If One Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

Then half a dozen pictures is basically a chapter in the Great American Novel.

I’d already decided to give myself a day off from writing, and that might be a good thing, given that my circulation has dropped off about as precipitously as Joan Rivers’.  So I ventured out to Brown County State Park to commune with the trees.  It was a relaxing morning, a sort of moving meditation, and I used my time to document the first colors of autumn.  Then I managed to get somewhat lost on the 3.5 mile trail (with an associated 328 ft. elevation change) so when I got to the part where the final 0.3 mile trail was supposed to lead back to my starting point…well, I just couldn’t find it.  My choices were to sit down on a log and cry, which was tempting, but didn’t seem particularly productive, or pull up my big boy pants and go back the way I’d come.  To me it seemed up-hill all the way in both directions, just like when I was walking to school in the snow at age 10, but the good news was that I survived, and I didn’t even have any chest pain, so I guess my cardiologist won’t be needing to administer a stress-test this year.  Meanwhile, here are some of the sights:

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Celebrities Behaving Badly: All Of A Sudden Justin Bieber Doesn’t Look So Bad

In a week where that found Ray Rice doing a Floyd Mayweather on Janay Palmer, Roger Gooddell doing a Stevie Wonder on the elevator tape, and Oscar Pistorius getting an OJ on Eva Steencamp, it’s tough to get particularly exercised about the Biebs stripping down to his Calvins after getting booed at the “Fashion Rocks” show .  In fact, smoking dope on the tour bus, egging the neighbor’s house in Beverly Hills, and peeing in a mop bucket while muttering “Fuck Bill Clinton” all seem pretty tame when compared to assault and battery.

But I’d be remiss if I didn’t share what would otherwise be the celeb scandal of the 9/11 week: In some fancy filming, the rumored Iggy Azalea sex tape has been all but confirmed by the pop star in question.  Iggy went through the usual progression of outright denial followed by denial of culpability (“if it exists, it was shot without my knowledge”) followed by threats of litigation and ending with claims that it may have been shot while she was a minor. I don’t know about you, but I’m shocked that there could be any graphic images of a poet who could create lyrics like these: “It go fly bitch, fly shit, and got these ho on my dick And if I could have one wish its that I die rich”.  Who’d have ever figured?  Anyway, assuming that the tape is verified, and Iggy has enough tree rings showing to certify that she’s older than 18, Vivid Entertainment has already offered seven figures for this piece of rock history.  Coming to a video download service near you before Halloween.

With all that happened this week, it’s hard to remember back to Joan River’s funeral last Sunday.  Now, finally, the text of Howard Stern’s eulogy has been released, and the King of All Media didn’t disappoint.  He and Joan had been friends since the mid 1980’s, and I’ve heard Joan on his show many times, so I know for a fact that she’d have been thrilled to be memorialized thusly: “Joan Rivers had a dry pussy.   Joan’s pussy was so dry it was like a sponge – so that when she got in the bathtub – whooooosh – all the water would get absorbed in there! Joan said that if Whitney Houston had as dry a pussy as Joan’s, she would still be alive today.”  If he’s available when the time comes, I think I’d like Stern to do my eulogy as well.  If he wants to talk about my dick, I’m going to leave him just one instruction: Lie.

Also under the classification of “keeping it classy”, Lady Gaga also appeared at last week’s New York Fashion Week.  While performing a set at the Plaza Hotel on Friday night, Gaga stopped in the middle of her second song when the crowd was talking over her vocals and growled, “Will you fucking shut up?  We’re playing some jazz.  Goddamn rich people.”  Headline in next day’s NY Post: Pot Calls Kettle Black (not really, I made that up).

Two more sports travesties of note: Again, portrayed against the background of Ray Rice sucker punching his then fiance’, everyone else’s various abominations are a whole lot less abominable.  In particular, you’ve got to shake your head and roll your eyes over Cleveland Brown wide receiver Josh Gordon, who was initially suspended for the whole season after testing positive for THC a second time.  In a case of too little too late, the NFL has reconsidered their draconian drug policy and reduced Gordon’s suspension to eight games (half the regular season).  This is the same league that at first slapped Ray Rice with a two game suspension when they saw the “caveman drag” video of Rice and Palmer.  So here’s the deal over there in gladiator central: Beat the living crap out of your girlfriend and lose a couple of paychecks, or mellow out a little like roughly twenty or thirty million other Americans and kiss your season goodbye.  Seems sensible.  One more scandal from the boys club that is the NFL is the sexual assault lawsuit against Cowboys owner Jerry Jones, who was already embarrassed by the photos of him surrounded by strippers already released.  Professional football?  Strippers?  Sexual assault?  Pretty much as common as peanut butter, jelly, and Wonder Bread.  But this was Texas, so the only missing element is an automatic weapon.  Stay tuned.  That part of the story is sure to follow.

While we’re on the topic of sexual assault, let’s not leave out Cee Lo Green (who “The Voice” was more than Happy to replace with Pharell), whose appearance at a music festival in Alabama was cancelled in the wake of his no contest plea to slipping a little somethin’ somethin’ in a lady’s drink in 2012 prior to having sex and his subsequent tweet of  “Women who have really been raped REMEMBER!!!”  No, Cee Lo, I imagine that what most women remember of sex with you (once they regain consciousness)  is the lingering stench of rotting garbage.

Just in case you hadn’t heard:  Neil Patrick Harris (well deserved Emmy for best portrayal of a heterosexual pussy hound by a gay man in a sitcom) wed his longtime partner, David Burtka, in a ceremony in Italy (I’m pretty sure it was not officiated by the Pope).  And Fran Drescher (repeatedly overlooked by the academy for best portrayal of a Jewish American Princess by an actual Jewish American Princess in a sitcom) married the guy who reputedly invented email (no, not Al Gore), Shiva Ayyadurai.  Her mother is still disappointed…he’s not a doctor.

Finally, the story you’ve all been waiting for…in fact, the story I’ve dreamt of for half a dozen years: In the embodiment of “Trailer trash is as trailer trash does”, Sarah Palin’s whole family was ejected from a birthday party in Anchorage after her daughter Bristol (poster child for the benefits of contraception and bane of DWTS fans everywhere) threw half a dozen punches into the face of an unfortunate partygoer.  In the part I love best, Mama Palin was heard to exclaim, presumably as she was escorted off the premises, “Do you know who I am??”  In answer to your unasked question…yes, alcohol was involved.

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Can We Talk?: Eulogies, Death Panels, And Root Canals

It’s hard to maintain a positive outlook when you’re staring down the barrel of a root canal, but I’m doing my best.  After posting just a short explanation of my temporary absence from cyberspace on Friday, readership plummeted, with just one page view so far today, so for all I know, I’m basically writing for my personal journal this morning.  Not encouraging, but the upside is that anyone who checks in gets to glimpse inside my diary…pretty exciting, no?

Scanning the national headlines, there’s not a hell of a lot to smile about on this Monday morning (and smiling would be a challenge anyway, what with the aching molar and all).  The various polls have been retabulated, and the mathematical conclusion is that the GOP stands a 61% chance of retaking the Senate.  If you had any hopes about health care, abortion rights, a decent minimum wage, equal pay for equal work, immigration reform beyond walls and troops, or a return to a marginally functional legislative branch, you might want to stock up on Xanax and lay in supplies for a long winter.  The only good news is that it still takes a two-thirds majority in the Senate to validate an impeachment…but that doesn’t mean that these ideological fools won’t still waste most of the next two years giving it their best effort, while at the same time giving us all a lesson in constitutional fatalism.

Not that Obama hasn’t done his part.  My old blogmate related to me in private emails that he’s come to the conclusion that Obama has been the worst president of the modern era, a conclusion I fear is shared by virtually all of the Right, and is sadly being conceded even by some of Obama’s staunchest supporters on the Left.  This Sunday found the president yet again apologizing for one of his supposed gaffes.  He says he misjudged the “optics” when he was seen golfing shortly after issuing his statement of shock and anger over the beheading of American journalist Steven Foley.  I honestly don’t know if it was such a big deal what he did after issuing that statement, but the manufacturers of hyperbolic outrage on the Right certainly did, and jumped on it with even more vehemence than the disgust displayed over the president’s sartorial choices of the week before (the tan suit incident).  What I do know is that acknowledging these ridiculous slights with apologies and explanations just adds fuel to the fire.

Which brings me to the topic of Joan Rivers.  Mrs. Left and I grew up with her from her earliest days breaking ground on the Johnny Carson show to her epic one-liners on Fashion Police.  We’re old enough that we can remember when she actually had her own face.  Too soon?  Nah.  And that’s the thing I loved most about Joan Rivers.  She made an explicit policy of never apologizing for the things she said.  She epitomized the sentiments contained on a  plaque I had on the shelf in my office for over 25 years: Fuck ‘Em If They Can’t Take A Joke.  Joan believed that no one was exempt and no topic was off limits.  Like Mel Brooks, she had no problem making jokes about Hitler or the Holocaust, and there was no politician or celebrity, up to and including the Queen of England, who was too important or sacrosanct to be immune from Joan’s barbs.

I’d heard Joan interviewed several times on the Howard Stern Show, and it’s no surprise that Stern was chosen to deliver the eulogy at her funeral yesterday.  In some way from beyond the grave, I think it was Joan’s way of delivering a final “fuck you very much” to anyone who just doesn’t get it.

But River’s death made me think of another issue.  At age 81, and with a known cardiac dysrhythmia, she underwent an EGD (esophagogastroduodenoscopy) at a prestigious outpatient clinic in NYC.  During the procedure she suffered some type of cardiopulmonary arrest (they’ve never really been clear on the details) and subsequently died.  It reminds me of my late mother-in-law, who underwent a similar procedure at a similar age, and had a biopsy which resulted in a GI bleed that ultimately led to her death.  I have no idea what symptoms from which Joan Rivers may have been suffering that led to the recommendation for that endoscopy, but I do know that in my mother-in-law’s case, it was a non-urgent and probably completely unnecessary procedure.  The point here is that not everyone needs everything, medically speaking.  Particularly in the geriatric population, we need to much more carefully weigh the risks of any given procedure against the possible benefits.  Those risks accelerate with every passing year, and the benefits commensurately decline.  As it turns out, Joan Rivers’ death very well might have been prevented by a “death panel”.  If someone had said, “Joan, I don’t think you really need this expensive procedure right now.  Let’s be conservative, see what happens, and re-evaluate in a few months” she might still be talking about Miley Cyrus’ latest fashion faux pas instead of watching the black dresses on the red carpet of her own funeral from the other side of the veil.

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Celebrities Behaving Badly: George Clooney’s Getting Married And Other Fairy Tales

So ultimate Hollywood bachelor George Clooney reportedly got a marriage license with his betrothed, Amal Almudin this week.  Presumably they also inked the final details of the pre-nup, pending their amicable divorce/conscious uncoupling, the over/under on which I peg at roughly 11 months (a year just seems like such a long time).  Seeing Clooney tie the knot is a blow to the tradition of principled horndoggery everywhere.  Jack Nicholson and Warren Beatty finally succumbed.  Even my old med school buddy, Marty, ultimately decided that number 1,337 was “the one” (but that’s a whole ‘nother story).  Leonardo DiCaprio is the last of this dying breed.  What’s the world coming to?

Over at “The View” they’re still trying to figure out the ideal mixture of estrogen, progesterone, and bile to provide ratings magic for sponsors Tampax, Lexapro, and Detrol.  Bringing back Rosie O’Donnell seems like a sure winner.  She’s got the liberal, loud, and lesbian demographics pretty well covered, but the producers still need a conservative voice to replace the strident screeches of Elisabeth Hasselbeck.  For my money, I think the whole balance thing is overrated, but no one asked me at ABC.  So they filmed a test run with CNN conservative pundit S.E. Cupp, who is anti-abortion, anti-pornography, anti-contraception, and also is Ann Coulter level hot…which leads me to ask the question that’s been plaguing me for years: Do young Republican women ever fuck?  And are they allowed to enjoy it?  Or, as they seem to imply, do they grudgingly submit as infrequently as humanly possible, gritting their teeth only when procreation is a biological imperative?  Just asking.  Anyway, the test show was reportedly rather bumpy, which might turn out to be good for ratings.  Rosie said of Cupp on-camera that she didn’t want another Hasselbeck, and Whoopi Goldberg said to the producers after the taping,  “I’ve been working with a cranky 85-year-old woman who’s mad about everything for 2 years, and I need a break.”  Wonder who she could have been talking about.

There’s also been nakedness in the news this week!  That’s the good news.  The bad news, as always, is that copyright constraints prevent me from directly showing you the evidence.  So I encourage you to play along and actually click on the links.  I promise you won’t be disappointed (or at least no more disappointed than usual).  Selena Gomez’s reps claim that the topless pics swirling around the web are definitely not the Disney princess’ ta ta’s.  That’s a shame, because they’re quite the set, beauty marks and all.  Miley Cyrus is making no such denials.  She skips the whole Instagram/Twitter step and just shows up half-naked in public.  Coincidentally, in a survey of 2,407 parents, Miley Cyrus was named the worst celebrity role model.  Hey, an award is an award.  In the last of celebrity skin for the week, Kourtney Kardashian proved that the watermelon doesn’t fall far from the vine, recreating her mother Kris’ pregnant photo from ’87 with her own pre-partum pic.  I personally prefer sister Kim’s penchant for documenting conception, but that’s just me.

Hollywood and politics: mixing cowshit and horseshit still stinks the same, but it makes great blog fertilizer:  Joan Rivers, who I usually adore, sort of makes a point for me, but you go ahead and figure it out for yourself.  When confronted by a reporter at LAX and asked about the Israel/Gaza war, she went on what’s described as an epic rant, ending, in regard to civilian deaths in Gaza:  “They started it. We now don’t count who’s dead. You’re dead, you deserve to be dead.”  Oy. Vey.  By the next morning, her publicist must have had an adult chat with her, and the predictable apology/explanation/retraction was issued: “I was  totally taken out of context. What I said and stand behind is, war is hell and unfortunately civilians are victims of political conflicts. We, the United States, certainly know this as 69 years later we still feel the guilt of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.   Along with every other sane person in this world, I am praying for peace.”  Ok, Joan, now I’m kvelling.  Wonder if she’ll cover Netanyahu’s suits on Fashion Police.

Two final items, which aren’t related directly to celebrities, although perhaps they ought to be.  Yesterday, while working out at the Y, I saw a great t-shirt on a fellow about my age on a rowing machine.  I had to ask him where he got it, and he told me it was from his wife.  It said, along with a Caribbean island logo: If a man in the middle of the sea speaks where no woman can hear him…would he still be wrong?  Best. Shirt. Ever.

Finally, a call-back to Dave Barry:

Third person attacked by ‘vicious’ otter on the Pilchuck River

Two great names in one title, “Vicious Otter” for a metal band and “Pilchuck River” for a folk trio.

Have a great weekend.

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Dicks In The News, Celebrities Behaving Badly (No Pics), And Me Whining For A Change

Here’s the good thing about limited readership: it’s liberating.  I mean…if no one’s paying attention, who am I going to offend?  (Whoever it is, would you please at least make a comment?)  Just before I took a week off from blogging, there were 142 page views on April 15, and yesterday I scored a grand total of…wait for it…11.  I’m thinking of making this a once-a-year publication and limiting it to Tax Day.  I guess in a head-to-head showdown with a 1040 form, I’ve at least got a fighting chance.  Ok, that concludes the whining portion of today’s submission.

Those of you who checked in yesterday, all dozen minus one of you (ok, sorry…I’m really done whining now), will have noted my discussion of my ex-blogmate’s proclivity toward profanity, and it got me to thinking.  Cory is way more prolific than I am, and I think I may have figured out at least one reason for his productivity.  He’s just more pissed off than I am.  I do my best writing when I’m in full rant mode (or when I’m mired in sloppy sentimentality, which might be more poetic, but isn’t nearly as entertaining), so I’ve scoured the blogosphere and web for general instances of heinous douchebaggery and foul fuckheadedness, and as you might imagine, there was no lack of either.

First, let’s talk about my new hero (or is it heroine? or is that condescending and insensitive? whatever), Joan Rivers.  I’ve loved this woman for as long as I can remember, and I love her more than ever now.  Joan says what’s on her mind, is poetically profane, insanely hilarious,  and knows no boundaries, age included.  Joan has yet again offended the political correctness police with a quick throwaway one-liner delivered on the April 22 “Today Show”.  Rivers is like manure these days, showing up on every available talk show to hype her new show on the WE network, “Joan and Melissa: Joan Knows Best“.  On the Today Show she compared her accommodations at her daughter’s house thusly:  “those women in the basement in Cleveland had more space”.  Well, the manufactured outrage machine went into overdrive and various protectors of the public good DEMANDED that Joan apologize, but she impolitely refused.  Her response is perfect:  “There is nothing to apologize for. I made a joke. That’s what I do. Calm down. Calm fucking down. I’m a comedienne. They’re free, so let’s move on.”  I’m with Joan 100% on this.  It was a joke.  It was funny.  She said it and she owned it and enough with the fucking apologies already.

Get a little perspective.  If you want to be outraged about something, let’s try the governor and legislature of Georgia or these militia kooks in Nevada.  Down there in the Peachtree State, they signed a new law that basically says it’s legal to take a gun anywhere.  You can be packing in church, at the park, in school, in the airport lobby, or at your favorite local pub.  The theory here, backed by the knuckle-dragging mouth-breathers at the NRA, is that the general public will be safer if, when someone starts shooting in one of these place, ten or twelve patriotic citizens start shooting back.  Yep, Berettas in bars and Glocks in groceries…nothing could possibly go wrong with that plan.  Oh, and by the way, just to give you an added sense of security, there’s no need to worry, the Georgia law is pretty much already in place right here in Indiana, so feel free to strap your Colt to your hip and head over to Kilroys for the Little 500 festivities, and don’t forget…to “drink responsibly”.

And how about this maniac rancher in Nevada, who up until yesterday was the veritable darling of the Right Wing and FOX News because he and his militia buddies stood up to the evil federal government which was trying to you know…enforce the law.  Once Clive Bundy got his platform and the backing of Sean Hannity and Bill O’Reilly and Rush and the rest, he figured he could now expound on the real problems plaguing our great nation:

“I want to tell you one more thing I know about the Negro,” he said. Mr. Bundy recalled driving past a public-housing project in North Las Vegas, “and in front of that government house the door was usually open and the older people and the kids — and there is always at least a half a dozen people sitting on the porch — they didn’t have nothing to do. They didn’t have nothing for their kids to do. They didn’t have nothing for their young girls to do.

“And because they were basically on government subsidy, so now what do they do?” he asked. “They abort their young children, they put their young men in jail, because they never learned how to pick cotton. And I’ve often wondered, are they better off as slaves, picking cotton and having a family life and doing things, or are they better off under government subsidy? They didn’t get no more freedom. They got less freedom.”

Oh, how the Right hates it when one of its stars inadvertently shows the rest of us what’s behind the curtain.  That hot high-pressure surging column of racism, xenophobia, homophobia, and chauvinism that is the lifeblood of the GOP.  That is something about which to be outraged.

The damned parking meters downtown are another rage-inducing feature, but since mine is about to run out, that’s enough for today.

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