Incognito Breeder

Television I Want to See

Are you old enough to remember Battle of the Network Stars? The cast of Happy Days vs. the hosts of That's Incredible in a log-rollin', obstacle coursing, potato-sack racing good time.

I would like to see Battle of the Law and Order All-Stars. Ice-T, Richard Belzer and Mariska Hargitay vs. S. Epatha Merkerson, Sam Waterston and Elisabeth Rohm. Water balloon races, American Gladiator style jousting, and maybe something involving pie eating.

Like Ordering a Pizza

I needed to book my babysitter for this Friday. She's a busy girl. I called her cell phone, she had switched service providers. I called her house, I left a message with her Dad. I really needed to book a sitter before I could confirm my plans. I needed to confirm my plans to proceed. She called me back, I was in the shower. She left her new cell number. By the time I got the message, she was in school and I was in work. I would not be able to confirm my plans until after 3pm. This was unacceptable.

Then, I had an idea.

I sent her a text message. I almost never send text messages. I never think to. But a text message was the perfect means for communicating with a 17 year old as she changes classes.

"BBsit G-Man Fri?"

Fifteen minutes later... "Think so, chk sched, time?"

"8ish"

"Sounds home to ne."

I confirmed my plans. I feel so Paris Hilton.

Conversation at Easter Brunch

(after the cat almost escaped out the front door)

You should get one of those tags, at the PetCo, with the engraving machine, and put your phone number on it—but not their name—in case they escape.

They have those tags, but with their names and our phone number.

Oh, I wouldn't put their names on the tag. Someone could take advantage of that, if he knew the animal's name, he could call it, and the cat would come and someone with bad intentions could just keep your cat.

But if someone would just keep my cat, why would not having the cat’s name deter him?

Well, it would make it more difficult, the cat wouldn’t respond to him.

My cats don’t respond to me unless I’m brandishing a can opener. I don’t think it would matter. If anything, I thought putting a name to a lost animal would make the finder realize that the animal has a pre-existing loving home situation.

It’s like putting a kid’s name on his backpack, it gives an abducter some familiarity with the abductee.

(author’s aside: yes, this did start with a discussion of cat tags)

Yeah, I don’t know. I do that with the G-Man, I don’t put his name on his clothes, but I did tatoo our phone number on his ass.

(pauses for a moment to realize I'm being sarcastic, ignores me ) I just think it’s safer for the animal.

It worked for awhile, but we’ve moved like—what? Six or seven times? The kid is lucky he can sit down. Maybe a microchip would be more effective. My vet offers that.

For the cats?

Cats, kids, anything to keep from having to hang fliers around town.

You’re not right.

Nope. Now have another mimosa, Happy Easter.

Just a Thought

Are bike racks the gold-plated, spinning rims of the Gap set? Am I getting all “Jetta” when I put my Thule fairing up on my $100 Camry? (That's right, I said $100 Camry, I got a price so nice, I could buy it twice.) Who do I think I’m fooling?

I use my racks a couple of times a year, tops. And that’s not counting moving a love seat for a friend, or bringing home a Christmas tree. The basic purpose of a my Thule rack is to represent the ghost of my early twenties, Me: B.G. (Before G-Man) It’s advertisement. It says, I’m white, I own at least one Dave Matthew’s Band CD, I have a college degree, I shop at Trader Joes. Of course, if I had Yakima racks it would also say, I’m a card-carrying, Subaru-driving, white-water-rafting lesbian. But I’m not, so I’ve got the Thules.

Electric Boogaloo, Who Knew…

…in my 30s I would become a hip-hop photographer? Certainly nothing I predicted. If you've got some downtime, check out the pics from the Kool G. Rap show. Word.

The Houseless and Spouseless

It was time the change the masthead, eh? Almost a month past Christmas and I was still sporting the candy canes. Besides, it's my birthday (shameless plug) and that's a good day for change.

I did a Google search for "34 years old" hoping to find something clever to inform the new mast head. I found this link, 'Targeting the 25- TO 34-year old Housless and Spouseless.'

The article is old, not all that interesting, but the headline is inspiring. It's the name for a new nighttime soap opera, NBC's response to Desperate Housewives. It's a cruise to St. Barts, no kids, no marrieds, no talk of refinancing the mortgage or juggling the in-laws. It's the curse laid upon your head by your spinster aunt tired of spending her Saturday nights watching Dukes of Hazzard and making Jiffy Pop for you and your siblings so that Mom and Dad could have "date night." It's the freedom of endless adolescence. It's the promise of dying alone. The other thing about the headline that grabbed me was the age range, 18-34. Today I turn 34. I've got one year left in this demographic. Then what? Then I start getting subscription offers from the AARP? Then my friends and family stop assuming that I'll eventually grow up and write me off as a disaster for all eternity? Then Match.com emails me that at a certain point ads without a picture may get more responses? What? What happens then? When I was 23, just out of college, I worked for a woman, a single mom in her 30s named Judi (with an "i") Judi managed a team of six kids like me, young, fresh-faced, our whole world ahead of us. She wore short skirts and high heels and told of us guys she met playing darts at her local. In Boston, we have a radio show called "Leftover Lunch," all request oldies from noon to 1. I started the design team playing a game called "How Old was Judi When..." and we would guess how old she was when the song on the radio was originally released. I was lucky she didn't plant one of those fuck-me-pumps into my left temple.

I'm about the same age now that Judi was then. I'm a single mom. If I met someone while playing darts at my local, I'm sure I'd tell you all about it. But she could pull off those short skirts and high heels, and for that I owe the woman some props. So tonight, when I'm accepting well-wishes for a happy and prosperous new year, I'm going to order a Sugar Daddy From Miami and offer a belated toast to Judi from her sister Houseless and Spouseless, I.B. Me.

Domestic Dirty Work

Helpful hints from your White Trash Martha (that's me)

You know that scummy crap that you find at the bottom of your kitchen trash can? The wrappers and apple cores that never quite found their way into the liner bag, the kitty litter that spilled over the edge, the slimy film of liquid from that-we-cannot-identify? Here's the White Trash Martha way to clean that all up without getting icky up to your elbows.

1. Take the liner bag out and put it out with the trash.
2. Fill the scummy kitchen barrel with about a foot of water. Yes, the scummy wrappers and chicken bones will float about like a Fear Factor stew. Not to worry, see step 3.
3. Take your kitchen barrel outside. Yes, I am assuming that it is winter where you are and that winter where you are is cold. Is it 70 degrees where you are? Well then, tough titties, Tina, you're on your own then.
4. Leave barrel outside overnight. Watch a movie, have a beer, sleep in late.
5. When the water has iced over, flip your barrel over and drum the bottom. The ice block should fall out, with the nasties all frozen into the block.
6. Pick up the ice block, place it into a liner bag and put it out with the trash.
7. Spray some Lysol in your kitchen barrel and bring it back in the house. All done!

It's a Good Thing.

It's Just Me, Huh?

That new H2 commercial for Hummer... the one with the mom dropping her kid off at the new school... have you seen it?

They're approaching the school, we don't know they're in a Hummer yet, and mom offers to drop the kid off on the corner. He declines. Then we see the kid, kind of nerdy, walk past the cool punks in front of the school. Nerdy kid seems pretty confident, good for him. Cool punk says, "nice ride."

In that moment between "nice ride," and the shot revealing Mom in the H2, am I the only one who thought the cool punk was referring to the new kid's mom?

Yeah, I thought so.

Doin' the Bump and Grind

Dick and John appearing briefly in the Farrelly Brothers' cojoined twins comedy, Stuck on You

So, they never met.

And Cheney never tried to tie Iraq to 9/11. Hmmm, that's not how Tim Russert remembers it. On "Meet the Press," Cheney said that Iraq was the "geographic base of the terrorists who have had us under assault now for many years, but most especially on 9/11." Then Dick continued to push his Big Lie in stump speeches as recently as last month. Edwards' failure was in not calling him on it.

However, worst performance last night has to go to Wonkette. Did anyone catch NBC anchor dude Tom Brokaw going to the "Bloggers" for post-debate spin? First off, NBC, its "WEBLOG"—ONE FREAKIN' WORD. Not "web log" which is a report on your vistors and traffic, etc. This is kind of basic, right? Second, I love the Wonkette, but what was that giggle mess she fell into on live TV?? Yes, Dick looks like the Stay-Puf Marshmellow Man. Yes, that's a funny visual. But you can't collapse into laughter at your own cleverness on live TV. Nope, not allowed. Giggle later with your girls. There is no giggling in campaign politics. Granted, Mary Matlin could save what's left of her soul by adding a little giggle to her life, or by learning to shape her eyebrows, but I digress. I don't even know who the conservative blogger was, but at least he didn't come off like he was reporting from study hall after a big bong hit with the band geeks. Did they pay product placement for those big Apple iBooks featured prominently on both bloggers' laps? They should have.

So, to recap, fair to middlin' night for the Veeps, bad night for blogs, good night for Apple. Evil eyebrows are most definitely out.