my pocket and take him home. I definitely want to go for a second viewing. I can't believe I have to wait another year for the final installment. Incredible casting, awesome directing, impressive special and computer effects, a better than expected adaptation (from what I understand), and beneath it all, heart. These movies were obviously made with everything the contributors had in them to give. Anyone who dismisses them as geek fodder doesn't understand. And the geeks who complain about the minor discrepancies need to get some perspective and maybe a clue a to how movies are made.

Can I buy my tickets for the last film yet?


And Another Thing...

The New York City Council passed the ban on smoking in workplaces. That means bars, restaurants, bowling alleys, etc. It won't take effect until next spring. I'll tell you one thing, in the next few months, I better not hear anyone complaining about how smoky a bar is while I'm around. They'll have their little pristine bars soon enough. Anyone waving their hands, "subtly" coughing, or making that wrinkled-up-nose face will get a face full of Newport smoke from yours truly. That's kind of my guarantee.

Maybe I'll have a party the day after the ban takes effect. It'll be an all smoking, all the time party, with the exception of stinky cigars. Clove and pipe smokers will be positioned strategically to enhance the general aroma. Oxygen masks will be available for those who overdo it.

Or maybe I can organize a rowdy group of smokers to stand outside of a residential bar, then call the police and pretend to be a resident complaining about the decay of their quality of life.

Maybe I could become a gangster, like Al Capone. But I would be smart and pay my taxes.

Most likely, I'll just bitch about it in my blog.

The Laughs Keep on Coming...

Just as I predicted, people are up in arms over the use of the word "lynch" in Lott-related comments. Last night on the news, some group was blaming a state senator from New York for "marginalizing" blacks by using the term, but in fact, he was referring to the statement made by Senator Shelby. I laughed and laughed. I kind of feel sorry for Lott, because Bush is leaving him hanging out to dry, but hey, if you're going to be a politician, learn to watch your mouth. He has to step down as majority leader, but he won't lose his Senate seat, so I don't feel too sorry for him.

One thing's for sure, PC is alive and well.

In other news, New York finally has a gay rights law. Sadly, it does not include transgendered people. I think transgendered people need as much or more protection from discrimination than your average gay person, so this doesn't make sense to me. Also, it's usually a more obvious issue, making discrimination more likely. Well, next go round, I guess.

Snatched Away

So, Guy Ritchie's new movie (The 49th Gate) is a London gangster film (like his first two), but it's based on Moses' attempt to get from the 49th to the 50th level of holiness, as described in the Kabbalah? Poor Guy. He should just resign himself to being Mr. Ciccone. When I heard the tinny strains of "Lucky Star" pasted onto an inappropriate scene in Snatch, I knew he'd never recover from being married to Madonna.

Fa, La, La, La, La

Got the Christmas trees and all the other holiday decorations up. My living room (blue room) tree is white with blue and silver ornaments and blue lights. My kitchen (green room) tree is made out of green and gold tinsel and decorated with just white lights. I love the smell of tinsel! That's the real smell of Christmas. It pleases me.

After a brief hiatus, I'm going back to karate tonight. I should be getting the second stripe on my belt after this class. I'm also going to attempt to make it to more than two classes a week for a while, to catch up. Plus, it's cookie season.

Speaking of cookies, I'll soon be making my traditional buttery spritz cookies with my fancy cookie press. OK, it's not fancy, but it is made of plastic and can press cookies in a variety of shapes. I prefer to dye the dough green and make mini-evergreen trees with sugar sprinkles. I know it's lame to make only one kind of cookie, but they're easy, and who do I really have to give cookies to, anyway? By New Year's I'm pushing them on my co-workers. But no, nobody wants to eats sweets. What a bunch of wimps.

By the way, this section is my subtle way of saying I feel better. Of course I'd feel much better with trip to a tropical isle, but who wouldn't?