Friday Flickr Babe: Keeping up with the Anacronyms.
Beautiful poster for film “Guernsey”, originally uploaded by Limbic.
It’s a film poster! Completely innocent! You might see this hanging in a movie theater lobby whilst taking eight preschoolers on a trip to see Horton Hears a Who. So get over it, already.
As much as I liked Dean’s pic for today, I thought I’d give y’all more to chew on.
D.
Colonic ills and a contest
Added to the list of things I cannot eat: quiche. Too much dairy, I suspect. And would you believe I made the quiche with me in mind, since I made steak for my wife and son, and I can’t eat beef? (Because, um, it does to me what I now discover quiche does to me.)
Sorry, folks, but if I wrote a Thirteen today, it would probably be titled, “Thirteen Cures for Stomach Cramps and Niagara Bowels.” On the upside, today I bought the new Cosmo, so at least y’all have something to look forward to.
Yeah, me too. You women got nothing on me.
Oh. The contest.
Although I’m still pilfering the last contest for book suggestions, I’m always eager to hear about new authors and great books. Here are the rules:
1. In the comments, tell me about one of the last great books you read. No coprolite allowed.
2. It has to be fiction.
3. And it can’t be a book which was named in that last contest.
4. And since I’m feeling cheap, it has to be available at PaperBackSwap.
At random, I’ll choose one commenter as the lucky winner of a $25 gift certificate to the online bookseller of your choice. Yes, that’s less than I forked out for that last contest. I told you I was feeling cheap.
Depending upon how fast the suggestions roll in, we’ll wrap this contest up on Sunday. Have fun!
D.
Tasty pudding
I have internal nazis. If I eat fatty food, I get cramps which keep me up half the night. If I go more than a week without exercising, my lower back tortures me. And then there’s the guilt nazi, who keeps me on the straight and narrow about everything else.
So, no, I haven’t really tried out this panna cotta recipe, but I have it on the authority of my wife and son that this stuff is GOOD. Easy to make, too — that much, I can vouch for.
Hat tip to Kate
Gay Scientists Isolate Christian Gene. And if you really want to laugh, do like my son did and look at all the “hidden” comments (comments that have netted more than six ‘thumbs-down’). For example,
who funds these idiots anyway??
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And don’t forget to check below for the comments to 4000 and Oh, that’s just not right. I wrote a funny I did.
D.
Aging gracelessly
Alternate title: Gracelessland.
It wasn’t enough for 62-year-old Priscilla Presley to covet the face of a twenty-year-old; she also bought into “miracle injections” of auto lube-grade silicone from Argentinian gigolo-doctor Daniel Serrano.
I can’t imagine a worse thing to inject into someone’s face. I can imagine silicone injections, however. Back in training, I treated a young Vietnamese woman who, as a teenager, had silicone injections into her nose to Westernize it. (Low nasal bridge = Asian, high nasal bridge = Caucasian.) She developed recurrent severe inflammation treatable only with antibiotics and steroids, and her nasal bridge had become a scarred mass.
No one in his right mind injects silicone nowadays into any body part — not that I’m aware. If the inflammatory reaction doesn’t get you, silicone granulomas will. And this is medical grade silicone we’re talking about. God only knows what will happen to Ms. Presley’s Dr. Jiffy Lube-injected face.
TMZ.com has even more examples of celebrity plastic surgery nightmares. In fairness, not all of these before-and-afters are hideous. Sylvester Stallone, for example, is just as butt ugly as he ever was; at least he doesn’t look freakier. Dolly Parton — well, no one looks at her face anyway. At the other end of the spectrum are Michael Jackson wannabe LaToya Jackson, Fountain of Youth drowning victim Mickey Rourke (who really should have known better), Surgeon General of Beverly Hills* patient Wayne Newton, and extraterrestrial Joan Rivers.
It seems like most male actors manage to age gracefully. Robert De Niro isn’t trying to look like a 20-year-old. If he had a face lift, his surgeon was an artist — someone who could make a person look younger without leaving him with that “I could bounce a quarter on it!” face. I’ll bet Tommy Lee Jones hasn’t had plastic surgery, and I’d say the same for Morgan Freeman. But Mickey Rourke? Yeesh.
Hollywood isn’t as kind to its female actresses, but these women don’t have to play ingenues all their lives. It’s a losing game, and an unnecessary one. Aging faces didn’t stop Bette Davis or Joan Crawford from working late into their careers, and Lauren Bacall is still at it — and Ms. Bacall has not indulged:
Lauren Bacall, 81 [now 83], recently said she was astounded by the way people were trying to change the way they look. She said: “I have friends who are beautiful women, and they are having liposuction and boob lifts, and I say, ‘What are you doing to yourselves? Stop it!'”
“I disdain this whole youth sickness thing.”
Bravo. Hollywood needs more wrinkly, saggy actors and actresses. And the older I get, the more strongly I feel that way.
D.
*Brownie points for the person who recognizes that reference without googling it.
Oh, that’s just not right.
Gorillas caught doin’ it in the missionary position.
In the first photograph taken of wild gorillas engaging in the behavior, lowland gorillas in Congo nicknamed George and Leah mate face-to-face as Leah’s four-year-old daughter Nancy looks on.
What’s next — pole-dancing orangutans?
D.
4000
US death toll in Iraq hits 4000.
. . . which does not count the number of US soldiers injured.
. . . which does not count the friends and family members of those dead or injured soldiers, folks whose lives have been harmed or ruined.
. . . which does not count dead Iraqi civilians, their friends, their family members.
. . . which does not count the enormous drain on society and the world: think of all the good ways there are to spend a trillion dollars.
Peace.
D.
The original weapon of mass destruction
It’s Blog Against Theocracy Day (weekend, really), the blogosphere’s chance to sharpen the line between Church and State.
The Ark of the Covenant burned scorpions and spiders, zapped unauthorized ark-touchers, won battles. When the Philistines captured the Ark and placed it in Dagon’s temple, the statue of Dagon was found the next morning toppled and shattered, and the people in the region were afflicted by plagues of mice and hemorrhoids. The Ark was one bad-assed WMD.
When the Babylonians ransacked the First Temple, the Ark disappeared from history. Like fragments of the True Cross, lots of folks claim to have the Ark — from the Ethiopian Orthodox Church in Axum, Ethiopia, to the British Israelites who excavated the Irish Hill of Tara. But to my knowledge, the Ark’s trail of hemorrhoids and destruction came to an end sometime around 586 BCE.
Google “Ark of the Covenant” and you’ll find Jewish sites and Christian sites, all manner of people of faith who believe implicitly in the historicity of the Ark. But like so much of the Old Testament (from Solomon on back), independent archaeological evidence is lacking.
Folks who believe in coincidence and innuendo can buttress their faith with the flimsiest evidence. A stone fragment inscribed with the phrase “Bet David” (House of David) validates their belief in King David, and if King David was real, so too Solomon, the First Temple, the Davidic line, Jesus, and all the rest. And some folks don’t even need a chunk of stone:
But it should be noted at the outset that the question of historicity has been safely shunted aside. The historicity of Noah’s Ark cannot be asserted. But the historicity of the second Ark most definitely can be. If the Ark of the Covenant never existed, nobody would have told a pointless story about David dancing in front of it. Even if Noah turns out to be fable, David can never be anything but fact.
If you want to believe in the Ark, be my guest. It’s a free country, thank Flying Spaghetti Monster. (Some time ago, I overheard a conversation between two patients in my waiting room. Both had come in holding their copies of the New Testament so it was only natural they should strike up a conversation. “How about the Shroud?” said one. “Think it’s real?” The other fellow said, “Absolutely.” “Sampling error and contamination error,” said the first one, to which the second fellow said, “Amen.”) But I invite the nonbelievers to entertain the following question:
If the Ark did not exist, why would anyone invent it?
Perhaps this mythical WMD was a story to frighten enemies of the kingdom. Back then, the real thing would have to have been powered by God. God’s might could have been the great equalizer, the hole card which made a losing hand a winner. If the people believed it, they would not lose hope. And if the enemy believed it, they might be that much less inclined to attack.
Funny, isn’t it, how poorly mythical WMDs serve their governments? Then, as now, superstition will only carry a government so far. Eventually, the people or their enemies call out the Wizard of Oz. Eventually, they say, “Show me the money.”
Or, in this case, “Show me the hemorrhoids and mice.”
D.
Hillary is Jesus and other hyperbolic metaphors
New Mexico Governor Bill Richardson endorsed Barack Obama yesterday. Richardson, twice appointed to high level positions under President Clinton, was thought to be firmly in the Clinton camp. How did the Clinton folks respond?
“An act of betrayal,†said James Carville, an adviser to Mrs. Clinton and a friend of Mr. Clinton.
“Mr. Richardson’s endorsement came right around the anniversary of the day when Judas sold out for 30 pieces of silver, so I think the timing is appropriate, if ironic,†Mr. Carville said, referring to Holy Week.
In related news, Senator Clinton’s chief pollster Mark Penn called Richardson’s endorsement “. . . treacherous, but insignificant. More like Axis Sally than Judas, if you ask me.” Political strategist Harold Ickes compared Richardson’s actions “. . . to the despicable behavior of Bobby Klinefelter. In sixth grade, Bobby used to lure me into the janitor’s closet with the promise of a bag of a Cheetos. Then he’d sucker-punch me in the neck and steal my lunch money, the bastard.”
Former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright quipped that Richardson’s endorsement was easily worth less than the deaths of half a million Iraqi children, while former candidate for Vice President, friend of the campaign, and recent HRC Finance Committee member Geraldine Ferraro said, “Frankly, I wouldn’t expect any better from that [expletive and racial epithet deleted.]”
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Sorry about the snarky short. All hell is breaking loose out here, and this is all I got. I do have one question for y’all.
Is 2008 ever going to get any better?
We’ll see about live-blogging tonight. Guess it’ll be pretty obvious if I’m here when you’re here.
D.
Al dente be
Today is Flying Spaghetti Monster day. To celebrate, this Pastafarian has built an FSM statue and received permission for it to be displayed on the courthouse lawn of Crossville, Tennessee.
Read about her stirring spiritual journey . . .
Tonight at dinner as I was staring down at my spaghetti and meatballs I was startled to discover that the remains of spaghetti sauce took the shape of It, the Flying Spaghetti Monster.
It came to me then, that in only a few short weeks, on March 21, is Day of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, followed by six weeks of spaghetti fasting. The six weeks ends with huge festivities on May 1, the Day of National Prayer. It occured to me looking at the holy image of It that stared up at me from my plate that this is indeed a Sign. I sense that I am supposed to build the image of the Flying Spaghetti Monster and display its holy appendages on the Courthouse lawn of my hometown, Crossville Tennessee. There its blessed presence can help all the world celebrate Day of the Flying Spaghetti Monster and the six week fast.
See her build and install her glorious FSM!
Learn how to build your own!
Happy Spaghetti Fast, folks.
D.