I suspect Barbara Walters may be senile

As always, I am simultaneously delighted and dismayed by Barbara Walters' picks for her Most Fascinating People of the Year list. 

She recently revealed 8 of the 10 names she's chosen. I will only comment on 7 because I don't know much about LeBron James, and frankly, I don't care much for professional sports players. My heart is still breaking for Elin... but I digress.

Delighting, understandable choices:

Sandra Bullock: Sandy weathered quite the storm this year what with her douchebag of a cheatin' ex-husband coming clean, and Sandy adopting the cutest child that ever lived. She handled all this with grace and poise, keeping her head high and moving on.

Kate Middleton: The future wife of the future King of England has indeed earned her spot on this list. There's always been a morbid fascination with the British royal family, as dysfunctional as they may sometimes seem. I think, however, that William and Kate are a couple rooted in reality - they've been together for practically a decade and are both almost 30. Kate knows what she's getting into. She's also very stylish - definitely a prerequisite for any bride-to-be to one of Princess Diana's offspring. 

Betty White: This spunky 88-year-old woman rocks my world. She's made a phenomenal comeback at an age when females are basically considered non-existent and simply waiting for death to arrive. Betty has knocked that stereotype out of the park and proven to us all that you can kick ass at any age. She's the real deal folks.

Dismaying, "what the f*ck were you thinking?" choices:

Justin Bieber: I'm sorry but... huh? A banal teenager with an overinflated ego who resembles and sings like a prepubescent girl is fascinating? Dear Barbara: worldwide fame does not a fascinating person make. Take, for example, Paris Hilton. Who, you ask? Exactly. She was so three years ago, and even then, was not remotely fascinating.

Sarah Palin: She kills things, on TV, with her family. Need I say more?

Jennifer Lopez: Last I heard, Jennifer was pimping out her kids to Gucci. She does not get to make this list.

The cast of Jersey Shore: Sweet mother of God, what is WRONG with our society? I've watched about three minutes of this show and it was enough for me to come to the conclusion that it is intellectually and creatively equivalent to a sac of rusty nails. No, wait, you could actually make art with rusty nails. My mistake. It's WORSE than a sac of rusty nails. I can only deduce that Barbara is slowly slipping into senility. It's the only explanation for this choice.

Of course, Barbara did not reveal her top pick for 2010 but as you can see from this list, it could go either way. She could take the high road or the one frequently traveled. I'm hoping for the former.

A tale of two shits: gassy lady on her cellphone and Hollywood movie executives

Certain displays of human behaviour make me wonder if we're not generally regressing to a realm of deeply inferior intelligence. Take for instance what I witnessed yesterday in the ladies' bathroom. 

I was at work and had to go for a "number 2" so I went up one floor to the deserted bathroom since the one on our floor is too busy. You see, the bathroom must be empty for me to do my business. I cannot poop in the presence of other people. I do not want to submit them to the sounds and smells that sometimes emanate from my body, 'cause I'm nice like that.

So there I was, sittin' on the throne ready for action when in walks in some lady and settles herself in the stall right next to me. She then proceeded to take a big 'ol crap, sound effects and all while I patiently waited until she finished. Now, up to this point, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Until....

In the middle of her defecation, she MAKES A CALL ON HER CELLPHONE to her husband, boyfriend, whatever. It went something like this: "Hi honey (rrrhhhhh - sound of her physical exertion while pooping), how are you? How's your day (rrrhhhhh) going? (Pause as he responds.) That's good. We're still in (rrhhhh) meetings. We'll barely have time to get to the airport (rrrhhh)." Etc... 

I was sitting in the neighbouring stall, trying to pick my jaw up off the floor. I was MORTIFIED. This is taking cellphone usage too far. There must be rules of etiquette people! Unless it's a matter of life and death, no one should be calling anyone while taking a shit.

She wrapped up her convo, then proceeded to shit and fart some more, and finally exited said bathroom. I was left wondering: "What is this world coming to?" 

Then, this morning, another display of colossal stupidity. In my half-asleep morning haze, my boyfriend, who was reading the morning paper, tells me that Warner Bros. announced that they will be remaking a Buffy the Vampire Slayer film, WITHOUT its creator Joss Whedon or the original cast from the TV series.

WTF? You evil, soulless marketing rep weasels! You take something sacred and defile it to make a buck! You try to cash in on the current vampire craze by ruining a cherished cult establishment? I say: Shame on you! I will boycott this movie. 

I will call Warner Bros. on my cellphone and shit all over this crappy idea.

Fun with current events - today's topic: Confusing pronouncements by the Pope

Well wouldn't ya know it, the Pope has finally said condom use is OK. Of course, it's only sanctioned for gay prostitutes, as a "step toward acting responsibly" to prevent the spread of HIV and AIDS. 

Why do only gay prostitutes receive the Church's "get out of jail free" card? Because there's no chance of procreation therefore the condom, in this case, cannot be viewed as preventing the will of God to make more babies on an already overcrowded planet.

Of course, Catholic officials are jumping all over this stating that it's not official Church teachings, as it was said "colloquially" in an interview. I see. The Pope finally takes a step in the right direction, and his closeted gay lackies take two steps back.

Personally, I think the Catholic Church is so full of shit I'm surprised it hasn't choked on it yet. I can't think of a more cruel, hypocritical, antiquated institution that stubbornly refuses to acknowledge the basic tenets of biology and science. Not that empirical experience rules all. I'm a firm believer in spirituality but organized religion seems to be the root of all evil. 

So the fact that the Pope has finally admitted, however narrowly, that condoms are OK, is a farce. We've known this for how long now? Here's what I think:

Fun with current events - today's topic: US airport security

Have you ever noticed how the lyrics to Beyoncé's Single Ladies would be awesome as a song about current US airport security procedures? With just a bit of tweaking...

All the travelers, all the travelers

All the travelers, all the travelers

All the travelers, all the travelers

All the travelers

Now put your hands up

Up in the airport, we just met, I’m doing my own little thing
Decided to dip but now you wanna trip
'Cause another scanner noticed me

I’m up on it, it up on me
Don't pay it any attention
'Cause I cried my tears, gave three good minutes
Ya can’t be mad at me

'Cause if you liked it then you should have put a hand on it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a hand on it
Don’t be mad once you see that it want me
If you liked it then you shoulda put a hand on it

Oh, oh, oh

If you liked it then you should have put a hand on it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a hand on it
Don’t be mad once you see that it want me
If you liked it then you shoulda put a hand on it

I got gloss on my lips, a scanner on my hips
Got me tighter in my Dereon jeans
Acting up, boarding pass in my pocket
I can care less what you think

I need no permission, did I mention
Don't pay it any attention
'Cause you had your turn, and now you gonna learn
What it really feels like to violate me

'Cause if you liked it then you should have put a hand on it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a hand on it
Don’t be mad once you see that it want me
If you liked it then you shoulda put a hand on it

Oh, oh, oh

If you liked it then you should have put a hand on it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a hand on it
Don’t be mad once you see that it want me
If you liked it then you shoulda put a hand on it

Don’t treat me to the things of this government
I’m not that kind of girl
Your respect is what I prefer, what I deserve

Here's a scanner that invades me, then takes me
And delivers me to a flight, to a departing gate and beyond
Pull me into your arms
Say I’m the one you own
If you don’t, you won't make your quota, and like a terrorist I’ll be gone

All the travelers, all the travelers

All the travelers, all the travelers

All the travelers, all the travelers

All the travelers

Now put your hands up

Oh, oh, oh

'Cause if you liked it then you should have put a hand on it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a hand on it
Don’t be mad once you see that it want me
If you liked it then you shoulda put a hand on it 

If you liked it then you should have put a hand on it
If you liked it then you shoulda put a hand on it
Don’t be mad once you see that it want me
If you liked it then you shoulda put a hand on it

Oh, oh, oh

Sexiest Man Alive my ass!

I am sorely disappointed in People Magazine's most recent Sexiest Man Alive selection: Ryan Reynolds. You'd think I would be ecstatic, seeing as I'm a fellow Canadian. 

But alas, I do not revel in this. I mean, empirically speaking, yes, Ryan Reynolds is attractive but not in a Sexiest Man Alive kind of way. I'm sorry people at People, but eight-pack abs does not sexy make.

 

There's a certain dorkishness he'll never be able to shake, and not a charming kind of dorkishness, à la Justin Kirk, a.k.a. Andy on Weeds. No, his is a kind of irritating dorkitude that sits in the back of your mind, like that nightmare you have about being naked in public, like a persistent tickle in your throat that never fully develops into a cold, like a... well, you get the idea.

Here is a selection of charming dorks that you just want to bring home and take a bite out of. No, not in a cannibalistic kind of way (God, you people - put away that nice Chianti). I mean in a dirty, sexual kind of way:

Anthony Michael Hall - Sixteen Candles

Jon Cryer - Pretty in Pink

Matthew Broderick - Ferris Bueller's Day Off

I'm sensing a theme here. Maybe John Hughes should have been named Sexiest Man Alive... when he was alive that is. Although he did get a tribute at the Oscars which is probably better, in the end. 

I've always had a crush on this man:

British Actor Ralph Fiennes, currently best known as Voldemort, of Harry Potter fame

Wow, he kind of looks like Bradley Cooper.

See what I mean?

Even Bradley Cooper would have been a better choice than Ryan dorky Reynolds! Oh people at People, next time ask for the good drugs, not Lupe's weekend special. This is a travesty, I say, a travesty! 

I can't stop looking at Ralph Fiennes. HAWWWWT. Gotta go.

From hamburgers to cavemen

A conversation my boyfriend and I had in the car the other night:

Boyfriend: I didn't like those Costco burgers as much as the President's Choice ones.

Me: How come? I thought they were good.

Boyfriend: I don't know. I think there was too much filler or something. There wasn't enough meat, you know, something to rip at.

Me: You mean, sink your teeth into?

Boyfriend: Yeah.

Me: Does that bring you back to your caveman days?

Boyfriend: You brought me back to my caveman days last night, except you were conscious.

Because I know you've been wondering what I did this weekend

So my weekend went something like this...

Finished work on Friday and went to teach my weekly yoga class. Much fun was had. Got a ride home from my wonderful boyfriend. He ordered pizza; I opened the wine. Got slightly drunk watching Dateline true crime stories since my boyfriend fell asleep on the couch and I drank the rest of the wine. You snooze, you lose.

Saturday: woke up after sleeping in until 10 am. Took a moment to relish this. Had morning coffee and breakfast, then headed out for some cross-country cycling during which I usually become very aware of my thoughts. 

Sample of my stream of consciousness while cycling: "Huh. With all the leaves on the ground, it would be really hard to pee in the woods without being seen. You'd have to hike, like, a mile in. Oh God, another hill. Mother f*cker. Do I even LIKE doing this? I was cold, but now I'm hot but I don't want to take off my jacket 'cause then I'll have to tie it around my waist and it'll hang off my hips and might get caught in a wheel and then I'll crash head first and that would suck. But I'm hot. Man, coffee really dehydrates. My throat is like the f*cking Sahara desert. I should drink less coffee before exercising." And so on...

Got home, had some leftover pizza and the boyfriend and I cracked open another bottle of wine (a warm-up for the evening's birthday party) and started watching the first season of Modern Family. Yeah, we're a little behind on the trendy shows, and yeah, we drink alcohol after exercising 'cause we're cool like that. 

Modern Family deserves its own paragraph. There is no sweeter moment for a TV addict than when she stumbles upon a fecking AWESOME new show. I admit, I was expecting less from a major network's program but this little gem is the SHIT. Pitch-perfect casting, brilliant writing, great directing. I know, I'm just now catching up to the general consensus and this is in no way late-breaking news. So, if you live under a rock and still don't know about Modern Family, check it out yo. Of course, if you live under a rock, you probably won't be reading this blog anyway... but I digress.

Following an afternoon of TV bliss, I had to get ready for a friend's birthday party at a swanky new restaurant. I wanted to curl my hair for the occasion so I tried using my hair straightener and "twirling" my hair with it. FAIL. Then, I fished out an old curling iron and tried that. The thing heated up about as much as the Grinch's heart, prior to his Yuletide spiritual awakening. FAIL. Tried another curling iron / brush. This was a mistake. When I attempted to remove it from my head, it tried to eat my hair. FAIL. So I straightened my already straight hair with the straightener. 

Then, just as we're about to leave, I discovered the cat had peed on the bed. AGAIN. Now, my cat is in the early stages of kidney disease and would be considered a "senior" cat. But we've made a lot of adjustments so she doesn't have to go very far to eat or pee or shit or sleep and she had been so good for the past few weeks. I deduced that she has now sunk to the level of pure malice and is f*cking with me just for kicks. Bitch.

So, naturally, I was driven to drink at my friend's birthday party to deal with my feline's supposed incontinence. We now have lovely plaid, waterproof picnic blankets on all the beds. Me: 1. Phoebe: 0. And that was Sunday's adventure.

The Evil one...

Errant ramblings of a morose mind - part deux

A deep-seated apathy of celebrity culture is settling into my consciousness these days. Is it because network TV, apart from a few scarce exceptions, is total crap? There's only so much I can watch involving cops, lawyers or doctors. I mean, really. No new ideas? We don't need a fecking new cop or legal or medical drama people. 

Is it because celebrity gossip has become so utterly banal and repetitive? Husband cheats on wife; actress starves herself to attain new heights of glory; actress goes to rehab; actress gets plastic surgery; oooh, look at the cute celebrity babies in overpriced designer crap; Andy Dick exposes himself while drunk; normal size actress on "baby bump" watch, etc...

Perhaps it's because I'm starved for quality programming these days. I feel like a lost puppy. I got my dose of Dexter last night but apart from Family Guy reruns, I have no TV to look forward to until NEXT SUNDAY. This is not good. Oh wait, America's Next Top Model is on Wednesday night. I stand corrected.

I haven't even seen any good movies lately, except for The Visitor, which I saw a few weeks ago. Richard Jenkins is DA BOMB. If you're wondering who that is, he played the deceased, senior Nathaniel Fisher on Six Feet Under. If you still don't know what I'm talking about, get a life already.

I suppose every writer goes through a "walking through the desert" period where ideas seem to elude us, and any trace of enthusiasm has been sucked dry by tawdry entertainment (ok, maybe that last part only applies to me). 

To add insult to injury, the Republicans have won back the balance of power in the House of Representatives in mid-term elections. To my American readers, I ask you: what the f*ck! Obama inherited a devastated US government following the eight-year tenure of the worst President EVER. Give the guy a chance! 

Add to all this an early mid-life crisis and you have a recipe for disaster. If I have to read another word about Lindsay Lohan in rehab, I'll... I'll... oh, I don't know what I'll do. Maybe binge on donuts. The world doesn't need another disillusioned, forlorn person on a sugar high. No good can come of that. Well, maybe that temporary feeling of euphoria as the sugar pulses through my veins would be OK. But after that, only madness and mayhem will ensue, a travesty indeed. 

The Tyranny of Tyra Banks

Jennifer L. Pozner, a leading feminist media critic, has a new book coming out this month entitled Reality Bites Back: The Troubling Truth About Guilty Pleasure TV. Its looming release has ignited, or should I say re-ignited the discussion on female body image due to the prominence in said book of Tyra Banks' infamous reality series America's Next Top Model.  

I admit, I watch Tyra's crappy-ass modeling competition, and this is what I had to say about it. Yes, in some sense, she's evil incarnate when it comes to making girls feel critical of their bodies. I witness it every time I watch an episode. Maybe I shouldn't be watching at all but hey, I never said I was morally upright. But I digress.

Click here for an excellent article by Globe and Mail writer Leah McLaren on the above-mentioned book, the ever-shrinking size of the Hollywood actress, and how it affects us regular folk. Oh, and there's a picture of Keira Knighley lookin' all circus freak skinny, Lollipop Syndrome on full display. 

I myself am not immune to the onslaught of negative media messaging basically drilling into my brain that skinny is better, that my self-worth is predicated on how thin I am, and shrinks or increases depending on the size of my body. 

When I was buying a new, more "form fitting" wardrobe, I was aghast when I did the "sitting test" - which is basically sitting down in a new pair of pants to see how they feel, and to make sure my ass crack isn't hanging out. (I don't care how fashionable that may get, I ain't displayin' it, EVER.)

I was mortified that I had a bit of a muffin top when I sat down in these snugger pants. My abdomen kind of hung over the waist a bit, not a lot, but just enough for me to hate myself.

I shared this concern with my stepdaughter, who was my stylist on this particular shopping excursion. When I asked her about this, she didn't even blink. Her response? "Everyone has that. It's normal". This, from a wise 14-year-old. 

So now, I proudly wear my snug clothes, much to my boyfriend's delight. And there's the zinger. I'm so utterly critical of myself despite the fact that I have a partner who tells me how beautiful I am every single day. 

So all this messaging that we need to be ultra-thin to be OK and get the guy is total bullshit. Self-acceptance and self-esteem are not OUT THERE. It's up to us to cultivate it within ourselves. Beauty is whatever we perceive it to be.

I don't know if you've ever hung out with people who are completely obsessed with their bodies but they are the lamest people. They are not fun, spontaneous or remotely interesting, and usually suck in the sack because they're worried about messing their hair and shit. 

On the other hand, being around people who like themselves, are fully engaged in life and aren't afraid to occasionally look like goofs is a completely different experience. They're warm, open, often funny and make everyone else feel good without even trying, and yes, they're usually great in bed.

You know you've hit rock bottom when Jersey Shore is your best option

** Some language may have been edited for dramatic effect.  

I uttered a sentence the other day that is indicative of how desperate I am for some good TV. We were scrolling through our TV Guide and I said: "Hey! Let's watch Jersey Shore!" Both my boyfriend and stepdaughter looked at me in dismay. 

Sure, this may sound pretty mundane, except that we already have very low standards. We watch The Bachelor franchise, Total Wipeout, America's Next Top Model, etc... You get the drift. So, to be shamed in this way in our household is a red flag I should not ignore. 

The situation is so critical that I've resorted to reading. READING. INSTEAD OF WATCHING TV. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm an avid reader and always have a book on the go but to choose literature over mindless entertainment is not like me. No, something is very, very wrong. 

I'm quite excited about my newest book selection, Jonathan Franzen's Freedom but I've lost my nightly anchor of TV shows: no more Mad Men, no more True Blood, Nurse Jackie, United States of Tara, Hung. WTF? Why are they all on break AT THE SAME TIME?

I can already hear you saying: "But Sassy, Weeds and 30 Rock are currently airing." To which I would reply: "I know but I started watching these series on DVD and cannot bring myself to watch them with commercials." It's a question of principle. Ok, maybe not, but it sounded like the right thing to say at that moment.