Communication Breakdown

I have a lovely life. I literally go for years and years and years without enduring any serious kind of conflict with anyone. Much of this is because I am a big pap - I just kind of go with the flow. But I'm learning to hate email this week. Email is fine for arranging to meet for a movie or for a snarky aside about someone at work, but it is fucking horrible otherwise. And this is why. Your tone and your intent is very hard to discern, and subject to both the sender's and receiver's pre-conceived notions and stereotypes. So the answer is to pick up the phone.

Politicians in Britain are falling over themselves trying to be hip and down with the kids. It's a bit on the lame side, I have to say, and I would think a never ending challenge. It does seem to be largely a British phenomenon, but there's some here too. It's still preferable to embracing these values.

My son just went outside and told me it's hailing. I love that dramatic weather. As long as it doesn't hurt my already beat-up car.

Could Borat ask for better publicity?

Dead or Alive

So, the Scotsman is reporting that Bin Laden is dead. To which I say: Does it really matter? Iraq is completely fucked in any case.

Speaking of Bin Laden, I was flipping through the channels this morning and happened upon Bill Clinton tearing Chris Wallace a new one when he questioned why he didn't go after Bin Laden more vigorously. That was rather entertaining to watch.

This skinny model ban is interesting. I sort of feel like the ideal attitude is acceptance of all healthy bodies, regardless of size, and that beauty comes in all shapes. Although I love this designer who makes clothes for women with real bodies.

I read this story about Prince Charles, and although a little wasteful and prima-donnaish, am hardly overwhelmed by the wanton extravagance of it all. So he gets six eggs cooked and eats the best one? How many eggs does the average McDonald's waste every day?

Here are ten albums to listen to this fall. I'm intrigued by Joanna Newsom, and, as always, Beck.

Buckethead is coming to Raleigh. I'm sort of interested but not sure I could take a whole show of him.

The Best Part of Waking Up...

I got an email from Folger's (warning: Quicktime), asking if they could advertise on my blog. I'm not interested, but I wonder how much money you would get. Or if you would have to extol the virtues of a crap brand of coffee to earn it. I think I just destroyed my chance of getting asked again.

Willard Wigans makes the most amazing art. I don't even understand how this is possible. The Last Supper inside the eye of a needle is just astonishing. It's one of those talents I don't quite see the point of but am in awe of nevertheless.

I want to go to one of these nightclubs. They're the grown-up equivalent of a bouncy castle. Imagine being wasted inside one of those giant condoms.

Jeez, the Pope. At least he is an equal opportunity offender.

Global warming in Siberia scares the crap out of me. Especially when it's effects (released methane, white lichen dying out, increased lake size) accelerate the process.

My son wants to see that fried worms movie but I just can't do it. Even the trailer revolts me. My son will happily watch this stuff and Fear Factor, and laugh as he eats gummy worms at the same time. Bleagh. He had to buy one of these at the grocery store tonight. It's "contents" are liquified liver, protein shake, duck egg and silkworm cereal.

Here's a movie that I can look forward to. I love Little Britain, especially this pair.

Bounty

Well, this weekend, inspired by Jenny and her canning prowess, I made pesto, tomato sauce, spiced pear butter and crystallized ginger. And then I baked pumpkin muffins and cinnamon buns. It feels pretty good to open up the freezer and see it filled with yummy food. Sometimes I think I was supposed to be a farmer's wife or something, because I love doing this shit.

I guess there is room for only one Diddy in the UK. So I wonder what he will be called there now? And how can more than one person in the world call themselves by that ridiculous name? I love how the US Diddy describes himself as 'The CEO, The Entertainer, The Humanitarian, The Designer'.

I think this list should be presented to every freshman.

Rupert Everett's autobiography sounds like a good read. He is one of that rare breed that is both hot and funny. And occasionally hetero.

I wonder if they will be serving deep fried coke at the State Fair?

If music be the food of love....

Paris Hilton has been targeted by a "guerilla artist". You have to wonder if this is some kind of viral marketing - I mean, it's hard to imagine that Paris Hilton could sell any CDs at all without a stunt like this.

This is probably a factor of my age, growing up in the era of the blistering guitar solo, but I like this video:

And there are some artists who have unusual ways of dealing with stage fright.

What songs have been ruined for you by the vagaries of your romantic life?

This song will simultaneously make me sad and horny; it reminds me of my first serious, real grownup heartbreak.

Apparently, your romantic success can be predicted by your lips (the ones on your face, I hasten to add). It appears if you have thinner lips, you have better luck with relationships. I think men with full bottom lips are sexy, but I think a man with full top lips too can kind of look feminine.

Here's an interesting subject for a graphic novel.