injaynesworld

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2012-01-29T08:55:00.000-08:00

My favorite moment of the week…

And my least…

***

In a week that saw Romney coin the new phrase “self-deportation," Gingrich announced his plan to build a colony on the moon by the end of his second term, Rick Santorum suggested that women who’ve been raped and become pregnant just “make the best of a bad situation,” Ron Paul had the best idea, which was to send them all to the moon.

Perhaps we shouldn’t be laughing just yet. This is, after all, the country that elected GW twice.

***

And this week's "You Can't Make This Shit Up" Award...

Trailing poll numbers did not stop Rick Santorum from soliciting donations with a new website: “Conservatives Unite Moneybomb.” Or CUM, for short.

You'd think Santorum, of all people, would have given that more thought.

***

If that left a bad taste in your mouth…

On Friday, the most obese nation in the world celebrated National Chocolate Cake Day.

Maybe “celebrated” is the wrong word. I don’t recall any parades and the post office was still open. Chocolate cake to this day remains my number one choice for birthdays, so I don’t begrudge this popular treat its day in the spotlight. Still, for a country that lusts for sugar while obsessing about thinness, it’s good to see that National Eating Disorders Week will be coming up soon.

***

And the Oscars were in the news this week...

... continuing their tradition of nominating people no one ever heard of from films no one saw.

Which fave of yours got snubbed?

It’s a good thing the always entertaining Billy Crystal will be hosting this year.

***

And finally, if you missed the moment, here’s… The Hug.

Didn't Mom teach you to share?

injaynesworld "Show A Little Class..."

2012-01-25T11:39:00.000-08:00

As a child, I recall a woman coming to our door one evening collecting for the poor. I pushed my way in front of my mother who stood in the doorway. Even at seven years old, the thought of someone not having enough to meet their basic needs was crushing to me. I ran to my room, got my piggy bank, and would have handed over my entire savings of $3.00 had my mother not stopped me. I don’t remember what she gave the person, but that memory is still very vivid in my mind. That may have been the day I became a “bleeding-heart liberal.”

We were not well off by any means, but we had more than some. There was a family in our neighborhood who we gave my school dresses to once I’d outgrown them. They were really the only “poor” family I knew, but at least they had a house to live in.

Ours was a pretty typical 1950s suburban neighborhood. My step-father worked for the city public works department, which I suppose made us a blue-collar family. Mom stayed home. That’s how it was on my street.

A Republican was in the White House, the highest tax rate was 90%, and the country had never been more prosperous. Those folks in the 90% bracket were mostly the stuff of movies to the rest of us, but sometimes we’d pile into our 1957 Hudson and cruise the rich neighborhood to gaze at all the mansions. Nobody begrudged them their wealth. These days families like mine exist mostly only in memory.

Today the term “wealth inequality” is one we hear a lot. The highest tax rate is supposed to be 35%, but if you’ve made your millions from investing, you only pay 15%, and if you’re Mitt Romney with an investment income of $57,000 a day that figure inexplicably drops to 13.9. In contrast, my tax bracket is 25%.

But who can really fault him? The law is the law and he’s not breaking it. Of course, having the tax laws written by a Congress bought and paid for by lobbyists protecting the same Wall Street interests from which Mitt and folks like him derive all that dough might just be the teensiest bit fucked up, but according to Romney the rest of us are just envious.

Hell, yeah!

Although, when you think of it, why would anyone need so much money? I recently came across an article that shows all the things one could buy with a billion dollars and still have change left over. It’s a pretty fancy shopping list that includes 40 private islands at $24.5 mil a piece. Okay, one private island you might be able to justify because really, who doesn’t want their own damn island? But seriously, I don’t think I could be very happy there if I knew that because I wasn’t paying my fair share to the country that gave me the opportunities to acquire such vast wealth so many of my fellow citizens were struggling just to survive.

I’m not suggesting we go back to the 90% tax rate of the 1950s because God forbid someone should have to try to get by on a paltry $100 million, but in his State of the Union address the President suggested a 30% figure and that seems reasonable to me.

Ours has always been a class-based society, until recently with extremes on both ends of the money spectrum and a vast middle where the majority of Americans comfortably resided. It was a society where your birth status took a back seat to your dreams, and those “poor kids” who wore my hand-me-down dresses needed only a willingness to work for those dreams to achieve them.

Today most of those mansion-filled neighborhoods, like the one my family drove through when I was a child, have gates around them, and a whole generation has given up on their dreams.

Is it really too much to ask the 1% among us to pay a bit more? It would be the classy thing to do.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2012-01-22T10:37:00.000-08:00

In a week that saw the captain of a sunken cruise ship claim he “tripped and fell” into a lifeboat, and Newt Gingrich’s second ex-wife make the “shocking” claim that Newt is less than honorable, perhaps the most disturbing news of the week was this…

The G spot does not exist.

After 60 years of scientific research trying to locate that mysterious orgasmic area, a team of Israeli/American scientists finally said fuck it, something they’d been trying to do for years. In their findings, published in the Journal of Sexual Medicine this week, they’ve concluded that the stuff-of-legends spot does not exist.

Yes, guys. All this time we were just messin’ with you.

***

Best New Job Category…

Concerned about the spread of STDs in the porn industry, the health conscious Los Angeles City Council passed an ordinance this week that requires every actor in an erotic film to wear a condom, giving a whole new meaning to the term “getting it on.”

How they’re going to actually enforce the law will be interesting, but one thing we’re sure of, there will be no shortage of applicants for the job. Because really, who wouldn’t want “porn movie condom inspector” on their business card?

Not to be a buzz kill, but I feel the need to point out that for the money it’s going to cost to fund this silly law, they could have put free-condom dispensers in every high school.

***

In other health news…

Pride of the deep-fry south TV chef Paula Deen revealed this week that, while raking in millions urging her audience to whip up and consume fat-and-sugar laden concoctions by the truckload, for the past three years she’s actually been hiding her own diagnosis of Type 2 diabetes. But not to worry. She’s just signed a deal to make even more millions promoting a drug to treat the disease.

Will Lipitor be far behind?

***

While the nation celebrated Martin Luther King’s birthday this week…

Mitt Romney continued to decry the notion of income inequality.

Meanwhile, “family values” voters in South Carolina still chose serial cheater Newt Gingrich over the guy who tied the family dog to the roof of his car.

***

Finally, Betty White gets a 90^th birthday shout out from the president…

Like the Recap? Spread it around.

injaynesworld I'll be "Leaving A Little Something Behind..."

2012-01-19T10:51:00.000-08:00

Few of us think much about dying. Sure, we all know our ticket will be punched someday, but when... I’m often torn between wanting a “heads up” to get my things in order or being taken out by a meteor because really, that would be a cool way to go. If there is an afterlife and you’re there tossing back celestial beer and swapping best-demise stories, “hit by a meteor” would have to be right up there.

The quest for immortality has never been of much interest to me. Of course, ask me that on my deathbed and I may be of another opinion but, by and large, I’m happy to have been born when I was, grown up when I did and, with any luck, I’ll get off the planet before the whole place turns to crap.

Still, the notion of a part of me lingering, if only in a text or video, does have a certain appeal to my reverence for the bizarre and now there’s an app for that. “If I die” is a new Facebook app that allows users to leave updates to be posted to their wall after their death. Just because you’ve checked out of the physical world is now no reason to depart from the digital one. And let’s face it, isn’t that where we all spend most of our time anyway?

A user must pick three Facebook friends, called “trustees,” who will notify the website after their death and confirm the event. Then Facebook will post his or her final pre-taped message. Think of it. That person who dumped you for another that you told you’d never let him forget about it – now you can literally never let him forget about it. Want to profess your pent-up love for another that you could never have while alive? This app gives the term “undying love” a whole new meaning. “Knowing where the bodies are buried” becomes more than just a euphemism. You might actually know where a body is buried and what better time to reveal yourself as a serial killer than after your own body is cold.

The possibilities are endless.

I’ve given this serious thought and planned my video carefully according to how I wish to be remembered. Since I’m renowned for my size 4 “assets,” let’s just say my video will be open to interpretation.

Surely, there must be something you’d also like to leave behind.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2012-01-15T10:20:00.000-08:00

Little Kristy McNichol turns 50!

And gay. Actually, she’s been gay for a long time, but this week she chose to go public in the hopes of helping young people struggling with their sexuality as she once did. Bravo, Kristy. But couldn’t you have lied about your age? I can just feel the crypt keeper breathing down my neck.

***

How is it possible to go broke selling snack food to Americans?

We’re the fattest people on the planet. Childhood obesity is at an all-time high. Yet this week Hostess, the 80-year-old company that pretty much invented empty calories, filed for bankruptcy.

The company, whose executives have clearly never heard of Paula Deen and her minions of followers, cited a trend toward healthier eating in this country as one of the reasons for its fiscal fiasco. Also getting some of the blame the costs of medical benefits for its employees, but if you’re making foods specifically designed to cause diabetes and heart disease, shouldn’t you pick up part of the tab?

I say if you’re making a snack food that can outlast a 1962 VW Beetle and get a killer cleared of a murder rap and you’re still going broke, you’re just not trying hard enough

***

Hostess should hire this kid…

Sam Tollison, a 10-year-old Colorado boy is being credited with the designation of January 8^th as the day to forever more to be known as Colorado Cinnamon Roll Day. Likely while under the influence of copious amounts of sugar, the youth collected more than 100 signatures in his quest to have his beloved pasty honored. Why cinnamon rolls? “They have frosting and they’re sweet and yummy,” the tyke proclaimed.

For his efforts, the Tollison family received a free breakfast that of course included a cinnamon roll, along with cinnamon roll ice cream – must-haves on any health conscious person’s breakfast table – and Sam will get free cinnamon rolls for life. For life! Or until his blood sugar explodes out his ears.

Tollison’s mom couldn’t have been more excited, “We feel like kings and queens,” while Sam’s proud papa added, “It’s a good thing when your kids have an idea to pay attention to that idea, because it might turn out just like this.”

Yeah. It would have been a real bummer if your kid had only won a stupid science fair.

And yet, Hostess can’t make a buck.

***

Romney dogged by Seamus scandal…

This is Seamus, the stately Irish Setter who was held hostage in a crate on the roof of the Romney family station wagon for a 12-hour ride from Boston to Ontario in the summer of 2007.

It’s the story that’s had folks from Fox’s Chris Wallace to The Times’ Gail Collins uniting to slam the candidate whose best response so far has been, “Hey, he liked it up there.” Someone needs to explain to Romney that dogs having a good time don’t usually shit themselves all over your car. Even Newt Gingrich, best known for dumping his cancer-stricken wife while she was hospitalized, is slamming Romney for the canine cruelty – and you’ve got to go some to be looked down upon by Gingrich.

Outraged dog owners have rallied at websites like dogsagainstromney.

Meanwhile, even a group of Texas evangelicals have endorsed Santorum, a man whose very name encompasses everything they find most icky in the world, rather than support a guy who’s mean to dogs.

***

This Great Dane saved his owner’s life…

When a woman was being beaten with a hammer by her boyfriend, her dog leaped in front of her and took the blows. Because of his bravery, a women’s shelter for victims of domestic violence in Kansas is leading the way in changing the rules allowing family pets to stay at such shelters.

This is why we don’t strap the dogs that love us unconditionally and trust us to care for them to the roofs of our cars, Mr. Romney.

***

Since it seems that this week’s Recap has already gone to the dogs, we might as well finish off with this groovin’ Golden Retriever…

Got book?

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2012-01-08T10:01:00.000-08:00

Yet another celebrity marriage tanks...

This time it’s Russell Brand and Katy Perry, the admitted sex/drug addict and the daughter of evangelical preachers. Oh, yeah. Couldn’t see that one coming.

Rumors abound as to the cause of the split, including that the randy Russell wanted to have sex five times a day. Being that during their one-year marriage the couple was rarely in the same country at the same time, much less the same room, were Mr. Brand to now be suffering from a nasty case of carpel tunnel syndrome it would come as no surprise.

If the Christian "right" is so worried about threats to the sanctity of marriage, why aren’t they out fighting for a ban on celebrity nuptials instead of trying to restrict the civil rights of gays?

***

Two stories of good deeds to start the New Year...

A Colorado man who found $10,000 in an envelope before boarding a flight in Las Vegas says he returned the money to the owner because he wanted to show his children that it was “the right thing to do.” The owner of the money had won it gambling and dropped it while running to catch a flight. While in Ohio, a couple who lost $12,000 got lucky this week when their lost bag of bucks was found sitting in the middle of a road by a 63-year-old Akron woman out on a stroll. The woman told police that her father was a minister who taught her to do the right thing.

Let it be clear: Since I do not have children for which I need to set a good example, nor a father or any other relative in the ministry, if I find a stash of cash I’ll be falling to the ground and shouting “Thank you, Jesus!” I’ll worry about burning in hell later.

***

We do not eat “Mr. Mittens.”

In China, a billionaire businessman learned this the hard way when he died two days after eating a steaming bowl of slow-boiled cat-meat stew, considered a “regional delicacy” in some parts of that country. As it turned out, it wasn’t the stew that killed him, but rather poison placed in it by a guy who didn’t like him so much. Probably one of the Chinese 99%.
First of all, if you’re a billionaire and you’re eating cats, you deserve to die. Unless you’re crawling to your grave from starvation and you just happen to stumble across a plate of freshly poached filet of feline… Nah – not even then.

***

What’s wrong with this photo ad for kids’ swimwear? Go ahead. Take your time…

I’m thinking having a naked guy in a photo touting kids’ fashions may not be the way you want to go – even in France. I’m also thinking that the photo editor who didn’t catch this before publishing it on the website of French fashion chain La Redoute is now out looking for a new gig.

Perhaps he could run in the GOP primary.

***

Speaking of the GOP primary…

In Iowa last week, only 5.4% of the voting populace gave the tiniest crap about their choices for the Republican nominee for president. Not that I suppose anyone could blame them, but what a waste. All the money spent, the endless media coverage and for what? So the world could see Romney barely squeeze out Santorum. And now on to New Hampshire where we get to do it all over again!

(Warning: Do not Google “Santorum.” And by that I mean Google Santorum.)

***

Finally, oopsy…

Finally, fresh off “The Biggest Loser,” McCain speaking at a rally where he’s supposed to be endorsing Romney…

Nothing a nice, long rest in a facility serving green Jell-O couldn’t help.

If you enjoyed today’s Recap, please share my link on Internet bathroom walls everywhere. Thank you.

injaynesworld we're "Stashing Our Cash..."

2011-12-28T10:00:00.000-08:00

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I’m hesitant to make New Year’s resolutions. I don’t like to give my word unless I know I can keep it, not even to myself. Actually, especially to myself. So I’m really going out on a limb here by declaring in this oh-so-public manner that I am going to start socking money away, and I’m going to do it by paying myself 10% out of every paycheck I receive before any blood-sucking creditor gets so much as a shiny damn dime.

The last time I had a real savings account was when I was in the third grade. Each week, the teacher would pass out little banking envelopes in which to deposit our stash of pennies, nickels, dimes and the occasional quarter. It was fun to write the amount on the outside of the envelope and then see our fortunes grow from week to week. I don’t recall what ever happened to that money. I suspect I eventually browbeat my mother into letting me take it out and squander it, and I’ve been squandering ever since.

As I grew and no longer had the luxury of being a burden on someone else, it amazed me how many people had their hands in my pocket every month. Rent, utilities, food, car payments – and this was before big banks figured out how to grab us by the short hairs and keep us enslaved forever. That’s a whole other descent into the bowels of hell.

At barely 1% interest these days, I’m not expecting to get rich any time soon. But with the money out of my immediate eyesight and the safety hatch of a few days transfer time, it will give me just the pause button I need when I come across that fabulous (insert your temptation here) that I just have to have this very minute.

Since the paychecks of a freelancer vary, I fully expect to hear the fiscal anti-Christ whisper in my ear that 10% of this check or that won’t make a bit of difference in the grand scheme. “Piss off, old dark one,” I will say.

Happy New Year.

injaynesworld it's "Another Elfin' Christmas..."

2011-12-15T10:11:00.000-08:00

Therewere many years when I loathed Christmas. I was alone and struggling to make it in show biz as a writer, with rejection my only steady companion. Christmas with all its gaiety and promiseseemed to mock me and each year I swore that I was going to completelyignore it. Short of a quick hop over toRed China for the month of December, Christmas is about as easy to ignore as amud slide heading your way.

Inthe end, I would always cave and put up an artificial tree barely twentyinches tall. Nothing to it. Out of the box,spread the fake branches, toss on some lights and begrudgingly declare “There! Are you happy, Christmas? You won.” When you feel bad about yourself and badabout your life, it’s hard not to dwell in the valley of dung. But then something would happen. The sparkle of that little tree wouldinevitably lighten my heart just enough that some of that persistent Christmasspirit would sneak past the gargoyle at the gate and manage to find its wayinside of me.

Asthe years moved on and my career took off, I began to welcome Christmas. My trees grew in size and splendor and Icouldn’t wait to put them up. The firstMonday of each December, friends gathered at my home for tree-trimming andtomato bisque soup – a tradition carried on for 15 years. But, as we all know, nothing lasts foreverand either we define our circumstances or they define us.

Lastyear, there was no eight-foot tree, no party, no traditional tomato bisque soup. Money was tight again, but Christmas camejust as it always does and I found that my small table-top tree warmed myheart just as much as its larger predecessors.

Thisyear I’ve come full-circle. A limitedincome, a tiny home and, once again, another tree barely 20 inches tall. I guess I could have chosen not to bother,but I’ve learned that giving in to Christmas is a lot easier than fighting itand it’s a fight I’m happy to say I lost long ago anyway. Ioften hear people who live alone say, “Why should I decorate? It’s just me, after all.” And now I always say to them, “Who’s moreimportant than you?”

It’snot called “the magic of Christmas” for nothing. All it asks is that you meet ithalfway. Merry Christmas…

Andnow go Elf yourselves…

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-12-11T08:13:00.000-08:00

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Islam’s answer to Rick Perry...

Muslims the world over are hanging their heads in embarrassment over an Islamic cleric’s recent ban on women touching bananas, carrots and cucumbers, citing their resemblance to male genitalia and thus a danger of "sexual thoughts." I, personally, have never seen a green penis, nor one that could be peeled. The only orange one that might qualify is John Boehner’s.

Should Muslim women wish to eat these items, a male must cut the offending produce up into small pieces out of sight of the woman and serve it -- and we all know how eager Muslim men are to wait on their women.

Some religious leaders have denounced the cock-obsessed cleric as giving Islam a bad name. Others have called him “retarded” – giving the mentally challenged a bad name.

Meanwhile, women in other parts of the Muslim world can still be raped as long as they marry their rapists. No problem there.

***

Here in the U.S. we have our own special way of making sure women know their place by starting their indoctrination young…

Teach your little girl to aspire to the domestic service industry this Christmas with “My Little Trolley” cleaning cart.

But always remember her true calling as a sex object with Pole Dancer Patty…

And because it’s never too soon for a little girl to start obsessing about her boobies, “Breastfeeding Baby,” comes complete with sucking sounds.

Photo credits: Huffington Post.

***

This just makes me sad…

The only Lindsay Lohan twins I want to see are these.

***

For a positive role model, look no further than Hillary Clinton…

… who this week gave a historic speech in Geneva where she declared “… protection of human rights for gay people will now be a priority of U.S. foreign policy,” tying it to the receipt of U.S. foreign aid. Notice the standing ovation. There's something you don't often see for a U.S. representative.

Getty image

Thank you, Madame President. Uh… “Secretary.”

***

Our congratulations to Rosie O’Donnell…

… who announced her engagement to partner, Michelle Rounds this week. The couple will marry in New York where the nuptials are legal, while Obama’s opinion on same-sex marriage continues to “evolve.”

***

And it looks the Newt Gingrich may be the GOP’s date to the prom.

Meanwhile, Mitt snagged a major endorsement this week from former vice-president, Dan Quayle. Remember him? The genius who apparently didn’t know that “Murphy Brown” was a fictional character.

***

And for all of those still delusional enough to believe the Republican Party gives a flying crap about them…

Unless, of course, you happen to be a fetus. Out of the womb? Out of luck.

***

And finally, in the spirit of the season…

If you enjoyed the Sunday Recap, please share. Thank you.

injaynesworld we are now "Suitable for Giving..."

2011-12-06T09:17:00.000-08:00

The best of IJW, according to your comments, is now “Suitable for Giving.” The most fun about putting together this compilation of 19 essays from the last two years, was reading all your comments again. You’re a funny bunch. You should write blogs.

The book is called “Suitable for Giving” because it’s Christmas and you have to buy gifts anyway. Could I be any more obvious? I considered naming it “Tales from a Size 4 Ass,” but that just didn’t seem in keeping with the spirit of the season, and I worried people might confuse it with one of those celebrity diet books.

Paperback and Kindle versions now available here.

Each month, I’ll be selecting a different group to receive a portion of the profits. For the month of December, I’m donating $1/paperback and .50/e-book to Elayne Boosler’s “Tails of Joy” pet rescue. It’s a small organization with no paid staff. Just Elayne and her desire to make a difference in the lives of animals.

So, come on. How long has it been since you replaced that old reading material in your bathroom? And really, who doesn’t want a good laugh when they’re sitting on the throne?

One more thing… None of this writing would have been possible without your support, encouragement and friendship. You all literally helped me find my voice again. If I could step through my computer and hug each one of you I would… Well, some of you… Nah. I really wouldn’t do that, but do believe me when I say I am so very, very grateful.

Thank you.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-12-04T10:36:00.000-08:00

Mrs. Brady gets crabs… (shameless plug alert)

Why is it that celebrities, especially those looking to shed their wholesome images, feel the need to share way too much about themselves? I’ve obviously been living under a rock, because it was only this week that I became aware of Florence Henderson’s recent memoir where one of America’s favorite TV-mom spills on a one-nighter she had with then NewYork Mayor John Lindsay and the post-coital critters he gave her to remember him by.

What’s next? Will Mrs. Cunningham reveal that she went down on the Fonz? Did Maggie Seaver get it on with Shirley Partridge? Do whatever makes you happy ladies, but honestly, I don’t need to know. Flo's is one book I don't find "Suitable for Giving" at all.

Unlike mine, which will be out this week, at least in paperback and guaranteed crabs-free.

***

Nothing says “Good Tidings to All” like a grenade launcher…

From Arizona, the state that brought us the shooting of Gabrielle Giffords and slaughter of six others, those merry folks at the Scottsdale Gun Club bring you the Christmas family photo op of your sick-ass dreams.

Calling it just a “fun way” for people to “express their holiday spirit and passion for firearms,” I can only wonder how much fun the loved ones of those injured and killed on that tragic day see in this.

Teach your children well…

***

In the real spirit of the season…

Folks in Reading, PA, a town dubbed one of America’s poorest cities, were visited by a “Secret Santa” sporting a hat that said “Elf” and handing out crisp new $100 dollar bills to folks in need, including a young, despondent out-of-work father, a mother of six and even the dishwasher at the local Salvation Army. Making his way through the downtown streets, “Santa” gave away $20,000 dollars before he was through and plans visits to other hard-hit cities, as well.

Continuing in the Secret Santa tradition of the late Larry Stewart who gave away $1.3 million over 25 years until his death in 2006, the current Santa, who will identify himself only as a businessman, said “Cities like Reading are experiencing tough economic times. It’s time for us to step up, not step back.” In return for his gifts, “Santa” asks only that the recipients do something nice for someone else this Christmas season.

Now doesn’t this make up for the crabs and guns stories?

***

GOP plays the Trump card…

Yes, the Donald has been selected to be the moderator of the next Republican debate. Ron Paul has refused to attend, stating that the choice of Trump will create a “circus-like atmosphere.” In response, Trump said to Paul, “I know you are, but what am I?” This is what the party of Abraham Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt has come to.

I can only assume that none of the Kardashians were available.

***

With Cain having imploded and Romney unable to get any respect at all…

It looks like the GOP’s great white dope for the White House will be a fat guy named after a lizard.

But don’t let that ruin your Christmas.

With thanks to Nance at Mature Landscaping for this video.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-11-27T11:29:00.000-08:00

There’s something about the terms “Thanksgiving” coupled with “Black Friday” that just seem wrong. I’m assuming it’s called Black Friday because it brings out the darkest nature of people who, probably any other day, are a decent enough sort.

Over at Walmart…

A woman determined to get a deal on an Xbox pepper-sprayed other customers around her in order to spring to the front of the line. My guess is she’s related to this guy.

Or maybe she's a Faux News viewer…

… who just happened to catch Megyn Kelly pronouncing pepper spray a “food,” and thought “Hey. Then how bad could it be?” If so, she can’t really be blamed. According to a new study conducted by Fairleigh Dickinson University on how informed TV news viewers are: “The results show us that there is something about watching Fox News that leads people to do worse on these questions than those who don’t watch any news at all."

So people who don’t watch any news at all are actually better informed that those who watch Fox. Well, you could just knock me down with a feather.

***

And while on the subject of pepper spray…

With liberty and justice for all – who can pay for it, that is.

***

And they say it’s a “Do-Nothing Congress…”

Great news kids. Pizza is now a vegetable.

As with most things the GOP does, it’s actually more subversive than that. School lunch regulations now read that one-eighth of a cup of tomato paste on pizza is equal to one-half cup actual vegetables. The Obama Administration said “Well, that’s just bullshit,” or something like that, and ordered that for it to be equal to one-half cup of vegetables you had to actually have a half a damn cup of tomato paste. Seems reasonable. Right? Not if you’re a Republican. Continuing in their quest to oppose all things Obama right down to our kids’ nutritional intake, they blocked the president’s ruling, effectively making a serving of pizza equal to a half-cup of vegetables.

Oh yeah, and meanwhile still no jobs bill.

***

While not exactly in keeping with today’s Thanksgiving theme, anything that pisses off the Christian right is reason enough to be thankful to me…

It’s the Archie Comics Gay Wedding issue!

Riverdale’s first openly gay character, Kevin Keller (although I’ve long suspected Betty and Veronica’s hidden lust for each other) is marching down the aisle with his African-American partner, Clay. Damn. Gay and black. As you might guess, this has bible thumpers twisting in their knickers. If only they'd gone one step further and also made him a Muslim. I know. That’s just greedy of me. But I do love that Kevin is a military officer. Ha!

Here’s the money quote from Peter Spriggs of the Family Research Council: “It’s unfortunate that a comic book series usually seen as depicting innocent, all-American life is now being used to advance the sexual revolution.” Spriggs. Doesn’t that just sound like a guy who would wear knickers?

Oh, yes. So very much to be thankful for.

***

Giving a whole new meaning to “Leggo of My Eggo…”

All this for a two-dollar waffle iron…

I’ve scanned the video pretty closely and, blessedly, I haven’t seen anyone I know or am related to, although butt-crack woman looks like a fun gal. You might want to do the same in case you find one of these things under your tree. Yeah, that’s right, Uncle Frank. You always were a cheap bastard.

***

And finally, a shameless plug. Coming (hopefully) next week in paperback and an e-book near you...

Just in time for Christmas, it’s the best of injaynesworld. Guaranteed to make you LYAO (no matter what its size), this compilation of the posts you liked best is just right for your bathroom reading and, of course, is suitable for giving.

injaynesworld it's "A Simple Thank You..."

2011-11-24T11:20:00.000-08:00

Sometimes saying “thanks” just feels so damn inadequate. You know, like when someone goes way the hell out of their way to do something generous for you. In earlier times, an appropriate response would be the gift of one’s first-born child. I think that may still be an acceptable custom in some cultures, but only if the kid is a girl.

It was easy being a grateful receiver when we were children. We were little taking machines, never tired of being on the receiving end of life’s goodies. Then somewhere along the way we learned shame. Gifts began to be withheld if we were “bad.” Love no longer felt unconditional. It was now something to be earned. Once adults, we often questioned the motives behind a gift, worried about being indebted, or believed ourselves unworthy and so began saying “No” to what life had to offer instead of “Yes. More, please.”

In this time of giving thanks, whether you’re with family you love, family you tolerate, or those you really just can’t stand, you’re surrounded by abundance most of the world would envy and you deserve it. All life requires is a simple thank you.

Be a grateful receiver. Allow others to give. And watch the goodies start rolling in again. Your prosperity prospers the world.

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends. And thank you.

injaynesworld we "Resent The Hell Out Of The Common Cold..."

2011-11-16T09:36:00.000-08:00

As a youngster, catching a cold meant languishing in a warm bed, the smell of Vick’s wafting in the air as Mom dispensed chicken soup and Popsicles with a healthy dose of sympathy. Cherocal cough syrup loaded with codeine kept me nicely sedated for days and, my every need met, I had only to burrow under a Pooh-Bear quilt, the rest of the world be damned.

Fast forward.

As an adult, it didn’t take me long to realize that illness no longer afforded such perks. The world did not stop because I had the sniffles. You want chicken soup, Jayne? Get it yourself. There was no paid sick leave for the self-employed, and the FDA had taken all the fun out of cough syrup. With no attention, no sympathy, and no avoidance of daily responsibilities, getting sick had gone from a nice respite from worldly demands to a major inconvenience.

Through my thirties, there were colds I could pretty much always count on: The Christmas cold upon the day of my return from visiting family; the all-systems-can-now-collapse cold upon completion of each script assignment; and the smoking cold, which slapped me down whenever I got up to more than four or five cigarettes a day. In fact, on my thirtieth birthday I had the last cigarette I would ever smoke for just that reason. The onslaught of a burning throat and clogged nasal cavities occurred almost immediately with the inhale of my first cigarette of the day and proved to be so Pavlovian that even now, just the smell of cigarette smoke can quite literally make me retch.

As I grew older and began to subscribe more and more to the theory that I was the creator of my life and not its hapless victim, I began to question the purpose of illness altogether. Without any perks, what the hell was the point? And so it was that I identified the stress factors associated with both my Christmas trip and the timely completion of a writing assignment and eliminated them and the resulting colds from my life. Damn, I felt powerful.

I’d love to report that the decades since then have been cold-free, but about once a year, despite a deep dish of hot denial, the relentless rhinovirus will knock me on my (size 4) ass. It’s that cold that you never see coming. It seems to hit without reason. It is the “shit happens” cold, and there is no defense. The wise thing to do when that first tingle in the back of my throat signals “incoming” would be to cancel plans, rest and let nature takes its course. But, like the empty gas tank that I’m sure will run on a concentration of sheer will, I am always certain that I can beat this thing if I just… try… hard… enough.

My stubbornness knows no bounds, but resistance proves futile, and the fact that this particular cold at this particular time seems to be “going around” does not dissuade me from considering it a personal failing.

Ah, to be six years old again… for just a little while.

injaynesworld we "Tempt Fate... And Lose"

2011-11-01T09:24:00.000-07:00

The gas gauge was clearly well into the red zone. Still, it had been in such territory before and I’d always managed to reach my destination, so can I be faulted for thinking that once again it was just “crying wolf?” I’d actually considered getting gas the night before, but damned if I was going to pay seven cents more a gallon in town when I’d be driving right by the cheap station out on the highway the next day while on my way to get a mammogram.

It was a beautiful, sunny morning as I cruised along the winding road that led out to the 101. Cows were peacefully grazing on golden hillsides. The stock market was rallying on news that a deal had been made that would stabilize the Euro. I’d given myself plenty of time to make my appointment. What could go wrong?

Here’s something I didn’t know. When your car runs out of gas, it takes the whole damn system down. Oh, the car was still moving all right and, for a desperate moment, I even imagined I might be able to coast my way to the Our Lady of Perpetual Motion gas station a mere 10 miles down the road. It was a slight downhill incline, so I wasn’t being entirely delusional. However, the need to steer would be required. Picture then my delight to find that not only was my car slowing at a time when all others were continuing to zip along – and precariously close, I might add – but my power steering? Not so much.

I’m a strong-willed individual. It’s hard for me to admit defeat. So, it was with no small resentment at a universe that had refused to bend to my will that I edged myself into the emergency lane and rolled to a stop. I could only pray that my cell phone worked in this area of my rural valley with its fickle reception. God tossed me a bone.

I considered waiting for help in my car, but worried about the possibility of another vehicle plowing into me. Instead, I decided to stand about 20 feet in front of it where now I could be hit directly. Oh, yes. So much better. It wasn’t long before a concerned gentleman pulled over on the opposite side of the road and yelled at me to climb my dumb ass up the side of the hill out of harm’s way, and while he may not have actually uttered the words “dumb” and “ass,” they were most certainly implied. As my luck this particular morning would have it, the hillside was made of sand, which quickly filled my shoes only adding to the enjoyment of the day. My savior then drove off, no doubt very pleased with himself.

October has been unusually warm this year and it didn’t take long before I could feel moisture forming on the back of my neck, under my arms, and between “the girls.” For the uneducated, when a woman goes for a mammogram she is instructed not to put on any deodorant or talcum powder prior to the procedure. Apparently, these products contain aluminum that, when exposed to more radiation than one would normally experience in 10 years, might cause a malfunction of the very machinery where one’s delicate breast tissue has been compressed to the width of a Swedish pancake. How much longer until I began to reek, as well?

I had plenty of time to reflect upon my predicament as I waited. Plenty. Of. Time.

I’d opted for taking my chances of reaching a gas station where I would be paying $3.87 a gallon instead of going to the closest station to my home and paying $3.94 – because, by God, those corporate oil bastards weren’t going to rip me off. I’d show them! Now I was sinking up to my calves in sand, soaked in fluids of my own making, and waiting for a towing service that was going to charge me $5.00 a gallon.

“Penny wise and pound foolish” was a saying I heard a lot as a child and grew to enjoy using on others in my oh-so-smarty-pants fashion. I’m now reminded of another saying. Karma’s a bitch.

injaynesworld we have "A Darwin Award Winner..."

2011-10-26T10:03:00.000-07:00

The human capacity for stupidity never fails to amaze me. Witness this guy who southern California firefighters found stuck in a tree trunk by following his screams down into a creek bed. It took 90 minutes paid for by taxpayer dollars to free this idiot and no reason was given as to why the guy climbed into the hole near the base of the tree to begin with.

Normally, I would save such stories for the “Sunday Recap,” but this one just cried out for immediate attention. I’m calling it “Occupy Elm Street,” although "Up Shit Creek" resonates with me, too.

Feel free to offer your own captions.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-10-16T14:06:00.000-07:00

Let's see if I still remember how to do these things...

What’s in a name…?

When Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab set out to make a name for himself and get some of those 72 virgins promised in all the brochures, being forever known as the “Underwear Bomber” probably wasn’t what he had in mind.

Entering a plea of guilty this week to attempting to blow up a plane bound for Detroit in 2009 with a homemade bomb tucked neatly between his balls, one can only assume Umar was last in his class at training camp.

His first mistake was choosing a plane bound for Detroit. Either the boys back at terrorist dispatch were hazing the new guy or all the good cities were taken. I mean, seriously, like folks on a plane going to Detroit actually have something to live for. I can only imagine his pride when he came up with the genius idea of hiding the bomb in his drawers -- because nothing says “Hey, nothin’ goin’ on here,” like the smell of singed pubes. Now our wayward warrior is destined for a life in prison, his “tidy whities” perennially around his ankles, and the butt of every gang-banger’s “Is that a bomb in your pants...?” joke. There will be no virgins for Umar and his only claim to fame a footnote in the jihadists new edition of “How Not To Blow Up A Plane."

***

Leave the driving to us…

Never one tempted by the sport of marathon running, or running at all for that matter, I nonetheless admire those committed souls who will push their bodies to their limits and beyond to run in a sweaty, smelly pack of like-minded individuals all for the public glory or even just personal satisfaction of completing their stated goal of crossing a finishing line miles away. I mean, that is the whole point, right?

Apparently, Rob Sloan, a runner in the U.K.’s Keilder 26.2 Mile Marathon didn’t get the memo. After turning in a third-place finish and declaring the race “unbelievably tough,” the bloke was busted when it was learned that he had hopped on a spectator shuttle bus and ridden the last 6.2 miles of the race, before emerging from the woods near the finish line. Blimey! (my friend Annie would say) That takes some nerve. Turns out people in cars following the bus saw him get on and off and then run through the bushes. I’ll bet the folks on the bus must’ve had their suspicions, as well. Seriously, dude. You really thought no one would notice? You must be out of the same gene pool as the “Underwear Bomber.”

***

Under the "But where would you put it?" category...

If you had $908, 245 and questionable taste, you too could have purchased this statue of supermodel Kate Moss contorted in a yoga pose and made out of 10 kilograms of 18-caret gold at the Sotheby’s auction house in London this week.

The lucky bidder, it turns out, was from Asia, home to all those American jobs we used to have.

Personally, I don’t get the appeal. Maybe if it was made out of chocolate. Complete that fantasy on your own.

***

The "Steaming Pile of Shit Award" this week goes to the Topeka City Council...

...for decriminalizing domestic violence.

The conflict is over how to fund the enforcement of domestic abuse prosecution. With budget cuts of 10% facing city and county departments, including the D.A.’s office, domestic violence cases have become the hot potato tossed back and forth between law enforcement agencies, none of which want it on their books. The D.A.’s recent decision to save money by not prosecuting such cases, instead dumping them on the city’s doorstep, led to the city council’s vote of 7 to 3 to simply decriminalize the misdemeanor.

Seems to me like the problem right off the bat is classifying it as a “misdemeanor” in the first place, putting it in the same category as shoplifting which, by the way, will still be a prosecutable offense under the new budget cuts. Guess we know their priorities. Fist in your mate’s face, no foul. Swipe a DVD – oh, man, you’re in trouble now.

Meanwhile, Kansas Republican Governor Sam Brownback is working on another tax cut for that state's rich.

***

In more political news…

The GOP has no clue as to how to react to the growing “Occupy Wall Street” movement…

***

And you’ve got to feel sorry for Mitt Romney…

...when he’s passed in the GOP "Holy-crap-there's-a-black-guy-in-the-White-House" primary polls by another black guy, this one known best as the “Godfather of Pizza.”

In California, we now have open voting primaries, so I’ll be voting for Cain and hoping he gets the Republican nomination just to see the Tea Party’s heads explode.

***

Someone else running for office…

This Elizabeth Warren impersonator represents why I’ll be sending the real Elizabeth Warren some of my limited cash intake.

To see and support the real Elizabeth Warren, visit ElizabethWarren.com.

Okay. How did I do?

injaynesworld we awake "Under The Big Top..."

2011-10-11T09:20:00.000-07:00

… where hangovers are discouraged. You don’t want to wake up with your head spinning, look up and see this. I promise you.

Even on your average morning, it can set the room in motion. And so it was with the first few days I awoke in my mountain top cottage. Unlike many children, I harbored no fantasies in my youth of running off and joining a circus. Nor did the pyramids of Egypt ever beckon me. Yet, here I am in a six-sided, one-room home that, from my morning pillow, might easily be mistaken for either. My ceiling, I’m afraid, is far more adventurous than I am.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. A tour should start at the front door. Two actually. French and facing west, they are the first part of the cottage to greet the day. The deck extends all the way around the house, which makes “walking in circles” a literal rather than figurative expression around here.

Open the door and you’ll find yourself looking through the center of the cottage to my bed and office on the opposite walls. And yes, that is a giant pole right smack in the middle. Unfortunately, its circumference is too great to allow for pole-dancing, nor do any handsome firemen slide down from the roof, but it does hold the whole place up, so it can be forgiven such shortcomings.

Take a turn to the right and you’re in my kitchen/dining area complete with a Hasbro “Easy Bake” oven perfect for single-serving size pizza or a muffin tray of six should the urge to bake strike me. It never does. A full-size frig, microwave, toaster and coffee maker complete my food prep needs.

Wall #3 houses the bathroom and boasts another awesome view. See, it really is a tree house.

A jewel of a sink brought home by the owner from a trip to Spain somehow found its way to this little place, although I can’t imagine that was her intent when she bought it. Or maybe it was. She’s much more generous than I am.

Swing around another 6^th of a turn and voila! Behold the boudoir. And really, what more does anyone really need in a bedroom? A dresser would just be frivolous when plenty of space can be found under the bed, and storage containers are now made to house pretty much anything from panties to pumps. I tell myself that there are people who make do with far less room on submarines.

And here we are at wall #5, the office, and another amazing view. Desk, laptop, printer, boom box – yes, I still have a boom box because I like to blast my music and my neighbors, who you will meet shortly, don’t mind a bit.

Finally, wall #6, the living room. My favorite spot is the couch where I flop nightly, remote in one hand, wine in the other and enjoy catching up on back seasons of “Dexter” who, I believe, has more integrity than just about anyone in Washington. So there you have it. And all this contained in a room that is no more than 26’ from one side to the other.

Mason loves it here. He's turned from a pussy to the neighborhood bad-ass and there are plenty of tailless lizards around who will attest to his prowess. He still won’t kill a damn mouse though.

And Dixie couldn’t be happier to be able to sun herself on the porch while keeping an eye on me inside, wherever I happen to be.

Oh, wait. I promised to introduce you to the neighbors. Meet the Moo family. They’re nosy, but they don’t complain much.

So ends the tour of my little treetop temple. Believe me. I know how fortunate I am. There may not be a luckier fool on the planet.

Thanks so much for stopping by.

injaynesworld we "Call A Spade A Damn Spade..."

2011-10-09T11:23:00.000-07:00

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It’s not a color-challenged heart.

Good news! There is no more hunger in America. Those children who go to sleep each night with empty bellies knotted in pain and whose cognitive abilities are being stunted by lack of adequate nutrition – they aren’t hungry. They’re just experiencing “food insecurity.”

And now there’s a cute new “poverty-stricken” Muppet named Lily to tell us all about it. Sesame Street’s TV special airing tomorrow night got the title right: “Growing Hope Against Hunger,” but then cops out with their discussion of “food insecurity.”

How is “food insecurity” easier to explain to kids than “hunger?” Kids know bullshit when they hear it. While I believe the show’s heart is in the right place, glossing over the shameful epidemic of hunger in America by assigning it a more palatable name just makes it easier for people to turn their eyes away from the real horror of this nation’s hungry men, women and children.

“A rose by any other name smells just as sweet” and hunger by any other name is still a national shame that robs us all of the many contributions that a healthy, adequately fed population might bring to this country. We’ve become so politically correct so as not to offend, but there are some things we should be offended by. There are some things whose harsh reality should not be made palatable.

I’m sure the Sesame Street special will be well done and a valuable starting point for a discussion with children about hunger. But if you really want your well-fed kids to understand what hunger does to a person, take them to a homeless shelter and introduce them to some real life children who are experiencing such lack. Lily, the Muppet, doesn’t live there.

injaynesworld we're "Living On Borrowed Time..."

2011-09-28T09:18:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking quite a bit about time lately and, having reached my 62nd birthday this year, it occurs to me that I'm now living on the borrowed variety.

Never one to plan too far ahead, my journey continues to surprise me.

Born into a nomadic existence, it was not unusual for me, as a young child, to go to sleep in San Francisco and wake up in Montana, Oregon or any number of other places. It’s no wonder I now prefer to stay put. Dad was frequently and mostly absent from my life, but in my early years my mother would attempt to reunite with him wherever he happened to be and I was among the baggage she carted around on those ventures. When I finally reached school age, Mom chose me over Dad and an upper unit of a four-plex in San Mateo, California, became the first actual home I can remember.

Those were the days of “Romper Room,” polio shots with those primitive, big-ass needles, and my first group of real girlfriends; Francis, Charlene and Marcia. At last I felt like I belonged somewhere. Each day, we would don our identical maroon jumpers layered over crisp white blouses, lace up our freshly-polished oxfords and off we’d go to St. Matthew’s Catholic School. Mom had decided that I should get some religion, lest my unbaptized soul end up in a place called “Limbo” which, in my teen years, would become a dance craze.

While my indoctrination into Catholicism would last only until the third grade, that was long enough to instill a lifetime’s worth of guilt. Teaching a young kid that a guy had to die a gruesome death because of their sins can leave quite an impression, especially when administered by stern women dressed in black carrying knuckle-cracking rulers. A certain amount of guilt is not a bad thing though. Because of it, I’ve managed to avoid any serious crimes of duplicity in my lifetime, and I strongly believe a stint in Catholic school should be a prerequisite for anyone wishing to run for public office.

When I was about nine, my mother was fixed up by her well-meaning sisters with a kind man who would, for awhile, become my step-father and, once again, my life was uprooted. The blue-collar neighborhood that would be my home through high school was a few miles away in the town of San Carlos named after Saint Charles but, blessedly, I was spared any more time in Catholic school. It was here that I formed my first political alliance, pedaling my blue Schwinn around the neighborhood in my “JFK for President” hat, completely unaware of the heartbreak that was to come.

I’ve made a dozen moves since then, each a very distinct chapter in my life with beginnings, middles and, of course, endings; each shaping me into the person I have become today. Some friends have remained for the entire journey. Others have touched my life and moved on.

Having just completed a move from a home I lived in for 17 years, I’m now beginning a new and, let’s face it, quite possibly final chapter. If my time runs out tomorrow, I can’t complain. I’ve been hugely blessed along the way. But I’d like to stick around for a while, borrow a few more years if that’s cool with the Universe. I still have lessons to learn, lives to touch and be touched by and, with apologies to Mother Superior, a little more hell to raise before I’m ready to close the book on this particular lifetime.

This morning I was perusing Facebook and I came upon a friend’s posting. It said, “I want to go back to bed,” and made me think of all the days I simply pissed away with no thought that they were in limited supply. Maybe I had to reach this age to appreciate that that which is borrowed will one day be called upon to be returned.

injaynesworld we're no longer "Possessed By Our Possessions..."

2011-09-02T08:58:00.000-07:00

I can understand why my mother would have saved my baby teeth, but why the hell I would still be carting them around some half a century later is beyond me.

The danger of living in a large home is there are all sorts of places to hide crap you don’t know what to do with and don’t really want, but for some reason feel compelled to hold onto. Anyone need a catechism prayer book from 1959?

Leg warmers? I’m sure they’ll come back in style some day.

I know why I saved every single Jefferson Airplane record. That was great stuff, but who the hell was Jack Bonus and why do I have his album?

And don’t even get me started on my high school diaries. Who was that self-absorbed, boy-crazy little bitch and why was she allowed to live?

It’s been a busy time for the shredder.

I’m not as attached to my stuff as I would have thought. It’s been surprisingly easy to let go. Some of the things I cared about most are going to family members and good friends and that helps. When I finally get all moved into my tiny new place, I will have pared my life down to only the objects of my true affection.

Already, I feel a sense of freedom and lightness as I enter this new chapter of my life. Seventeen years is a long time to have been in one place. I always believed they’d carry me out of here feet first. Then someone else would have had to deal with all my crap. I wouldn’t have wished that on anyone I cared about. And I really would not have wanted them reading those diaries.

Here’s the view from my new abode. As you can see, I can practically touch the heavens. At my age, it’s wise to get a good place in line.

And to all you mothers out there, do your kids a favor. Throw away their fucking teeth.

injaynesworld “A Sabbatical Is In Order…”

2011-07-17T09:26:00.000-07:00

It may be a day, a week, or…

Between a heavy workload at the moment and all that’s involved in preparing for my big move to my little house, I’m needing to spend more time in the real world as opposed to the virtual one right now.

So I’ll be around, but less for a while.

This week the fabricated political battle over the debt ceiling continued to dominate the airwaves. The truth is we don’t have a debt crisis, we have a revenue crisis, so don’t forget who the bad guys are.

And let’s also not forget the amazing things America can accomplish if we can ever put country ahead of political party again.

Have a lovely week…

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-07-10T10:25:00.000-07:00

Former First Lady Betty Ford died Friday at the age of 93.

Known for being pro-choice and speaking out for women’s equality, often to the chagrin of the husband who adored her, she was a classy lady and a just a great all-around broad in the best sense. I actually voted for Gerald Ford because I liked Betty so much. Now I’m nostalgic for both of them.

###

And in case you missed it amidst the 24 hour coverage ad nauseum of Casey Anthony – there was another Exxon oil spill this week, this time in the Yellowstone River…

A 12-inch pipeline ruptured on Friday dumping 42,000 of crude oil into the flood-swollen river which has now befouled farm land, water wells, and is threatening wildlife.

###

And next time you think the oil companies are not in cahoots with the auto industry, think about this…

###

More than a little irony…

Among those tweeting their outrage over the Casey Anthony verdict this week was none other than Kim Kardashian...

... whose father, the late defense attorney Robert Kardashian, got O.J. Simpson off the hook.

###

You bang it, you buy it…

U.S.

soldier was just “being all that he could be…” when he broke into an adult novelty store to find a friend. Captain Little Jim (his real name) was discovered by police officers in a closet attempting to have sex with a blow-up doll.

The manager of the shop lamented, “It’s sad. Our stuff is really reasonably priced.”

In the soldier’s defense, the store was closed and a man has needs.

###

Which reminds me of one of my all-time favorite movies, “Lars and The Real Girl.”

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-07-03T10:00:00.000-07:00

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This week we bid adieu to the Glenn Beck Show.

Yes, the man Stephen Colbert called “Satan’s mentally challenged younger brother” made his final appearance as host of his own show on Faux TV. Let’s wander down memory lane for some of Beck’s finer moments.

“Don’t let anyone tell you what the truth is. Not even me.” They’re watching Faux, Glenn, so there’s little danger of that.

"When I see a 9/11 victim family on television, I'm just like, 'Oh, shut up.' I'm so sick of them because they're always complaining." Yeah. There's just no pleasing some people.

“The most used phrase in my administration if I were to be President would be 'What the hell do you mean we're out of missiles?’” There are those fine Christian values.

On why people in California lost their homes in forest fires: “I think there is a handful of people who hate

America

. Unfortunately for them, a lot of them are losing their homes in a forest fire today.” Yeah, and 9/11 was God’s payback for homosexuals. You and Jerry Falwell -- separated at birth.

Finally, in what I can only assume was Beck’s attempt to one-up Kanye West: “This president, I think, has exposed himself over and over again as a guy who has a deep-seated hatred for white people or the white culture… This guy is, I believe, a racist.”

Buh-bye, Glenn. As they say, don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya.

###

Speaking of primates…

Thought to have escaped from Six Flags Great Adventure, a baboon had an adventure of his own while on the loose for three days in New Jersey. Spotted several times crossing backyards, traveling down highways and even taking in the pleasures of a golf course, the baboon was finally tranquilized and captured. Word has it they would have captured him sooner, but in several instances he was mistaken for Governor Chris Christie.

The baboon was not amused.

###

Meanwhile, the Republicans continue to prove they have no interest whatsoever in seeing the economy recover any time soon…

###

Don’t you hate it when you’ve got nothing smaller than a $100 in your wallet?

On a campaign stop, a young boy offered Republican presidential candidate Mitt Romney a $1 bill that he’d folded origami-style for good luck. Wanting to give something back, Romney searched through his wallet, but could only find a $100 bill. An aide handed him a dollar, but Romney kept digging and finally found a $5 dollar bill deep in the recesses of his billfold, proving that he really is one of us, after all – minus the $100 bill, of course.

###

Just for laughs…

Doesn’t this just give the term “shower enclosure” a whole new meaning?

###

Have a wonderful 4^th of July weekend and remember…

If you drink, don’t drive, and if you’re a moron, don’t barbecue.

Whatchu got to say?

injaynesworld "Gay Marriage Is A Right..."

2011-06-25T09:24:00.000-07:00

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Late last night history was made when a Republican-led majority in the New York State Senate passed legislation giving gay couples the right to marry in the Empire State.

Source: Huffington Post

Meanwhile, President Obama, in his own words, repeated that his views on the subject are “still evolving.” Truly one of the most pathetic and weak statements I’ve ever heard uttered by someone who is supposed to be a leader.

EVOLVE ALREADY!

The president’s position is that this is an issue for the states to decide for themselves. If that had been President Johnson’s view, blacks might still be riding at the back of the bus. Of course, this is not a state issue. It’s a Constitutional issue, a basic civil rights issue. All our citizens are guaranteed “liberty and justice for all,” not just the ones whose lifestyle we approve of. We pledge to uphold this commitment from the first day we enter school as children and place our hands over our hearts.

So, no, Mr. President. You are dead wrong on this one. The right to marry is not something only affected by state laws. Something as simple as the federal right of married couples to inherit their spouse’s social security – a right denied to gay couples – is just one example of why marriage equality needs to be the law of the land, not just those states that happen to be more “evolved” than others.

May I submit to you, sir, that this is what a leader looks like.

Source: Huffington Post

Governor Andrew Cuomo campaigned on the promise to bring marriage equality to New York. He fought to make that promise a reality every single day since his election and last night he kept that promise.

Come 2016, this is the guy the Democrats should run for president.

Congratulations New York. Welcome to the 21st century.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-06-19T11:17:00.000-07:00

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Anyone watch the Republican debate this week?

What ever happened to the party of Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt and Dwight D. Eisenhower? All three, but most especially Eisenhower, who expanded Social Security, helped create the Department of Health, Education & Welfare and authorized the biggest public works program in our history – the Interstate Highway System – would be rolling in their graves if they could see what’s happened to the GOP. Not the “Grand Old Party” anymore. That’s for sure.

Hell. I even long for Nixon.

###

But then just when I think there’s no hope for the GOP…

This week’s “Golden Balls” award goes to New York Republican State Senator Roy McDonald who threw his support behind the legislation now pending in the Big Apple to legalize gay marriage.

In his own splendid words McDonald said, “You get to the point where you evolve in your life where everything isn't black and white, good and bad, and you try to do the right thing. You might not like that. You might be very cynical about that. Well, f**k it, I don't care what you think. I'm trying to do the right thing. I'm tired of Republican-Democrat politics. They can take the job and shove it. I come from a blue-collar background. I'm trying to do the right thing, and that's where I'm going with this.”

Why the hell doesn’t this guy run for President?!

###

Giving a whole new meaning to the term “Stairway To Heaven…”

There’s some controvery brewing over a glass stairway in the newly opened $105 million dollar Franklin County courthouse in Ohio. While hailed for its aesthetic appeal, it's the view from below allowing people to see up a woman’s skirt that has folks buzzing.

Oops...

One has to question the wisdom of constructing this peek-a-boo stairway in the very same building where judges sentence sex offenders. The word “entrapment” comes to mind.

Security guards have been told to keep an eye out for people craning their necks, but who’s going to keep an eye on the security guards?

###

The Beverly Hills mega-mansion built by the late TV producer, Aaron Spelling has finally sold…

Cozy...

Asking price was $150 mil, but Candy Spelling settled for a paltry $85 mil. The buyer is 22-year-old Formula 1 heiress Petra Ecclestone, pictured here with billionaire daddy, Bernie Ecclestone.

Rick Hilton, father of his own little heiress, Paris, brokered the deal pocketing a tidy few million for himself, as well.

Yes, these girls are definitely members of “The Lucky Sperm Club” and I hope they get their dads something nice for Father’s Day.

###

Like maybe this lovely pair of sperm and egg cufflinks…

What dad wouldn’t proudly wear those?

###

And for frustrated dads everywhere who just can’t get their kids to go to sleep...

Happy Father’s Day

injaynesworld "The Times They Are A Changin'..."

2011-06-16T09:46:00.000-07:00

Knowing my resistance to change, the Universe usually gives me ample time to get used to the idea, especially when there’s a big one coming my way. It begins with a subtle shifting as that which is no longer serving my highest good quietly fades like a waning moon, while new rays of promise start to peek out just above the horizon.

Sometime last year, I began longing to “travel light,” which was odd because I’d never longed to travel at all. I’ve always been “The Reluctant Traveler,” both literarily and figuratively. Keeping change at bay made me feel like I was in control and, as a child of an alcoholic, for most of my life nothing had been more important.

When a growing urge to purge began earlier this year, I didn’t know what it meant, but I followed its direction and filled a dumpster with years of crap that I soon realized had been cluttering my life, weighing me down and holding me back.

For the last 17 years I’ve rented a house on a lovely farm. With three bedrooms and two baths all to myself, it’s the largest place I’d ever lived in and the most expensive. But at the time I moved here, I was a successful TV writer, I could afford it, and so I indulged myself in the luxury of having a separate office, as well as a guest room for family and friends. It has been my little patch of paradise all these years and I’ve often said they’d have to carry my cold carcass out the door or call the SWAT team because I was never leaving.

If there’s one thing guaranteed to make the Universe laugh it’s the word “never.”

Change happens whether we resist it or not. In recent years, staying in this home has become a financial struggle, increasing until it started to dim the joy I’ve felt here and finally threatening to extinguish it altogether. I always thought I’d be devastated if I ever had to leave, but instead I find myself surprisingly prepared and at peace about it.

In September, I’ll be moving to a friend’s much more affordable, one-room guest house. Yes, that would be one room, not one bedroom. It’s a cozy, round cottage high atop a hill with unobstructed views of the entire valley – very private and peaceful – a little temple in the trees.

Whenever I’ve sought out spiritual guidance, prefacing my request with “for the highest good of all,” the Universe has not only come through with what I was seeking, but with something even better.

So I’m choosing to let go of any fear of change and instead stepping through the door to this next chapter of my life with faith, joy, and trust.

There are so many wonderful people that I’ve come to know through the writing of this blog, people I would love to meet “in real life.” With this move, I’m beginning to my shed my resistance to travel and open myself up to those opportunities that would not have been financially possible before.

I guess you could say I’m limiting my living space, but expanding my world.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-06-12T11:54:00.000-07:00

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Paging Dr. Drew…

Anthony Weiner has asked for a leave of absence from Congress so he can enter treatment for “looking for love in all the wrong places.”

Calls for his resignation came fast and furious (pun intended) after information surfaced on Friday that Weiner had also been exchanging tweets with a 17-year-old Delaware girl. At his news conference earlier in the week, Weiner had been asked if he had corresponded with any girls who were underage and replied that while that wasn’t his intent, all he could go by was what they put in their profiles.

Because no one ever lies in those.

The congressman denies that there was anything “explicit or indecent” about his exchanges with the Delaware teen, but then he seems to have a very loose interpretation along those lines.

I sincerely wish him well. Though, as yet, I don’t believe any cure has been found for stupidity.

###

Meanwhile, Weiner’s wife might want to take a page from Elizabeth Edwards’ playbook…

Revenge – It doesn’t get any SUH-WEETER than this...

"Keep smiling, douchebag. Your ass is mine."

It’s been reported that just before she died, Elizabeth recorded a secret videotape detailing everything she knew about John’s affair with Reille Hunter and his illegal attempts to cover it up and… wait for it... upon her death had it delivered to the very prosecutors who have now charged him with multiple violations of campaign finance laws – nailing his cheating ass as he prepares to stand trial on charges that could land him behind bars.

BAHAHAHAHA!

Talk about your death-bed fuck you. My admiration for Elizabeth knows no bounds.

###

Nothing says “Happy Birthday” to a 7-year-old like a boob job…

Sarah Burge, aka “Human Barbie,” gave daughter Poppy a $10,000 voucher for breast implants to be redeemed when she’s 16, the legal age for such surgery in Britain. “Poppy begged me for a boob job,” the mother of the year explained.

Poppy herself couldn’t be happier: "I can't wait to be like Mummy with big boobs. They're pretty.”

And really, isn’t that what we all just want for our children? For them to be happy.

The 50-year-old has reportedly spent more than $800,000 on her own plastic surgeries and plans to have her daughter watch her next series of treatments.

Won’t little Poppy have some fun stuff to share during “show and tell” time?

“I get angry when strangers say I'm a bad mother.…”

Now why would anyone say that?

“I'm just supporting her and making her dreams come true."

Of course you are. And I'm sure her shrink will thank you in the coming years for putting his kids through college.

###

This week’s “You Can’t Make This Shit Up Award” goes to the fine state of Kansas…

Blind as the proverbial bat, but still want to exercise your ~~God-given, Second Amendment guaranteed,~~ right-wing-nut-case-preserved right to bear arms? Come on down!

Changes to that state’s concealed-carry law now prevent the state from denying gun permits if applicants "suffer from a physical infirmity which prevents the safe handling of a weapon." Gone is the requirement that those wanting to renew their licenses had to take a test to show they could hit at least 18 of 25 targets from distances of nine to 30 feet.

Kansas Democrat Paul Davis said, “You certainly hope it doesn’t take some kind of tragedy to see that we perhaps have made some mistakes in how we’ve changed this law.”

While his Republican colleague Richard Carlson, said, “Law-abiding citizens should be able to decide for themselves whether they are capable of carrying a concealed weapon.”

People applying for gun permits for the first time are still required to take the close-range proficiency test, but if Carlson has his way, that pesky requirement will be eliminated, as well.

“We tend to look for all the reasons why someone should not be qualified to carry concealed, but actually I think we should look for the reasons why they should be qualified,” he said.

Damn right! I know I feel safer knowing there are blind fuckers out there packing heat.

###

And finally, if only Anthony Weiner had purchased the penis disguise kit, we all might have been saved from the events of the past week…

With Father’s Day right around the corner, this non-traditional gift is sure to delight the entire family.

If you leave a comment Tinkerbell will live.

injaynesworld "Testosterone Is The Stupid Drug..."

2011-06-06T14:52:00.000-07:00

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With apologies to my many bright, lovely male followers, but really guys, even you have got to be questioning the antics of some of your gender.

Today Anthony Weiner admitted that the photo in the now infamous tweet was indeed his penis and copped to other photos featuring him bare-chested that he had also sent to women on the web. One of those women has come forward with this statement: “I have more than 200 messages from him and they’re all explicit in nature.” The woman, who had volunteered as a Democratic campaign worker, also said that she’d had phone sex with the Congressman.

What someone does in their private life is none of my business and I’m not interested in judging them. However, when that person is a public figure, not to mention someone I respect, I’m deeply disappointed and angry and I have to ask Representative Weiner:

Do you have a political death wish? How can someone as bright as you do something so unbelievably stupid? How is it possible for any public figure in this day and age to think he can post compromising photos of himself on the web or send them by e-mail and have that not be discovered? How?

There are hordes of people out there who make their living discovering this shit and it’s only getting easier for them to do so.

I don’t get it. Truly. I’m at a complete loss here.

And it’s always men who do this crazy crap. Again, guys, enlighten me if you possibly can because I want to understand. Why the obsession with photographing your junk and then e-mailing it to a woman? I think I speak for my entire gender when I say if you want to impress us, flowers will still do the job.

When was the last time any female public figure sent photos of her vagina out over the web to impress a guy? We don’t do that. So, again, WTF?

Watching Congressman Weiner’s news conference today was painful and sad. I consider him a good man, a strong voice for working class people against the many voices that speak for the rich and powerful. And now that very important voice has been diminished.

So, while I have no judgment about what anyone does in their personal life, when you become a member of the United States Congress you’re on my payroll and, at the very least, I expect you to not self-destruct.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-06-05T11:29:00.000-07:00

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Weinergate continues…

The media is all atwitter over a tweet showing a bulging crotch allegedly belonging to Representative Anthony Weiner (D-NY). While vehemently denying sending the salacious image, when asked if the photo was or was not his manly member, Weiner’s unbelievably dumb reply was “I can’t say with certitude.”

Seriously? That’s the best you can come up with? Trying to convince us that you’re not familiar enough with “little Anthony” to recognize him when you see him? Look, if that impressive boy in the photo is yours just own up to it, and when they ask why you didn’t admit it in the first place tell them you didn’t want to make John Boehner jealous.

But in the future, sir, may I suggest that if you want to take photos of dicks you simply turn your lens on Republicans in Congress who are trying to kill Medicare?

###

And on the subject of social media hazards, check your privacy settings…

A young girl in Berlin didn’t and ended up with 1500 strangers at her house after sending out a birthday party invitation to what she thought were just a few friends on her Facebook page. Oops.

After over 15,000 RSVP’d, her understandably alarmed parents cancelled the party, called police and hired security for the house, but clearly not everyone got the message. Several people showed up with presents and cake, chanting for Thessa to come out of the house.

My favorite part? Police arrested one frolicker for ripping the Mercedes logo off his patrol car. Cops in Germany drives Mercedes? A VW won’t do? Our guys get stuck with Crown Victorias.

###

Giving a whole new meaning to the word “headstone…”

A New Jersey woman was rushed to the hospital after a gravestone toppled over on her leg while she and a male friend visiting a gravesite were suspected of having sex . Police tactfully report that “extra-curricular activities” may have taken place, but declined to elaborate.

I can only guess the traditional spitting or pissing on the grave just weren’t enough to convey the full range of feelings she had for this particular dearly departed.

###

Good news for service workers…

And for the rest of us, as well, because who wants a sick waiter breathing all over your food.

The state of Connecticut has become the first state to pass a bill mandating paid sick leave for the state’s hundreds of thousands of services workers, including waiters, fast-food cooks, hair stylists and nursing home aides who receive hourly wages.

Prior to this, these minimum-wage workers couldn’t afford to take time off when they were sick. Ever had the shampoo gal sneeze in your face?

The bill applies only to businesses with 50 or more employees, but it’s a start. With more than 40 million American workers without a single day of paid sick leave and the general public paying the price in contracted illnesses, hopefully this very sensible legislation will catch on in other states.

###

Palin’s back and the media are being soundly criticized for following after her like a horny teenage boy just hoping she’ll let him cop a feel. This week that boy went home with a smile on his face.

A history lesson from Sarah Palin…

And she just can’t understand the perception out there that she doesn’t read.

For ongoing Palinisms or to just make up your own visit the fun new hashtag created by the staff of The Daily Show: AccordingtoPalin

Your comments are the lime in my Corona...

injaynesworld we revisit "What's That Sucking Sound...?"

2011-06-02T11:14:00.000-07:00

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A little bit of my old humor to hopefully amuse you, while I see if I can lighten up my life a bit and refresh my funny bone...

This morning, I lost my internet. One minute it was there and the next it was gone.

I sat perfectly still for the longest time, just staring at the computer screen completely in denial. Then I realized something really quite frightening. My mind was a total blank. I looked around inside and there wasn’t a thought to be found.

The umbilical cord to my source had been cut and I was vanishing fast. I panicked and hit every button I could find.

NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

Perspiration mixed with tears ran down my face. Animal-like moans of distress began emanating from deep in my throat.

Then I heard a gentle, soothing voice, tiny and from a distance, that I recognized as my own. “You existed before the Internet, Jayne.”

Before the Internet?

What a concept.

But, of course, the voice was right. I had existed for a good many years before the Internet, although so completely had this technology taken over my life that I struggled to recall them.

Slowly, bits of memories began to float back… There had been face-to-face conversations with people where we asked each other not “How R U?”, but “How are you?” and then we listened and sometimes even hugged – actually putting our arms around each other, not just ((( ))).

I didn’t spend hours friending people electronically that I’d never meet in person. I had real-life friends. I still have real-life friends. Why don’t I make more time for them?

Tweet was a sound that a bird made. Birds… Yes, I remember now.

The phone’s ring used to cheer me. It was almost always somebody I wanted to talk to. When did I start to be annoyed at it for interrupting my busy online life?

And how many updates do I really need from CNN? Will my world come to an end if I don’t find out about the latest sex scandal, salmonella outbreak, or NBA standings before the evening news?

I recall when my credit cards weren’t maxed out because if I wanted to buy something I actually had to go to the trouble of driving to a store, finding a parking spot, and shopping for it.

In my own home I was pretty much safe from the temptations of advertisers as long as I didn’t turn on the radio or TV. Now they’re stalking me. There’s this one scary old dude who wants to sell me a mortgage and follows me everywhere. “The Loft” thinks I’m interested in their spring line, and how did Price Grabber know I needed a new camera?

Gone are the days when people only knew things about me that I wanted them to know. Now I can be Googled – and without benefit of lubrication, too.

I took a deep breath and dried my tears. It’s a beautiful day. I’ll take a walk. Maybe call a friend to meet for coffee. I’ve been meaning to wash my car. And it’s spring – time to plant the veggie garden. There’s no end to the things I can do!

Then it was back. A little screen apologizing for the disruption. My open pages restored, there they all were again – my people. Look at them. Those smiling avatars. We’ve shared so much.

“Back away from the computer, Jayne!”

Wow. What happened to your gentle, soothing voice?

“Don’t make me bitch-slap your sorry ass, girlfriend.”

I can’t just vanish on everyone. What will they think? I’m just going to say good-bye, explain my epiphany – the garden, the birds, the friends –

Oh, look. An e-mail. Sale at Nordy’s. Shoes 50% off… New followers on Twitter… Comments on my Facebook page…

I’ll just peek. What could it hurt one last time? I’m out of sunscreen anyway. It’ll only take a minute.

Hey, what’s that sucking sound…?

Ever wonder where the time goes?

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-05-29T11:31:00.000-07:00

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Congratulations go to Kim Kardashian...

... who received a $2 million dollar engagement ring from fiancé Kris Humphries this week. I want to be happy for the couple, but I can’t help noticing…

Is it me or does Humphries look like he and killer of actress Rebecca Schaeffer, John Robert Bardo, were separated at birth? Creepy, huh?

I’ve never trusted a guy with a low-brow. On the other hand, a $2 million dollar ring? I might take my chances.

###

What to get Dad?

Yes, it’s always a problem, isn’t it? With Father’s Day right around the corner, how about getting him something he’ll really enjoy this year.

Voila! The Potty Putter!

Includes a 36” x 30” putting green made from mini-golf course carpeting, a plastic cup and flag, mini-putter and two practice balls. All for only $22.95.

Potty Fisherman also available.

###

This week’s Steaming Pile of Shit Award…

… goes to heartless Republican dick Eric Cantor for saying he would not approve disaster relief funds for tornado-devastated areas in the mid-west unless they were tied to spending cuts elsewhere.

Some members of his own party were even surprised by this: Rep. Mike Simpson (R-Idaho) said, "If you can find offsets, great. If you can't, you can't," he said. "That's what an emergency is, by definition."

Rep. Jo Ann Emerson (R-Mo.), with parts of her district under 12 feet of water as a result of flooding said, "It makes me sad" that some Republicans are insisting on offsets for natural disaster of this scale, and in the case of Cantor, "I was disappointed. I need to take him to my district."

The irony: A lot of the same people in this deeply red area of the country voted Eric Cantor and his GOP pals into the position where they can deny them the help they so desperately need now.

###

Meanwhile the party of slash-and-burn still has its machetes out for Medicare…

... which is not going over well with the folks back home as evidenced by the surprise win this week of Democrat Kathy Hochul over Republican Jane Corwin in a traditional GOP stronghold district in New York state. Corwin had fully endorsed the GOP plan to replace Medicare with a voucher system that would force the elderly to purchase private health insurance on the open market.

You don’t want to be messin’ with seniors. We’re cranky.

###

And finally, from those geniuses over at Fox news, perhaps a little too much information about Arnold’s sexual prowess…

And now it's your turn. Sound off...

injaynesworld we revisit "Stalking Nora Ephron..."

2011-05-25T09:06:00.000-07:00

I've been struggling with my own writing lately and when that happens I often pick up the book of a favorite writer to help me get back in the groove. These days, I've needed an injection of humor. I wrote this piece in January of 2010. I figure if you haven't read it, then it counts as a new post. On the other hand if you did read it way back then and your memory is as bad as mine, then it's probably still a new post. Either way, it's a win-win for me until I find my funny again.

Nora Ephron is one of my very favorite writers. In my book, nobody does humor writing better.

Well known for such hit comedies as “When Harry Met Sally” and “You’ve Got Mail,” her newest movie, this year’s “Julie & Julia,” is probably my favorite of all her work. I actually got all teary-eyed at the end and eliciting tears from me, especially in public, is no easy feat. Crying was something I was taught should be done in private, like moving one’s bowels.

My favorite book of hers, “I Feel Bad About My Neck…” is a collection of drop-dead-funny essays about growing older as a woman. If I’d written it the title would have been “I Feel Bad About My Arms…” It’s not that I have wings that hang down and flap in the breeze when I wave to a neighbor. I actually have thin arms and fairly well-toned ones at that. It’s just that the skin on them no longer fits. I don’t know what the hell happened. It’s kind of like how jeans get after you’ve washed them one too many times and the Lycra is all worn out. Yeah, you get the picture. My arms need to be shrink-wrapped. Why hasn’t someone invented a machine for that – where you could stick your arms into plastic wrap sleeves, hear a loud sucking sound and voila! Tight, toned arms of a 20-year-old. Someone could make a bundle off such a machine. But I digress…

Nora and I have a lot in common and I firmly believe we would be great friends. We share a similar view of the world, are of the same generation and we’re both writers, though I in no way, shape or form delude myself by thinking we are in the same league. In fact, if we were sisters, she’d be the talented one and I’d be the one awkwardly attempting to follow in her footsteps that everyone would feel they had to be nice to. Still, I’d get to hang out with her and that, in itself, would make it all worthwhile.

I tried to friend her on Facebook last year. At that time she only had seven friends and one of them is Hillary Clinton, so how cool would that have been? But she ignored me. I know! I was shocked, too.

Then I entered an essay contest that she was judging through Elle magazine. The winner would have had her essay included in Ephron’s newest play, “Love, Loss and What I Wore,” AND gotten flown to NY to meet her and see the show. Those of you who’ve read my post, “The Reluctant Traveler…” know how I feel about flying, but I figured if I could meet Nora Ephron, fuck it – I could die happy. Well, I didn’t win, but I can’t tell you how special it makes me feel to know that my idol Nora held my work in her very own hands and personally rejected me.

Now that our paths have crossed I’m going to attempt to “friend” her again and I’ve composed the following message:

Dear Nora,

Thank you so much for considering my Elle essay entry, “That Special Dress.” While I didn’t win, I want you to know that I bear you no grudge as I’m sure that must be weighing on you heavily.

To show you how magnanimous I am and out of a friendship that I know, once developed, will be deep and meaningful and span the rest of our lives, I invite you to be my “friend” here on Facebook -- and if you should ever need a kidney, look no further.

Your bff, Jayne

How could she possibly resist?

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-05-22T09:53:00.000-07:00

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The last laugh’s on us…

While we all enjoyed a good laugh at Princess Beatrice over her now infamous wedding hat, turns out the princess is using all the media attention her millinery masterpiece garnered for a good cause. The creation has been put up for sale on eBay. Described as a “unique celebratory headpiece,” as of Saturday 3 bidders were competing for the hat with the top bidder offering 81,000 pounds ($131,000). The princess is donating the proceeds to UNICEF and Children in Crisis.

Good for you, Beatrice!

###

Of course the big news of the week was Arnold’s love child…

Seriously, guys. If you’re going to cheat on your wife, couldn’t you at least wrap that thing up. I have to say the only thing about this whole affair that surprises me at all is that it took Maria 25 years to figure out her husband was a douche bag.

###

The Steaming Pile of Shit Award…

Goes to those homophobes in the Tennessee State Senate for their approval of a ban on the teaching of homosexuality in grades K-8.

Notwithstanding the fact that it was never taught in any classroom in the state to begin with, this legislation goes that all important extra mile by forbidding teachers from even discussing the fact that some people are gay.

So, there will be no Homosexuality 101 for Tennessee kids, which is sad when you think about it. Wherever will they learn how to be gay? How will they compete against the more well-educated gays of other states for jobs in fashion and musical theater?

We all know that in order to grow up a successful gay you need to get a solid start in grade school.

###

Pity the poor Secret Service guy…

… whose shit job it is to monitor Fox News all day long. Apparently, unschooled in the ways of Twitter, the agent sent out this tweet believing he was on his personal account.

Oops.

The Secret Service issued this response: "The tweet did not reflect the views of the U.S. Secret Service and it was immediately removed. We apologize for this mistake, and the user no longer has access to our official account."

Too late. The tweet had instantly been retweeted and screen-grabbed by the Service’s 18,000 followers.

###

Finally, from Katie Goodman of Broad Comedy, a little tune for those days when you get so down because everything is so fucked up…

At least waitresses get tips. Writers get nothing if we don’t know you were here. Whattaya say?

injaynesworld "What A Long, Strange Trip It's Been..."

2011-05-18T11:10:00.000-07:00

When I was in the 7^th grade, the teacher had each of us stand up and tell the class what we wanted to be when we grew up. My little heart pounding, my gut in a twist, I stood when it was my turn and announced that I wanted to be a jockey – and the entire class laughed.

But the joke was on them.

Having for years spent my allowance each week on “Millie The Model” comic books, what I really dreamed of being was a model, just like Millie. Taunted all my young years with the moniker of “plain Jane,” I ached for Millie’s glamorous life, but I couldn’t tell them that. Oh, hell no! To be laughed at for wanting to be a jockey was nothing. To be laughed at for my deepest heart’s desire – that would have been crushing.

When I was in my twenties, my modeling career became a reality, mostly catalogues and print ads for this product or that. Cheryl Tiegs had nothing to fear, but I’d achieved my childhood goal and it was with great pride that I toted my 11 x 14 portfolio of photos all over San Francisco on “go sees” just as Millie had done.

My thirties found me in Hollywood pursuing an accidental acting career. I say “accidental” because never in my life had I ever had such a notion, but from the modeling one thing had led to another and there I was. I would eventually come to learn that in life there are no "accidents." A few commercials, some bit parts in TV shows, and I had succeeded, at least on some level, at what I’d set out to do, and though my heart really wasn’t in it, acting did serve to lead me to the next step on my journey.

Midway through the decade, with younger models hot on my heels and an acting career stalled in the slow lane, change once again happened upon me with the surprising discovery that I not only liked to write, but seemed to have some aptitude at it, and I set my sights on a career writing movies for television. While learning my craft, I wrote spec scripts, took writing classes, pitched ideas, and made the rounds at agents. Finally, after years of this, I got my first movie deal and with it my shiny, plastic Writer’s Guild card. I was in!

TV movies flourished in those years from 1980 through the nineties, and I achieved a pretty decent career for myself with little thought of it ever ending. But end it did, with the arrival of reality-TV, which could be made a lot cheaper and without having to deal with those pesky writers. And so right around the early part of the 21^st Century, when a sunny morning in September would forever alter the world as we knew it, my personal world shifted on its axis, as well, and I faced a future without an income.

My decision to go back to school and become a paralegal while in my fifties was daunting and not made any less so by the fact that I was older than the damn teachers, but it was also challenging and exciting. I found a job that allowed me to work from home as I had all those years as a writer, so not much changed except the pay scale, but at least it was a steady gig, which I’d never had in my other professional incarnations.

Which brings me to now. I look around at the path my life has taken from city girl to farm life and marvel at the circuitous route that led me here. It was nothing I could have planned and yet perfectly planned it now seems, as if by some unseen hand that picked me up each time I fell, dusted me off and sent me once again on my way.

Being blessed with good health, I could easily have another 20 years ahead of me. In fact, I’m counting on it. What will they bring? I have no idea, but I sure do find it interesting that while I never became a jockey, horses have played such an important part of my journey.

And to think. It all started with a comic book.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-05-15T10:36:00.000-07:00

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Ashton Kutcher to replace Charlie Sheen in “Two-And-A-Half Men.”

No word on how they’ll reconfigure the show to accommodate him, but I have an idea: Jon Cryer wakes up screaming from a nightmare and runs into Charlie’s bathroom where Charlie is in the shower. Panicked, Jon tells him about his dream where his brother was an ego-maniacal, abusive, alcoholic womanizer. Shower door opens to reveal Ashton and Victoria Principle.

Hey – it could work.

###

From the world of fashion…

Penis shoes! Can you name who rocked these this week? I just know those high-heel fashionistas Linda and Nicky are going to be battling it out for these babies.

###

The Republican presidential candidate field got more interesting this week, because let’s face it, it couldn’t get any less…

Newt Gingrich announced via Twitter and YouTube that he would join the GOP lineup. With his love ‘em and dump ‘em history with women, maybe he should have announced on Match.com.

Mike Huckabee said that he would not run, preferring to continues his lucrative career as a Faux right-wing mouth piece and wanna-be rock star.

While tea party darling Michelle Bachmann received a challenge from a New Jersey high school sophomore this week to debate the Constitution. In a letter to the congresswoman, Amy Myers said, “I have found quite a few of your statements regarding The Constitution of the United States, the quality of public school education and general U.S. civics matters to be factually incorrect, inaccurately applied or grossly distorted…” Sounds like the Republicans should consider drafting Amy.

Presidential tease, Donald Trump, having his ass already kicked once by President Obama this month, has hired investigators to search for his testicles, which were last seen being lopped off at the White House Correspondent’s Dinner.

Finally, always-a-bridesmaid Ron Paul will give it another shot. Running on a platform to legalize marijuana, heroin and prostitution, he seems to lead the field. I’ve got to admit, he got it right on Iraq.

###

And while we’re on the subject of politics, have you ever tried to contact your representative? Here a video that gives a whole new meaning to the term “stonewalling.” Enjoy…

injaynesworld we have "A Passion For Horses..."

2011-05-11T09:26:00.000-07:00

If you follow me on Facebook, I posted three videos of me riding a friend's horse this past Monday and it reminded me of this post that I wrote a while back. Some of you may remember it and for others it may be new. Every so often real world responsibilities necessitate dusting one off and bringing it out again and this was one of my favorites...

I’ve had a love affair with horses since I was a child. I’m told that at the age of three, my maternal grandfather, a race horse trainer, would take me to the track and put me on the lead ponies. I have no memory of this and no photos either, which really sucks, but I believe it anyway. Growing up, I would have killed (I know that’s a term that’s thrown around loosely, but trust me, I really would have killed) to have had a horse. Aside from some summer riding on rental horses and hanging around the local 4H barn like an adoring groupie years before the word had even been coined, I never had the chance to indulge my passion.

Me and Levi

Then, at 38 years old, a fossil in terms of starting to ride, I met a bunch of people who had horses and I began to sink every spare penny I could get a hold of into riding lessons. I had no idea at all of what English riding was, but was sent to a trainer who said to me, “Do you want to chase cows?” Well, no… “Then you’ll ride English.” Uh… okay. The horse he put me on was a half-Arab, half-Morgan named Pawnee. Pawnee would pin his ears and try to chase me out of the stall when I’d go to get him and then try to step on my foot when I’d saddle him. Being used to being treated like crap by the male gender I, of course, was crazy about him. We were soon galloping wildly out of control all over Griffith Parkin Burbank and I was having the time of my life.

After a while, trail riding wasn’t enough though. I spent countless hours at the local equestrian center watching horse shows, specifically the jumpers, and I knew that’s what I had to do. Let me reiterate verbatim, 38 is a fossil in terms of starting to ride, and now I was going get on the back of a 1200-pound horse and jump over a fence. I should probably mention that I was never athletic. Nope, no athletic ability whatsoever. Didn’t even walk if I didn’t absolutely have to. While that should have deterred me, or at least given me pause, mature decision-making has never been my strong suit.

Enter a new trainer and a new horse, Argon, a big German warmblood. Argon was a rock star of a horse. He was everything I’d been looking for in a man, but couldn’t find. Tall, drop-dead gorgeous, and gelded. Best of all, he loved me, too. And he was for sale! This was in 1989 and the owner was asking $15,000, a fortune then. I was a freelance TV-writer at the time, meaning I was often “between jobs,” but since fiscal responsibility had never darkened my doorstep before, why should it now? I borrowed $5,000 off a credit card for a down payment and promised her $1,000 a month till he was paid off, fully willing to sell my body on a street corner if that’s what it took. That horse was the most patient, kind, generous creature ever. He’d take me galloping on the trail one day and into the show ring the next where he’d pack my sorry ass over every fence without complaint. Here is a photo of us. Isn’t he gorgeous? I, on the other hand, look like I’m having a bowel movement.

If you’ve ever seen the movie I wrote for Animal Planet called “Big Spender,” the scenes where Big Spender is given peppermint candy are based on Argie’s voracious appetite for the treat. Just the sound of me unwrapping the cellophane would start him nickering and begging. He never had to beg for long. I would have given him a kidney. Argon was the love of my life and our partnership lasted for seven years until 1996 when, at the age of 17, he let out one whinny and just dropped dead in the barn. It was as if someone had reached inside my chest, grabbed my heart in their fist, and yanked it out. I slept with his blanket for a month because it smelled like him.

My next steed was a retired polo horse named Bubba who’d actually been given to a friend of mine, but she didn’t ride him much so he became my horse and for the next three years we rode the trails. Having played the treacherous sport of polo with mallets swinging around his head for eight years, nothing spooked him. I was probably most at ease on Bubba out on the trail than with any other horse I’ve ridden and we had the best beach rides ever. In 1999, he was getting older and stiffer and it was time to retire him. Here we are at his retirement.

Let me just note here that 10 years later, at the ripe old age of at least 25, Bubba is still going strong and still on the payroll. I, however, will never be able to retire and fully expect to someday be living under an overpass.

Anxious to get back to jumping, but also still wanting to ride on trails, I bought a Thoroughbred/Quarter Horse cross by the name of Kona. Kona, like Argon, was another mensch of a horse. I showed him under the name “Hello, Handsome,” because, well… obviously. This is my absolute favorite jumping photo of us.

He always jumped the fence, no matter how badly I got him there. I’m sure that somewhere from the great beyond, Argie was telling him, “Yeah, I know. She rides like crap, but take care of her anyway,” and take care of me Kona always did. In 2005, he incurred some kind of freak spinal cord injury. We never did figure out what happened, but after two weeks and thousands of dollars trying to save him, I had to put him down and, once again, my heart was broken.

Which brings me to now. Horses are expensive and while I would sell my soul to have another, apparently the soul market isn’t what it used to be. When I approached the devil with my offer, he replied, “Yeah, yeah, you and everyone else. Take a number.”

So here I sit, horseless. Riding and hanging out at the barn and at shows with my friends was such a huge part of my life for so long and I miss it deeply. I still have friends who let me ride their horses from time to time, and I’m grateful, but it’s not like that special bond you have with your own. Nonetheless, it’s a beautiful day today and I’m going to go over to the barn and watch some of my friends ride. And, by the way, say what you will about the softness of a baby’s butt – there’s nothing softer than a horse’s nose. This is me and Argon after winning our first blue ribbon.

I ask you, if that's not love, what is?

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-05-08T10:44:00.000-07:00

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Just when we thought the wedding news out of the Brits was over…

Congratulations are in order for Sir Paul McCartney. The 68-year-Beatle announced his engagement to his girlfriend of four years, 51-year-old New York businesswoman Nancy Shevell. You know what they say about the “third time.”

But the big wedding news this week comes out of California where 100-year-old Forrest Lunsway and his 90-year-old bride, Rose Pollard, tied the knot after dating for 30 years.

What took them so long? Both were widowed and Rose had no intention of ever marrying again, so when Forrest proposed she told him she’d marry him on his 100^th birthday. Damned if he didn’t call her bluff.

Now that’s love we can believe in.

###

The President had a big week…

But still there are some who won’t let up on him…

People as politically diverse as Sean Hannity and Michael Moore claimed the killing of Bin Laden was illegal, and criticized it as an execution of an unarmed man.

Never at a loss for nonsense, Sarah Palin accused the President of “pussy-footing around” by not releasing the grim photos of Bin Laden’s death mask. Personally, I see no good that could from releasing the photos of Bin Laden with a bullet through his head.

What about you?

###

Not to be outdone, the Republicans continued their war on women’s health…

... with the passage of yet another bill restricting the already non-existent taxpayer funding of abortion they claim is hiding somewhere in the Affordable Health Care Act, while also crafting legislation that would redefine “forcible rape.” Because apparently they believe there’s such a thing as consensual rape.

Well, I guess it’s easier than cutting tax subsidies for oil companies or passing a jobs bill.

###

Does “two-faced” run in the Palin family…?

Bristol Palin was barely recognizable at a red carpet event this week. Palin denies going under the knife to achieve her new look, which includes Reece Witherspoon’s chin and Heidi Klum’s cheekbones, attributing the transformation to just the loss of a few pounds.

And I can see Russia from my house…

###.

This week Katy Couric announce that she will be leaving CBS News...

I will always hold her dear to my heart for changing the course of history in this one unforgettable moment.

Ah, yes… Good times.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-05-01T09:55:00.000-07:00

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Princess Beatrice of York channels Lady Gaga…

There’s always that one relative you wish you didn’t have to invite.

So what’s the verdict? Love the hat or hate it? I wouldn’t want to be the poor person who had to sit behind her.

Meanwhile, speculation on where the newlyweds will be honeymooning includes a private island in the Caribbean where I would love to someday sun my (size 4) ass, too. Guess I’d better get moving on finding my own rich prince.

###

Price I paid at the pump this week: $4.39/gallon

First quarter profits by the big five oil companies: $34 billion.

That's about $110 for every man, woman, and child in the U.S. – in just three months.

Amount of taxpayer money given to oil companies in subsidies each year while the Republicans talk about cutting Medicare: $4 billion

Republicans fight to protect those oil company tax breaks: Treason.

http://animalnuz.blogspot.com/

You can read the whole article here and you should. Then get mad and get loud about it.

###

The state flower of California is the poppy. The state bird of North Carolina is the cardinal. The state gun of Arizona is – WTF?

Just when we thought Governor Jan Brewer might have some redeeming values by vetoing a bill that would allow guns on college campuses, Brewer bent over for the right-wing in the state by signing into law a bill that would make the Colt revolver the official state gun of Arizona.

Coming only months after the deadly shooting that killed nine people and wounded 13, opponents suggested the action may be ill-timed. Ya think? Although, when a good time might be to honor an instrument whose only function is to kill people frankly eludes me.

Only one other state has made such a dubious designation, Utah. Yes, the state that frowns on alcohol use wants us to know that it holds the Browning model M1911 automatic pistol in high esteem.

###

Watching President Obama set Trump back on his ass is a thing of beauty. Here is the president's monologue from last night's press correspondence dinner. The opening is sets the whole tone. Enjoy...

Don't be a drive-by. Speak your mind...

injaynesworld “The Sun Shines Down On Us All…”

2011-04-27T09:02:00.000-07:00

This past week Dixie’s best friend, Roxy, came to stay with us while her parents were out of town. A sweet, gentle lady of sizable girth, Roxy could crush Dixie with the swipe of a single paw, yet the two play together easily, content to just be in the other’s company with no need on either’s part to dominate.

In a world brimming with conflict, so focused on what divides us, it’s often hard to see that which we have in common.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-04-24T19:18:00.000-07:00

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Prom season is in full swing…

And the pressure for today’s teen girls to keep up with those notorious Kardashian ladies is driving parents to the poor house. No longer will just a lovely frock for the occasion do. Today’s prom dresses have to be decidedly designer.

Take this little number with its diamond-embellished bodice. For a mere $13,997, it can make your little girl the belle of her ball, and that’s not counting the salary of the Brinks guard you’ll need to hire.

I remember when $200 was considered a lot to spend and that included a trip to the beauty salon for a French twist. These days toss in the spray tan, facial, hair extensions, nails, makeup, jewelry, bag, and shoes and it’d be cheaper to just marry her off.

###

This week marked the one year anniversary of the BP oil spill…

Watching the horror unfold with photo after photo of wildlife devastation left me feeling depressed and helpless. Not so little 11-year-old Olivia Bouler of Long Island.

She turned her feelings into action with a letter to the Audubon Society telling them she was pretty good at drawing and thought she could help raise money to save the oil-soaked wildlife.

Olivia decided she would do 500 drawings of birds and give one to anyone who donated to the effort. They were all gone in three weeks and with the media spreading the word, Olivia managed to raise $150,000 for the organization. She’s now written a book called “Olivia’s Birds” that she hopes will inspire other young people to pay more attention to her favorite species.

Kids like Olivia renew this crusty old broad’s hope for humanity.

###

Incorporate your uterus…

In the past four months, Republicans at both the state and federal levels have written 916 bills intended to take away a woman’s right to choose. Yes, the same party that screams if anyone should try to regulate a hair on any corporate ass.

Very well then. We can play that game, too. Welcome to “Incorporate Your Uterus,” a website designed to give a woman’s uterus the same protection against government regulation as that given to the corporate robber barons who are bankrupting this country.

A project of the Florida ACLU in response to new efforts in that state to strip women of their freedoms, the website offers this reasoning: “Businesses get special treatment. If politicians see your uterus as a business, maybe they’ll get the government out of the uterus regulation business as they do for every other company.”

Because for every Olivia Bouler there's a Dick Cheney.

###

And for those keeping track…

It's month four and still not a single jobs bill from Republicans in Congress.

###

And finally, I hope you had a Happy Easter, whatever your beliefs…

injaynesworld we are "Living On Borrowed Time..."

2011-04-21T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today is my birthday. If you think I share this information in order to solicit obligatory birthday greetings you would be correct. Cash is good, too.

I don’t often think of my own mortality. I’ve been referring to myself as middle-aged for so long now that the thought I might not actually live to be 120 has only recently lodged itself into my waning gray matter. And I’m not talking about my roots.

In March of last year I wrote this post about what I’d like my life to be like 10 years from now. I was clearly far more optimistic about being around for another decade than I am today, but still it seems worthy of repeating on this, the anniversary of my first appearance in this world.

Meanwhile, I will be off getting soused.

Since none of us is promised the next moment, much less the next year or ten, this isn’t something I think about often. Also, I’m not going to lie. These are tough times. There are many nights when my last thought is “Score! Made it through another one!”

Long, long ago and far, far away in a land known as my youth, I had big plans and lots of goals. Looking ahead, all I could see was a vast expanse of time with no “check-out” line in sight.

The scariest scene in the “Wizard of Oz” for me has always been when the wicked witch turned over the hour glass to show Dorothy how much longer she had to live.

Not fond of “Like the sands of time, so are the Days of Our Lives” either.

And the freakin’ spinning globe from As the World Turns…? Yeah. I get it. My days are numbered.

I grew up in the 1950s and 60s, a time of great hope and prosperity in this country, much of that due to a Republican president, Dwight D. Eisenhower, who launched one of the largest, federally-funded public works programs in our nation’s history, the Interstate Highway System. Today, he wouldn’t recognize his own party, but that’s another story.

Our house cost $17,000. Moms stayed home because a family of four could live quite nicely on one income. No one worried about health care. If you got sick the doctor came to see you and hospitals were non-profit entities. Candy bars were a nickel and twice the size.

I could go on and on, but you’d think I was making this stuff up. The truth is I was damn lucky to be born when I was, to grow up when I did, and if my luck holds I’ll get off the planet before it all goes to shit.

I don’t know if people having children today are incredibly optimistic, courageous or just delusional. Maybe each one believes theirs will be the golden child who manages to save all humanity from the brink. It would scare the crap out of me to bring a kid into this world now.

However, people are remarkably resilient. We’ve come back from great depressions, wars, and natural disasters of all kinds. Our rally cry of recent years has been “hope.”

So on that note, here’s what I hope for my life 10 years from now:

I’ve been blessed with remarkably good health. If you don’t count the time I broke my neck, I’ve manage to avoid hospitals entirely. I’d like to see that continue.

It would be good to have enough money to meet my needs and perhaps some extra to spare and to share.

For some reason, I’ve always had the love of a network of amazing friends – and I’m not always so nice. Go figure. In 10 years, I hope they’re still hanging in there with me.

Dixie and Mason are still young and I'd like to have them with me for a long time to come.

I hope to be able to launch my ancient (size 4) ass up onto the back of a horse once in a while.

And it would be lovely to be able to look out my window as I’m doing right now and see a family of deer peacefully nibbling their way through the strawberry field in the morning sun.

Finally, I’d like to see an end to hatred, discrimination and war, and the return of strong and vibrant middle class. That one may be a little optimistic.

But hey – if I’m not still around, I’ve got no complaints. It’s been a helluva ride.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap - Late Edition..."

2011-04-18T10:14:00.000-07:00

Students may keep their boobies...

So says a Pennsylvania High Court, which ruled that school officials violated students’ free speech rights when they expelled two girls who had worn the I “heart” boobies bracelets to school on Breast Cancer Awareness Day.

The Court deemed that the wearing of the bracelets, sold by the Keep A Breast Foundation to raise breast cancer awareness among young people, did not meet the definition of “lewd, vulgar or offensive,” nor did it cause a substantial disruption to the learning environment.

Kudos to the often maligned ACLU who argued the case for the kids and a big thumbs down to school officials who say they will appeal the decision.

###

Seeing red over pink…

A “J Crew” ad showing a mother and son playing with pink toenail polish has given the wingnuts over at Faux News something new to be outraged about.

Apparently, fearful that this will cause the young lad to suddenly sprout a vagina, “health” columnist Dr. Keith Ablow declared this mother/son moment to be “a dramatic example of the way that our culture is being encouraged to abandon all trappings of gender identity.”

“Dramatic.” Seriously? The ultra-conservative Media Research Center went even further labeling the ad “blatant propaganda celebrating transgendered children.

If only the right would get so charged up over their draconian budget cuts to food programs for needy mothers and children.

Now that’s an outrage.

###

Sign seen outside a shuttered Borders bookstore…

Nice to see the newly unemployed retain their sense of humor.

###

Finally it’s almost time for the Royal Wedding. Here’s how we’d like to see it…

And I bet William and Kate would prefer it, too.

Thanks T-Mobile.

injaynesworld lucky is the “Celebrity Tax Dodger…”

2011-04-15T08:56:00.000-07:00

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According to that bastion of celebrity gossip, E! News, Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne owe the IRS nearly $2 million in back taxes and the feds have slapped a lien on one of their houses.

Wouldn’t you just love to have that problem? Seriously. Just think about how much money you’d have had to make to owe a tax bill of $2 mil. Damn! And to own multiple houses so the tax man has to decide which one to put a lien on? Why that’s the goddamn American dream.

I don’t begrudge the Osbournes their good fortune. At least they didn’t rob any seniors of their retirement funds like our friends on Wall Street or use phony foreclosure papers to steal people’s homes like the bankers we bailed out. Besides, $2 mil is just the family’s plastic surgery budget. Hell, Sharon can sell off some of her Louboutins to cover that paltry sum.

Back in the days when I was writing for television my income never came near rivaling that of the Osbournes, but it was nice enough that every year I wrote out a check to the government for several thousand bucks. I grumbled, bitched and groaned about it, but I’d sure as hell like to be writing those checks now.

I’m not one who's all that adverse to paying taxes. I view it a bit of like being a member of an exclusive country club. The type of place that has a waiting list of years to join. Someone damn near has to die for a spot to open up.

Riviera Club, Pacific Palisades, California

A place like that costs big bucks to join, yet members happily dole out hundreds of thousands of dollars for the privilege of carrying its highly-coveted card, a flash of which tells the whole world they’ve made it.

Now imagine the name of the club is America – land of opportunity from sea to shining sea (if you don’t notice all that oil washed up on shore) – a venerable cornucopia of abundance and excess to the rest of the world who waits outside our gates hoping to gain entry, willing to do anything, risk anything for membership in the land of the free.

Except nothing’s free. It costs a bundle to keep our club running. Transportation, infrastructure, water and power, education, wilderness, health care, security – all once the envy of the world – they cost money. Who would fork over thousands of dollars to join a club where there were gofer holes on the golf course, algae in the pool and cracks on the tennis court?

Just like it’s a privilege to belong to an exclusive club, politics aside, it’s a privilege to get to live in this country. Honestly, I feel like I won the damn lotto of life. While there are a lot of wonderful nations on this earth, any number of which I wouldn’t mind living in, I could have also been hatched in a rural village in Pakistan or the deserts of Sudan.

Taking all that into consideration, I don’t mind paying the necessary fees to belong to one of the best country clubs on the globe and keep all it has to offer in tip-top shape. From past experience, I can honestly say I was happiest when I was paying the highest taxes. While I’ll do my best now, without complaint, to scrape together whatever amount I may owe on an income somewhere in the bowels of the tax code, I just want everyone else to pay their fair share, too. I’m looking at you, Ozzy and Sharon – and G.E.

This week the President outlined a budget that calls for higher taxes on the people in this country who can most afford it. To those in that tax bracket who may be tempted to whine about that, I say there are much cheaper clubs you can go belong to, but if you want your card stamped at Club America, pay your damn membership fees, consider yourself lucky, and shut the hell up about it.

injaynesworld it's the "Sunday Recap..."

2011-04-10T10:22:00.000-07:00

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Arkansas okays adoption by gay couples…

The Arkansas Supreme Court overturned a 2008 law passed by the voters of the state which had banned adoption by gay couples, citing the law “… directly and substantially burdens the privacy rights of same-sex individuals who engage in private, consensual sexual conduct in the bedroom by foreclosing their eligibility to foster or adopt children, should they choose to cohabit with their sexual partner." The opinion was published without dissent, which bodes well for it being upheld when the usual homophobic suspects fight the ruling.

Score one for all the kids languishing in foster care in that state who now have a shot at a loving home.

###

We don’t have a deficit problem. We have a revenue problem…

And the Republicans are doing their best to see that it stays that way…

Recently, it became known that the IRS was starting to focus their audits on earners of income above $250,000. Makes sense. They’re the only ones with any money. Not so coincidentally a barely noticed cut that made it into this week’s budget “compromise” were funds that had been allocated to hire more IRS agents.

You can’t say that Republicans don’t take care of their own.

Meanwhile, our older citizens took it up the yin-yang as the Tea Party-led GOP pushed for and got millions cut from federal housing and assistance programs that serve needy seniors.

And remember, they’re coming for Medicare next.

###

Beck gets the boot…

After a year of declining audience ratings in the 1,000,000 range -- it would seem that even Fox viewers have a limit on the amount of turd pie they can swallow -- and the mass exodus of all majors advertisers, leaving his show sponsored by little more than ChristianMingle.com, Fox announced that Glenn Beck would be “transitioning out” of his nightly TV show on the network. What a nice euphemism for getting your ass canned.

No need to feel sorry for Beck though. I hear Charlie Sheen’s looking for an opening act.

###

Stuck for a gift idea for the guy who has everything?

How about his own boob tube remote? Yep. It’s for real. The bikini top lifts up for making channel surfing even more fun. At only $14.99, it’s perfect for the single guy with a lot of time on his hands.

###

Do kindergarteners need iPads?

A school district in Maine thinks so.

Seriously? What happened to good old-fashioned finger-painting?

injaynesworld we repeat "Cruisin' With The Top Down..."

2011-04-06T09:48:00.000-07:00

First posted in November of 2009 and reposted today because MikeWJ wanted to know more about my acid-dropping youth...

My first car was a 1967 powder blue Triumph Spitfire with a white convertible top. It cost all of $2500 new. I bought it when I graduated from high school. I put $500 down and paid about $72 each month. Gas was about a quarter a gallon and the thing ran on air. It was fun, fast, sexy, definitely cool and I felt like major hot stuff zooming around town at the wheel.

Especially after I’d spent my high school years driving this, a reasonable portrayal of my mom’s 1958 Rambler Ambassador station wagon.

It was humiliating. You could polish that puppy till it blinded you. It was still the definition of “uncool.”

So cruising the A & W drive-in in my spiffy, new, dude-magnet with the music blasting was definitely sah-weeeeet. It was my first experience with a stick-shift and I took to it like a seasoned NASCAR superstar. Oh, yeah. Pop that clutch and I was gone. Eat my dust people… Fortunately, this was before the days when cops had radar.

I’d just turned 18, the luggage birthday, and my life as an adult (legally anyway, I’ve never truly copped to it) was just beginning. No longer could anyone not carrying a badge tell me what to do. Not that my mom had ever done much of that. Or that I ever listened when she tried. In fact, if my mother taught me anything about respecting authority it was… yeah… can’t think of a damn thing.

The time was the late 60’s-early 70s. The place, San Francisco. The birth control pill had just been invented and “sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll” were the order of the day. I named my Spitfire “Spit.” I was stoned a lot of the time back in those days and needed a name that was easy to remember, especially since I often misplaced the actual car.

I lived in what was then the Starbucks-free village of Mill Valley in Marin County. Saturdays, Spit would often take me and a friend up to the top of Mount Tamalpais where we’d park, then drop acid and hike all the way down the Dixie Canyon Trail to Bolinas beach. Depending on how ripped we were, it would take between one and three hours. Once there, we’d make our way to the one and only bar where we’d drink beer all afternoon, then hitchhike back up to the top of Mount Tam, pick up Spit and cruise on home to an evening of Sara Lee chocolate cake and the Moody Blues. This was still an innocent time when you could do such things without fear of your body being found half-cannibalized years later in the basement of some loon..

Monday through Friday, Spit would speed me across the Golden Gate Bridge to San Francisco’s Tenderloin District, a hub of junkies and hookers, where I worked in a non-descript building that housed a recording studio and mingled daily with musicians from the Jefferson Airplane, Creedence Clearwater, CSN&Y, and my personal favorite, Santana. Nights were spent at hidden away little blues clubs in North Beach where Spit never once failed to find me a parking spot despite the heavy odds against us. Weekends would find us at the Fillmore rockin’ to the likes of Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix, admission $3 plus you got a really cool poster. Somehow, Spit always managed to get me safely home, although many times I had no personal recall of the journey. I look back on those days now and marvel that I’m still alive.

Spit carried me for the last time in 1972. Her final months were a series of breakdowns and malfunctions that caused Triple A to banish us for all time. I ended up selling her to my mechanic for $50. He promised she would go live on a nice farm in the country and spend her remaining days roaming and playing with all the family dogs whose children had been assured of the same thing.

To this day I still have dreams of Spit -- that magically there she is, all polished and new -- and together once again, we cruise the drive-ins of our youth, sucking back on a joint and listening to the tunes of The Grateful Dead. Good times…