Welcome to Paradise!

Kids, the Age of Aquarius is over, and we've moved onto Paradise!!!


Yes, it's the Kimball "Paradise", with even MORE bells & Whistles!!! Beguine, Samba, Disco Rock, Slow Rock, Mambo AND MORE!!!

and OODLES of new "one touch" chords, as well as a great "wah wah" level.

You can imagine how thrilled we are.

Ladies and Gentlemen, We now present....

Quite simply, the best cartoon ever: The Three Little Bops

CBS Premeire Week!

Every morning, as I get ready for work, I have the radio on. This week a series of spots is featuring something called "Premiere Week" on CBS. To a person of taste and breeding, a premiere is something you dress up and go out to a theatre for, so I have had to fight the urge to rush home and change every night.

These radio spots have been annoying me every day, but the last two days have REALLY annoyed me.

Yesterday, we get the tantalizing news that "Jericho" was premiering. "Jericho" is about some folksy folks in a small Kansas town that get all plucky and self-contained after a nuclear bomb takes out Kansas City, or some such nonsense.

It plays into that small town fairy tale that they all would do JUST FINE if those awful, dirty, liberal-and-foreigner infested big cities (meaning the county seat and up) would just go away. (In reality, they'd kill each other once the Wal-Mart was looted.) This show seems to make no mention of the radioactive fallout and airborne pollutants that would be released in that scenario, but I'm sure Jesus would be there to wave all that away. We are talking about Kansas, after all.

This morning, the inanity continues. These spots are scripted and presented as a hip guy (who is really, really, REALLY into CBS) chatting with some idiots about the "buzz" that is being generated by those wonderful TV shows. All of his "buddies" sound like the type of people you might find at a Cheesecake Factory, or a TGIF.

So tonight, is the "premiere" of that tired old piece of real estate, "Survivor". This year, the tribes are separated by race, and the kids in the ad are giddy about it, just giddy - but one ditz does mention, in as serious voice as one of that intellect can muster, that "it's quite controversial", which adds a nice murrow-esque touch to the spot, don't you think?

But worst of all is the talk surrounding the "premiere" of "SHARK".

"SHARK" is yet another offering in that tired, tired scenario of the maverick professional who plays by his own rules (like the infamous "House", which I tuned into by accident thinking is was something about decorating. Instead, it's about a crabby doctor).

SHARK is an attorney who used to be a defense attorney but now has apparently had some sort of Republican Epiphany (which I'm sure has something to do with the un-avenged death of a child or old person), and has become a prosecutor.

In the ad, we are breathlessly told we are going to hear a clip (so we won't get confused and think we are suddenly eavesdropping on real attorneys), and then hear a doubtlessly tough-as-nails female prosecutor, with that canniness that is common to type says to SHARK something like "You're just here to clear your conscience!" and he snarls back some sort of mutual unpleasentry about having seen the light or some such drivel.

Personally, I can't wait until "Premiere Week" is over. This tiara is killing me, and I really need to get all the vomit out of my ermine. But we have one more day to muddle through....

Just when I was starting to like Omaha...

I find out that there is John Galt Boulevard there.

John Galt is the main character in Atlas Shrugged - that stupid, stupid, stupid novel by Ayn Rand that some backwards adults consider to be a Work of Great Political Importance.

Ayn Rand, while odious, wouldn't set foot in a town like Omaha. So there, you ass-kissers.

I mean, really.....

Oh for Christ's sake....

Whatever happened to the good old days when teens stopped going to church, and focussed on sex and drugs? Please tell that all teens are not Jesus Freaks

Vengence is mine!

You'll remember the hideous, unprovoked attack I was telling you about. The one where the yellowjackets viciously set upon me while I was innocently trying to prune a shrub? Well, those yellowjackets have learned that they picked on the wrong Catalina Vel-DuRay. Or they would have learned that if it were't for the fact that they're DEAD!!!

I'm happy to report that, after massive chemical attacks and onslaught with a pickaxe, the stump that housed their evil little enclave is GONE GONE GONE. The shrub that was hiding the stump has been trimmed back to a stub (It was a bizzare combination of a hawthorne tree and a laurel, we think. With a healthy dose of Ivy, of course) and we can all have a fresh start.

It's too bad that we had to resort to such crass tactics, but you know how it is with animals.

Have You Had Enough?

Although I'm not an "eastsider", and I don't think that many of you dear readers are either (juding from the lack of taste on that side of the lake) I thought this was too clever NOT to post. Thanks to the Stranger Slog for turning me onto it.

Ann-Margaret Break!

enjoy everyone!

I barely escaped with my life.....

Dear Readers, The sky is just a little bluer this morning, the coffee a bit more coffee-ish, and the song of life sings that much stronger after my Brush With Death over the weekend.

Just imagine it: There I was, working in the yard, minding my own business, trying to get this rotted, ivy-covered stump out of the way so that we could chop down this overgrown bush that was cruelly choking one of our rhodedendrons. (For those of you familiar with the grounds of Chez Vel-DuRay, it's right over there by the non-working hot tub)

Suddenly, I was swarmed by yellow jackets who had the audacity to think they could have a hive in the aforementioned stump!!!

I of course turned tail and ran, but being the concerned pet owner I am, I wanted to make sure that these horrible, vulgar bugs would not go after Shadow (the stately middle-aged Dachshund, who is allergic to stings) so I had to make sure he got in the house before I could take shelter (I figured that there was a lot more of me to go after than him, and more than one sting might actually kill him, which would have put a real crimp in the weekend)

When all was said and done, I had seven stings. Luckily, none of them were on the face, or any other area not covered by a turn-of-the-century swimsuit, so I am presentable for the office (Today's World Magazine insists on employees being both the height of fashion AND attractive) Not that we wear turn-of-the-century swimsuits in the office, but you get the idea.

The Colonel forced me to take two Benadryls which did help quite a bit, but have the effect of knocking me on my ass, which was fine as it was time for a lovely afternoon nap anyway.

But there you have it. Let it be a lesson to your, dear readers - gardenning is not all it's cracked up to be.

Atlas Shrugged led me to a Revelation!

Dearest ones, I struggle no more. Last night I finally gave up on "Atlas Shrugged". I wouldn't have minded if it were a serious political book, or a well-written story, but it was neither. It is just a boring, heavy-handed, mess of a book, and I'll have no more of it. (Although I might look at the Cliff notes to see who ends up getting raped)

But it did help me to come to a revelation of sorts: GENERALLY SPEAKING, liberals have a better work ethic. The way that the old bat rips on what I assume to be liberals in this stupid, stupid book made me take a look around, and that's how I came to that conclusion.

I should note that by "liberals" I don't mean your average hippy twentysomething selling beads who calls in late because of too much partying. I mean everyday folks in the working world.

Just yesterday afternoon, at Today's World Magazine (My employer) I saw a great example of this: A task came through that was assigned to one of the office conservatives (unfortunately, we have several). We had already been told we could leave at 3pm IF we had our work done, and he had already logged out in anticipation of that. He didn't want to log back in because then people would "see his IM and start bugging him". So his liberal team partner (let's call her the Director of Fashion) just bit the bullet and did it for him, thus saving his ass AND providing the company with doubtless MILLIONS in revenue over the holiday weekend.

Likewise, the Colonel (who is sort of Roosevelt liberal) has a GAY REPUBLICAN co-worker. The Colonel goes the distance at his job - particularly when it comes to the staffing on the train, because that makes a big difference in passenger's experience (Technically, a train CAN go out without a bartender, but where's the fun in that? You might as well buy a couple of 40 ouncers and hop a freight. Also, the company would lose several thousand dollars in revenue from the bar if were that to happen). The GAY REPUBLICAN resents his efforts, because that means it's expected of him as well, and always tells him "That's not our job", and has threatened to "go on a medical".

Two antcedotes, to be sure, but in talking with my friends (mostly all liberals), I hear the same story a lot: The liberals are the ones who get the job done, and make the world go 'round. The Conservatives sit on their ass and make excuses - just look at Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld for global examples on that. They whine more than the worst middle manager at the most disenfranchised K-Mart EVER.

So thank you, Miss Rand - you odious, odious hack, for helping me to realize that your minions, and people like them, are the true leeches on society. I guess I'm not so sad they communists didn't get you after all.

Especially for the Professor

It's a Joey Heatherton Break!

What better way to start the long weekend?

A Break from the bleak world of Ayn Rand

So you've heard me gas on about the Westinghouse Roaster. But Here's somebody else's rapturious account - along with information about all the hard-to-find accessories.

In other pallette-cleansing news, it's the long weekend! As a person with a grandfather and a mother who were union members (as well as another grandfather who was not a member of a union and was blinded in an industrial accident and left to fend for himself, and as such died in poverty) I would like you to, sometime over the weekend, lift your glass to the people who made the middle-class possible: Union workers.

And don't forget, both the Colonel and The Greek are union members, and you wouldn't want them to feel left out now, would you?

So just do that little bit of homework, would you? And have a gracious weekend. See you at the end-of-summer Dinner Dance at the Elk's Club!

Sharing the pain: My saga continues

God, I hate "Atlas Shrugged"

Okay, Okay, I know I'm going at this with some baggage, and you've heard it all before. I've tried to compensate for that but this book is SO ANNOYING. If it wasn't from the library, I would be throwing it against the wall every night after I've finished my penance.

Last night we were introduced to a whole cast of annoying characters: The guy who owns the steel mill - a visionary who is stifled by his truly dreadful family: His mother (Rand seems to have a thing against mothers - they are either dead or should have died a long time ago), his awful brother, his awful wife, and some milquetoast friend.

They all berate Our Hero after he has had just a ducky day making some new steel that no one has ever made before to run the choo-choos that everyone is still taking. At first, I thought I might find a little sympathy for the steel guy, but - just like everyone else in a Rand novel - he is an asshole.

That's the thing of it: There's no one likable in this book. There was hardly anyone likeable in "The Fountainhead either, although I kind of liked Ellsworth Toohey, and I ADORED Dominique Francon. I liked her dad also. He kind of reminded me of my Dad. The only one who has even the slightest glimmer of hope for me is the lady who runs the railroad with the awful brother - and that may just be because I like to ride the train.

Except for her (so far) "Atlas Shrugged" is set in a world where everyone is an idiot, except for the assholes. There's evidentially some sort of global depression going on as well, as people keep commenting moreosely on "the condition" and "how bad things are nowadays". Nothing like a bunch of whiners to really perk up the day.

So that's Chapter Two. only 1000 pages more to go (I had originally said 1500 but I was wrong. Thank God) I don't know how much more of this book I can take: After all, I'm not as young as I look, and I think My Old Condition (Dropsy? Housemaid's Knee? That Old Football Injury?) might be flairing up. I might need to just sit on the deck for a few days and drink beer.