Rorschach Test

Old Navy wants to know: how big of a pervert are you?

I must hate America.

Remember when President Bush told everyone to go shopping after 9/11 to help the economy? Good times. He did the same thing in 2007, when the current recession loomed:

As we work with Congress in the coming year to chart a new course in Iraq and strengthen our military to meet the challenges of the 21st century, we must also work together to achieve important goals for the American people here at home. This work begins with keeping our economy growing. … And I encourage you all to go shopping more.

It sounded really stupid coming out of his mouth (natch). But I am hearing the same message in more subtle ways from less retarded-sounding sources.

According to this AP article, for example, saving is bad for the economy. "For years, stores enjoyed boom times as shoppers splurged on TVs, fancy kitchen decor and clothes. Suddenly, frugality is in style."

For the first time ever, I have a savings account. With actual money in it. If that makes me "stylish," even better. I reached this point after paying down $10,000 in credit card debt. I hope never to go that far into a hole again.

The AP article laments, however, that "hard times will persist in 2009 as consumers, squeezed by layoffs and tighter credit, delay purchases of cars and other big-ticket items. Some experts say consumers have been so shaken by how fast their wealth has shrunk, so burned by credit card debt, that they might not resume their robust spending for years, if ever."

Thanks for the guilt trip, AP. But Americans' "robust spending" got us--including me--into lots and lots of trouble. Shouldn't we learn from our mistakes? Isn't it a good thing that more of us are saving?

This article doesn't try very hard to challenge what I would argue is a flawed philosophy: that the strength of America's economy is measured by the number of plasma TVs, McMansions, granite countertops, and iPhones purchased on credit.

I'm no economist, but there has to be a better measure of how well we are doing as a society. Urging me to go out and buy stuff, either subtly or in so many words, doesn't seem like a prudent way to make our economy sustainable over the long term.

I did, however, buy new shoes this weekend. Does that make me a patriot?

The Purple People Eater

Good thing I am unlikely to have grandchildren, so I don't have to tell them about the time I almost made it to the inauguration of the the first black president of the United States.

I live four blocks from the U.S. Capitol. I was lucky enough (or so I thought) to score a ticket to one of the standing sections between the reflecting pool and the Capitol. I left my apartment before the sun came up to arrive more than an hour before the gates opened. I actually brought a book because I was worried I would be bored standing around waiting for the ceremony to start.

Ha. I forgot that the D.C. Police and U.S. Capitol Police were in charge. I have never experienced such an epic clusterfuck in my whole life.

The photo above shows the "line" I stood in to get into the Purple Gate, designated for purple ticket holders like me. For security reasons, they were funneling all ticket holders for the section through a single security checkpoint, which was not clearly marked. When I arrived at 7 a.m., any semblance of a line leading to that illusive checkpoint had started to deteriorate into a blob. But everyone was in good spirits and hopeful, even as the blob turned into more of a mob. People chanted "Obama!" and sang songs. My little part of the mob even tried (in vain) to start the wave.

While standing in this mob, I noted happily that this is the most integrated I have ever seen DC. Black people and white people hanging out (if involuntarily), joking around, making conversation.

While freezing cold and uncomfortable, we had no reason to believe that we wouldn't get in. After all, we had heard about the precision inaugural preparations non-stop on the news, and we had arrived early, as suggested by event organizers. Three hours in, however, we hadn't moved more than 50 feet. And we weren't really going anywhere in that 50 feet; rather, the mob was just getting denser. By 10 a.m., I couldn't move my arms because I was so packed in.

Not once--NOT ONCE--during this three hours did I see a single police officer, National Guardsman, or event volunteer.

By 11 a.m., one hour before Obama was to take the oath, people started to get desperate. The mob descended on the security checkpoint and started chanting "Let us in!" and "Purple! Purple!" As the mob grew more restless, I still didn't see a single cop. The only uniforms I saw were those of the medical personnel who twice had to fight their way through the mob to help two elderly people who had collapsed from standing in line for hours in the cold without access to water or restrooms.

By 11:32 a.m., I realized I was never going to make it in. With tears in my eyes, I fought my way out of the crowd and sprinted home. I made it home 10 minutes before the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court flubbed the presidential oath.

The Washington Post reported that "at least 4,000 people with coveted blue or purple tickets to the presidential inauguration were blocked from entering the U.S. Capitol grounds because too many tickets were distributed, entry procedures bogged down and security officials were overwhelmed by surging crowds at several gates." This is a GROSS under-estimation of the number of purple people denied, let alone the other sections. I was surrounded by thousands of people. And that doesn't even take into account the thousands of purple ticket holders trapped for hours in what became known as the Purple Tunnel of Doom, the I-395 tunnel that runs under the Mall.

Check out this photo of the Purple Tunnel of Doom (the survivors of which have already started a Facebook page). Event organizers directed thousands of people to stand in line underground in a cold tunnel for hours with no restrooms, no water, and no police presence. This is ineptitude on an epic scale. It is a testament to the patience and good will of the people trapped in that tunnel that no one was hurt, even after most of them emerged from the tunnel to learn that the gates were closed.

My favorite excuse for this disaster: the Sergeant at Arms said people wearing bulky winter clothing took up more space on the Mall than expected. Are you fucking serious? This is your excuse? It is January 20th, moron. While this ain't northern Minnesota, it also ain't Miami. It's winter, dumb ass. Moreover, satellite images taken of the Mall at 11:19 a.m. show open space in the purple and blue ticketed sections and a mob of people at the gates. Don't blame the weatherman, Sergeant, for your incompetence.

I was so disappointed. If I had known that having a ticket meant nothing, I would have gladly gone and stood miles away at the Washington Monument with my friends and witnessed the event on a Jumbotron. After all, I didn't expect to see much even from my ticketed seat; I wanted to experience the jubilation of the crowd, which you can't get from watching it at home on TV.

Instead, I spent the majority of this historic event either staring at the back of frustrated strangers or sprinting home through blocked off streets with police yelling at me to stay on the sidewalk. Why the police felt it more important to patrol blocked off streets rather than ensure the safety of tens of thousands of people trapped in the Purple Tunnel of Doom is beyond me.

As disappointed as I was, I felt terribly for the people who spent thousands of dollars on plane tickets and hotel rooms in order to be a part of history. Many of them had stood in line for hours at the House and Senate office buildings just the day before to pick up their tickets, which turned out to be useless.

I felt even worse for the numerous elderly African-American men and women, most dressed to the nines, to whom this event likely meant more than most. As it became more obvious that the Great Purple Gate Disaster of 2009 had reached Code Red Clusterfuck, many of them started to tear up or even quietly cry.

Fuck you, U.S. Capitol Police Chief Morse, for making little old black ladies cry.

That's just how I roll.

I love yoga. Not the touchy-feely kind! God no. I love a yoga class that makes me sweat and my muscles shake. When I have a good yoga class, I feel strong, healthy, and eager to see how far I can push my body. But there's one yoga posture that can erase any goodwill I accumulate about my body in yoga class: the shoulder stand. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

I hate it because gravity is not kind. When I lift my legs up and align them over my hips, everything sliiiiiiiides dowwwwwwwwn and forms two solid rolls of fat. And of course, with my chin pressed to my chest, I can do nothing but glare at my fat rolls for a good five minutes. It's like the final showdown scene in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, except without Clint Eastwood and his cigar. I expect a dramatic swell of music as I stare down my blubber.

The irony is, yoga geeks say this posture is supposed to stimulate the thyroid gland and boost metabolism. All it makes me want to do is put on my baggy sweat pants and Google "fat festishism." Or "bulimia."

When did Ikea go all Stanley Kubrick?

I bought a chair from Ikea this weekend. The inside front page of the assembly instructions included the graphic below.

What the hell? This character is like some demented cross between the Schmoo and the masked frequenters of the sex club in Stanley Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut.

Why does he have pitchforks for hands? And why is his nose growing out of the side of his head in the 3rd panel?

My grammar skills came later in life.

But how friggin' cute was I?

Things that make you go ew.

I was watching TV last night when I saw a commercial for the PedEgg, a "revolutionary" egg-shaped cheese-grater for feet callouses. As someone with nasty soccer feet, I admit I was semi-intrigued by this commercial.

That is, until the camera zoomed in to show a woman opening up the PedEgg and dumping her skin shavings in the trash can. Seriously, I almost hurled.

The commercial boasts that PedEgg is designed to collect skin shavings in a "convenient storage compartment." Isn't that enough? Do I need an Extreme Close-Up of the skin flakes pouring into the trash can to believe it?

It reminded me of this time I went to the doctor because I couldn't hear out of my ear. The nurse had to irrigate my ear canal to dislodge some waxy build-up (barf) that she caught in a kidney-shaped bowl.

NURSE (after she finished): Do you want to see it?
ME: Um, see what?
NURSE: Your earwax.
ME: No! (pause) Do people often ask to see it?
NURSE: Oh yeah. I get old men in here all the time who want to see the huge chunks that come out of their ears.

I have never been able to shake that visual. And now I have the "cascade of skin flakes" image to keep it company.

What a moron.

The Los Angeles Times reported that President Bush called President-Elect Obama last night and said the following:

Mr. President-elect, congratulations to you. What an awesome night for you, your family and your supporters. Laura and I called to congratulate you and your good bride.

I promise to make this a smooth transition. You are about to go on one of the great journeys of life. Congratulations and go enjoy yourself.

This reads like a cheesy wedding toast by a drunk best man. You and your good bride? What the fuck does that even mean? She's the First Lady now, moron. "One of the great journeys of life?" This ain't going to be a honeymoon to Disneyland, Mr. Bush. President Obama will be spending a lot of time picking up the pieces from your eight year "journey."

Good bride. Whatever. Good BYE.

Hope.

Over the last two years, I have resisted Obama-mania, for a lot of reasons. I disagree with him on energy policy, for one. I worry about his willingness to compromise for the sake of compromise. Mostly, after 15 years in DC, I was skeptical (and cynical) about his claim that he can somehow transcend the partisan politics that are so entrenched in this town. I voted for him, but without the fervor of most Obama supporters.

But tonight, seeing the huge outpouring of human emotion across the country after Senator Obama hit 270, witnessing people in conservative states like my home state of Indiana reject fear and vote for change, listening to Rep. John Lewis talk about what the Obama victory means to him as someone who fought for civil rights in the 1960s ... I decided.

I am giving in to hope. After the travesty of the last eight years, I am allowing myself to believe that President Obama can lead us forward.

His acceptance speech moved me not only in its honesty and humility but in its earnest and urgent call to action. Voting isn't enough; now, as a country, we need to get to work. These words actually moved me to tears, so I am going to repeat them here.

The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even in one term. But, America, I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there.

I promise you, we as a people will get there.

There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who won't agree with every decision or policy I make as president. And we know the government can't solve every problem.

But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And, above all, I will ask you to join in the work of remaking this nation, the only way it's been done in America for 221 years -- block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.

What began 21 months ago in the depths of winter cannot end on this autumn night.

This victory alone is not the change we seek. It is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were.

It can't happen without you, without a new spirit of service, a new spirit of sacrifice.

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.

Hard work, sacrifice, and service never sounded so good. Bring it on.

Fuck shit cock balls.

Today, the Supreme Court took up a dispute between the television networks and the Federal Communications Commission over whether the government can fine the networks for the "fleeting" use of profanity on live television.

Historically, the FCC held that expletives used in passing did not constitute indecency. Only repeated swearing would trigger indecency charges. Then, in 2003, Bono dropped the F-Bomb during the Golden Globe Awards, saying "This is really, really, fucking brilliant." The FCC freaked out and said broadcasters are liable for even a single profane word heard in programs aired between 6 a.m. and 10 p.m.

Not surprisingly, the adjective profane has its roots in religion. It comes from the Latin for "not admitted into the temple" or "out in front of the temple" and evolved to mean "unholy, not consecrated."

As a non-religious person, I find it so odd--so fucking odd--that "we" have deemed certain words to be bad or obscene no matter what the context. I mean, Bono was using the F-Bomb to describe how incredibly awesome something was. But somehow, the F-U-C-K-I-N-G letter combination makes it profane, even though it had nothing to do with the dirty sinful act of The Sex. But if he had said, "This is really, really, freaking brilliant," it would have been OK, even though the intent behind the adverbs was the same.

Most words have little meaning without context; it's the context that lets us know whether the person using the words intends to inflict harm.

Let's look at the word "girl." Some people take offense when the word "girl" is used, even in casual conversation, to refer to an adult woman. From a feminist perspective, the word "girl" is belittling, as no one would ever casually refer to adult male colleagues, for example, as "boys." But the word "girl" itself is not taboo; people use it all the time, without controversy, to refer to young female children. Even the word "boy" in the right context is derogatory and racist, as it was used by whites to assert racial superiority in the segregated south.

Linguist Mario Pei once said: “Objections to taboos and euphemisms are of no avail whatsoever. Both constitute a definite part of usage, and both will continue, presumably, as long as language (any language) exists.” So true. Language evolves, and people will find or even create new words to connote the negative meaning they want. Ban the word fuck on TV, characters will start to say frak. Tell kids they shouldn't call the mentally disabled "retards" and they will start calling them speds instead.

The whole thing is just so silly to me. Kids will eventually learn that the word fuck exists as both a noun, verb, adjective, and adverb--and that it is awesome. Isn't it more important to teach our kids that how we use words can hurt people, rather than banning certain words from the public domain because of some weird sense of puritanism?

OMG, I'm so mortified, the police saw the super-absorbent tampons in my purse.

In college, a woman known campus-wide as "Crazy Jenny" sat at the exit of the library and half-heartedly peered into students' bags to make sure they weren't stealing anything with a Dewey Decimal Number on it. Every time I had to open my bag for her, I resented it. Not because it was a huge burden to open my bag, but because it was such obvious bullshit. If I wanted to smuggle out a book, all I had to do was bury it at the bottom of my bag, since she clearly wasn't going to do more than peek into it with one of her crossed eyes.

And now, the DC Metro system is going to deploy a legion of Crazy Jennys to conduct random searches of Metro riders' bags to "to deter terrorist attacks and increase the overall safety of the Metro system."

You can probably HEAR my eyes rolling. I mean, just five months ago the police busted a Metro station manager after she told an undercover police officer that she could hook him up with prostitutes and a sex party for $100. She even used the Metro loudspeaker to pimp. This is the frontline against terrorism?

Metro officials said the new plan to randomly search riders' bags was not in response to a specific threat "but prompted by increased security concerns before next week's election and the inauguration as well as by the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorist attacks and later bombings of commuter trains in Madrid, London and elsewhere." Helllllllooo, a fucking MONKEY could have figured out that the Metro system is vulnerable to terrorist attacks. And, by the way, it is 2008. If the Metro system is so vulnerable, what the hell have the Metro Powers That Be been doing for the last seven years?

Moreover, the actual program is total B.S. and will do absolutely nothing to make people safer, just more annoyed to be commuting another day to a soul-sucking job in a nascent police state. According to Metro, inspections could take place at any Metro facility at any time. But, just before a random inspection at a specific station, Metro Transit Police will post signs alerting riders to the inspections. Surprise! Not. Individuals who refuse to have their bag or bags inspected will not be allowed to enter the Metro system with those carry-on items, but they will be free to leave the system with their items.

So, a bad guy (or his scouters) notices that Metro is checking every 12th bag or something at Capitol South Metro Station. Instead of taking his statistical chances, he decides to walk 4 blocks to the Federal Center SW Station instead. Duh.

Of course, Metro threw a thinly veiled disclaimer into its press release, just in case people think the program is lame. "If the initiative we are announcing today does nothing more than remind us all that there are people in the world who have vowed to do us harm, and that vigilance is the key to defeating them, then this program will have succeeded."

So, if the program helps instill fear in people, it is a success. Is that what we have come to as a society? As long as people are looking over their shoulders, giving the stink eye to people who look Arab, and assuming that the white powder on the Metro platform is anthrax, then we are all better off?

Right.

Random searches are not going to deter anyone or keep would-be terrorists "off balance." Short of strip-searching everyone on their morning commute, what can we do? Nothing, probably, except cross our fingers and push for foreign policy that doesn't piss people off. That may sound flippant, but I honestly would rather live in a society with risks than in a city dominated by searches, uzis, police tape, roadblocks, and Crazy Jenny.

ADDENDUM: My friend "Sarah Jane" suggested that I carry around a bag with weird stuff in it in case I get searched. Like a bunch of sex toys. Or clumps of hair. Or headless Barbies.

Why does a TV show make me so angry?

Have you seen the new Fox TV show Fringe? I fucking hate that show. I hate it enough that I post comments about how much I hate it in chat rooms. I hate it so much that I purposely watched it again last night so that I could write about my hate in a semi-educated manner.

Why so much hate? I can't stand shows like According to Jim and Til Death and would never watch them, but I don't feel the need to proselytize about my hate for those shows. Just Fringe.

This hate is completely irrational and a little pathetic, I admit. I totally need to get laid. Not denying that. But while I am not getting laid, I am going to explain why I am such a hater.

The show centers around FBI Special Agent Olivia Dunham, mad scientist Walter Bishop, and his genius son Peter (aka Pacey from Dawson's Creek) as they investigate events involving fringe science, such as telepathy and reanimation. If you are thinking, wow, this sounds A LOT like the X-Files, you are right.

In fact, there are so many similarities, I think X-Files creator Chris Carter could sue J.J. Abrams for violating his intellectual property rights. Of course, the X-Files borrowed from other science fiction, no question. But Fringe, at its core, is the X-Files, without the originality, charm, subtlety, and of course, Mulder and Scully.

This, fundamentally, is why I hate Fringe. It offends me. It cheapens something I admire and value. I hate it for the same reason why Hollywood (so far) hasn't remade classic films such as Gone with the Wind. It is impossible to imagine anyone but Vivien Leigh playing Scarlett O'Hara. It is impossible to imagine Gone with the Wind remade with CGI or in HD. Some things are better left untouched, unremastered, and unadulterated.

Fringe is completely derivative of the X-Files, in big ways (FBI agents investigate paranormal activity potentially linked to an international conspiracy) and in smaller ways. One example: on the X-Files, Mulder and Scully frequently busted out flashlights in dark rooms, often providing the only lighting in the scene and creating the show's trademark creepy ambiance. In the Fringe episode I watched last night, Olivia (the main FBI agent) took out a flashlight of her own at a crime scene ... in broad daylight.

What amazed me the most about last night's Fringe episode was that it borrowed from not one, not two, but at least three X-Files episodes to cobble together a single plot. In this episode, a serial killer kills women to extract their pituitary glands in order to slow a rapid aging process. I immediately thought of the classic X-Files episode in which a genetic mutant killed people to extract their livers so that he could hibernate for 30 years and yet another X-Files episode in which an African immigrant in need of certain hormones killed people to extract their pituitary glands. In another scene, the mad scientist admits that he used to be part of a government program designed to cultivate soldiers. This immediately reminded me of the (somewhat ill-advised) X-Files mytharc involving the government plot to create super-soldiers out of alien DNA. (OK, it sounds stupid when I write it).

In addition to being completely derivative, Fringe has a fatal flaw: the show lacks a skeptic and therefore lacks a constant, a basis in reality. From Episode 1, the seasoned FBI agent Olivia was quick to believe in the crazy ass shit the mad scientist was dishing out--you can talk to your dead boyfriend telepathically as long as he hasn't been dead for more than 6 hours!!! As annoying as Scully's incessant "Mulder, you aren't suggesting that..." and "Mulder, do you expect me to believe..." was at times, Scully's skepticism kept the show honest. Without a skeptic, Fringe is like MacGyver on paranormal steroids. In last night's episode, the FBI agent was able to solve a crime using an "electric pulse camera" to capture the last electric impulses that traveled along a murder victim's optic nerve and therefore reveal what she saw before she died.

Over-reliance on this sort of deus ex machina = boring. If, when confronted with a seemingly intractable problem, the mad scientist can just say, "Oh, we can solve that, all we need is a flux capacitor, some chicken wire, and a set of 30 weight ball bearings"--without a single character batting an eyelash--then I am not interested.

My hair is racist.

This weekend, after experiencing yet another bad haircut, I made a solemn vow: I am never going to let an Asian man or woman cut my hair again.

I have had my hair cut on several occasions by men and woman of varying Asian descent--Korean, Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese. In general, these stylists spoke poor English, suggesting to me they were recent immigrants (as opposed to second or third generation) who likely received much of their early training in Asia. With Asian clients.

Asian hair, in general, is bone straight and thin. My hair, on the other hand, was tailor-made for the 1980s: big, wavy, full of texture, and easily shellacked into gravity-defying shapes.

Every time an Asian stylist cuts my hair, I hate it. They either (a) cut my hair all one length, allowing my hair to settle into an unflattering triangle shape, or (b) cut too-short layers into my hair, giving me a little Sarah Palin up-do poof without the folksy charm.

Conclusion based on anecdotal evidence: Asian stylists don't know how to cut my hair. I'm sure that this isn't true across the board, and I've never had an Indian or Pakistani stylist, but ... I vowed this weekend, after yet another triangle-shaped haircut, NEVER AGAIN.

The difficulty, of course, comes when calling to make an appointment at a salon. When the receptionist suggests a stylist, I can't ask, at least not without sounding icky, "Is he Asian?"

So, this morning, I call a new salon to make another appointment to get rid of my triangle hair. I make an appointment to see a guy named Frank. I don't ask his ethnicity and instead roll the dice that Frank is a white boy's name.

Wrong. Turns out Frank is Asian, too. Don't they make flaming homosexual white male hairstylists in DC?

Of course, I let Frank cut my hair anyway. I told him over and over that my hair is wavy, that I like it wavy, that I am low-maintenance, and that I rarely blow my hair dry. He spent many, many minutes blowing dry my new Posh Spice hairdo and using a flat iron to straighten it.

My hair looks kinda cute now, but I won't know its true nature until I wash it and let it do its thing. So, the judgment is out on Frank. Will he buck my Asian stylist stereotype, or will he be Exhibit F proving that my hair is racist?

I don't want to think about Uncle Joey having sex, OK?

In 1995, my friend Peter introduced me to the best 'fuck you' anthem ever written: Alanis Morrissette's "You Oughta Know."

It was a slap in the face, how quickly I was replaced.
Are you thinking of me when you fuck her?

It was every college girl's feminist anthem, blasted in dorm rooms to repair wounded egos after drunken hook-ups gone bad.

Today, while listening to my Ipod at work, "You Oughta Know" came on. Still awesome ... but ... it doesn't pack the same punch.

Maybe it's because I'm not 21 anymore. Maybe it's because I am so single/unattached/frigid that I can longer relate to this kind of angst. Or, perhaps, just perhaps, it's because we now know that the man who inspired this song is kind of an asexual doofus.

Comedian Dave Coulier--better known as "Uncle Joey" to the Olsen twins on Full House--recently confessed that he caused Alanis' angst.

Uncle fucking Joey? Really?

Uncle Joey inspired her to scream, And every time I scratch my nails down someone else's back I hope you feel it...well can you feel it?

I'm sure he's a nice, funny guy. But he was on Skating with Celebrities, for pete's sake.

I wish I could erase this piece of trivia from my consciousness. Because now, when I hear this song and start singing along with the first verse, I inevitably visualize Alanis going down on Uncle Joey in a theater.

As precocious Stephanie Tanner always said to her wacky Uncle Joey, "That's rude." And kinda gross.

FOR SALE: Frosty genitals

Americans are justifiably bullshit-pissed about the $700 billion bailout of Wall Street, especially since the executives who reigned over the whole mess are going home at night to their mansions with regulation-sized squash courts. While these executives are sleeping soundly in their 400 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, Americans are buying billions in the most toxic mortgage-backed securities that no one else wants.

This site is why I love the Internets: www.buymyshitpile.com. This site allows you to use a form to "submit bad assets you'd like the government to take off your hands. And remember, when estimating the value of your 1997 limited edition Hanson single CD MMMbop, it's not what you can sell these items for that matters, it's what you think they are worth." My favorite things that people have posted:

Snow Penis: $5 million

Hannah Montana 3-D Glasses: $200,000

23 Pairs of "Like New" Men's Underwear: $963.97

My Girlfriend: $99.99

I don't really have any assets, unless you count my X-Files collection. (After the disastrous X-Files movie, this might count as a "bad" asset that needs to be marked down.)

I think I would like to sell my piece-o-crap TV that has wood paneling on the side. You have to whack it just right to make the sound work sometimes. But it turns on! PRICE: I would like a snow penis, please.

But falling off the wagon feels so good, oh yes! Yes! YES!

Inspiring hope for chronic masturbators/fornicators everywhere, David Duchovny has checked out of rehab after successfully completing treatment for his sex addiction.

Here's my question.

For alcoholics or drug addicts, there's no such thing as "just one beer" or "just one hit off the apple bong." So, if he really is a sex addict, as opposed to someone with sexual compulsions/general asshole-ness, does that mean he can never have sex or jerk off again? If he has sex with his hot hot wife, is that the equivalent of "falling off the wagon"?

Happy National Unmarried and Single Americans Week!

George: I was free and clear. I was living the dream. I was stripped to the waist eating a block of cheese the size of a car battery.

Jerry: Before we go any further, I'd just like to point out how disturbing it is that you equate eating a block of cheese with some sort of bachelor paradise.

I just wanted to wish all of my single, untethered friends a happy National Unmarried and Single Americans Week, endorsed by the Fresno Friends Social Club in Clovis, CA! Do something to celebrate. Have a one-night stand. Watch an America's Next Top Model marathon while naked and eating a brick of cheese. Plan your next vacation to a non-Disney-themed locale (assuming the global financial apocalypse holds off).

Capital punishment

Let's take a moment to admire the fine Chinese craftsmanship.

Since the media can't question the beliefs or experience of Sarah Palin without facing accusations of sexism, it is up to the free market to answer the question, who is Sarah Palin?

By introducing the first line of Sarah Palin action figures, the free market is alerting potential voters that she is either (a) an android with man-hands in an androgynous pantsuit; (b) Baby One More Time Britney; or (c) Lara Croft, if Lara Croft shopped at Forever 21.















The ENORMOUS nerd in me wonders ... could my X-Files Scully action figure take on the Palin action figure in a dance-off or bar brawl? Some factors to consider:

HAIR: PalinActionFigure has an up-do that works in the office but looks awkward on the dance floor. ScullyActionFigure's hair is red and cut in a cute bob that looks awesome when doing the running man. EDGE: ScullyActionFigure

SUIT: PalinActionFigure's suit is reminiscent of X-Files Seasons 1-3 Taupe Pantsuit Scully, before the show could afford a stylist and decided to throw a bone to the horny nerds on the Internets who saw Scully as a "thinking man's crumpet." EDGE: ScullyActionFigure

BODY: PalinActionFigure is 12 inches tall and has 21 points of articulation. ScullyActionFigure stands 6 inches tall and can bend only her elbows. Also, in addition to having cankles, ScullyActionFigure's leg is contorted in such a way that she has to lean on MulderActionFigure just to stand upright. EDGE: PalinActionFigure

WEAPONS: PalinActionFigure comes equipped with a leg-holstered .45 handgun to shoot moose, abortion doctors, and rogue Russians crossing the Bering Strait. ScullyActionFigure has a 1998-sized cell phone that doesn't even have a texting plan or Bluetooth capacity. EDGE: PalinActionFigure

Wow, we are neck and neck here.

So, like any good contest, like say, a presidential race, I am going to base my decision on how they look from the neck up.

FACE: PalinActionFigure's face is frozen in an expression that says, "If you even think of having premarital sex, reading a blasphemous Harry Potter book, or contradicting God's will, I will scorch your soul with my Bionic Eye Lasers (after I take off my $600 Kazuo Kawasaki glasses, of course)." ScullyActionFigure's face, frozen in her trademarked look of skepticism and consternation, seems to be saying, "If you even think of hurting my AlienBaby or hitting on MulderActionFigure after he gets out of rehab for his sex addiction, I will fuck your shit up." EDGE: ScullyActionFigure for being a bad-ass.

Scully wins! And I am a NERD with too much time on her hands!

The good news is, there is a God. The bad news is...

Havens Corners Church in Blacklick, Ohio generated some news coverage with its pop-culturally relevant church sign, of course referencing Katy Perry's omnipresent song.

Did anyone else giggle at the town name? Blacklick? I guess it would have been funnier if it had been [insert euphemism for vagina]lick.

The church has since removed the sign, but not because people were outraged by the bigotry. Instead, the pastor said many residents of Blacklick had never heard the song before (where the hell have they been?) and were confused. For a brief moment, hetero men in Blacklick were freaking out about the fate of their eternal souls.

I can't wait to see what people have to say about THIS sign from Sarah Palin's former church.

OK, OK, I created that sign on the Internets, but it's scary because it comes close to the truth. In a speech before the Wasilla Assembly of God a few months ago, Gov. Palin asked the audience to pray for the successful construction of a $30 billion national gas pipeline project: "I think God's will has to be done in unifying people and companies to get that gas line built, so pray for that."

Gulp.