Harriet Miers is out of the running now, thank god, but she certainly will not be forgotten in this series of correspondence between herself and GWB over several years.

If you don’t feel like visiting, here’s the general jist:

HM: You are so cool!
GB: No, you are!
HM: No, you are!
GB: No, you are!
HM: No way, you are so much cooler than me!
GB: Aww, stop! You’re making me blush.
HM: But you’re cute when you blush, you know.
GB: You’re so sweet.
HM: No, you are!
GB: No, you are!
HM: No, you are!

Reading over at CiN Weekly I am reminded what an local import I am. I’ve always lived in Southwest Ohio, but the big city to the south (only third biggest in the state, no matter what Cincinnati tries to tell you, that whore… certainly has a culture gap I never got into growing up almost two hours away closer to THE bigger city, Columbus. I’ve lived this far south for 8 years now and I still don’t get these things:

1: Goetta
Tried it, didn’t die. That’s the best I can say. I think it’s long range effects are still being decided.

What is it? It’s fat, meat and spices with oats squeezed into a tube, cut thin lengthwise, and fried until cripsy. Commonly it’s served as breakfast with eggs, or any other time of day on a sandwich. It tastes like hamburger grease, dipped in lard. It’s what Spam has nightmares about becoming if it let itself go.

2: Cincinnati Chili
The term “chili” is euphemistically used. It is a greasy, thin, watery concoction that is actually orginated from a Greek restaurant meat sauce – it has cinnamon and some cocoa which are responsible for the “unique” taste. Meh, it’s okay.

It is eaten most often either on top of the worlds tiniest hotdogs and topped more cheese than you can fit in your mouth or in a plate poured over spagetti and piled with even more cheese (this actually what you get). This combination is called a “3-way”, and I still snicker at the term when I hear it. You can also toss on any or all of the following: onions, beans, and yellow mustard to make it 4 or “5-way”. (Insert even bigger snicker here).

There are two large chains that have an intense rivalry and fan base, but small restaurants have the best I think personally – the chain’s site makes it look meaty and thick, do not be decieved. It looks like the watery remains of a late night porcelain vigil after a spicy Thai meal. The taste however is not nearly as flavorful. Good occasionally to mix things up mealwise, and you do get used it’s unique texture after a while. Most locals get cravings at least once a week that is amusing to witness and befuddling to understand.

Eating it is a very regimented process that you must follow or be shunned from their tenuous society. Wearing a “lobster” bib is not embarrassing and even encouraged. You do NOT twirl it. You have to use a knife and fork to eat it, cutting and scooping the drippy mess as you go. DO NOT cut it all up at once either. If you don’t do it right you will get a talking to from a well meaning stranger or get stared at by the entire room – they take thier quasi-chili etiquette very seriously.

3: Cornhole
The first time I heard the name I thought it was a derogatory term for some odd sexual practice. Still not sure.

It’s a “bean bag” toss game using feed corn instead of beans. You throw your bags towards your opponents slanted game board on the ground aiming for the hole near the top. Yeah, I got over that game in elementary school too, but there are some hardcore adult fans who are trying to take the sport legit with leagues and standardized rules.

Haven’t ever tried it, but not looking to so I end this one here.

4: Traffic
I have no idea how these people find their way around. The city streets are a maze designed by blind mute donkeys. If you get off, you can’t get back on. The highway signs always lead you south, but never north. What the hell is the “cut in the hill” anyway?

5: Cincinnati fears all weather.
It’s snow, not sharks with laser beams mounted to their freaking heads, you get it every year for crying out loud. And what’s with canceling school for FOG? And SUN DELAYS! Rain! We’re gonna melt when we got grocery shopping, I must try to park my car IN the store.

My god it never ends.

6: Opening Day is next to Godliness
Cincinnati has the first game of the baseball season by tradtion, and they have a mongo huge parade every year. Opening day is bigger there than Christmas, and is every bit the holiday. It’s a sports inspired city pride rally, more or less, but to the nth degree but with gratitutious alcohol for the adults. They divert the streets downtown. Schools and businesses close, if not parents will skip work and pull the kids out of school to go. Mr Man always has to look up when it is because he knows the sales staff will be gone all day downtown getting pastered and he’ll have a day to actually get stuff done.

What things in your local area that you, try as you might, just don’t “get”?

Which is my way of saying poking stupid people with no sense of humor on purpose to make them look even stupider.

I’ve written before about my FreeCycle list I’m on. Today another batch of truly befuddling requests came in. One of the them was asking for a 23 foot box truck for their burgeoning moving business “since I have kids to raise”. I’ve been seeing lots of requests for cars recently as well.

I have come to call it MoochCycle and read the most preposterous posts to my hubby for laughs. Some of the class A dreamers ask for their things to be in great condition and not need of repair. Some are so cheap they ask for things like USB cables which you can get for $6.

The only thing people haven’t asked for is houses… so I decided to.

We live next to AK Steel (and I mean NEXT TO, 100 feet from the property line, 400 yards from a fire stack). Due to all the pollution and particulate (that will only get worse due Bush lowering the clean air laws) we’d like to get out of here while we’re alive… so we want to move, but we can’t since we can’t afford it. If we stay we’ll die of some nasty form of cancer. So what the hell!

The ideal house would be:
Wooded semi-rural, 3 bedroom, two floors with basement, a spa or hot tub, privacy fence back yard for the dogs, and a 2 car garage. LOTS of storage. Should be 5 years old or newer – not in need or repair or in the middle of remodeling – we’re not handy.

If it was designed in the Prarie, Tudor or Contemporary Modern architectural style and had a view, a gourmet kitchen with SubZero fridge, had formal gardens or a pond out back, was fully wired for broadband/phone/cable/sat or at least had a wifi point, and on top of a goldmine or oil deposit – that would be optimal! Houses located in Europe are fine.

We’d need to fully furnished too, our belongings are less than new for such a nice house and may not fit the architectural style.

Got a few immediate emails from folks who got the joke (“I’m still laughing, that was a gret post!” or “I just gave one just like that away!” ) i bet most on the list will be stupid to get that it IS a joke.

America – NOT home to sarcastic irony.

As everyone knows the Bible leaves Jesus’s life largely a mystery. It leaves him as a baby and only picks back up in his thirties showing him as a long-haired troublemaking rebel destined for a bad Roman holiday.

Scholars for years had fought over these missing years. Did he study in the temple? Did he marry Mary Magdalen? Did he take up professional leprechaun wrestling for college beer money? Was he a flight attendant?

At the Lutheran church we had an event at this weekend, and this age old secret was finally revealed on it’s elderly daycare/youth center wall (of all places):

Jesus, Male model.

I suppose it’s to connect to the kids, to make him young an hip, but I’ve never seen Jesus with a J.Crew pose and “come hither” look before.

During the day we debated if it was shorts or a short tunic tucked down between the legs to hide the ‘holy relics’. We’d look at the wall and ask each other if we’d go to hell for trying to look up Jesus’ skirt.

I’ve posted on this before, but scouting for Mr. Freaky Face’s mugshot I stumbled on yet another entry in bad parental name choices.

Jesse James Hollywood is a bad man. He might have had a chance in life if his name was Chris or Mike. But no. His parent(s) decided to name him after a famous outlaw. Gee, I wonder why he went bad with a namesake like that. I’ve always said this name was a curse on whoever got it, because when your a kid with a name like that, you try to embody it. This is just one more piece of proof.

I watch a lot of TV, prolly 18 hours a day easily. I’ve come to a social theory that i think will break the field of infant nomenclature right open.

I’ve pretty much decided that if you name your child “Jesse James” (in any form), you should be put in jail for endangering a minor.

Today I got to see at least the 30th real kid named Jesse James on TV, this time it was “Jesse James Kenneth Dubbins” or something like that.

I’m seeing a sweet little 3 month old baby, and all I can see is his future. Living in a trailer park with his house on broken cinder blocks and under a double mortgage.

Parents who stick the moniker on their kids are only dooming them to a lifetime of heavy drinking, mullets, goatees, motorcyles, slutty blonde ho’s and a cigarette related criminal record. You know, just got out out on his third time in county for knocking over another convenience store for a couple cartons of smokes – again.

I sw it’s true.

I’m also pretty sure naming a boy “Terry” will almost certainly make him gay – but, that’s another theory for another post.

El Presidente, Ari Obvious, and Uncle Tom, are coinsidering adding a new terror level between red and orange.

The alert levels as they stand now:

Lets see, between those two colors is vermillion. That just provides a sea of rather homosexual laced jokes.

My suggestions:
First, rename the whole thing! It was much too depressiing before.
Second, pick a spokes person… one full of sex appeal and widely recognized. Perhaps with thier own vegas Stage show…

Story about a Michigan United Way officer who stole over 1.4 million dollars.

I never liked United Way. As a kid, I saw what my dad went through with them at work. We didn’t have much money but, of course, they go into cahoots with your boss to hustle you into donating and if you say no you really can get railroaded. My dad got alot of crap for saying no over the years. So did I.

When I worked at Meijer, they made the yly United Way campaign meeting mandatory. You got paid for it and everything. I never gave anything. I was barely making enough as it was.

I was a bagger, I was making a grand $5 an hour at the highest point and going to design school with many expensive supplies and portfolio related things to buy.

One year I got called into the bosses office. They noted I had not signed up to dontate. I said that was right, I barely make enough for my design school and car payment needs and if anyting I needed my money more than they did.

They said they had the forms there and wanted me to reconsider. I was shocked at this blatant muscleing. I said no. I mentioned how I never agreed with thier methods of generating revenue by getting businesses to make these meetings mandatory. I never liked how a large portion of thier income went to generating even more revenue. I told them everything I didn’t like and why.

They chewed me out about my stinginess, and I the explained I had seen my parents get worked over in the same way over the ys, and never liked it then either. I told them I knew the managers and got bonunses for United Way donations, my NOT falling in line was infrigning on thier bonus. And I didn’t care. Their even getting a bonus for ’supporting” this kind of shake down was wrong.

They made me REATTEND the next shifts meeting, so I could “reconsider”. I still didn’t give anything, I got called in again, this time with 2 managers. (My guess is they got a bigger bonus if EVERYONE went on board in thier department)

I stuck to my guns, refusing again to donate even the suggested $2 a week. I told them I’d be happy to donate $20 to American Cancer Society or another of a number of direct chairities instead, but I *would not* give money to United Way.

They tried everything but firing me. Seriously they were talking about how if I wasn’t a ‘team player’ maybe they ‘needed to reconsider my place withthe company’, etc… I told them to go ahead and fire me for not giving a completly voluntary donation in a national campaign. I’d be happy to go to the press, and the state Attorney General, about it.

This is why I don’t like United Way, and the American Red Cross to some extant too (that’s an entire other story there).

When I donate, I do so directly to the cause I wish, not through a secondary donation cling house like UW. I encourage you to too. Mostly my money anymore goes to museums like the Smithsonian.

So, its been sub freezing for weeks now, its never THIS cold THIS long in Ohio, We get short bursts of frigid air every year but never weeks of sometimes sub-zero temps.

One thing I notice, is that no one seems to know how to wear a scarf.

Below is some styles I see often. You’ll see I’ve named them for the purpose of this entry for reference purposes.

Click to see full size and use it while you read.

Now, most of these are plain stupid, and do nothing more than say “Look I have a scarf on! Aren’t I suave and dashing?” They are not insulating. And most are down right silly looking.

The Limey: Now when I was in London, I would say 99% of the people there tied theirs in the style I have called “the Limey”, and of all the styles I find this one particually easy to put on, keep on, out of the way. It is a v-shape which, ironically, is the shape of your coat neck… so it closes off the open gaps. They are really smart, this one works. It also keeps it from getting in your way, and is very warm. A+

The Poser:This is the style most men w. The scarf is just draped over the neck and then a coat (usually a short style) put over it so the scarf just shows, giving a sort of waistcoat/vest look. This is especially pitfiul when the scarf peeks out the bottom of the coat and makes the person look like a gigantic four year old. C-

The Windup: Ah, the patented 30-second method to look like pathetic eurotrash. Or an gigantic poof. D

The Neck Brace: Not bad, but you look goofy as all get out winding it around your neck 40 times. B-

The Draper: “My mom made me put on a scarf before I could leave.” F

The Noose: Pull harder, I think you’re still breathing. You cannot do this one without looking like your mother dresses you. Add mittens on a string and the look is complete. F

The Reverend: Oh, why even bother. I don’t care if you are Mel Gibson, this only works if you are in a tux at the opera or standing at a pulpit. F

The Tosser: The easiest of the “wrap” styles, but you just look dorky as you try to keep the thing over your shoulder. Absolute 0 for warmth. D

The Ascot: Simliar to “the noose” but the ends pulled downward, making you completly idiotic. No upper neck protection. D+

So, hopefully you will all think what you look like now.

Yeah, I got kinda mouthy with the security cow. I admit it, but I can explain!

After 8 hours squeezed in a seat too small for a sardine can, waddling through customs with an passport guy who was slower than hell and older than the mummies we saw at the British museum. We made way baggage claim.

Then it was the tiring task of trying to find on of the advertised carts, getting the bags off the crowded carousel, then walking 30 feet the end of the concourse and being told we can’t have our bags just yet since the international flight gates and baggage claim are behind the metal detectors, and we had to to RECHECK THEM. They would “be at the baggage claim at the main concourse before you get there”. Oh that’s making me feel alot better.

So, now the twenty minutes we spent trying to find a baggage cart, and load it, was in vain. They weren’t allowed past this point.

We throw our just acquired bags on the same ‘recheck’ belt system with the other people on our flight who were connecting to other flights, (two lines – local and connecting – but the same belt – like that makes sense) ensuring a high probability we’d hear our luggage would end up in Anchorage without a trace.

We proceed towards the main baggage check a mile (and a useless tram) away, but first have to nagivate the Tensor ribbon maze 20 feet away – to pass through another metal detector, the main one for the airport.

They stood directly in front of you so you couldn’t walk through unguarded. And you were not allowed to walk through until given the “wave”.

It went off. Of course.

What set off the metal detector alarm to warrant the sch? No idea, didn’t go off at Gatwick and god knows their security is better and has been for decades. (They didn’t even make me remove my laptop out of the bag, or start it up, for the xray line there.) I was wing no metal, even had a plastic zipper on my stretchy skirt. Must be those alien implants. Yup.

They guy after me got set off too, he was steaming, he was already late for his re-scheduled conneeting flight.

Our plane had been 2 hours late arriving at Gatwick, so before we could leave it had to be refueled and such first, adding more time. Most of the other passengers were connecting elsewhere and had already been rescheduled on other flights. This guy was missing the one they had rescheduled for him. Now he set off the alarms, and like me he was exhausted, cranky and incensed. he looked at me and shook his head, “I’ve never been to this place before. They dont deserve to land international flights here period, this is insane. This is the worst airport I’ve ever seen. They dont have a clue hwo to do this.” I agreed whole htedly. Blind retard monkeys had obviously gotten to plan the international arrivals routine. It made that little sense.

The jumbotron security matron approached me like I was felon in cell block D. She held this long tapered scanner that looked like a giant version of those trigger candle lighters. I said “I hope that’s not going where it looks like it goes.” She was not amused and growled back “WHAT?” with that tone that said if you say one more word you’ll be in shackles and beaten like a two bit whore. How dare I speak to her indeed.

“Oh god, just get it over with.” I growled standing there, arms thrown out like I was being crucified. She made me sit and they scanned my shoes and my COMPLETELY BARE calves (I was wing a skirt and no hose) and even took that wand up my skirt a bit. They made me stand on the little feet on a mat, (as if I was too stupid to know to stand with my legs spread) and did it again.

Then, and I sw I am not making this up. She tweaked my boobs, sw to god. Took fingers and lifted them! She felt the underwires in my bra (plastic), and reached around to feel the closures on the back – all while sneering with complete detest at me like I was a cow for slaughter. (I don?t recall there ever being one single female hijacker, ever)N And I’m not even going anywhere but to the parking lot to go home. I’m not connecting to another flight. I’m DONE. I have to do all this just have to get out of their stinking airport!

All this groping was out in the open, no screens no nothing. I was getting felt up in front of 200 complete strangers. I was a bit more than angry, cranky and humiliated, and when that happens I get even mouthier.

I was about ready to raise my shirt over my head and let them see ‘the girls’ since she was showing so much interest in them and just get it over with. But, I knew I’d get a world of pain from it so I just went “Ooooh, you’re good! Call me.” with a snotty sneer. And walked off. Grrr!

We went to the completely useless tram to baggage claim. (I think it goes a few hundred yards) A few moving walkways would have been much simpler if you ask me. We did actually find our luggage at baggage claim #2 of the evening. And for the first time in the airport, someting nice happened – our shuttle to the distant parking lot service was RIGHT out front. I almost kissed the driver. Ten minutes later we were driving home.

All my future international flights will be out of Columbus. CVG sucks donkey butt.

Coffee, Tea, or Should We Feel Your Pregnant Wife’s Breasts Before Throwing You in a Cell at the Airport and Then Lying About Why We Put You There? though, beats anything that happened to me, but knowing my temper, it’ll happen someday. Yup, I’m convinced.

I was looking for a interactive flash version of the grade-school favorite, the hand turkey. You know, a 21rst century piece of useless fun. Nada. Nothing even close. So I made my own in Photoshop.

Gobble! Gobble! Click to see full size!

I did find “How To Make A Hand-Turkey” though on Google, which is almost as good.

But until I find a flash version, just for kicks, I charge you all to make your own hand turkeys in Photoshop. Go nuts, and send them to me (in full size), or send me the links to them and I’ll post them here.

I would like to say polygon lassoing your hand pressed to the monitor is easy… it’s not, but it is a skill test and really fun!

lier this week I got a cellphone voicemail before I could get to my phone, calling them back I got ahold of an unintelligible person. Don’t get me wrong I knwo LOTS of unintelligible people, but I could tell this one wasn’t one of them… so I said “wrong number” and hung up.

Later that night, 3AM to be exact, and a cell phone rings from out front. Mr Man hs it and runs for the livingroom buck nekkid thinking it’s his phone from work. It’s not, it’s mine (forgot to turn it off). He brings it to me in bed grumbling how I left it on like an idiot, and to see who it was incase it was an emergency. I punch up the missed calls menu and see it’s the unintelligible guy’s number again. I turn off the phone and go back to sleep cursing him where ever he is.

Move to today. I’m coming out of Best Buy after finding a sweet deal on CD-R’s (more on that later) turn on the phone to call Mr Man at work about something minuscule. It finds the tower signal then tells me I have voicemail. I remember the 3AM call… so I listen to it.. and I listen, and I listen…. it goes on like 20 minutes!

A few guys, somewhere chatting, in a lanuage I cannot understand (Arabic maybe? Indian? Some African lanuage?) One of them had obviously hit some button on his cell phone and redialed me. Oh joy.

So it thought I’d throw it up to see if anyone can understand the lanuage, the conversation, and tell me what they are saying, or would like to make one up and submit it for later posting.

This is just the first three minutes! It goes on and on!

Excuse the quality, I’m holding a computer microphone to the padded piece of my headset phone – some noise from that. But it came out pretty good I think.

I love pens. Especially cool pens like my newest aqusition on the left.

If you have a business an leave cool scifi imprinted pens out – they will prolly end up in my pocket before I walk away. I admit it. I’m a thief of crap.

I don’t steal things with REAL value, an I don’t take them from people. I just take them from counters. The Target one – had to. The “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire” one I got at my audition for the show in Cincinnati. Again, had to. It was my PROOF I was there!

Pharmacuetical company swag is the BEST! They spend so much money on stuff, pens, pads, clips, bungies, clipboards, clips – ahhhh!. Almost makes want to get a job at a doctors office just to fill up my pockets.

I have spend hours oogling things at Branders and uploading my scifi so I can see them on thier digital mockups. I have dreams of swag I want: an Apple pen – but knowing how freaking cheap Apple is – and knowing they don’t bring anything to the convenstions I’ve seen them at – I know I’ll naver have one. And yes I know I can hit places on the web and BUY it, but it’s the principle! Swag should be free and exchanged for a sales pitch or snuck off with when they aren’t looking to avoid said sales pitch. Paying for swag – for shame!

I collect neat regular pens too (I pay for THOSE). And Floaty pens And, you can’t GET me out of an office supply store in less than an hour.

It’s sick I know. Sicker still that I don’t write much more than short grocery lists or signing checks, and that my handwriting now resmebles a 80-y old blind autistic midget. I just like pens ok?

The Pre-Premiere of David E Kelly’s Girl’s Club:
First of a (hopefully) continuing series of synopsizes of shows Jen will never see.

Blonde: Like wow! Isn’t that totally cool that we all were best friends in law school together and we all got hired by the same law firm! Like wow! What are like the chances of that!?

Blonde: Gee! Sure is neat we all get to work together! This will be super!

The post brought to you by Viodin:

Happy monkeys, dancing all around me.
Circles of prancing ponies, pink and plump.
Warm sun, fuzzy on my face, wheee!
Pillow, soft and whispers to me,
of rebellious thoughts of ice creams and cheese.
Mmmmm, cheese.

From Design school when I actually used to draw. Forget if I posted it here before and too lazy to look it up. (If I did it was a long time ago and no one prolly saw it anyway.)

This piece is actualy like 18″ wide so this doesn’t do it credit really. I did it in colored pencils (prismacolors) if anyone is curious, I loved working in colored pencil. Wasn’t messy like paint, I hated painting.

Well anyway, don’t know if anyone cared but I thought I’d show a long lost skill I’ve abandoned that my Mom nags me to start up again. Prolly won’t but I’m not pitching my supplies, just in case. You never know when a midlife-crisis will set in.

I must admit when I open the mail box and see those little catalogs tucked inside it, my ht leaps. And then I leap; straight for the bathroom.

It’s almost like seeing a Walter Drake or Harriet Carter catalog arrival is all the permission my bowels need to signal me to go there and bring the little book with me.

I’ll read them for weeks there, over and over till the next “issue” comes. Poking fun at some of the items, some you sw you saw at Grandma’s house (and the pictures prolly are the same now as they were then) and the other odd products they sell inside.

I will admit it, I’ve even bought some stuff from them over time. And some I need or want to buy.

There’s something so fabulously serene about reading a kitschy mailorder catalog of handy junk and trinkets as you cop a squat. I mean really, I never would even think of reading it in the livingroom, or the bedroom. It’s purely bathroom fare. And maybe that’s because it’s the perfect short-attention-span media, but I think it’s more that that’s where Grandma kept it in her house when I was a kid.

CEO: Our nav bar needs more, I dunno… punch, dont you think, boys?

Designer: Ok, I’ll see what I can do.

NOTE: D Mister designer, I’m sooo sorry for you – jen

What is with McDonald’s? They make a bazillion million dollars a year and they keep continually screwin’ me on nugget dippin’ sauce? Does the .14 of a cent REALLY set back the bootom line that much?

Did I miss the collapse of the condiment mining operations in southern Boliva? Did their Ketchup mill get taken over by the Free Hot Mustard Republican Army… are the slave laborers striking the Sweet&our People’s Front? Is this the true answer to the Xfiles? And how is Krychek involved? (that was for you Dave)

And while we are at it, why are they so damn stingy on ketchup? A super size fry and ONE stinking packet? Why not just have a shapely female spraying it on your bag like perfume for that lingering ketchup taste you can’t remember to forget? It’s the only whay they could give you less.

And why can’t they put ketchup in those cups the nugget sauces come in? I know in the car it would be A LOT nicer that a napkin loaded with a wet sticky blob of ketchup which slides across my dash and eventually plants itself on my passenger side window after a quick turn, or drip down my dash. They put every known food sauce in those cups – even jelly! Why NOT ketchup? I say we rise up! Start a condiment revolution! Ketchup in cups! Ketchup in cups! Ketchup in cups! Ketchup in cups!

Doughnuts for everyone!

Happy Birthday, Ziggster. You messed up pervert you, your legacy . will live on forever, even though you are dead as a