Friday, July 29, 2011
The IAC(c) Network HEADLINES - Or, I Visited Cape Cod Yesterday And All I Got Was This Stupid Blog Post
WE give YOU the latest headlines so WE don't have to actually write a story ....
Determined Mosquito Follows Area Woman Home From Cape Cod
UPDATE: Alleged Stalker Mosquito Found Dead
UPDATE: Area Woman Charged in Alleged Mosquito Stalker Death
UPPATE: Necropsy Reveals Alleged Stalker Mosquito Was Pregnant
UPDATE: Tests Reveal Area Woman Charged In Mosquito Stalking Case Was Pregnant
UPDATE: Funeral For Alleged Stalker Mosquito Draws Millions Of Buzzing Mourners
UPDATE: Woman In Mosquito Stalker Case Tests Positive For West Nile Virus
UPDATE: Area Woman Pleads Self-Defense In Mosquito Stalker Case
UPDATE: Swarms Of Buzzing Spectators Ejected From Area Woman's Trial
UPDATE: Jury Acquits Area Woman In Mosquito Stalker Case
UPDATE: Woman In Mosquito Stalker Case Files Civil Lawsuit
UPDATE: Woman In Mosquito Stalker Case Recovers From West Nile Virus
UPDATE: Woman In Mosquito Stalker Case Files For Restraining Order Against Mosquito's Offspring
UPDATE: Mosquito Stalker Civil Case Settled Out Of Court
UPDATE: Woman In Mosquito Stalker Case Gives Birth To Virus-Free Daughter
UPDATE: Judge Denies Restraining Order In Alleged Mosquito Stalker Case
UPDATE: Mass Grave Of Mosquitoes Found Near Residence Of Mosquito Stalker Woman
UPDATE: Mosquito Stalker Woman Has Airtight Alibi
UPDATE: Boyfriend Arrested In Mass Mosquito Slay Case
UPDATE: Rupert Murdock Linked To Mass Mosquito Slay Case
UPDATE: Blood Vengeance Suspected in Mass. Mass Mosquito Slay/Stalker Case
... That's the latest. Stay tuned; film at 11.
Pass it along, and remember, It's all (c)opyrighted(c)2011(c)(c)
Monday, July 25, 2011
A Woman's Game
Look, I like sports. But let's face it, a sport is a competitive athletic activity invented by men. Whether it's Abner Doubleday, Alexander Cartwright, James Naismith, William Webb Ellis or a bunch of street kids, the creators of modern sports all used the male honorific, which means the games are profoundly influenced by gender:
Hitting balls with a stick. Kicking balls. Throwing balls, with or without sticks. Hitting, kicking and throwing men, with or without sticks. Throwing sticks, with or without men or balls.
... Somehow, I don't see a woman coming up with these same sporting concepts.
... So, is wondering what kind of sport a woman might invent keeping you up at night too?
... Ok, first, I doubt sports created by chicks would be tests of physical strength and speed. They would be more subtle, perhaps with multiple winners.
They would have to include lots of talking. The rules would probably be wicked complicated too so the know-it-all girl has something to do. Perhaps there would be more referees than players. Lots of multi-tasking, too ....
It might involve one or more lightweight round spheres like balloons to balance and pass around and try NOT to hit or kick or throw or even yell at, all without working up a sweat that smells the worst.
Or, since women excel at endurance, I can imagine a sport where they have to cover long distances, probably carrying things on their backs, head, arms, hands, and/or hips. Possibly in high heels.
Or a competition involving chocolate -- either chasing after it or trying to keep opponents away from it.
I personally don't see sticks in the rulebook at all. Possibly a rule prohibiting any stick from coming anywhere near the game ....
There would probably be a time limit so everyone could go get dinner, plus frequent time-outs for bathroom breaks. Competitions might be set to music, with candlelight for night games.
It may involve vocabulary such as path, self-realization, honors, promotion, sacrifice, rewards, partner, please, thank-you, and retail therapy. It definitely would include a prize.
Sorry, boys, no shirts versus skins. Players wear whatever they want in whatever color or style they choose. No number on your back, either: you are identified by your game skills, jewelry, and hair.
Of course free child-care, health care and tuition reimbursement are offered to fans, referees, staff and players. Practices and game times revolve around staying in shape and accommodating another career or outside interests. Employers match employees' 401(k) contributions.
... Look, I may have the requisite chromosomes, but I'm no sports philosopher/historian/sociologist/doctor/women's studies expert. However, I think I've come up with a couple usable parameters. So if a sister out there wants to, er, take the ball and run with it, I'm ready to sign up just for the perks as long as my intellectual property is protected. It all sounds like great fun (except the high heels part) ....
Plus I need to win something so I can cross that off my *uck It List ....
ATTENTION, CHICKIES: WOULD SOMEONE KINDLY REMOVE THAT NASTY STICK FROM THE PATH SO WE CAN GET STARTED? THANKS, DARLINGS; NOW PLAY NICE AND DON'T FORGET TO CALL YOUR MOTHER AFTER THE GAME ....
Pass it along and remember It's all (c)opywrited(c)2011(c)(c)
Hitting balls with a stick. Kicking balls. Throwing balls, with or without sticks. Hitting, kicking and throwing men, with or without sticks. Throwing sticks, with or without men or balls.
... Somehow, I don't see a woman coming up with these same sporting concepts.
... So, is wondering what kind of sport a woman might invent keeping you up at night too?
... Ok, first, I doubt sports created by chicks would be tests of physical strength and speed. They would be more subtle, perhaps with multiple winners.
They would have to include lots of talking. The rules would probably be wicked complicated too so the know-it-all girl has something to do. Perhaps there would be more referees than players. Lots of multi-tasking, too ....
It might involve one or more lightweight round spheres like balloons to balance and pass around and try NOT to hit or kick or throw or even yell at, all without working up a sweat that smells the worst.
Or, since women excel at endurance, I can imagine a sport where they have to cover long distances, probably carrying things on their backs, head, arms, hands, and/or hips. Possibly in high heels.
Or a competition involving chocolate -- either chasing after it or trying to keep opponents away from it.
I personally don't see sticks in the rulebook at all. Possibly a rule prohibiting any stick from coming anywhere near the game ....
There would probably be a time limit so everyone could go get dinner, plus frequent time-outs for bathroom breaks. Competitions might be set to music, with candlelight for night games.
It may involve vocabulary such as path, self-realization, honors, promotion, sacrifice, rewards, partner, please, thank-you, and retail therapy. It definitely would include a prize.
Sorry, boys, no shirts versus skins. Players wear whatever they want in whatever color or style they choose. No number on your back, either: you are identified by your game skills, jewelry, and hair.
Of course free child-care, health care and tuition reimbursement are offered to fans, referees, staff and players. Practices and game times revolve around staying in shape and accommodating another career or outside interests. Employers match employees' 401(k) contributions.
... Look, I may have the requisite chromosomes, but I'm no sports philosopher/historian/sociologist/doctor/women's studies expert. However, I think I've come up with a couple usable parameters. So if a sister out there wants to, er, take the ball and run with it, I'm ready to sign up just for the perks as long as my intellectual property is protected. It all sounds like great fun (except the high heels part) ....
Plus I need to win something so I can cross that off my *uck It List ....
ATTENTION, CHICKIES: WOULD SOMEONE KINDLY REMOVE THAT NASTY STICK FROM THE PATH SO WE CAN GET STARTED? THANKS, DARLINGS; NOW PLAY NICE AND DON'T FORGET TO CALL YOUR MOTHER AFTER THE GAME ....
Pass it along and remember It's all (c)opywrited(c)2011(c)(c)
Friday, July 15, 2011
Baseball Revelations
Ah, the lazy days of mid-summer, when the sun beats freckles into your face ... the municipal pools are cloudy with overcapacity ... the Mothers Without AC roam the cool aisles of Wal-Mart towing toddlers ... the boys of summer rest their bats while texting their agents ....
... Once upon a time, there was a sports department in a newsroom of a county daily which covered the local AAA baseball games. Ok, it wasn't actually a sports department. It was a comedy team masquerading as a sports department ....
The name of the paper, after mergers, was The Chronicle Independent Digest Nation. Everyone called it The Chronic Indigestion ....
The local team was named after a bird; don't recall which. The Yellow-Bellied Cutthroats, maybe ....
Each summer, the paper ran circulation promotions tied in with the ballgame scores. You know -- if the score adds up to a certain number, some fan/subscriber wins a Really Cool Prize.
Maybe the score had to add up to 100 by the second inning. Or had to be evenly divisible by pi. Maybe you had to be related to someone running the promotion or be stepping out with them. Possibly all of the above. Regardless, the joke on the sports desk of The Chronic Indigestion was there was a greater chance of the Second Coming than anyone actually taking home that Really Cool Prize.
So perhaps it was predictable if not inevitable that one hot Sunday afternoon after the All-Star break, it actually happened. As the newsroom story goes, it was the top of the eighth, score tied at 5, two outs, bases loaded, home team pitcher on the mound and one strike away from ending the inning. While the loudspeaker blared 'Louie, Louie,' Jesus Christ descended from heaven, landing gracefully in an empty box seat smack dab behind home plate.
Inspired by this turn of events, the pitcher coolly caught the batter looking with a halo of a curveball.
When the home team batted, it quickly ran up the score another 90 runs to ensure victory. The fans were enraptured. Once the birds took the field again, the P dispatched his final three batters with nine perfect fastballs.
It was a big win for the home birds and a special, lucky attendee. However, even though the final score met the contest criteria and Jesus miraculously produced a ticket and a subscription, the scoring happened in the wrong inning, so He wasn't eligible for the Really Cool Prize.
He didn't look mad or anything. They gave Him the game ball. He took it, tipped His hat, and ascended back into heaven in a cloud of home plate dust.
They gave Him special credit in the official stats book for 756 saves, though ....
The team made the playoffs that year and changed its name to The Angels the next season.
And they all lived happily ever after .....
Pass it along and remember It's all (c)opyrighted(c)2011(c)(c) ....
... Once upon a time, there was a sports department in a newsroom of a county daily which covered the local AAA baseball games. Ok, it wasn't actually a sports department. It was a comedy team masquerading as a sports department ....
The name of the paper, after mergers, was The Chronicle Independent Digest Nation. Everyone called it The Chronic Indigestion ....
The local team was named after a bird; don't recall which. The Yellow-Bellied Cutthroats, maybe ....
Each summer, the paper ran circulation promotions tied in with the ballgame scores. You know -- if the score adds up to a certain number, some fan/subscriber wins a Really Cool Prize.
Maybe the score had to add up to 100 by the second inning. Or had to be evenly divisible by pi. Maybe you had to be related to someone running the promotion or be stepping out with them. Possibly all of the above. Regardless, the joke on the sports desk of The Chronic Indigestion was there was a greater chance of the Second Coming than anyone actually taking home that Really Cool Prize.
So perhaps it was predictable if not inevitable that one hot Sunday afternoon after the All-Star break, it actually happened. As the newsroom story goes, it was the top of the eighth, score tied at 5, two outs, bases loaded, home team pitcher on the mound and one strike away from ending the inning. While the loudspeaker blared 'Louie, Louie,' Jesus Christ descended from heaven, landing gracefully in an empty box seat smack dab behind home plate.
Inspired by this turn of events, the pitcher coolly caught the batter looking with a halo of a curveball.
When the home team batted, it quickly ran up the score another 90 runs to ensure victory. The fans were enraptured. Once the birds took the field again, the P dispatched his final three batters with nine perfect fastballs.
It was a big win for the home birds and a special, lucky attendee. However, even though the final score met the contest criteria and Jesus miraculously produced a ticket and a subscription, the scoring happened in the wrong inning, so He wasn't eligible for the Really Cool Prize.
He didn't look mad or anything. They gave Him the game ball. He took it, tipped His hat, and ascended back into heaven in a cloud of home plate dust.
They gave Him special credit in the official stats book for 756 saves, though ....
The team made the playoffs that year and changed its name to The Angels the next season.
And they all lived happily ever after .....
Pass it along and remember It's all (c)opyrighted(c)2011(c)(c) ....
Monday, July 11, 2011
The Landscape Escape
I may have been spending too much time in the garden lately. My back, knees and hands ache so much all I want to do is curl up in a fetal position and suck on a bottle of ibuprofen formula.
You may call it sunstroke, but dawn broke over Marblehead (as we say in The Bay State) when I realized if I lived on the ocean, all of my landscape woes would disappear.
An ocean demands respect. You don't turn your back on her. You watch her, get out of her way when she's angry, and refrain from pouring toxins in her. That's about it.
The ocean is not something you need to mow, sow, weed, feed, fence, water, weed-whack, prune, transplant, dig, de-bug, weed again, mulch, then paint the fence again, or even shovel.
It sounds like the ideal front, back and side property to me.
I would love a view free of weeds sticking up like a middle finger through the mulch you just laid yesterday, taunting you and filling you with so much rage that when you pull them you purposely leave them out to dry and die -- kind of like a crucifixion for the other weeds to see and fear and take warning ....
Or when the weeds in the cracks in your driveway flower overnight no matter how many times you drive over them. Back and forth. Back and forth. It's so dispiriting. ....
If I lived on a boat or better yet a yacht, I could keep some of my favorite plants topside like Kevin Costner's lime tree in 'Waterworld.' Add some tomatoes, chives, peppers and cilantro for fresh salsa for the fresh fish .... It sounds to me like a fresh concept for a fresh new cooking show, 'WaterStove' or 'Surf 'n' Saute' or 'Galley Slave' ....
Who wouldn't want to trade crabgrass for crab legs?
When you live on the water you also get to use vocabulary like 'topside' and 'jib' and 'poop deck,' which is way cooler than 'upstairs,' 'soffits,' and 'laundry room.' You get to say 'knots' and also tie things in knots, which I'm good at, and you get to travel while staying home and presumably eat out a lot.
I also like the concept of being able to hose everything down on a boat. I could save a small fortune on cleaning supplies not to mention exfoliating products. Bet the taxes on a few gallons of saltwater are pretty reasonable, too ....
This could work for me .... Ok, I know nothing about sailing beyond a few vocab words, but I'm a good student, a strong swimmer and an excellent floater. I have these two built-in personal flotation devices ....
... Know anyone who's selling a piece of the ocean cheap? I may want to build a boat on it ... just as soon as I unload this manicure-busting piece of property we call home.
Interested? It's got a lot of potential -- and if you act NOW, it's virtually weed free ....
I think I need a vacation. Either that or it's time to get out of the sun .....
Pass it along, and remember it's all (c)opyrighted(c)2011(c)(c)
Saturday, July 2, 2011
USA USA USA
Fireworks in Massachusetts are illegal for amateurs; however, a bill (H3has been introduced that allows towns to let people register for a permit. The theory is that instead of running around putting out fires willy-nilly, the fire departments will know where potential blazes may occur. Like 'Minority Report' with hoses ....
The potential tax revenue is almost $1 million. According to sponsor Rep. Richard Bastien, R-Gardner, the Commonwealth might capture some of the $40 million home pyrotechnics business that has traditionally thrived across the border. But for now the penalty is a fine from $10-100 if you get caught, which doesn't include any other random violations you may be obliviously guilty of and cited for .....
... Gotta getta bang on the Fourth. So Husband and I drove 50 miles the back way in our second-heaviest vehicle (it's moose migration season) across the state line and into a primo parking space at the fireworks store.
Inside, people were packed in like, er, firecrackers and I immediately felt overwhelmed and overstimulated by the towering stacks of brightly-colored cardboard packaging. Graphics of spaceships, ninjas, gods and goddesses, planes, knights, not to mention big guns, dazzled alluringly under fluorescent light with enough glare to blind you to the BOGO special.
I know nothing about fireworks, but quickly bored trying to get up to speed on jargon concerning mortars, repeats, reports, and the merits of peonies versus chrysanthemums. I picked out some army tanks in cool blue packaging (WARNING: Shoots Flaming Balls). I had visions of recreating the second Battle of El Alamein, so I left all other choices up to our resident rocket scientist.
Later, while Husband waited in line, I pulled out my camera and starting clicking. The displays looked very Andy Warhol-like to me, except instead of soup they were explosives.
I wish the lighting had been better, because all but one shot is disappointing. Also, other customers kept rudely interrupting my shots in order to rudely take something off the table to rudely buy it, all while rudely apologizing profusely. Every time I had all of the Medusa heads lined up (not looking at me), someone would grab one and put me in jeopardy of turning to stone .... (I'm in a fireworks store. I'm trying to minimize risk.)
One patron thought I was sending the pics to someone off-site for feedback and said, good idea. For some reason I felt like an undercover agent acting like a customer who for some reason wanted to act like an undercover agent while photographing the merchandise ....
Ok, maybe I've seen 'Inception' one too many times on HBO lately ....Or maybe I just dreamed I saw 'Inception' one too many times on HBO ....
In fact, the best shot is of the flag-motif skirting velcroed to the display tables. That's what the picture is.
I think it's pretty great to live in a country where you can drive across state lines without presenting papers, buy some explosive chemicals known as black powder packed inside cardboard cylinders in brightly colored boxes that you can't get in your state legally at least not yet, take pictures of said product, post them on your Facebook page and then motor back home, write a blog about it, and set them off -- all while eluding the fireworks police (and moose).
Or is it?
Ok, maybe the point is there is a lot of gray in red, white, and blue. Kind of like the photo .... The Founding Fathers and Mothers loved to argue about the principle of freedom, and they were also smart enough to realize we citizens of the future would love to argue about it too. With ourselves, even.
So all in all I guess they got things right.
Have a safe Independence Day celebration! Let us never lose sight of the idealistic principles this country was built on!
For an interesting piece on the status of legal fireworks, see
from the July 3, 2011, issue of The New York Times.
For interesting treatments on freedom, see The Declaration of Independence, The U.S. Constitution and the Bill of Rights.
Pass it along and remember, It's all (c)opyrighted(c)2011(c)(c)
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