All you can eat

So apparently the world championship for karaoke singing (you knew there was one, right?) was in Moscow this year. Some guy from New Mexico won (Usher: "DJ Got Us Fallin' In Love," if you want to know). The prize: a million dumplings.

It seems wrong, somehow, that the gastroenterologist was only the runner-up.

There's video somewhere, but it's not that interesting. At least not compared to what I was imagining, which was that the guy finishes his song and, instead of applause, he's promptly buried under an avalanche of the entire doughy prize at once.

Possibly this idea was prompted by vague memories of this cartoon.



(If you have ambivalent feelings about Eastern European dumplings in general, perhaps you can relate to the kreplach joke.)

and lest we forget:

The Internets IS Srs Bzns. As is Life, the Universe, and Everything. And where better to go for a healthy reminder of this Truth than the fanwank community. Maud bless us, every one.

p.s. my ponies hate you, too.

Paging Tippi Hedren

Aggro bird dive bombs pedestrians, smacks 'em in the head.

That's not fresh at -all-, no.

Fifteen sexist vintage ads. mmMMMmm, Lysol douche. No, seriously, they did.



See, that proves it, though: it's -good- to use "douchebag" as an insult, because what you're actually saying is

"Dave? I need you like I need Lysol in my cooch. Byieeeeeeee!"

h/t various folks on Twitter including Neil Gaiman.

ETA: if you're interested in this kind of thing, Pink Think has more. and yes, I believe the book includes the Lysol douche ad, albeit not that particular iteration, with the locks.

The RETURN of Engineers And Cats (Yodeling)!

You don't want to get left behind.

Overheard in the neighborhood chocolate shop/cafe today:

"I don’t drink because I do terrible things when I’m drunk. Once this guy was hitting on me, and I pushed him through a plate glass window, head first. Nothing happened though. And I say all these racist things! Only when I’m drunk. But when I get drunk I just…say anything. Is that part of me? I don’t want to be a racist, so I don’t drink."

Well, that certainly livened up the evening

So I just get this phone call, right.

"[My RL first name!]"

I go, naturally enough, it being my first name and all,

"Yes?"

The tone is familiar, but I don't recognize the voice...

"It's David! How are you, darling?"

"David!..." I repeat, trying frantically to remember if I still know any Davids.

As he continues to talk, I figure, oh, shit, of course, it's one of those stupid salespeople trying a new trick, I hate that shit, I'm
about to hang--wait, WHAT?

"...I've got the photos. Something mumble crushing the bugs with the Manolo Blahniks."

"I beg your pardon?" I say, as politely as I can.

A slight pause.

"Is this [my first name?]"

Me, slightly wary now, even though I've already said "yes."

"Um..."

"[My first name] [a last name that's not remotely mine]?"

Ah. "No, I'm sorry."

"Oh, you're kidding. Is this San Francisco?"

"Yes."

"Is this...[gives a phone number that isn't mine, although close]"

"No, I'm afraid it's not."

"Oh, my God. I'm sorry..."

Me, laughing, even as I'm thinking this is probably a mistake,

"Well, you got it partly right..."

"Oh, your name is [my first name?] Oh, you're kidding..."

"Mm. Anyway, it -was- the wrong number, so--"

"I'm a photographer. From England."

"Yes, well, it -was- the wrong number, try again, and good luck with that," and I hung up.

***

So, whether this was some weirdass crank call or a weirdass semi- coincidence: how many times do you get some random caller talking to you about crush porn? With Manolo Blahniks, yet. I mean, as these things go, it's a lot more interesting than heavy breathing...

So, in human development class

the instructor read us some letters from a case study, a kid he'd actually treated, but was also a crime investigation.

Basically this was one high school student stalking another, for years. He read us some of the letters that he'd anonymously sent the other boy and had been given to the police.

The early ones went like:

well, no, I won't recreate them, because you know what, I haven't been stalked like that? and even for me, it was really hard to listen to them. Rather detailed and explicit threats and demands (to wear specific pieces of clothing, it was obvious that he really was monitoring the other student VERY closely), and elaborations on how exactly the one student planned to kill the other. Apparently at one point he'd actually followed through to the point of slitting a candy bar down the seam, filling it with rat poison, and leaving it in the other student's car. (He didn't eat it).

Needless to say, the family, and the school were rather frantic.

A year goes by, and then the student gets another letter:

(from recreation, roughly)

"Dear ___, I hope you don't think I've forgotten about you. I've been thinking about you more than ever. But this time, I'm not going to threaten you. I've been doing some thinking. I've come to a realization. I love you. You are the most beautiful, gorgeous, Adonis like..."

and so on. well, and then still with the "requests" that he meet the stalker at something like, either Tuesday, May the 8th or Friday the somethingth. at 2:14 or at 5 pm respectively; if on Tuesday, wearing the orange shirt with the __ team logo, if on the Friday... you get the idea.

and then, finishing off with, "with selfless and pure devotion" (as taken from the Webster definition of "love," which the kid made sure to include).

Well, I mean, this isn't exactly news, that stalkers have this uhm thin line between love and hate. The details were rather fascinating in a horrid way, though.

So, eventually, they caught him, and the instructor got to treat the offender--reluctantly, because, well, understandable: hi, what if he decides to change the object of his stalkerish affection to -him-? it's a real possibility...

we didn't get to many details after that, but one was: apparently, the kid had a pet.

We were asked to guess what the pet was. "A snake, a pit bull...a rock."

Nope.

A goose.

Have you ever seen a goose? he asks. They're MEAN. They hiss, and they spit...

so, the kid's been keeping this -goose- in his house, in his room, shitting all over everything, honking, you know.

And, he brings the goose to family therapy, along with the raging violent alcoholic dad (surprise) and whoever else.

So every time the father tries to speak, the goose starts honking at him and beating him up...

Yeah, I know why I changed from theatre: this is MUCH more unlikely than any shit I could've made up.

"...and such small portions."

From the "one doesn't know quite what to say" department (but is glad others are on the ball): the comic stylings of one Dick Hafer, as presented by Ethan Persoff, who collects such things.

Specifically: Teh Gay Is Terrible, Let Me Tell SHOW you it. In graphic detail. For pages and pages and...

"We'll continue to discuss male sodomites primarily. Lesbians do many of the same acts, but rely on mechanical devices also, such as penis-shaped electric vibrators."

Starting with: kissing, which apparently involves swapping spit. And then...THE ORAL SEX!!

shocking innit. "bless."

oh yeah, and then there are all kinds of other disgusting things, most of which do NOT involve any clear eyed gazing whatsoever.

it's a sick sad woild...

thanks for the (offblog) h/t, Lisa.

ETA: apparently it made Boing Boing.

Diner

"...so he's all like, 'I'm a good person! I run an orphanage for children with AIDS in Africa!' And I'm all, 'that doesn't make you a good person, that makes you--'"

The counter guy glances over at me.

"I'll be with you in a second. I'm in the middle of a heated story."

"I know, I'm listening to the heated story," I smile.

The guy winds up with a flourish, and the three or four people he'd been declaiming to get up from the booth. Laughter and goodbye kisses all around. Counter guy finally comes over to me as they head out. I'm ready to order, but he's still in narrative mode:

"So I'm talking to this guy, right? We're having a normal conversation about politics, stuff like that. And so then I say, blah when I was at the gun show with my boyfriend, and he goes, 'You were at a -gun show-?' '...Yeah?' 'Why? Why?' 'Because we go hunting,' and he goes -nuts.- 'How can you -do- that? You get off on killing!' and I'm like, 'nnnooo, it's just something we do, I grew up in the country, me and my family used to go on hunting trips, we eat what we kill...' And then he's all, 'You're a bad person! I'm a better person than you!' --I think this is where you came in..."

"Where was this?" I interrupt.

"He was sitting literally right where you are. And then so he's all, 'if I had a gun I'd shoot you right now!'"

"...Oh, shit! This just happened?"

"--What? No, Monday night. So then I'm like, okay, you say you're a good person but you just threatened to kill me."

"Yyyyeah, wow, maybe 'do not engage' at that point...craziness."

"I swear, I was going to hit him. I wanted to hit him. I had to walk away at that point. --Are you ready to order?"

I give him what's already become my usual: creature of habit, me. Rare cheeseburger, no mayo, scoop of cottage cheese on the side, coke. As he's going to put in the order, I say, because I'm hooked too at this point:

"So, first of all, he's morally opposed to hunting for food, but he's in a diner..."

"Oh, yeah, he's going on and on about how he's a vegan, and I'm thinking, I didn't say it, those french fries you're eating? Were fried in the -same- oil as the scallops, the chicken...and I was like, haha, I win."

"And then of course there's the whole, 'I'm going to kill you.'"

"I know, right? You hate guns, but if you had a gun you'd shoot me. Okay!"

"Crazy."

Someone else puts the juke on, or perhaps it goes on randomly. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, 'Man.'

I got a man who makes me wanna kill
I got a man who makes me wanna kill
I got a man he makes me wanna UGH
I got a man who makes me wanna kill
There he is. There he is. There he is. There he is....

Simultaneously, a police siren wails in the distance. The synchronicity gods are happy today.

The guy brings me my burger.

"I swear, I'm a little guy? but when I get angry, I get really angry. I will kick your ass. I totally wanted to hit him. He's, like, got no neck, he's got those gym shoulders that go all the way up to his head? I had to walk away."

"Seems smart."

"My friend wrote a letter to the manager saying how well I handled it."

He turns to another counter person, one I haven't met yet, just starting his shift apparently.

"People are getting crazier. Yesterday, this woman says, 'I'm not gonna pay for this. I didn't finish eating it and he took it away.' And we're all, yes, but you said you were done, and when we asked if you wanted it to go, you said no.' 'I didn't eat it, so I'm not gonna pay."

I take a bite of my burger. Nice and red and juicy, just the way I like it.

Quote of the day, 8/1/08

from the comments of this post:

"critics of porn and sex work often bring to the table their own notions of what sex is and take that as normative."

--Linnaeus

I think you may have a point there. This was initially my problem at least. Then I saw pie porn and I figured that if a banana cream pie actually aroused people, then I have no useful frame for other people's sexual desires.

--Kristen, responding

I love Kim. I do.

.


Haunted and stalked by crayfish, bless her. Show some love.


.

MAKE WAY FOR DUCKLINGS!

I used to love that book as a kid.** And last week, it's happened for reals.

thanks for sharing, Lina. too sweet.

**the Wiki review is cracking my shit up. "Poor characterization?"

Critics note that the "loosely plotted" story gives no true explanation for why Mr. Mallard leaves the island in the Charles River or why the Mallards did not simply stay on the lagoon island in the first place and avoid the bicyclists on the shore.

Yes, personally, I prefer your more gritty, naturalistic, three-dimensional duck stories. However, in a more deconstructionist reading, we see that in fact Mr. Mallard is merely a symbol of the war-torn country's existentialist anxieties; in fact, in an era of mass displacement, there IS no "true explanation" for one's actions, no way of guaranteeing one can forever evade the bicyclists, and thus we may understand Mr. Mallard's decision to leave the island as an absurdist expression of protest in a meaningless...okay I really need to stop that now.

"...was accused of doing inappropriate things to a quokka"

They really do have more interesting scandals in Oz. From Rebecca at Burning Words:

Just when one thought Western Australian state politics couldn’t get any weirder.

After a couple of weeks in which Opposition Leader Troy Buswell has been widely derided and mocked for sexually harassing a staffer by crawling around on the floor, making sexual noises, and sniffing her chair, and somehow managed to prevent a leadership spill on Monday, it gets worse…

He’s now been accused of doing inappropriate things to a quokka. (For the Americans, a quokka is a small furry animal native to WA)

I have no words.

Um, me neither. It is a -great- catchphrase, though, one to ring off pub rafters down through the ages, I've no doubt.

and, no, I don't know what -which- inappropriate things, or what WOULD be appropriate things to do to a quokka. And, I don't want to know, and you can't make me.

Whoa. Damn. Well, that spells out a subtext I've always picked up on in a number of contexts rather refreshingly, at least

A comment at this post at Renegade Evolution's on Sex and Power--and the whole post as well as the ongoing discussion is rich and I can't do it all justice here, please do check the whole thing out--anyway, I did get pulled up short by this comment:

Charisma is bad. It's a talent that some people are either born with or learn (usually both), but they should be ashamed to use it.

Many, perhaps most, of the skills that people are taught under the heading of "public speaking" should actually be called "using charisma in public speaking" and they are detestable skills.

Charisma is essentially the encouragement of certain biases.

Using sexual power is generally a form of charisma.

Charisma is inherently exploitative EVEN IF YOU'RE USING IT FOR GOOD (like to persuade people to do the right thing). Things like mathematical ability or athleticism can be used in an exploitative manner but are not inherently so.

And, putting aside the main gist of the OP, i.e. the sex part--or rather, -besides- that, my immediate first thought was:

"Okay. Now I finally understand how Ralph Nader's candidacy happened."

Seriously, though, this has been a theme I've noticed in the loosely-defined Left (and no, I don't know where the commenter is coming from politically, I'm just extrapolating) in general. I...can't unpack all of it at the moment? But it's about more than sex or personal charm there, yes; it's also, I want to say, probably not unrelated to the deep suspicion of religious and spiritual movements, particularly (hello) the "charismatic" ones. And yeah, as here, it seems to stem from a sort of...well, there's a set of assumptions here, isn't there. About what's a "bias" (hey, since when are the valuing of mathematical prowess or being good at sports not related to cultural bias?) and what isn't, and whether one can or should avoid "biases" in the first place, and...

-ponders-

well, among other things, there's an implicit appeal to a sort of Gradgrindism here, isn't there? Like, it's -bad- to use one's charm or sense of humor or oratory skills or, well, whatever it is that makes people appealing to listen to; therefore, -good- would be the person who appeals -solely- to Pure Logic and Reason and -Facts.- Yes, this is a perfectly -rational- way of going about making one's case; even or especially if -it doesn't actually work.-


Because, hey, if it -worked- -too- well, you know, if you actually -achieved- what you were trying to do, especially if that had to involve -changing peoples' minds- and -getting power- and -making decisions-, that might be exploitive, -too-, and...

yeah, more later.

Dude, seriously, though: is the moon in "Show Your Ass," or what?

Just, it's been kind of an -interesting- week or so, you know?

"Women suck. Call your mother."

Natalia has a post up fisking some Russian Orthodox Christian writer/misogynist ass-stain. Thanks for sharing, Natalia.

I was just saying: it is true that we don't grow 'em quite like that over here; or at least such voices don't take quite that tone on the public stage.

The 8th of March is, in these present times, referred to as a “women’s day…”

So, we celebrate the woman, because she is woman. This has nothing to do with some sort of feminine goodness, which is, in any case, impossible, since there is no such thing. If a woman is capable of having any good qualities they are the same as the good qualities of a man, but weaker and less developed, because a woman’s nature is more severely compromised by sin.

Generally, these days, ime, even our most noisome fundamentalist fuckwits don't take quite this line, at least on that public a platform; it tends to be more, "nonono, the difference between the sexes as well as between masculinity and femininity (which is totally the same thing) is beautiful and natural, no one is saying women are INFERIOR, woman was made to be man's helpmeet but also vice versa, it's totally romantic to be half a person so that your 'other half' can complement you in such profound ways as wearing a different hairstyle, doing the laundry or fixing the engine, going to work or staying home, penetrating or receiving, etc. Oh, and those roles can never, ever change, even when they do."

For one thing, they can't really afford to go on too much about the inferiority of womens' nature; besides the fact that a lot of their (female) base would eat them alive, it tends to sort of put a crimp in the whole "gay marriage is the biggest threat to our civilization ev0r." Why? Well, you take that attitude too far and the next thing you know, some men might start to get ideas. Who wants to remain joined in matrimony to an inferior being when he could be with his fellow man? --ooh, unless the U.S. Religious Right decides that Teh Gay is the lesser of two ev0ls and starts encouraging gay marriage as a way to crush feminism! Totally possible! Likely, even. Maybe some putative leftist and/or feminist should make a timely, satiric movie about it, that'll help matters.

actually, I've no idea, but I was delighted to stumble across this evidence that I was correct: teh Gay Marriage IS directly threatening to straight marriage precisely because people who otherwise would have stayed in their hetero partnerships might, without the threat of stigmatization and loss of legal rights and privileges, actually leave to go be with a member of the same sex:

It may come as a surprise to many people, but homosexual unions often have a more direct impact on heterosexual marriages than one would think. For example, the Boston Globe reported June 29, 2003, that "nearly 40 percent" of the 5,700 homosexual couples who have entered into "civil unions" in Vermont "have had a previous heterosexual marriage."

Of course, it could be argued that many of those marriages may have ended long before a spouse found their current homosexual partner. And some may assume that no opposite-sex spouse would want to remain married to someone with same-sex attractions. Nevertheless, the popular myth that a homosexual orientation is fixed at birth and unchangeable may have blinded us to the fact that many supposed "homosexuals" have, in fact, had perfectly functional heterosexual marriages. And as Globe columnist Jeff Jacoby points out, "In another time or another state, some of those marriages might have worked out. The old stigmas, the universal standards that were so important to family stability, might have given them a fighting chance. Without them, they were left exposed and vulnerable."

...you see.

But, anyway. So meanwhile, over in what remains of the Ev0l Empire, I guess, there's this other doofus who's spouting delightful insights like this:

I have to admit: the natural qualities of woman - for example, the ability to give birth, or, even more so, the ability to be a mother, raise children, and so on - may, perhaps, deserve respect and even admiration, though not in the form of a holiday. But this isn’t what we are talking about anyway; we would then celebrate Mother’s Day, or something along the same lines. Oh no, we are talking about the feminine in its most basic form. We are, factually, admiring the qualities of the feminine soul and body of the lowest, most sinful caliber. Female breasts, genitals, the womb - this is what we worship when we worship “woman.”

...and we certainly can't have THAT.

and then:

Women are given flowers, and the givers know well that a flower is a plant’s genital organ, opening up to be fertilized. A flower is a symbol of tempting lust. This is actually why having little flowers on your balconies is a sin, an innocent-seeming bouquet is an honest symbol of orgiastic sin, of group sex, and any interest or delight one might take in flowers is therefore sinful.

...If you can smell a rose, this means you won’t be too disgusted to smell the unmentionable body parts of a woman - because this, at its essence, is the same thing.

*

My African violets keep dying on me. I thought all this meant was that they're kind of not the hardiest of flowers, and/or that I don't have much of a green thumb. It would now appear, however, that I am in deep shit. (makes mental note to call ob/gyn and/or botanist at earliest convenience)

It also rather delicious that this...person, who is virulently opposed to the former Soviet regime under which he grew up, understandably, no doubt, has the same morbid suspicion of roses as did the militant CP hardliners who told Orwell that growing roses was 'bourgeois' and thus suspect.

...oh, please read Natalia's fisk of the whole thing, I can't possibly do it justice. Hell, I can't even read the original (alas).

Just, one more bit, possibly my favorite:

If you want to spend this day as a human being, and not as a lustful animal, call your elderly mother, or, better yet, grandmother. If you believe, if only a little bit, remind them of how short life is and of that eternity that awaits for us beyond the threshold, of the terrible God’s Judgment, and of how what we must do and how we should live, to have hope in His mercy to us.

I have to confess, I was relieved at the follow-up part about how the reason you're calling is to remind Mom/Grandma that she's probably going to hell, and this is why you didn't buy her any flowers, so as to avoid leading her into further perdition.

Because, this sentence, by itself alone?

If you want to spend this day as a human being, and not as a lustful animal, call your elderly mother, or, better yet, grandmother.

...you know, there are some places you just don't even want to go.

"Sweetie. Your Freudian slip is showing. Actually, it's puddled around your ankles. Bless."

the call is coming from inside the house.

Tom Cruise is from head Org and he's here to help.

We are the authorities on, getting people off drugs, we are the authorities on the mind. We are the authorities on improving conditions. Crimanon, we can rehabilitate criminals. Way to happiness, we can bring peace, ahh, uhh, and unite cultures...that...you know, whatever, it's like: We're here to help.

on edit: the Compleat Suppresive Parody video page.

gremlins

Is there an "uncanny valley" for sounds?

Because, there's a distinctly -odd-...something...that's only audible in the bedroom, these last couple of nights. At first I was convinced that someone was playing the TV or the radio, because it sounded just enough like the rising and falling patterns of speech, with appropriate pauses, but--maddeningly!--just low enough to not be able to make out what was being said, or even what language.

Then I tried to figure out where it might be coming from, since at four in the morning it was getting a bit old. So I tracked it to where I -thought- it was coming out of--sure enough, someone on the floor above playing what sounded like the news in a foreign language, loud enough to be heard through the front door. I knocked and asked her politely to turn it down. She apologized and did. I went back home. No change.

So then I figure it must be the pipes or the radiator, after all. It's wintertime, or nearly, old buildings make a lot of weird sounds as they creak into warmth.

Except...I can hear the pipes. It's -not- the same sounds. They're going right now. They don't sound like that. And, I never hear that particular sound in the rest of the apartment, or during the daytime, like now. Only in the bedroom. At night. In the dark.

i'm sure it's nothing really

And no, it is not a steady pound-pounding coming from somewhere beneath the floorboards.
I'm fine.

That yellow wallpaper's really got to go, though.

"P" is for Patriarchy, Pornstitution, and PENGUIN

(i KNEW it!! selfish hedonistic bastards, never once gave a thought to the penguins suffering in Antarctica, now see what you've done?)

via Jill Brenneman:

Penguins are turning to prostitution