Dan Snyder: Oy Vey!!!

If you live in or around the D.C. area or follow the politics of football, you may be familiar with the latest stunt of Dan Snyder, owner of the Washington Redskins. He is suing the Washington City Paper for an article that ran several months ago (The Cranky Redskins Fan's Guide to Dan Snyder From A to Z [for Zorn], an encyclopedia of the owner's many failings) which listed numerous mistakes and unethical behaviors Snyder has committed over the years. Mr. Snyder claims that the article contains "lies and half-truths," constitutes defamation of character, and that the cover illustration, which contains a doodle of him with devil horns, is anti-Semitic. Now, typically I don't give a fig about football, sports teams, or the goings-on thereabouts. However, being born and raised in the D.C. area and being Jewish, I feel I must say this: Dan, you're a complete disappointment and an embarrassment to my people!!!

Is it not enough that you have taken a beloved sports team and run them into the ground? Not even the return of our iconic Coach Gibbs could reanimate the team while you were in charge. Let's not forget that you moved the Washington Redskins out of Washington and into Maryland. Their practice facilities are even in Virginia. Despite the pitiful performance of the team, you continue to raise ticket prices to the point where longtime season ticket holders can't afford to keep their tickets and then sue them when they can't pay! Is that any way to treat loyal fans?!! Dan, I'm very disappointed in you.

Now about this article. I understand that it was not very nice. It may have even contained some hyperbole or misleading statements (I know you didn't really use Agent Orange to get rid of the federally protected trees blocking your view of the Potomac River. You just had them cut down after having a little chat with a Park Service official who okayed it for you). But here's what you don't seem to understand. Public figures are fair game. You are a public figure. You are a public figure because you own the Washington Redskins and because you are rich. People are going to write things about you. Look, I'm writing about you now. If you are smart, you behave in a way that will cause people to want to write positive things about you. If you are a whiny crybaby, people will want to write negative things about you. Suing the Washington City Paper falls into the whiny crybaby category. 

Furthermore, claiming that "...the cost of litigation would presumably quickly outstrip the asset value of the Washington City Paper," is a threatening remark that pegs you as a bully in addition to being a whiny crybaby. This is not a flattering portrait, Dan. Didn't your mother ever teach you that the best way to respond to teasing is by ignoring it? You not only didn't ignore it, you ran crying to the teacher and then threatened to have the whole school shut down!

Lastly, there's the claim of anti-Semitism. The City Paper article featured a photo of Snyder with devil horns and a goatee drawn on. Snyder claimed this was a historically anti-Semitic representation of Jewish people. When I read this, I did a spit-take on my morning coffee! So, now Dan Snyder is the Ethnic Avenger! When did you suddenly develop your cultural sensitivity, Dan? Was it before or after you defended owning a football team with an ethnic slur for a name that is demeaning and insulting to Native Americans? Do you no longer find the name "Redskins" an honor and a tribute or do you now find it ironic given the claims made in your litigation? How do you feel about the name "Fighting Kikes?"

Dan, I don't usually kibitz, but take my advice and stop this nonsense. Stop worrying about what the papers say about you and focus on your work. More importantly, focus on your wife and your kids. Spend some time with your family. Eat some good food. Have a glass or two of wine. Read a good book instead of scouring the papers for journalists to sue. And if you still feel like whining to someone, instead of hiring a lawyer, use your gobs of money and hire yourself a good shrink!

FYI: Toxic Waste Could Be Bad for Your Health

Okay, I admit I have a warped sense of humor, but this made me do a spit-take on my Diet Coke! I received the following notice in my email today from the FDA:

Candy Dynamics Expands Recall To All Toxic Waste® Brand Nuclear Sludge®
Products All Flavors And All Sizes

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE - January 27, 2010 - Circle City Marketing and Distributing, doing business as Candy Dynamics, Indianapolis, IN, is issuing a voluntary recall of all Toxic Waste® brand Nuclear Sludge® products, all flavors, 0.3 oz (8 g) size pieces. The product is imported from Pakistan.

On January 13, 2011, the company previously recalled Toxic Waste Brand® Nuclear Sludge®, Net wt. 0.7 oz (20g) size, all flavors. With this recall of the smaller piece size, the company has now recalled all products labeled as "Nuclear Sludge®".
Further testing by the company indicates that while some of the smaller sized products were below the FDA limit, some contain elevated levels of lead (0.101 parts per million to .311 ppm; the U.S. FDA tolerance is 0.1 ppm) that potentially could cause health problems, particularly for infants, small children, and pregnant women.
(highlighting mine)

What kind of person would buy a product called "Toxic Waste Nuclear Sludge" and actually consume it?!! Furthermore, who would eat it if she were pregnant ("Oh, honey, I know it's 2 a.m., but I'm just craving some Toxic Waste Nuclear Sludge!") or feed it to an infant?!! Seems to me that if you eat something called Toxic Waste, you're dang lucky if all you get is some elevated lead levels! You could start setting off geiger counters and casting a green glow!

If disgusting candy is all the rage, maybe I could head up the road to our local hospital and "borrow" one of those medical waste containers for inspiration. Lollipops that look like used injections, taffy that resembles bloody band-aids, little candy bottles with assorted "body fluid" syrups inside them, there are endless variations of medical monstrosities that could be molded into candy form! Sweet!

You Like Me, You Really Like Me!

Natalie Portman can kiss my tuchas with her Golden Globe! I got me a blog award! My sister from another mister, Mrs. Hyde, at A Bitch Called Mom has bestowed upon yours truly the LOL Award. It's satisfying to know that there is at least one other person who appreciates my atomic sarcasm and obsessive rumination on humanity's inanity. Mrs. Hyde, you are my sister-in-snark! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

So the "rules" of this award say that I'm supposed to reveal 7 things that my blog readers don't know about me. I don't want to bore you with facts about where I was born and what my favorite color is (zzzzz.....), so this may take some thinking.

1. I have a degree in clinical psychology (seriously, I do!) And, yes, I am analyzing you right now.
2. I met my husband-to-be when he literally tripped over me at a party and laughed at my shirt (it said "Eve was framed")
3. I have never smoked a (tobacco) cigarette in my life
4. I have a passion for volunteering and do or have done the following volunteer jobs: tutor, counselor, Planned Parenthood escort, Nature Center educator, Hospice bereavement group facilitator, Meals on Wheels driver, Girl Scout leader, teen mom support group educator
5. I wrote a reader's story under the name of "Lola" for Playgirl in the 1980s
6. I have another blog called Mouse Droppings where I post creative writing
7. I have seen the Bitchy Waiter in the Fantasticks and have met him in person!

Now, I'm supposed to nominate other blogs for this award. This is tough because Mrs. Hyde and I tend to follow the same people, and I'm NOT going to give you this award again if that's what you're thinking, you big fat award hogs!

My winners for the LOL Award are the following (in no particular order):

• Rachel from Rhyme Me a Smile: think female Dr. Seuss, silly happy fun 
• Alex from Stuff No One Told Me (but I Learned Anyway): hand drawn comics that make you laugh and think
• Cad from A Trellis Truce and A Trellis Fencing and Ada from Living Hell: How to describe these blogs? A funny as hell husband and wife bickerfest through poetry and prose

There! I think my work here is done. Cue the music. Camera zoom in for my close-up. Cue the crocodile tears. Thank you again Mrs. Hyde. I couldn't have done it without you and without the inspiration from all the moronic jackwagons out there in the world who give me so much to rant about. I know I'm forgetting someone...I want to thank my family, my dogs, who provide me with so much ranting material, my fellow Americans, organized religion, politicians, the television industry, Oprah, that moron at the gas station, those ignorant rednecks at the liquor store.....

Barbie-plasty

If you thought reality TV hit bottom when a group of trashy New Jersey lowlifes (most of whom aren't really even from NJ!) ascended to star status because of their sexcapades, big hair (Snook-It, anyone?), 4 letter word vocabulary, and tanorexia, you seriously underestimated the depths to which television and its viewers will sink in the name of "entertainment."  May I present Exhibit A: Bridalplasty. In this despicable derivation of reality TV, brides-to-be compete for a celebrity-style dream wedding and the dream body to go along with it. Does this mean that they engage in a series of physical challenges meant to whip them into shape before the big day? Heavens no! These brides-to-be compete with each other in order to win nose jobs, implants, lipo, and botox! As the show's advertising says, it's "the only competition where the winner gets cut." How sick is this?!!

These women, who I should say are normal looking, if not attractive, are competing for surgery! Let me reiterate: this is purely elective plastic surgery. There is not one cleft lip or extra limb among them. I became aware of this hideous show as I was channel flipping and saw what looked like a house full of car wreck and burn victims gathered around an attractive host. I soon discovered that these were some of the previous weeks' "winners," who had gotten one or more of their "wish list" surgeries by winning a challenge. It was morbid! These women trash talk each other from under their mummy wraps in the recovery room! Let's meet one:

Kristen Sciacca, 21

a nanny from Orange, CA, was crowned Miss Anaheim in 2005

Wish List

• breast augmentation
• liposuction of chin
• liposuction of cheeks
• laser hair removal
• teeth straightening
• liposuction of abdomen
• liposuction of flanks
• liposuction of outer thighs
• liposuction of knees
• Botox between eyes 

I know what you're thinking. What a heifer, right?!!  This girl certainly needs work before any guy would marry her!

And what about the surgeon who performs all of these operations? Who the hell is he? Dr. Terry Dubrow is supposedly a board certified plastic surgeon. Wherever he went to medical school, I think he must have slept through his medical ethics class because doctors are prohibited from giving away procedures as prizes for contests. I'd love to have a gander at the medical release form these Barbie wannabes must have to sign before appearing on this show!

It's bad enough that women and girls face such enormous societal pressure to have "perfect" bodies. We go on ridiculous diets, starve ourselves into anorexia, puke ourselves bulimic, and destroy our self-esteem in a futile effort to reach someone else's notion of perfection. Now, plastic surgery is being added into the mix as an option for women other than the rich and famous. Will the pre-wedding lipo become as common as the pre-wedding manicure? Botox parties are already cropping up in suburbia, where party goers are offered facial injections with their apple martinis. Does this scenario remind anyone else of the Stepford Wives or is it just me? Only now, it's we  who are offering ourselves up to be carved into walking, talking Barbies. Is that progress? I don't think so.

See Dick and Jane Get VD

As I write this post on the occasion of my 47th birthday, I can honestly say that I don't mind getting older. Given that the alternative is death, I say "Keep those birthdays coming!" Most days I can laugh off the graying pubes and sagging boobs. What does get my panties in a knot (and for the record, I DO NOT and WILL NOT wear granny panties no matter what my age!) is when I am reminded that as I get older, there will be fewer people who can relate to my reminiscences.

This phenomenon was painfully and vividly illustrated the other day with my 14 year-old daughter. We were looking through a book I had bought for a friend in my reading group called Dick and Jane and Vampires. It's a wonderfully subversive parody of the old reading series that was used in schools  from the 1930s to the early to mid 1970s. Remember "See Dick. See Dick run. Run Dick run,"? Remember the soothing, soft watercolor  images of the bland siblings Sally, Dick, and
Jane? Remember their non-dysfunctional family, their dog Spot, and their cat Puff? My daughter
didn't! Although she thought the "Vampire" Dick and Jane was funny, she didn't know that it was a parody! She didn't recognize the Dick and Jane characters at all! Now I realize that she had not been instructed with these books, but I have friends who are a decade younger than I am who never used the Dick and Jane books at school but still "get" the reference and recognize the characters. When did people forget Dick and Jane? (Poor Sally was never as memorable; you gotta feel for the third child.) This is quite disturbing to me. It makes me feel like I should be saying "icebox" instead of "refrigerator"  or something!

And while we're getting all nostalgic, why can't anyone remember all those bizarre Public Service Announcements of my childhood? When I talk about PSAs now, people think I'm referring to a prostate test! No and yuck. I'm talking about those ads that used to be on TV in the 60s and 70s that dealt with all kinds of social issues that parents today would flip out if their kids heard about during their nightly dose of child porn on Toddlers and Tiaras. Remember the ones for VD? They were the best! They used funky tunes and hip people to increase awareness of venereal disease. Two of my favs were "VD Gets Around," which featured a cool woman singing about young love and "VD Is For Everybody," which if you didn't know better, could very well have been promoting VD with its lovely images of happy, friendly looking folks and a sing-songy tune. PSAs today just aren't nearly as creative or fun. What a shame. What will today's kids remember? "This is your brain on drugs?" Yawn.

As my birthday gift to myself and to you all, I'm posting the VD PSAs that I remember and love so well. Enjoy! Happy Birthday, Lolamouse, and remember, "VD is for everybody..."

Orgasm In a Jar

No, this post is not about the private goings-on in my bedroom, so sorry to disappoint you! I can't even begin to fathom what you thought a "jar" had to do with my sex life, you sickos! No, this post is about food, which, like sex, is one of my favorite things when done well!

For several years while completing my graduate degree, I lived in South Carolina. Aside from the heat, which made you feel like you were living in Satan's armpit, the abject poverty, the ignorance and bigotry ("Do you Jews celebrate Thanksgiving?"), and the backassward school system (morning prayer over the PA system and a big paddle in the principal's office called the "Helping Hand,") it was a lovely place to live. I did grow quite fond of the food, too fond, as a matter of fact. If I had stayed in SC, I'd probably weigh over 200 pounds by now, in addition to having lost several of my teeth and having "big hair" (shudder). Ah, but the food...You can take the girl from the pulled pork, but you can't take the pulled pork from the girl! Or the mac and cheese, or the sweet tea, or the corn bread, or the banana pudding...pardon me, I'm drooling.

Anyway, this brings me to last night's dinner at Clyde's Tower Oaks in Rockville, MD. Clyde's has always been a favorite restaurant for our family, but it has now been elevated to mythical status in my heart and mind due to one appetizer that I have dubbed "Orgasm In a Jar." This beautiful concoction of ingredients perfectly melds several of my all-time favorite Southern foods into one compact package. There is nothing the least bit nutritious about this dish. It probably contains enough salt and fat to kill an ox, but I worship the person who said, "Fuck it! I'm going to make on ode to Southern gluttony and calories be damned!" It's a good thing I don't live closer to this restaurant because I would eat one of these every day. Behold its glory.

This sinful beauty is comprised of fried onions, cole slaw, pulled pork, corn bread, and macaroni and cheese, all packed into a mason jar. Put some hot fudge and whipped cream on top of that baby and I'd never have to eat anything else in my life (except maybe bacon and french fries!)

To those of you out there who are thinking, "OMG, how could she possibly eat all of that?" I have your answer. Easily.

Based Upon a True Story (part 1)

 Co-written by my fabulous, wonderful, and utterly flawless daughter Allison (Temari)

Once upon a time there were two princesses, both shining examples of consummate perfection. Unfortunately, the rest of their family was not, and this family was coming over to the castle for a Christmas feast. The princesses toiled away for days preparing for the family's arrival until all of the food, decorations, and entertainment were nearly as perfect as they were. Princess Lolamouse had only just finished an intricate plating design with the gingerbread when her husband, Prince Luke Warm, M.D., obliviously thrust his hand in the middle of it to snatch up a reindeer. "That was for company, dear," squeaked Princess Lolamouse. "Mmpfpmfpfm," he said around a mouth of crumbs.

Suddenly Princess Temari ran in, a look of urgency and disgust gracing her perfect features. "Sister, sister, " she cried. "Deven and SteeDee are here!" Princess Lolamouse groaned. Why her husband had insisted on inviting his brother and stepmother she would never understand, but being the supportive and perfect princess that she was, she accepted it graciously. Princess Temari opened the castle gate and warmly welcomed Deven and SteeDee. As she attempted to bestow a hug upon her step grandmother, she was promptly ignored as SteeDee flew past her to complain to her son the doctor. "This was such a miserable trip! That carriage was so bumpy! I'm not coming next year! I'm not getting any younger, you know! And that boy nearly got us lost 3 times-he couldn't steer a horse to save his dear mother's life!" Prince Deven, looking haggard, trudged into the castle rubbing his temples. "She didn't shut up the whole trip. I'm going to take a nap." And he disappeared into the castle dungeon for the rest of the afternoon.

SteeDee gave an exaggerated sigh. "I think he sleeps way too much!" The princesses exchanged a knowing glance, sensing that their perfect serenity was about to come to an abrupt end.

That evening the family gathered for a glorious repast made much less glorious by SteeDee's constant harping upon Prince Deven to find a more stable job. "What happens when the king tires of mimes? Then what will you do, hmm? I always insisted that my husband have a steady, reliable job, and I'll tell you, he made a fine tailor!" Prince Luke Warm, M.D., in a vain attempt to distract Deven from SteeDee's insults, said, "Deven, I'm having a horrible time getting the trees in my orchard to grow. Perhaps you could give me some advice out in the garden?" Prince Deven replied, "No need to go outside, bro. I already know what the problem is. You're trying to grow pear trees in soil that isn't right for them. What you need are apple trees! They'll grow like weeds!" SteeDee, never one to drop an issue, squawked "Well, if you know so much about apples, maybe you should sell them for a living!" "Yes," said Deven. "And after my first day of work, I could go home and throw myself in the moat." He then grabbed several pieces of gingerbread and returned to the dungeon. "Watch how many cookies you eat, Deven! You're getting fat!"

The next morning the princesses entered the dining hall to find SteeDee on another endless tirade. Prince Luke Warm, M.D. was nodding along to appear sympathetic. "...got no sleep at all! Deven and his lyre had me up all night! He was up way too late! That boy doesn't sleep enough!" The princesses made a prompt exit without comment.

Later, at lunch, the dysfunctional family sat around the table; only Deven was missing. "Is that boy sleeping again?" SteeDee whined. "I swear, all he does is sleep!" Just then, Deven ascended from the dungeon to grab more gingerbread. "I'm glad you like the gingerbread, Prince Deven," Princess Lolamouse exclaimed. "SteeDee told me it was your favorite." "Yes, they're really goo-" "Are you eating more cookies? Save some for other people!" SteeDee interrupted. Deven sighed and slumped back to the dungeon.
To Be Continued...

Get Off Your Asana! It's Time for Yoga!

As I sit here at the keyboard with sore shoulders, achy hamstrings, a crick in my neck, and tight as a rubber band that's been left in a middle school locker over the winter holiday, I wonder again when I will begin feeling all the wondrous, youth enhancing benefits of the yoga I've been practicing for about 2 years now. Then again, maybe if I hadn't been doing yoga all this time, I'd be feeling even worse than I do now! Can't prove the negative, right? Let's go with that.

I have a great yoga teacher. She's not one of those "access your third eye" types who reeks of patchouli and looks like she hasn't seen the inside of a shower stall in 6 weeks. She's actually quite a normal person, aside from being over 40 having stolen the body of a svelte 20 year-old and grafted it onto her head. Her ass won't quit, and I say that in a totally non-lesbianish but very envious sort of way. I could do lunges from now until 2012 and I'd NEVER achieve the awesomeness of her ass. But I digress.

Since you can't all come to Southern MD (and if you could, I know you'd be off like a herd of stampeding turtles!) and take a class with my yoga teacher, I thought I'd give you the next best thing. Then I realized that I can't friggin' do that either, so I thought I'd draw you some lame ass pictures of what I look like during my yoga class so you can mentally transport yourself and snicker behind my back from wherever you happen to be. 

This is how I look when class begins. I'm fresh (well as fresh as someone who's been dragged out of bed at 5 effin' 30 in the morning can be) and in a yoga state of mind (like a New York state of mind but without the traffic and panhandlers). I fully plan to breath deeply throughout the hour long class and achieve maximum mindfulness and bodily relaxation.

The first few minutes are a breeze. We breath. We close our eyes and "be" in the moment. We stretch a little. We warm up. We look to the sky and rotate our wrists and arms. Easy stuff. Nice. I love yoga.

Just as I'm about to get lured into a false sense of serenity, my yoga teacher starts pulling asanas out of her ass and doesn't stop for the rest of the hour! Here is but a small sampling of some of the pretzelifications I am humiliatingly contorted into each week:

This little gem is called "Warrior." See the power and strength? Neither do I. By the time I've faced a sink full of dirty breakfast dishes, cleaned up puddles of dog piddle, and dealt with some serious teen 'tude, all this warrior wants is to curl up and die in the field hospital.

What is the name of this pose? Does it even have one? It often follows several "Warrior" poses and is supposed to stretch out my legs and feel good. The leg part I can deal with, but for some reason (okay, not "some reason" but because I'm a totally uncoordinated klutz of the highest calling), this pose often throws me off balance and makes me dizzy and drunk feeling (and not in a good way!) This is especially true if we're having class outdoors and I decide, in my yogic nature mindedness, to watch the passing clouds overhead. Sway, sway, sway, throw up in my mouth a little, berate, re-focus, repeat.

This asana, brought to you from the Annals of Sadomasochism Monthly, is called "Pigeon." It is what affectionately is known in yoga circles as a "hip opener." Yes, that odd popping noise coming from your pelvic region and that vague sense of lower parts being rearranged is your hips being opened. This is a good thing! You should practice this on a daily basis, perhaps in front of the TV so that your spouse and children can be entertained by your cries of pain during particularly dull portions of their TV shows or during commercial breaks.

"Downward Facing Dog" is a favorite among yoga enthusiasts. They claim it's because this pose stretches your arms, legs, and shoulders, but I know the real reason-comic relief! Ever see a room full of people with their heads pointed down toward the floor and their derrieres sticking up in the air? It's funny. Laughter is good for you. Just make sure you look at your neighbor on her mat doing this pose and not EVER in a mirror at yourself. Then you would cry.

After an hour of bending my middle aged body in ways that nature never intended, comes the sweet reward-relaxation time! We slowly lower each vertebrae onto our mats, allow our hands and feet to fall naturally, and relax into a comfortable position. We release muscle tension and BREATH. Ahhhh....For about 20 seconds! Then it's time to pack up and leave! WTF! That's the best part! Well, I'll just go home and practice yoga on my own this week and then I can do the relaxation part for as long as I want. Or maybe just skip the yoga and move right on to the relaxation part!