Wednesday, May 30, 2007
An anonymous tipster just sent in this exchange from yesterday's American Morning show on CNN.
After reading it, I have concluded that:
A.) One should not rely on any Wikipedia entries written by Kiran Chetry.
B.) Kiran Chetry is not the most suitable candidate to manage the leopard exhibit at the zoo.
C.) Kiran Chetry has a pretty hazy understanding of what an anesthesiologist does.
While reporting the story of a leopard that had jumped into a man’s bed, this strained banter between Kiran Chetry and John Roberts took place:
(The video on screen shows the leopard being carted off on a stretcher by animal control…)
CHETRY: I hope that's just euthanized. Yes or no?
ROBERTS: (audible groan) Well, I would think anesthetized.
CHETRY: You mean killed?
ROBERTS: (audible sigh) No. Anesthetized. Euthanized would be killed.
CHETRY: Oh, OK. You're right. I hope they just hit it with a tranquilizer dart and did not euthanize the leopard.
ROBERTS: I would think so.
ROBERTS: The next hour of AMERICAN MORNING starts right now.
I'm posting this a day in advance so you will be sure not to miss this exciting event. According to scientific types who got better SAT scores than me, "Thursday, May 31 brings us the second of two full Moons for North Americans this month. Some almanacs and calendars assert that when two full Moons occur within a calendar month, that the second full Moon is called the "Blue Moon." This time around, the Moon will turn full on May 31 at 9:04 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time (6:04 p.m. Pacific Daylight Time)."
But the most fantastic part about this astronomic wonder, is that according to legend...a Smurf shall be born! Another pal for Lazy Smurf, Handy Smurf, Brainy Smurf, Smurfette, Vanity Smurf, Papa Smurf, Jokey Smurf, and my favorite (because he and the evil Gargamel helped cut the sticky sweetness of this show) Grouchy Smurf.
So, in honor of the Smurf about to be born tomorrow, I am proposing some possible Smurf names:
1.) PERVY SMURF (walks around with permanent blue balls)
2.) BRITNEY SMURF (lip syncs the "La La La La La La" Smurf song)
3.) TRASHY SMURF (born under the same Blue Moon as Britney Smurf)
4.) WHEEZY SMURF (smokes three packs of unfiltered Marlboros a day)
5.) DRUNKY SMURF (often found passed out under a mushroom)
6.) MELLOW SMURF (often found eating a mushroom)
7.) ANCHOR SMURF (completely silent, as there is no TelePromoter in Smurf Village)
8.) CHEESEY SMURF (often called upon by Papa Smurf to torture Gargamel with his extensive collection of Air Supply albums)
9.) SMELLY SMURF (cannot understand why his advances towards Smurfette are spurned)
10.) RON JEREMY SMURF (uses a special dick wheelbarrow to get around Smurf Village)
Monday, May 28, 2007
I'd like to follow up the last post about demographic mysteries with a startling piece of information I just heard from my mother:
Apparently, my father, who in his earlier years lost half of his teeth from playing hockey and the other half from beer-soaked fist fights, who ran the Honolulu Marathon one day after getting surgery, with blood streaming down his thigh as he crossed the finish line, who has at various times in his life told a nun, a kindly kindergarten teacher and a gaggle of sweet-natured hippies to "go fuck yourself", who once set his own broken nose after fighting off a Samoan twice his size outside of Matteo's in Waikiki, who drove my pregnant mother around at 100 miles an hour in his Corvette; this man, now in his 60's has become devoted to watching...
The Golden Girls reruns.
So word to the folks in ad sales...you just never know, do you?
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
So there I was, watching The History Channel and ironing my clothes. (How's that for an arresting opening sentence? I mean, why else do people move to New York, if not to experience the type roller coaster lifestyle I lead? Bet you can't wait to read what happens next...)
While the program was pretty interesting (Cities of the Underworld) I was more fascinated by the commercials they chose to run. Clearly, no one in ad sales at The History Channel assumes that somebody like me is tuned in. Why? Because back-to-back they ran ads like:
1.) Male Guards. It's like a cupped maxi pad for incontinent men. Now, I have no problem with the product of course. I'm sure it's necessary. It's just that--have you seen this ad? All these senior citizen men are gathered together; out in the wilderness, bicycling, hiking, having the time of their lives, presumably pissing their pants. The tag line, uttered in the same bombastic voice used in movie trailers booms out: "Protect yourself, guys."
3.) Cialis. These ads kill me too. So Grandpa pops a Cialis and is about to bone Grandma. But then the kids and grandkids drop in uninvited! Cut to cheery scenes of all of them eating lunch, playing in the backyard, laughing, enjoying the sunshine. Meanwhile, I'm just waiting for Grandpa to throttle one of them and bellow:
"No more ice cream, no more swing set--just when are you little shits gonna get the fuck out of here? Grandpa's got a stiffy. Now scram!"
The point is, who decided that "Cities of the Underworld" is programming geared towards incontinent men with errectile dysfunction? Are there studies taken? And how are said studies conducted? Seriously, if anyone has some answers, I'd be much obliged if you'd pass them along...
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Today I'd like to say congratulations to Carlos and Fernando, a gay pink flamingo couple living at the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust (WWT) near Bristol, England.
According to the Associated Foreign Press, Carlos and Fernando have been together for six years. They "had been desperate to start a family, even chasing other flamingos from their nests to take over their eggs."
The devoted couple were recently rewarded for their brazen behavior, and finally realized their dream of becoming fathers.
WWT spokesperson Jane Waghorn said, "They were rather good at sitting on eggs and hatching them. So last week, when a nest was abandoned, it seemed like a good idea to make them surrogate parents."
Best of luck to Carlos, Fernando and the new chick!
Monday, May 21, 2007
Ever wonder about the overweight people caught on camera for the "generic b-roll" that accompanies news stories about "The Girth of America" or "The Obesity Epidemic"?
You know that footage of random fat people shuffling along a random street, presumably out shopping for extremely large pants with elastic waistbands. Or sometimes it's just a close up of a huge, mudslide-style stomach or gelatinous ass. Do these people recognize their own stomachs and asses? I'm not sure if I would recognize mine or not. But if they do, is it completely humilating?
Or does the desire for fame of any kind override the embarrassment of seeing your ass being used as a visual aide?
Honestly, do you think anyone has ever been watching the nightly news, looked up from their bag of Doritos, pointed at the screen and with a hint of pride shouted, "Hey! That's my ass!"
Thursday, May 10, 2007
I just read today in the Associated Press that the NEWSEUM, a museum of journalism is opening this fall near the Capitol. The ticket price for adults is $17.91, symbolic of the year the First Amendment was ratified. (That's cute, but doesn't change the fact it will be one of the most expensive museums in the area.) Some of the items slated for display are the cell phone used by a student to get footage of the Virginia Tech shootings, and the vest Bob Woodruff was wearing when he was injured by a roadside bomb in Iraq.
So, I started thinking about other artifacts that I would deem worthy of the Newseum. Items worthy of the $17.91 ticket price. In fact, I made a list:
-ALTERNATIVE ARTIFACTS FOR THE NEWSEUM-
1.) Lou Waters' turquoise ring
2.) The O'Reilly loofah/falafel
3.) Geraldo's mustache
4.) Al Roker's lost fat cells
5.) Katie Couric's lost perkiness
6.) Connie Chung's lost credibility
7.) Ted Koppel's toupe
8.) Lou Dobbs' righteous indignation
9.) Andy Rooney's eyebrows
10.) The Roz Files
I would stand in line for an hour, wearing ill-fitting shoes and pay my last $17.91 for a glimpse of that sublime collection. And I don't think I'm alone on this one.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
I have been fascinated by "The Andy Warhol Diaries" since I was a teenager. (My copy still has the unicorn bookplate that I glued on the first page.) Andy Warhol died in 1987, and these diaries were released in 1989. He had started dictating them sporadically to his assistant Pat Hackett as both a hazy Factory log and a way to keep track of his business expenses. But by 1976 he was calling Hackett every morning to tell her where he went, who he saw and what he did the previous day and night, along with the cost of cabs, magazines and lunches.
These diaries are full of vacuous observations, random thoughts and bitchy, rude, insulting opinions on celebrities and people he considered his friends. When I first read them, I couldn't believe the extreme celebrity minutiae, that nothing was left out. It read like a blog before there were blogs. At the time it seemed odd that someone would want to write down and preserve such trivial things. But the random, useless information about faded glamour and defunct New York nightlife intrigued me.
Soon after these diaries came out, Spy Magazine published an Andy Warhol's Diaries Index, which I tucked into my book and still have. It made searching for your favorite insult/tidbit that much easier, as it provided name, insult/tidbit and page. There are entries like:
-Tiegs, Cheryl: plainness and funny dressing of, 256
-Scorcese, Martin: blood poisoning of, cocaine problems of, 61
-Madonna: "drawing cocks" on pants, 655
-Minnelli, Liza: tacky furnishings of, 202
-Halston: pretending to suck penis and testicles of Erotic Bakery cake, 129
-Cher: having bloated pimply face, having two boyfriends at once, 434
-DeNiro, Robert: "He must be crazy, because he's really fat," 253
I was wondering what Andy Warhol would dictate to Pat Hackett if he were still around today. Especially since there is so much more pop culture to devour now. So I wrote these entries in the style of how he might have chronicled a few months of his celebrity lifestyle last year:
EXCERPTS FROM “THE ANDY WARHOL DIARIES” EDITED BY PAT HACKETT
(IF ANDY WARHOL HAD NOT DIED IN 1987)
MONDAY, MAY 8, 2006
Picked up US WEEKLY. (Magazine $2.99) Read about Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. How come no one ever mentions his pock-marked skin? I bet he was a pimply 16-year-old who masturbated a lot. I’m sick of celebrity babies. Boring. Every gossip rag reads like Redbook or Good Housekeeping now.
FRIDAY, MAY 12, 2006
Felt ill. Stayed in bed. Watched “My Super Sweet 16” on MTV. Some girl’s family in Miami spent $150,000.00 on her birthday. Probably her dad’s drug money.
MONDAY, MAY 15, 2006
Lindsay Lohan stopped by the office. We are doing a portrait of her. So many freckles! Sweet, but that white trash scent will never fade on her. She just reeks of it. I don’t care how much Karl Lagerfeld tries to shape her with his queeny fingers.
FRIDAY, MAY 19, 2006
Dinner at Sarah Jessica Parker’s place. They hired a decorator but it still looks cheap. Sometimes I think celebrity decorators are just having a joke at their expense.
SATURDAY, MAY 27, 2006
Went to Central Park. (Cab $8.00 with tip) Overheard a woman saying that the reason there are no garbage disposals in New York is because years ago the city was run by Catholics and they were afraid mothers would abort their babies and put them in the garbage disposal. Is this true?
SATURDAY, JUNE 3, 2006
Glued myself together. Took cab ($11.00 with tip) to Paris Hilton’s party at Bungalow 8. I can’t understand how people think she is a sex symbol. She looks like an afghan hound. She’s skinny, but so dumb! She has a lazy eye. Saw Vince Vaughn on the way out. Looks like a plumber. But I bet he’s got a big dick.
MONDAY, JUNE 5, 2006
Depressed today. Couldn’t work. Watched The Ellen DeGeneres show. Why is she so popular? Lesbians just aren’t funny.
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 7, 2006
Lunch at Michael’s with Tina Brown. ($125.00 with tip) Dull journalist types everywhere. Everyone eating Cobb salad. Sat at a table next to Dominck Dunne, so I kept my voice down. What a name-dropper! So tacky.
TUESDAY, JUNE 20, 2006
Madonna tickets for the Madison Square Garden concert came today. Not that excited. She is so tired now. She was so much more fun when she was trashy, with that book of naked pictures and saying “fuck" on David Letterman. Now she’s just some boring, preachy mom, like Susan Sarandon.
FRIDAY, JUNE 30, 2006
Watched Star Jones on Larry King. So deluded. Lost all that weight and still looks bad. At least when she was fat, people would say “She’d be pretty if she lost the weight.” Then she did and she still isn’t. Larry King always looks like he has bad breath.
SATURDAY, JULY 1, 2006
Saw “The Devil Wears Prada” at AMC. (Ticket $10.75) Those clothes were ridiculous. Stale Chanel everywhere. What entry-level fashion industry assistant would wear that? Everyone knows those girls are all trying to look homeless these days, like those twin dwarf Olsen girls from “Full House”.
WEDNESDAY, JULY 5, 2006
Went to the office. Ran into Gwenyth Paltrow on the elevator. She had B.O. I was surprised. It was the second time I’ve smelled it on her. The first time I smelled it I thought she’d just came back from yoga or something. Maybe B.O. is part of her “natural” kick. I guess her husband likes women that smell like B.O.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Most of us have experienced the embarrassment of drunk dialing. That moment of intoxication when it seems like a brilliant idea to go through your phone book and harass ex-boyfriends, booty call long lost girlfriends, prank call professors and generally abuse this mode of communication in ways Alexander Graham Bell never envisioned...then pass out with your phone in one hand and a beer in the other.
With the age of e-mail, a new threat arrived: drunk e-mailing. This is perhaps worse, because you write horrid, rude, grammatically incorrect shit; telling a friend, relative or co-worker exactly how you feel about their Jamaican vacation, crappy forwarded jokes or ugly kid. You hit "send" with satisfaction...then pass out on the keyboard. When you wake up a few hours later with keyboard indentations on your forehead, you realize the folly of your ways. And there's no way to reverse the epistolary damage. Obviously, drunk texting also falls into this category.
Now, there is yet another drunken minefield:
While it has not been popularized to the extent that drunk dialing and drunk e-mailing have, it is equally dangerous. I have fallen prey to drunk downloading on many occasions. I will come home from a lovely evening of swilling gin and tonics and decide to get on the computer. I will turn up the i-Tunes. I will start to dance. And by "dance" I mean sway in my chair and wiggle my arms around. Soon I will decide that my music collection is missing something. Yes, I will think, I can no longer drunkenly sway and wiggle in this chair with any degree of satisfaction because I only have a paltry 3,657 songs in my i-Tunes library. And I cannot rest, cannot experience true fulfillment in this chair until the situation is rectified.
In the morning, I am horrified to discover that rectifying the situation somehow involved buying unbelieveably awful music from the i-Tunes store.
If you think I'm exaggerating, consider this:
I woke up on Sunday and found that while drunk downloading I had purchased the following songs:
1.) Right Said Fred's "Too Sexy"
2.) Salt n' Pepa's "I Like to Party"
3.) Naughty By Nature's "O.P.P."
4.) Fergie's "Fergilicious"
5.) Tom Jones' "Sex Bomb"
If that collection of sonic malfeasance isn't enough reason to get my ass next to Lindsay Lohan at A/A, I don't know what is.
Friday, May 04, 2007
I recently used the antiquated phrase "knockin' boots" for comedic effect. (Okay, attempted comedic effect.) I don't even know which crevice of my brain that phrase was hiding in. I was amazed to be able to fish it out so readily. You'd think a phrase like that would be hidden, packed away, inaccessible without a step ladder, like the Christmas ornaments in my over-stuffed closet. You'd think I would have had to wade through other outdated expressions like "talk to the hand" "fly" and "word to ya mother".
Then I wondered: Who was the last person that "knocked boots" in earnest? The very last person, who without a hint of irony, employed that expression to brag about a sexual conquest. Where and when did this person utter this phrase?
I think it must have been some sorry fool hanging out with what he probably referred to as his "posse" in the parking lot of a 7-11 in Jacksonville, circa 1992. He was probably drinking bad beer and wearing Hammer pants. He probably had some type of experimental facial hair. I'm certain he was trying to be a cultural pioneer. Yet, without knowing it, this buffoon had the distinction of laying to rest "knockin' boots". The very last individual to say those words with a straight face. Never again would that phrase be spoken without a giggle or a nudge.
I could be wrong of course. This scenario could have played out in Des Moines or somewhere in the 818 area code. It's amazing to think about all the possibilities. You never know...although I wish I did.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
New York, we're slipping.
New Yorkers are notorious for thumping our chests, proud to live in a city that consistently finds itself topping all kinds of lists: the best restaurants, most expensive apartments with the least amount of space, coolest bars, loudest alcoholics, craziest neighbors, meanest bosses, and smelliest streets. And if you don't like the boastful attitude, you can go fuck yourself.
So it is with a tear in my eye that I deliver these findings from the American Lung Association. In a recently released report, they found that L.A., the health-conscious city of clean-living yoga fanatics has once again topped the bad air list of most polluted cities in America.
Although being beaten out of the top slot was disappointing, I continued to read the list. I assumed we'd at least be number two or three.
Lo and behold, I was shocked to read this:
"The Pittsburgh area was ranked as the nation's second most polluted metropolitan area followed by Bakersfield, Calif., Birmingham, Ala., Detroit and Cleveland. Visalia, Calif., Cincinnati, Indianapolis and St. Louis rounded out the top 10."
New York isn't even in the Top 10!
How can this be?
Even Cincinnati kicked our ass!
I guess all that's left to do is pick up the pieces and carry on...
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Who's this dignified fellow with great hair? Why it's Noah Webster of Webster's Dictionary fame, that's who.
I've chosen to post his likeness because today we need to provide a definition.
I knew this day would come, and I am willing to step up to the plate. But I need help.
Last night I received an e-mail from a student at NYU.
(I'd like to point out that this is the second college student who has e-mailed me about this blog. Is Peon Confidential on some sort of educational resource list?)
Anyway, this student wrote:
"I love your blog...I read almost all your posts, but there's one thing I don't get. What's the deal with Roz?"
Well well well...
What IS the deal with Roz?
The short story is that she was a bitchy/funny/rude CNN cafeteria employee with a cool accent.
The long story is that she was a legend, a mascot. A beacon of hope. She was a symbol of the old school, mom n' pop vibe at CNN. A victim of corporate injustice and apathy.
She was a lover and a fighter.
She knew when to hold 'em, when to fold 'em and when to run.
She was like the wind through my tree.
Anyone else have something to add?
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Remember Blind Item #4? The one that was removed by request?
Well the joker in that item is about to pay the piper. Sources say divorce is just around the corner.
No need to suspend disbelief on this one folks. This lonely man is about to get a little bit lonelier...or maybe not. He does like to keep it all in the family.
Just remember-you read it here first.