Monthly Archives: June 2009

Senator Al Franken, Bitchez!

alfranken2009smallWhen I woke up today, I had NO idea that today would be the day that we, Minnesotans, would get our second senator.  Hey, it’s only eight fucking months past the election.  What’s the rush, right?  Speaking of Rush, I sincerely hope that he is frothing at the mouth, curled up in a fetal ball, and nursing his vodka laced with Oxycontin, muttering to himself.  He’s already compared the ruling to the Iran situation, which makes me on par with President Ahmadinejad and the Supreme Leader of Iran.  If I see someone in the streets of Minneapolis protesting the decision, I am going to point and laugh hysterically.

Look, I get that it’s hard to lose a close election.  It hurts.  It sucks.  You think your guy was jobbed.  However, those of us who voted for Gore in 2000 (yes, it still stings) were told to get over it and let the nation heal.   We were told to shut up about the election and pretend it never happened.  For the good of our country.

So, my fellow Minnesotans, the one who voted for Coleman, are you going to follow your own party’s advice and move on?  Even Coleman himself said that it was time to let the state heal.  Somehow, I doubt Minnesotan Republicans will listen.

You know what?  I don’t fucking care.  Oh, I know, I’m supposed to be a bleeding-heart liberal who feels empathy for everyone.  In fact, some people (John Cole from BJ) think that if one does not feel empathy for everyone, then one is not really a liberal.  I am the bleedingest of bleeding hearts, but there are some people who don’t engender any empathy or sympathy from me.  Supporters of Coleman would fall under that category.  Now, I am one who rarely feels schadenfreude over anything, but I am loving this.

Continue Reading

Fuck You! No, Fuck You!

pissed-off catDo you ever have one of those days when you want to say to someone, “Gaaaah!  Get the fuck away from me, you piece of shit.  I can’t stand the way you breathe, the way you eat, the way you talk, the way you sing, or the way you are just THERE!

You have a fucking weird laugh.  You talk too much.  You’re cynical and lazy and sloppy and fucking moody.  You hog all the covers, and you toss and turn all night.  I fucking HATE you!  Get the fuck away from me!”

You’ve had that feeling, right?  Well, what do you do if that feeling is directed towards yourself?  I mean, I can’t just take a vacation from me.  I can’t storm out of the house, hop into the car, and race across the state because I will still be fucking there. Even when I sleep, I can’t get away from me as most of my dreams have me prominently involved.  I can understand why some people drink to oblivion in order to escape themselves.

Continue Reading

Mrs. McGinty’s Dead–Before You See It

magnifying glassAll right.  Before I start my review of this movie, I have to explain a few things.  I am a HUGE Hercule Poirot fan, and I have read every book at least five times (I have them all).  When I first started watching movies on any kind on a regular basis (meaning with the aid of Netflix), I decided to see what was available in the Hercule Poirot oeuvre.  I’ve seen Peter Ustinov as Poirot (not bad), Albert Finney as Poirot (truly horrible), and I even more recently saw Alfred Molina as Poirot (ok, but didn’t fit the role at all).

I despaired of seeing a Poirot that fit–until I saw David Suchet as Poirot.  Now, Suchet first started as Inspector Japp (a Poirot regular), and he was fine in that role, too.  However, he is Hercule Poirot, no question about it.  In fact, when I got an audio tape of Suchet reading an Agatha Christie novel, I was crushed when he began reading in a British accent.  I mean, I know he’s not Belgian or French, but I didn’t realize how thoroughly I associate Suchet with Poirot until I heard his British accent.

Ahem.  That is neither here nor there.

This is the first Poirot movie I’m reviewing on my blog.  I have countless reviews in my personal archives because I have seen every movie and episode possible until the latest season–damn America for showing them a year later–but as this is the first for the blog, I’m going to state a few things you need to know.

Continue Reading

Stop. Please. No. Really. Just Stop.

Ed. Note: I started this last night.

american_eskimo_dogSo, I met two really cool women tonight who generously allowed me the use of their pool (thanks, gex), and permitted me to love up their gorgeous Alaskan Eskimo.  In addition, their beautiful and elderly Siamese deigned to grant me the privilege of caressing him a few times.  Then, we had great food at the Pardon My French Cafe.  Sated and happy, I drove home and promptly crashed on the papasan.  gex and her girlfriend, Allie (no, not her real name) were so right.  Bobbling in the pool under the hot sun REALLY takes it out of you.

Anyway, I got up around one, futzed around on the intertoobs, and fired up Keith Olbermann.  To my consternation, the first three stories were about Michael Jackson’s death and the suspicious circumstances surrounding it.  They had on Deepak Chopra, who is, apparently, a good friend of Michael Jackson’s.  He had some interesting insight, I guess, but WTF?  Now, I know Keith isn’t hard news per se.  I know he leans towards pop culture as well as towards sports.   I can see him doing a brief segment, but three?  Aw, hell no.  Not to mention, on the way to gex’s, on NPR, they were going around the country interviewing fans from around the world–who then would sing (badly) a snippet of a MJ song.  Note, people who cannot sing should not do so on the national radio machine.

Just fucking stop it, people.  No, really, stop.  I mean it.  Can I be honest with you?  I don’t give a shit how MJ died.  I don’t give a shit if he was Oxycontined up to his eyeballs every day of his life.  I don’t care that the mother of his babies was turkey-bastered with someone else’s sperm (a British rumor, presumed to be false) or with his, and that she was essentially a womb for hire.  And yet, I now know all this even though I have made no attempts to find out any of this shit on my own.

Continue Reading

I Left My Heart in the 80s

poppiesAs you probably know, Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett have both died today.  They were both iconic in their days in their own ways, and, apparently, the whole country is mourning.  I say this with minimal snark because death is sobering.  However, I question the reaction of everyday people to these deaths, especially to Jackson’s.  I’m listening to Keith’s show right now, and he’s doing a piece on Jackson.  Keith had a woman on who gave a hagiography to Jackson, talking about how celebrities deserve all the adulation because they bring together multiple generations.

To that I say, what the fuck ever.  Look . Michael Jackson was a talented singer/dancer who had a shitty childhood that resulted in him being a fucked-up adult.  I wasn’t particularly fond of his music, but I could at least recognize that he was amazingly talented.  However, why does that make him worthy of the throngs of fans who burst out onto the streets today in angst and anguish?  I’m not even talking about the pedophilia accusations.  Just, as a person, why is he so mourned?  I felt the same way when Princess Di  died.  I just didn’t get all the hoopla.  I mean, I understand that they are the symbols of something bigger.  I understand that people invest emotion into their celebrities.  I just don’t know why.  I mean, I will be very sad when, knock on wood, Alan Rickman dies.  I probably will shed a tear or two, but then I will move on because as much as he plays a huge part of my fantasy life, he is not a part of my real life.

Just to be even weirder, I visit every day.  I mainly like to look at the pictures of other people’s cats.  Well, there was one set of black long-haired babies that really caught my eye.  I followed their posts, and the name I suggested (Pax) even got used for one of the kittens.  He died today.  His human posted about it, and I was crying.  I felt more emotion for little Pax dying than I did for the King of Pop.  Why?  Because Pax was more real to me (and not because I named him).  If, again, knock on wood, one of my online friends died, I would be shattered.  Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett dying?  Not so much.  I mourn the passing of an era and the fact that I’m getting goddamn old.  I hope that Michael Jackson has found the peace that so eluded him during his life.  I hope that Farrah Fawcett is resting in peace as well.  Beyond that?  I don’t feel much of anything.  And that makes me feel like a jerk.

Continue Reading

Survivor, Minnesota Style

albania_bunkersDay Three of bunkering down.  Or is it Day Four?   I don’t know any more.  The days are long, and so bloody hot.  I don’t know how long I will survive down here with just my bottle of ice water at my side.  Plus, my two intrepid kittehs who keep stern watch over me.  Granted, Shadow just went to brave the hot upstairs, but he’ll be back.  I hope….Whew!  He made it back.  I feel better with my two miniature panthers by my side.  I have no food (except in the fridge.  Today was shopping day.  I cranked the AC up high in the car, and I almost cried when I reached Fresh & Natural.  I never thought AC could feel so good.  But I digress, as usual), no bedding (except for the papasan which is nice, but a bit uncomfortable as it’s made of wood), and I’ve been lost for days (days, days, days).

I’m fading fast.  I don’t know how much longer I will last.  Oh, god, why hast thou forsaken me?  Tell my parents, my brother, and my friends that I love them.  My cats know that already.

Hah!  That was fun to write, even if it’s totally untrue.  Well, not totally because I am in the basement with my cats by my side and only a bottle of iced water at hand (oh, and a dozen grapes), but that’s by choice.  I can walk upstairs, open my fridge, and get whatever I want to eat.  I’m settling into my basement.  Can I say, Gene Robinson is H-A-W-T?  Sorry.  I’m listening to Keith’s show, and Gene Robinson is on it talking about Sanford because Robinson is from South Carolina, and he’s lived in Buenos Aires.  Perfect!

Continue Reading

Curiouser and Curiouser

CB040855One of the weirdest political stories in some time is so bizarre, not because it’s political (it’s not), I am somewhat gobsmacked at how it’s unfolding.  The story is the disappearance  of the South Carolina Mark Sanford, one of the most ardent opponent of the stimulus bill.  This weird-ass story sounds like it’s straight out of a novel, except, the excuses have been lame.  If you want a more well-rounded picture of the story, go to the TalkingPointsMemo site.  They have been following it pretty closely.

I am saying this because I do not want to be accused of not showing my facts.  I want to talk about the Sanford thing, not from a political point of view, but from a humanity point of view.  However, after reading the comments on both sides on the disappearance (many on the left saying he got what he deserved if he fell to harm and many on the right saying it’s the liberal media smearing…something, can’t a man have some alone time that includes not telling anyone where he is and happens over Father’s Day).

So.  Let’s recap.  Governor Sanford was last heard from on Thursday of last week, two days after the legislative session ended–and all ten of his vetoes got overturned by the legislature.  La la la…over the weekend–nothing.  Monday, the story gets leaked that his cell phone was pinged in Atlanta somewhere.  His wife said she didn’t know where he was, but he had to get away from the kids (on Father’s Day weekend) and go ‘write something’ .  Then his office said that he was tidying up some paperwork that had fallen by the wayside during the legislative session.  Then, we were informed that he was hiking on the Appalachian Trail (which received stimulus money).  Then, we found out that Sunday, the solstice, was get nekkid and hike! day on the Appalachian Trail (as the yummy Lewis Black said on Olbermann’s show tonight, who goes hiking naked?).  It seems highly unlikely that Governor Sanford was one of those nekkid hikers.

Continue Reading

I’m in My Basement and I’m Blogging

red tapeI am not wearing my pajamas, however, as there is still light out–and I sleep nude.  I’m all for nekkid blogging when I can’t be seen.  As it is, I am wearing South Park boxer shorts and a gray tank top.  In other words, as little as I can.  It’s kind of odd to be in the basement because for the most part, it’s the cats’ turf.  I come down here to do laundry and to clean the litter boxes–that’s it.  However, it’s twenty to thirty degrees cooler down here than it is up there, so I lugged the laptop down with me, and here I am.

So, I have an energy saver on my air conditioner.  Xcel (the company) decided to send out the saver guy, even though the problem had nothing to do with the saver.  My circuit breaker is tripped, and it won’t go on.  My brother explained it to me.  He said checking the saver box wouldn’t do anything.  He was right.  Saver guy left me a message.  When I talked to him, I said the circuit breaker kept tripping and wouldn’t stay on.  He said he could come tomorrow morning.  Then, I called my brother to see what he thought.  He said I should have said that the circuit breaker wouldn’t go on at all, but that it wouldn’t make a difference because they follow a certain protocol.  I called back saver guy, told him what my brother said, and he still wants to check the circuit breaker.  So, he’ll come tomorrow and discover that the circuit breaker is fine.  Then, if he can’t actually fix the problem with the unit itself (apparently it’s a different guy), he’ll have to call in a regular repair person, or I will.  Chances are, repair guy won’t be able to come tomorrow, either, which means postponing it until Wednesday or Thursday.

Continue Reading

The Depths of Despair

shhhhhA while back during the stimilus ‘debate’ (more accurately, the GOP throwing a major hissy fit and threatening to hold their breaths until they turned blue because, socialism, omigod teh deficit, Obama is ebil Islamofascist dictator socialist Neville Chamberlin Adolph Hitler gonna take all our guns away such a big wimp and totally a dictator, and, and, and ACORN!, so shut up!  Also), I stopped reading and watching anything about politics for four days in a row.  I had been following the stimulus ‘debate’ closely until one of the talking heads said something like, “Oh, it’ll pass” before going on to rehash some inane detail of the stimulus.  It took my breath away how casually this talking head stated it would pass, as if it were irrelevant to the matter at hand, which was how one sentence on the 127th page of the bill enraged the junior senator from Kentucky or something equally stupid.

So I said to myself, “Minna, why the fuck are you following this if it’s gonna pass no matter what?  Why listen to the bat-shit crazy talking points from the nutters and their enablers if it drives you so fucking insane?  Why not…pull the plug?”  I resisted.  I protested with my other self.  “I have to be well-informed.  I have to keep up with what’s going on.  I can’t not read the news!”

Continue Reading

Going Red

thermostatLet’s talk environment conservation for a minute, shall we?  You really have no choice since, well, I get to choose the topic.  Still, in the spirit of cooperation, I’m going to pretend that you are nodding in agreement with me.  Ok.  Here we go.

I am an environmentally-conscious gal, as I have blogged about before.  I recycle (bare minimum, I know).  I keep the heat at 63° during the winter, 60° at night.  I don’t use the dishwasher.  I shower/bathe every other day.  I do the laundry every two or three weeks.  I don’t turn on lights for the most part, and I set the AC at 82° in the summer, 80 ° at night.

In other words, I try very hard to save energy whenever and wherever I can.

Now.  Another thing I’ve blogged about before is that I HATE the heat.  This is not a mild dislike.  This is not an, “Oh, I prefer it colder, thank you very much.”  This is a, “Goddamnsonofaaaaaaaaargh!  I am going to kill this heat!” kind of hatred.  I like to joke that I have reverse-SAD (a joke because SAD stands for Seasonal Affective Disorder, but most people only think of it as a winter thing.  I get the blues, as it were, in the summer), but it’s not a joke.

Continue Reading