Category: etc.

I found this comment on my post about the movie “Grizzly Man.”

Most of you are amazed this guy could act like this. In the bush but,like me am more freaked out by city life.drugs booze and rock and roll.make a movie and tell me if its wierd! When alone in the mountains,which I am a lot,in the
canadian rockies
life is more real to me, than any where on the planet.I can relate to Treadwell.In the simple fact of being alone in the mountains by yourself for awhile changed your world.I won’t aregue he is a little different,but I can relate.Its an awesome place back there.The world needs more protection for wild life its getting very small for the wilderness to survive.People in the us must realize the impact of finding oil and gas is takeing its toll on wild places.Believe me,I see it every day,Your Halibur…. Is rapeing our land so fast its beyond belief.Billions of dollars rule,over these animals.So please get that message from Tredwell.Well back to the mountains I go.

Umm …. okaaay. It’s just a MOVIE REVIEW, honey.

I hope there are some outposts of civilization where you are. There’s obviously no Spell Check.

But take care of yourself out there in the wilds.

And watch out for those bears.

They’ll kill ya real good.

(“LOOK! IT’S HIS POOP! IT WAS JUST INSIDE HIS BODY! AND NOW IT’S HERE! ON MY BLOG!!”)

Some pieces from Simone Shubuck, an up-and-coming mixed-media artist and a favorite of mine:

Just …. just …. oh, you fill in the word. LOVE her.

The artist herself:

My niece, Freaky Button Baby, is now completely potty-trained. She is not yet 2. She even used the public toilets at Sea World — unafraid — for freak’s sake!

Even I won’t use those unless truly desperate. I mean, I’M the girl who once held it in for FOUR DAYS on a backpacking trip because I was too dim to figure out how to go in the wild without, ah, going in my jeans and I really didn’t want to go in my jeans.

And, OKAY, I did explode and wet my pants on Day 5, which by very definition means I went in my jeans.

And, OKAY, I DID try to pass off the spreading stain on my butt and thighs as “creekwalking” even though I was NOT wet anyplace near my feet, which are generally what I use for walking of any kind.

And, OKAY, I never really did get the hang of the whole “lean against the tree” pee thing, so my family relentlessly mocked me for the rest of the trip until I threatened to creekwalk on them AND their nice, dry clothes.

And you know what?

They needed that. They needed that fear.

All puffed up with pee-pride they were.

But, seriously, slap me on some Pampers before a public restroom is a viable option.

Anyway ….

Seems Button Baby is obsessed with a pair of jeans I bought her. The jeans were in the laundry basket the other day, needing to be washed, when Button’s mom was dressing her.

Putting on the little top. Putting on the little pants. Or TRYING to.

Button kicked and thrashed about, crying, “No! NO!!” She ran off, pantsless now, to the basket where she dug around until she retrieved the jeans. Bounding back to mom with chubby fist thrust out, she said, emphatically:

“Tee Tee jeans! Tee Tee Jeans!! TEE TEE JEANS!!”

Jeez, kid. Keep your pants on.

A few people have emailed me saying they’ve had intermittent problems accessing my site. Some kind of “Forbidden” page comes up or something?

Hmm … can’t help you there. I don’t know what that’s even ABOUT.

I’ll look around, but I’ve really no clue. Truly sorry.

Yes, I’m shallow. Blahdie blah BLAH. So here it is.

American Idol in North Carolina …… a few wannabes who caught my eye and ear:

Dude with a freaking puppet — a ventriloquist. Lord. I HATE ventriloquism. Makes me think of that movie “Magic” with Anthony Hopkins. Creepy. All we need now is for a mime to walk in — all white-gloved and “trapped in a box” — and we’d have Tracey’s version of HELL. Randy says he enjoyed the dummy. Yes to the one dummy, no to the other. Duh.

Girl with an oversized pink cowboy hat. Hopped up on helium. She sings her words like this: “STOR-HOR-HOR-HOR-EEEEEE” and “HEH-HEH-HEH-HEH-HEAD.” She looks just like her mother. Her mother looks like Mrs. Beasely:

This is not good.

Dude is dancing with Paula singing “Let’s Get It On.” It’s creeping me out.
Stop it. STOP IT. Okay. Wow. It’s yes for the perv. Huh.

Foster home girl with a bunch of kids. They’re doing a big profile on her so she must make it through or why bother? Her smile is to die for, seriously. Mega-watt. She’s sometimes off-key, though. Okay, wait. She’s FUNNY. Paula says yes. Randy says yes. Simon says no. SHE says, “Good thing it doesn’t matter, ’cause I’m going to Hollywood!” Simon howls with laughter. The girl screams and jumps with excitement for about 5 seconds, then says, “Annnnd …. I’m calm,“ completely changing her entire physicality and walking out with this Nubian princess dignity. It was amazing. From Price is Right to Princess in a split second. I LOVE HER.

Someone named Chase — if Rosie O’Donnell were a man. (Oh, wait.) Singing “I Have Nothing.” Oh, I’m sure you have something, dude. Just not a VOICE.

This girl is wearing a Vegas showgirl outfit. Sparkly pink sluttiness. Frowsy hair. Super thick black eyeliner. It’s awful. Oh, her stripper mom bought the outfit for her. Isn’t that …. nice. Yep. It’s just a Norman Rockwell painting ’round here.

Paris Bennett — she is only 17 and SHE IS AMAZING. I’ll predict right now — Top 10 with this one. She has this high little speaking voice, baby doll, really. But then she sings ….. and it’s so smooth with a touch of smoky. Another Nubian princess who sings the Dixie Chicks AND Billie Holliday. She’s not just another belter — they bore me, frankly. She has nuance to her voice. I don’t know how; I mean, she’s 17. Inside, though, there is something much older than her years. She has layers. You just know it. Her Billie Holliday number was chilling. Chilling.

Now Marcus is blessing us with his version of “She’s out of my Life,” like this: “She’s out oooooooooooooooooooooooooof my liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiife …… and it cuts like a kniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiife.” Simon says, “Marcus, WHAT do you do?” He says, “I SAHHNG.” He says he learned how to sing off of Randy Jackson’s instructional DVD. Simon is choking. They ask him to SAHHNG again. Simon says, “Maybe your DVD player is stuck on SLOW.” Marcus goes out and smashes his DVD. Surprisingly, he does THAT fast.

Jimmy Crabtree. His face does not ever move. EVER. He is ludicrous. Simon says he has the personality of a hippo. I do not even know what that means. But somehow, he is not wrong.

Heeeere’s Sammy. He has a blanket with him. He puts it on the floor. He’s going to sing “I Can Show You the World” from Aladdin, hence, the magic carpet, you see. He works it like a bullfighter. Now he’s Superman. Lord. He segues into “Straight Up” without the magic carpet. Oh, YES, that makes all the difference, dude. Lord. He looks like Tim Curry as Frank-N-Furter. Except that I liked Tim Curry as Frank-N-Furter. And he could sing. And …. he had nice legs.

Now we have Rhonetta. She is black and chunky in a white mini and silver lame’ tube top and silvery glitter boots. She has a kind of Wonder Woman thing going on. Minus the wonder. It’s a NO. She rants to the camera whilst her tube top is losing its tubeage. But her skin is lovely. Truly. I notice that while I’m nervously waiting for her top to relinquish its hold on her ample boobins. She continues to rant out on the street. She struts and poses and cars start to honk.

Hm. Seems like she coulda made a few bucks out there.

And ….. That’s all, folks!!

Oh, by the way, I’m still working on “the job, part 2.”

It’s …. hard. The words are more like a sputtering spigot than anything else. It’s frustrating. But I WILL finish it.

So I thought I’d give you some sneak previews of things I hope to write about in this (fairly) new year. Maybe they’ll whet your whistle. (Or deflect your attention from what I haven’t finished.)

And maybe it’ll motivate me to have these written down in public.

So a few …. things:

— when I worked at the funeral home … with the crematorium in the basement.

— when I worked as an on-air “personality” at a shopping channel. Think QVC. Think Home Shopping Network. THEN think 1000 times more embarrassing.

— stories about Fiance #2, the … ah … quirky one.

— how I met My Beloved (related to the two subjects directly above, actually).

— adventures with a spiritually abusive pastor.

— I plan to finish my post about my aunt and uncle’s murder on Egypt Airt 990.
I really do.

— the time my school bus rolled down a hill.

— and the time that man tried to kill me and my family.

And that’s actually not a joke.

So … those are a few I’ve been mulling over. We’ll see if I can do it. Some are doable; some might not EVER be doable. I don’t know.

Anyway …. maybe something there piqued your interest.

And maybe I’ll even write on that one. Eventually.

Someone was telling me recently about all the wisdom this young couple had about marriage. They are both 21; they have been married for 6 weeks.

I LAUGHED MY HEAD OFF.

Right then and there.

And that’s just not very nice of me.

I mean, maybe they really have–NO.

I’m sorry:

AHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

At least work out the toilet paper issue; then we’ll talk.

I’ll still laugh, of course. Did I say I wouldn’t?

My new job, you know. And no, I’m not working at S’bucks or Starbutts or The Green Monster or any of those names I’ve heard The Other Place called. But that’s all I will say about where I’m working now. No names.

So some odd and ends of my first 5 days at — oh, let’s say, “Joe’s”:

— I decided to treat it as an acting exercise, really. Clearly, Day 1 was bad. I needed to readjust. To think of actually being there closes me up, humiliates me; but the character I play at Joe’s is open, happy to be there. She’s gregarious, willing to do anything, not easily vexed with the vexing. At least outwardly. Oh, and she’s taller than I — because the role requires it. These things are not me, but they are my character for Joe’s. Hey — it works for me. Anyway …. onward!

— one of the trainers, who admits she’s terrible at explaining things, is terrible at explaining things.

— a few people actually bring their own mugs for you to fill. One guy came in with what was basically a hubcap with a handle on it. When filled, it was a large frothy latte pond. I watched him with a sideways glance. I worried his face would fall in and he would drown, but he survived. AND he didn’t spill for which I was grateful.

— steaming milk takes finesse. I don’t have finesse. But I hope to get me some real soon.

— there are something like 100 drink combinations to learn. I simply ask, “Hey, how be I get you a good ol’ fashioned cuppa joe, there, Slappy?”

— but I only ask that in my head

— while I’m panicking about what they might REALLY want

— that I don’t know how to make yet

— but everyone seems to think I do

— because I made ONE good latte

— that only took me about 20 minutes.

— coffee drinkers are kind; coffee SNOBS are ruthless. Example: My 20-minute latte customer stood there at the counter, watching me and my pink-flushed face and incompetent bunglery, but I was smiling and joking and he was smiling and joking and I said, “Well, I’m new” (which is obvious, Tracey, really), and he said, so nicely, “Oh, that’s okay. You just keep smiling like that and everything seems fine to me.” He took his latte without complaint, tasted a sip, and said, “Good job.”

“Worth the wait?” I joked.

“Yep.” I could have kissed him.

Another day, I admitted my “newness” to some little chippie while I made her Chai Tea Latte. I said, “Lemme know if that’s okay for you.”

Clearly, she smelled blood in the water. She sipped in a pinchy lipped way, stared at me and said, “Um …. yeah …. it just tastes like water.” Which is interesting because there’s no water in it.

I offered to redo it and she agreed, of course. I asked one of the experienced baristas to make it so I could see what I did wrong.

He did exactly the same thing I did. She got exactly the same damn drink.

“How’s that?”

“Oh …. yeah. This is a LOT better,” she declared as she snobbed her way out the door.

— people try to scam free drinks. “You forgot to give me my iced tea,” one fellow whined to the barista. The scammer looked unkempt, jiggly-eyed, maybe homeless. He HAD been given his iced tea, but the barista went ahead and gave him his “free refill.”

Half hour later, he was back in line again. Only one free refill, pal.

— Then there was Lou, one of the “regulars.” And old guy with a lopsided, lumbering gait. He locked eyes with me and just started a’talkin’:

“There sure are a damn lot of people in the world,” he pronounced, trying to wind his way through the crowd.

I didn’t really know what to say, so I said, lamely, “Yeah. They’re everywhere!”

“I know!” he growled good-naturedly. He just seemed to be enjoying his rant, so I kept up with it.

“You can’t escape them!” I offered.

“I KNOW!” he cried. “I retired hopin’ to get away from all of ’em, but HERE THEY ARE!” He was shaking his head vigorously.

“I KNOW!” I agreed.

“Well …… be back tomorrow,” he said as he trudged off.

He just cracked me up.

All these people …. too damn many of ’em …. makin’ me CRAZY ….well, okay, see you tomorrow.

Just 5 days at Joe’s.

Does anybody watch “The Office” with Steve Carrell as Michael, the wildly inappropriate, totally insensitive boss who thinks he’s nothing but always appropriate and always sensitive? I just started getting into this show. And I know there’s the original British version, but I’ve never seen it and I kind of want to, but then I don’t, because how can I like them BOTH? Is that even possible? Wouldn’t I love one and hate the other?? Would it be …. cheating on the one with the other?? I don’t know! Oh, the dilemma!

The rhythms on the show are so … odd. There’s no laugh track and characters talk to the camera and the tension of the employees is in itself a character on the show. The horror is that Michael has no idea he’s horrible but everyone else does, of course. You wouldn’t think the tension would be funny, but it IS. And Steve Carrell is just brilliant — just won the Golden Globe.

Some snippets from tonight’s show. I wrote these out mostly so I’ll remember the moment. I don’t know if they’ll be funny to you at ALL; the humor is so much in the face and the tone, but to me these little exchanges tonight were hysterical:

Michael (to a Hooter’s waitress): I will have the chicken breast without the chicken.

Waitress (pausing, exasperated): Is that what you really want?

Michael: No, I’ll ….. have the gourmet hot dog.

Waitress (all brusque, stomping off): Great.

Then later —

Michael (to camera): Okay! They took my expense account away from me because I spent $80 at a magic shop. But it was for BUSINESS. I wanted to impress potential clients. Hey — I put a cigarette into a freakin’ quarter! They almost bought from us, ‘kay?!

(Whoops! I meant to put this up this morning, but I forgot. Well, here it is NOW.)

Remember last year, when I live-blogged “American Idol”? And people ACTUALLY made fun of me and such? Showing their utter lack of humanity? And whimsy?

Well, it’s back, you know. “American Idol.” And I know it’s insane. Really, I KNOW.

So, I’m trying to decide …. you see …. WHAT to do ….

But IF I ever live-blog this thing, there will be NO protests or mocking from the gallery. You hear me, gallery!?

Soooo …. I know what! Let’s relive some of my mania from last year — especially my rabid obsession with that odious domestic abuser Scott Savol:

These are random entries. Don’t worry. You needn’t have seen the show. You’ll get the general idea, I’m sure.

(From early in the competition, first time we see Scott):

Next up … Big, big guy named Scott Savol . He thoroughly sucks up to everybody. He’s a rather muttery bloke with no discernible personality. Singing “Superstar” — a song I LOVE. Truly Shocking. This weird guy can actually SING. He mutters when he talks, but SINGS when he sings. Sweet Moses! It’s freaky. That voice coming out of that person. Judges say it’s a YES. Good for you, muttery weird guy!

(THIS one was bizarre):

Oh, Lord. Are you kidding me? A MIME. How I loves me the mimes. Ooh. And she’s clever! She’s holding up a sign. And now …. she’s actually miming Aerosmith. Because nothing says “Aerosmith” like gloves and white face and total silence. Way to go, hon. You’ve offended the iconic artistry of both Steven Tyler and Marcel Marceau. (And I’m actually bugged about the Steven Tyler one.) Simon says, “One of the best I’ve heard today.” haha. Bye-bye, Mimey.

(From weeks later):

Scott, the domestic abuser: Let’s face it. He’s creepy. “She’s Gone” by Hall and Oates, who are in attendance tonight. Opening note is waaay off. Blech. He’s not working those low notes. Come on, dude. Your diaphragm is certainly big enough! (Hmmm … “She’s gone ’cause I beat the crap outta her,” maybe?) Randy: “Scotty, what’s up, baby? You started off rough. The low notes were pitchy.” “You brought it home at the end.” (What does that really mean? You sang it without dropping dead?) Paula: “You did awesome.” Simon: “You’re a nice guy, however, there were more bum notes than good notes. On the whole it wasn’t very good.” THEN … Scott stupidly retorts, “On the other hand, there are millions of people sittin’ at home who didn’t have the nerve to do this, so I think I rock.” (Hmmm, Scott. How ’bout this: On the other hand, there are millions of people sitting at home with better sense than to make stupid asses of themselves on national TV.) Sorry. I truly dislike this guy. Go home go home go home go home ….. To quote what Farmer Hoggett said to “Babe”: “That’ll do, pig.”

(From a week they had sappy “profiles” of each singer):

Scott: (Will his profile mention the domestic abuse? Let’s listen, shall we? Hmm. Wow. It doesn’t. We learn that he’s “sensitive” and they “always thought he’d be a priest.” Also, “He’s had a lot of curve balls, but he’s hit them out of the park.” Really unfortunate choice of words, Ma.) His song is cloying, dreadful. I think he’s actually sweating SYRUP. And not only is he an abuser, but he could be the cause of abuse in others, because I just wanna slap him. Or anyone. Awful. Way off-pitch in places. Criminally badd … Randy: The song … that was your weakest performance in weeks. Paula: Song didn’t do you justice. Simon: I’d pack your suitcase tonight. (Let me help you, hon. I insist.) And ladies, I’d lock the door and hide; Scotty’s coming home.

The Domestic Abuser: “On Broadway” Love this song. He’s singing this because Simon said to pack his bags last week, so he’s singing for spite, I guess. Ooh, he’s imploring us to “Get uuuppp!” (Better do it; don’t want to get him riled now.) He’s basically having a singing hissy fit, which doesn’t look good on anyone. I just can’t stands him. Randy: Some bad notes in there. But every week you seem to come up with just enough. Paula: Have you ever hear the word “moxie”? You have moxie. I loved it! (Yes, yes, Paula. The big boxie oxie has lots of moxie. He lumbers onstage and cries, “I roxie!” Just don’t make ‘im mad or he’ll clean your cloxie … or something slightly less stupid. Hey, this is LIVE!) Simon: You’ve had more escapes than Houdini, but, that aside, that was probably your best performance. (Oh, Simon, how could you? I feel so … so … betrayed. Take your too-tight T shirts and go. Just go.)

(Where I make some especially astute observations about “woo”):

Vonzell: “Treat Me Nice.” She starts off with a big “Wooo.” I’m not a big “wooo” fan, personally. “Wooo’s” usually make promises they just can’t keep. Song is kind of … I don’t know … sigh …. Big finish, etc. Lots o’ cheers. Randy: I’ve had a great record career, but I’ll say that was one of the best performances of that song. That’s how to win this. (Huh? That entire comment is mush to me. I don’t get it.) Paula: Any musical producer would snap you up to be on Broadway. (Too bad it’s not “Broadway Idol,” Paula. A compliment the girl may not really want to hear.) Simon: Um, Randy, we need to have a chat. Over all, I thought it was a bit of a mess. Childish and cutesy. (My sentiments? Woo.)

(And one week’s comments on Carrie and Bo, winner and lucky runner-up):

Bo: “Stand By Me.” Ahhh, love it. But started waahay off key, I think. Oh, dear, Bo. Find that key. Okay, he does. Can’t say much other than he’s good. Randy: You know what I love ’bout’choo? You know how to pick the right song. (And he referred to “bein’ in da dog pound,” again, as he did last week. So we learn that a place that sucks for dogs is great for “American Idol” wannabes.) Paula: (Well, I don’t know. She talked about colors or something. It was very Pebbles Flintstone. Gaba da bada ga.) Simon: You chose the best song by a mile.

Carrie: “Trouble.” Well, she showed some life for a few seconds and ACTUALLY kicked that mic down. Wow. Who needs ol’ Connie McCheese now? She sounds great, I think, but she just doesn’t inspire. She’s a kind of blank to me. An Etch-a-Sketch with a smiley face on it. Randy: That was a great song choice and you sahhnng it. Paula: You had a blast. (Oh, Pebbles.) Simon: Totally agree with Randy. You have to give your fans what they want and that’s what they wanted.

(Where I’m fully hacked off and decide I am the best person to give “American Idol” some advice):

About that Scott Savol, who keeps avoiding his just musical punishment: Look. I’m utterly incapable of seeing him rightly or fairly, I suppose. I have no tolerance for abusers of any kind. Given his background, American Idol is the LAST thing his ego needs. An abuser’s ego knows no bounds and Scott certainly doesn’t need his fed in this overblown, surreal way. I don’t care how purty he sounds when he sings. It’s a character thing for me and his will only suffer further damage by this excessive attention. He needs to be ousted for his own good.

Wow. I just really, REALLY disliked him. I was quite swept away in my own little hoedown of hostility.

So …. do I really want to put myself throu ….. ohh …. wait …. WAIT! HOLD. THE . PHONE.

(Yes, IT’S on and YES, I’m watching it, because there is a little dude right now who is singing “If I Only Had a Brain” from The Wizard of Oz!)

Lord, he is ACTUALLY singing some doo-doos. Like this:

I could while away the hours
Conferrin’ with the flowers
Consultin’ with the rain
doo doo doo doo doodoodoo!
And my head I’d be scratchin’
While my thoughts were busy hatchin’
If I only had a brain

He sang doo-doos, people.

OH, NOOOO! HAS IT SUCKED ME BACK IN!?