is an unapologetic, bleeding-heart liberal who writes about everything from politics to private parts. A TV-writer in a former life, her credits include "Big Spender" for Animal Planet,and "A Child Too Many," "Cradle of Conspiracy" & "Deceived By Trust," for Lifetime
Due to an unusually busy work week here at Chateau Martin, this will be an abbreviated Recap. However, I could not let the week go by without doing something you will rarely see me do here. Eat my words. In the December 20th, 2009 Sunday Recap post I called President Obama a "dickless wonder" for what I regarded as his lack of leadership on health care. While I still maintain that his role should have been much stronger in that area, today I must give credit where it is due.
This week's "Golden Balls Award" goes to President Obama for facing down the Republicans at their own retreat, on camera, in an unscripted one-hour Q & A session. He came, he saw, he kicked some serious ass. So much so that while all other networks carried the entire exchange live, upon seeing their guys getting their clocks cleaned, those cowards at Faux News tucked their tails between their legs and pulled the plug on the broadcast.
Perhaps the best part was that after being taken to the shed for over an hour, these morally-bankrupt hypocrites still asked the Prez for autographs and then Tweeted about it. So let's just hand out a "You Can't Make This Shit Up" Award, too.
The entire exchange can be viewed many places online for those of you who missed it. You want "must-see TV"? This is it. Here I present one of my personal favorite smack downs. Pull up a chair and grab some coffee. It is so worth your time.
I know you've got to have a comment on this one, so bring it on.
Why oh why do people make sex tapes of themselves? Especially celebrities. Especially in this day and age where nothing stays private.
The revelation this week that there is a now a sex tape in the sordid mess known as the John Edwards affair elevates the “ewwww” factor to new heights for me. Elizabeth bailed on this pretentious creep none too soon.
If you recall -- and I do -- John Edwards was one of those who expressed moral outrage over Bill Clinton and the blue dress. Sure Clinton was the president and a higher standard is expected (although historically rarely realized) of such, but Edwards was running for the presidency when he apparently made the decision to forever immortalize his naked ass on celluloid.
The existence of the tape was made public this week by Andrew Young, a former aide to Edwards and author of a forthcoming sleazy tell-all from which he is certain to profit due to our insatiable hunger for tales portraying the downfall of the oh-so-once-high-and-mighty.
Rielle Hunter, former mistress and mother of Edwards’ two-year-old daughter -- the only innocent in this God-forsaken mess -- wants this “very private and personal” videotape back and has obtained a court order to achieve that. Hunter states that, in an attempt to destroy it, she pulled the tape from the cassette and stored it in a box with other personal belongings, which -- in a move that bestows upon her this week’s “You Can’t Make This Shit Up” Award -- she apparently then forgot when she moved from Young’s home where she’d been staying.
But my question still begs an answer… Why does anyone make a tape of themselves engaged in sex? Unless done professionally, you know the lighting is going to be bad, the camera angles undoubtedly unflattering, and no one can compete with Meg Ryan’s vocals in “When Harry Met Sally.”
Let’s face it, folks. By and large, bare asses humping away in the air to the sounds of groans and grunts do not a pretty picture make.
Taking the moral high ground, I will not be reading Young’s book.
But please, dear God… Let Amy Poehler play Hunter in the movie.
Every woman should have at least one special dress in their lifetime that makes them feel joyous about themselves. Like that first prom dress. Remember the excitement and anticipation you felt as you got dressed that night? The butterflies in your stomach when your date arrived so handsome in his tux, shyly looking down as he handed you a corsage… Or your wedding gown. How many dresses did you try on before you found the one that was going to make this day, your day, one filled with magic and memories you would never forget?... Yes, every woman should have that one special dress.
Having never gone to my prom or gotten married, and with the arrival of my 60th birthday this year, I realized I had lived my entire life without ever getting to experience that belle-of-the-ball feeling which only a truly magnificent dress can give you. Turning 60 can be unnerving. Thoughts of your own mortality start rearing their ugly heads with alarming frequency. But except for my arms, which that bastard Father Time has seen fit to replace with chicken skin, I still look great. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that on good day, and with proper lighting, I might actually be considered hot by some. So going with that, I decided that the theme of the birthday party my friends were giving me would be “60 is the new 40” and it was about damn time I bought myself the dress.
I’m not wealthy by any means, but I knew that only a designer frock would do and after trying on dress after dress, reducing more than one sales lady to tears, and hours spent on the Internet comparison shopping, of course, there it was. And it couldn’t have been more perfect. A lovely Nicole Miller gold sheath with a gold lace and sequined overlay that had ever-so-subtle specks of garnet red in it. The little lace cap sleeves did nothing to hide my chicken arms, but my bust was prominently featured and, as it turned out, provided a much-appreciated diversion. I accessorized with gold and garnet jewelry, a garnet satin clutch, and obsessed over just the right shade of garnet nail polish. For shoes, I found elegant gold heels that could have been made for the dress and, as a bonus, made my size nine feet look positively dainty. I justified the cost of the ensemble by prorating it over the 60 years of my lifetime, something I’d highly recommend to anyone considering such a purchase.
The night of the party finally arrived. I’d asked all my friends to dress in their very best black tie attire and we would have been welcomed on any red carpet anywhere. The champagne flowed. Cameras flashed. We danced till we dropped. And me...? I was finally the belle of the ball.
In a move sure to make him a contender for “Father of the Year,” John Edwards admits that the daughter he’d sworn up and down for over two years was not his is, in fact, the spawn of his wandering sperm.
With his perfectly coifed $400 hair and oozing southern boy contrition, he said: "It was wrong for me ever to deny she was my daughter and hopefully one day, when she understands, she will forgive me.” When she understands what? That her father is a liar, a coward, and let’s see… what else… a dickwad?!
If little Quinn is as smart as her mother, she’ll recognize leverage when she sees it.
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The Democrats, proving once again that their incompetency knows no bounds, managed to lose their long-held Senate seat in Massachusetts to a Republican who, until about a month ago, was best known for his “stimulus package.” Voted Cosmopolitan Magazine’s Sexiest Man in June of 1982, winner Scott Brown put an end to the Democrats super majority in the Senate – something they’ve managed to squander over and over again anyway. Now the Dems only have an 18-vote majority which, to quote the always astute Jon Stewart, “was more than George W. Bush ever had in the Senate when he did whatever the fuck he wanted to do.”
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Certain to solidify this nation’s status as the United States of Corporate America, the right-leaning Supreme Court this week struck down a law limiting the amount of campaign contributions corporations are allowed to make. Citing the First Amendment, they bestowed upon corporations the same free speech rights formerly recognized as only belonging to individuals, ruling that corporate money equals free speech and essentially telling the Founding Fathers to suck it.
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In today’s “You Can’t Make This Shit Up” file…
International hotel chain Holiday Inn is offering a trial human bed-warming service at three hotels in Britain this month. If requested, a willing staff-member will dress in an all-in-one fleece sleeper suit before slipping between the sheets. The bed-warmer is equipped with a thermometer to measure the bed's required temperature of 68º Fahrenheit.
Holiday Inn said the warmer would be fully dressed and leave the bed before the guest occupied it. They could not confirm if the warmer would shower first, but said hair would be covered.
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This week’s WTF Award goes to a German TV program for demonstrating that those intrusive body scan security devices proposed for airports may be able to make out such intimate details as breast implants, but can fail to detect bomb-making components.
Wonderful… I can’t tell you how relieved I am to know that the cutie across the aisle won’t be detonating her double-D’s.
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Finally, our “Golden Balls” of the week award goes to Conan O’Brien for signing off his last Tonight Show with the type of class and dignity that NBC president, Jeffrey Zuckerman, only wishes he had.
The sun peeked out for a moment this morning just to taunt me. This past week here in California it has been unrelentingly gray, wet, cold and my personal Satan, windy… and you know how I feel about the wind.
I realize my displeasure at the weather is not garnering me a lot of sympathy. Don’t think I can’t hear those of you in parts of the country frequently buried by snow for months at a time shouting with glee, “Hah! Take that, California! You big weather weenie...” And you would be justified. We are weather weenies.
We’ve grown accustomed to sunshine nearly year ‘round . It’s not that we attribute this to God liking us better. He does extract a steep price for this privilege. Pretty much every year the whole state goes up in flames. Mud slides are known to bury entire communities. And, of course, we’re famous for our earthquakes.
Still, it does do the soul good to wake up most mornings to sunny skies and the feeling that anything’s possible. Vitamin D is our drug of choice. We are nothing if not a vain people, but when you can go out every day and run, bike, or swim, you damn well better look good.
I’ve heard that suicide rates go up in areas where there are long periods of gray skies and rain. I can see why. If I had a gas oven, the temptation to stick my head in it would be mighty inviting right about now.
Crap, I hear thunder… and, yes, that would be yet more rain I see.
As a child I was terrified of thunder and lightning. Then one day my mother told me that thunder was the sound of God farting, which sent me into endless giggles. Maybe soon, when dementia sets in, it will do so again, but now – not so much.
My name is Jayne… and I am a weather weenie.
Comments are like sunshine. They do the heart good…
. Studio Thirty Plus is having a Blogger Awards competition and somebody has gone and nominated moi for Best Newbie Blog. I had no idea until I just stumbled across it, but I'm flattered as all hell. Of course now, being the uber competitive gal that I am, I'd actually like to win. So if you'd be so kind as to mosey on over there and vote for me, you could be the lucky recipient of big ol' sloppy kiss.
Do it for me... because I want to make my Chihuahua proud.
The vagina would like to have a word with you. Not my vagina, in particular, although she’s pretty worked up about this, too, but the “royal” vagina – as in the royal “we.”
She’s more than a little disturbed about the way her name is being flaunted about these days. The blogosphere can’t seem to get enough of her and frankly, she’s a little tired of reading about herself. She recalls the days when, if she was referred to at all, it was in hushed tones and reverential terms like “private parts” or the always appropriate “down there.” She was considered mysterious and held in high regard.
Then came the “Vagina Monologues” and suddenly she found herself thrust into a very public spotlight. She had become cool and it seemed everyone wanted a part of her. Women who’d always respected her space were now insisting on having a look – with a mirror, no less! TV shows referred to her as a “va-jay-jay,” a nickname she despised the instant she heard it.
Vagina feels especially cheapened by her recent appearances on Twitter, the bathroom wall of the Internet. Do you people have no shame?
While she realizes that her name has the power to titillate, she fears being overexposed – becoming the Paris Hilton of the lower regions. Her neighbors, Labia and Clitoris, are apprehensive about being seen with her lest they, too, become exploited for the cheap amusement of the general public.
Labia has already been the target of a recent article suggesting that women should be concerned with her paleness and consider a dye job. The very thought of her precious pink petals being chemically altered has her enraged. As if women don’t have enough body issues, now they should be worried about the color of their labia?! Labia would like these women to know that men wouldn’t care if she was peacock blue. They would still fall all over themselves for a passing glance.
And so dear readers, Vagina would like to appeal to you -- the blogosphere -- to show a little restraint when tempted to bandy her name about… because vaginas have feelings, too.
Sunday Recap will return next week.
Comments are like a box of chocolates…you never know what you’re going to get. (With apologies to “Forrest Gump.”
In a move sure to give The Cartoon Channel a run for its money, Fox News has signed Sarah Palin to a multi-year deal. On Tuesday night Bill “Foghorn Leghorn” O’Reily did his cock-of-the-walk best to welcome the gushing “gotcha” gal, with Glenn “Porky Pig” Beck and “Yosemite Sam” Hannity panting lasciviously as they await their turn. First up for the perky pundit will be the much anticipated “Betty and Veronica Go Teabagging” special with blond cutie, Laura Ingram..
Meanwhile, Tina Fey celebrated her new-found job security with an Alaskan cruise along the Russian coast.
A couple from Cattooga County, Georgia is out of jail on bond after being busted for tattooing six of their kids with a homemade device consisting of a plastic pen body with a needle made of a guitar string connected to an electric motor. Can’t accuse them of not being inventive. Five of the youngsters got a cross-like tattoo on their hands, while the oldest boy got “mom and dad” on his arm… something sure to come up in his defense when he’s charged with being a serial killer later in life.
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Retweet this...
Ford, that brain trust that brought us the exploding Pintos, announced that it has a Twitter application coming soon to its Sync system. You won’t be able to send tweets – yet, but you can listen to them read out loud to you as you drive… because who doesn’t want to toodle down the highway listening to:
"Preparing my famous anchovy quiche!"
"Stuck in traffic."
"Just stepped in cat puke."
"Still stuck in traffic."
"Fuckin' snow won't stop!"
"Jesus is the answer."
"Tell him to stop the fuckin' snow!"
"Goddamn traffic."
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Here comes the bride...
When I think of weddings and cans -- and surprisingly this doesn’t come up as often as you might think – I always picture the back of a car with a big “Just Married” sign and strings of cans tied to the bumper. Well, apparently that is just oh-so-passé.
An environmentally-minded and frugal couple in Spokane, Washington, is collecting aluminum cans to help pay for their wedding. They figure they need 400,000, which would be worth about $3,800 when recycled, and are asking for donations. So far they have 18,000 stacked in their living room – or probably enough for a party of 10 at Chuck-E-Cheese.
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Hail to the Chief...
A larger-than-life President Barack Obama became a presidential pitchman Wednesday on a Times Square billboard that used his photo without permission.Outerwear company Weatherproof used a recent news photo of the president in front of the Great Wall in China for the advertisement with the tagline "A Leader In Style."
Apparently, the White House is a little peeved and has asked that it be removed. Personally, I think they should save their righteous indignation for the guy selling Ecstasy pills shaped like the Prez. Oh, yes… because we Americans are nothing if not enterprising. The discovery came when police in Palmview, Texas, pulled over a reckless driver who, as it turned out, also appeared to be wrecked. A search of the vehicle revealed 200 Ecstasy pills resembling both Obama and… Homer Simpson. Nice to know the Prez is held in the same high esteem as TV’s biggest dufus, if you don’t count Glenn Beck.
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Finally, it’s Leno vrs Conan to see who will get the coveted 11:30 time slot...
Seems Leno’s ratings are in the toilet at the 10 o’clock hour so NBC is talking about giving Jay his old time slot back which, as you might imagine, is not sitting well with Conan O’Brien as revealed on this short clip.
Personally, it’s all past my bedtime so I have no horse in this race, but how about you? Team Leno or Team Conan?
A comment a day keeps the doctor away, and who can afford doctors these days...
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.
Her most recent book, “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?
Comments are like “Pringles.” You can’t just have one…
It was a slow news week, but I did manage to dig up a few tidbits...
Rush Limbaugh was admitted to a hospital this week complaining of pains in his chest. Doctors were admittedly puzzled when, upon examination, they found it to be hollow… That was just too easy.
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You think you hate spending the holidays with your relatives? A guy in Rome took that to a whole new level. The 35-year-old man first showed up at a police station on Thursday asking to be arrested because he preferred spending New Year’s Eve in prison than with his family. Turned away because he had not committed a crime, the resourceful fellow immediately went to a shop next door and threatened the owner with a box cutter as he grabbed a few sweets and a pack of gum. He then waited until police arrived to arrest him for robbery… If you want to do the time, apparently you’ve got to do the crime.
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Officials in Ohio are trying to sell this nifty motorized bar stool on Ebay. It was confiscated from its owner who was arrested for operating it while drunk and charged with a DUI. A high bid of $1,125 was reached in an auction that ended December 13th, but the buyer didn’t come through with payment. So if you want it, contact officials in Newark, Ohio, who are planning on putting it in a live auction this month. It could go quite nicely with the motorized cupcake from Dec 20th’s Sunday Recap, don’t you think?
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Finally, while gay marriage is now legal in the state of New Hampshire, just don’t get caught cheating on your spouse. The state still has a 200-year-old law on the books criminalizing adultery. The original punishments — including standing on the gallows for an hour with a noose around the neck — have been reduced to a $1,200 fine. I rather like the noose idea myself…
