Kimopolis

My kind of town.

Archive for the ‘Because I Said So’ Category

If I were the text messaging type, I might have named this category IMO or IMHO. However, I am FAR too verbose to even attempt to encapsulate my brilliance into a smattering of abbreviations and symbols. Heiroglyphics are SO BC.

For those of you who have no idea what IMO or IMHO means, allow me to translate:
IMO = In My Opinion
IMHO = In My Honest Opinion (not to be confused with IMAHO, which I am not)

« Previous Entries

The Candy Cane

Posted by kimlno on December 15, 2009

See? Pretty.

Do you know what I have absolutely no use for? Candy canes.

Oh, I know that’s rather Grinch-like of me, but a co-worker gave me one this morning, and, as thoughtful as it was, I have no idea what to do with it. I mean, it’s a perfectly nice candy cane, as candy canes go…a real sized one, not those hinky “fun” sized canes which might as well just be a freakin’ mint because technically you can pop the whole thing into your mouth at once. Because, really, aren’t those round red and white striped mints they give you with the check after dinner just “fun” sized candy canes rolled into a ball and smushed? Think about it. They taste the same. Same colors. Same swirl. I have an inkling that every after dinner mint starts out as a “fun” sized candy cane, but after Christmas, the ones who’ve survived being crushed or completely pulverized into a fine minty dust, are recalled, reconstituted, and resold as peppermints. Perhaps not, but I guarantee you the candy cane people are in cahoots with the dinner mint people, so I wouldn’t put it past them.  I mean, it’s not like the candy gets stale or anything.  In fact, I’m pretty sure the peppermint has a half-life of about 85 years, give or take. It seems to me that no matter how long one of those things has been in the pocket of my winter coat (why is there always one in there anyway?), it still has all the same properties of a “fresh” mint. I can’t go so far as to say they taste good, and that’s exactly my problem with the candy cane itself, but an old peppermint is almost indistinguishable from a new one. You may not agree, but I bet in a blind taste test you wouldn’t be able to tell which one was which. Whoops. TANGENT. Sorry.

I want to be clear that I’m NOT a candy cane “hater”. Aesthetically, I think they’re very pleasing. They evoke a sentimental feeling of Christmas, and to be fair, Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas without candy canes. I just don’t want to eat one. Ever. I honestly can’t think of a situation in which I’d be so desperate to actually consume a candy cane. Perhaps if I was stuck in a snow drift and the only thing between starving to death and clinging to life while I waited for my number one fan to come find me and dig me out was to eat a candy cane, I might eat one then. But, in general, candy canes are just plain disappointing. They’re a far better decoration than a food.

So, if you’re thinking of handing out candy canes this Christmas, ask yourself this first…would you want one?

Share: Facebook | Digg | Del.icio.us | StumbleUpon | Reddit | Blinklist | Twitter | Technorati | Newsvine | Permalink

Posted in Because I Said So | Tagged: , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, Too

Posted by kimlno on October 7, 2009

If you see this man, RUN.

If you see this man, RUN.

It’s been a couple of years since I read I Hope They Serve Beer In Hell by the infamous cad Tucker Max, but I still remember it as being one of the funniest books I’ve ever read. For those of you who don’t have any idea who I’m talking about, allow me to fill you in. Tucker Max wrote a memoir about all of his most depraved sexual exploits and cringe-worthy asshole behavior and he makes no apologies for being brutally honest and happy to share. (Kinda like me, huh?)

Maybe at the time I read his book, I’d overdosed on Chick Lit and his unabashed misogynistic tales were just the antidote I needed to snap me out of my “Someday My Prince Will Come” fantasy land. Maybe I liked it because I’ve actually known guys that think and act like Tucker, and to read of the countless women who fell for his shtick over and over again made me feel less sorry for myself and more thankful that I’d never sunk that low. Believe me, you’ve got to have some serious issues if you actively seek out Tucker Max and actually want him to sleep with you. Because, even before he wrote the book, Tucker kept a popular blog that detailed his predatory actions and made no effort whatsoever to conceal his “devil may care” attitude about sex with strangers and some really strange strangers, at that. (One word: Midgets.)

So, it still surprises me to no end the amount of vitriol most women feel towards this guy. They not only hate him, they think he should die, and wish horrible things upon him. Why? Sure, he’s a dick, but at least he’s being truthful about who he is. It’s not like any female nowadays could possibly accidentally have sex with this guy. Personally, if you’re so uninformed as to not know who he is prior to meeting him, Tucker in real life makes no effort to hide his ultimate “King of the Asshats” status. Believe me, if you met this dude at a bar, it would be blatantly apparent that he’s a womanizer, a dick, and probably just wants to bed you so that he can have another sordid story to add to the hundreds of others. He’s a total prick who wears it on his sleeve.

Don’t get me wrong. In no way am I commending this guy for his complete disregard for human feelings. Tucker Max is just plain wrong and really has no redeeming qualities. Nonetheless, his stories are priceless. And any woman who doesn’t think so obviously has been fooled by a man just like him (if not actually him). To me, their bitterness stems from an inner self-loathing that they let themselves fall for, or at least have sex with, a complete dickhead. Hey, ladies…it happens to the best of us. Instead of blaming Tucker for society’s ills, why not thank him for giving us a window into the hearts of (some) men? He does us all a favor by detailing the tell-tale signs of what a guy like Tucker acts like, a list of probable places to find such a guy, and even how to avoid becoming “that” girl.

Tucker Max, I just want to thank you. For making me laugh. For making me see how silly and narrow-minded certain women can be. But most of all, for giving me the tools to never fall prey to an A-Class Tool, such as you. Keep up the good work.

Share: Facebook | Digg | Del.icio.us | StumbleUpon | Reddit | Blinklist | Twitter | Technorati | Newsvine | Permalink

Posted in Because I Said So | Tagged: , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

Money Makes the World Go Around

Posted by kimlno on September 26, 2009

A mark, a yen, a buck, or a pound, it makes the world go 'round.

A mark, a yen, a buck, or a pound, it makes the world go 'round.

As much as some people may claim to abhor social networks and deem them the end of civilization and precursor to the apocalypse, sometimes they can be a useful forum in which to discuss relevant topics such as politics, environmental issues, and (not surprisingly) social affairs. True, the majority the time I spend on Facebook is dedicated to the discussion of the subtle nuances of the season finale of True Blood, or leveling up in Mafia Wars. However, on occasion, important issues are debated.

Such an instance took place shortly after I changed my status to read: “Kimberly Nordlinger is pretty sure money can buy you happiness. If you’re rich and sad, you’re doing it wrong.” I hardly thought my only semi-serious opinion would cause such a lively discussion amongst my friends, but then, you never really know what’s going to spark off the next great Facebook debate. These heated tete-a-tetes usually involve two of my more opinionated acquaintances who rarely, if ever, agree with one another.  However, being that they are both highly intelligent and insightful, their individual arguments, either pro or con, are always well thought out and quite indefensible.

One of them agreed with my status statement, and the other did not. Since I am always right, the one that shared my view, that more money would lead to more happiness, isn’t the one I took issue with, of course. The friend that immediately quoted real facts and figures regarding the correlation of wealth and happiness (a completely unfair tactic, if you ask me) is the one I felt the need to explain myself to. He claimed that studies have shown that people with less money are, in fact, happier than those with excess. Poppycock, I say. He continued to point out that money simply afforded the wealthy more freedom. Well, duh. He even went so far as to create an equation to clarify his point of view:

Freedom = Time = Whatever You Choose To Do = The Ability To Find Happiness

My other friend (and I) begged to disagree with his over simplistic explanation of the correlation between money and happiness. She went on to give specific examples of the things she would be able to do if she had unlimited funds, and how they would, without a doubt, increase her happiness quotient. Because I respect her privacy, I won’t share her wish list, however I will instead substitute mine. If I had access to large sums of money, I would make immediate changes to my current status. Most importantly, I would either attempt to have, or adopt, a child. Of course, I’d like to buy my own home, a new car, and give everyone of my friends and family whatever their hearts desired…but mostly, I’d just like to be a mom. Without the proper financial resources, it would be socially irresponsible of me, and possibly detrimental to the development of a healthy, happy child, to do so.

Of course my opponent was quick to point out that many people have children who can’t afford to. In addition, having a child isn’t a guarantee of future happiness, and, although they may be loathe to admit it, being a parent is a choice some even regret. Indeed we all agreed on this point in particular. Still, given the opportunity, I’d like the chance to find out for myself.

I am not so naive to think that money can solve any problem. I’d even be willing to admit that, for some, money can lead to a world of misery and sorrow. However, no amount of money could possibly buy me more time. I have all the time in the world. And, believe me, I am NOT complaining. I love that I have the freedom to do whatever I want. It’s my personal financial constraints that keep me inexorably tied to the reality of my situation. So, and I am only speaking for myself, the money-happiness equation looks more like this:

My Life + More Money = More Opportunities for Increased Happiness

Who knows? Perhaps if I had billions of dollars, I’d feel just the same way as I do about my life now. It’s possible that more money would just lead to more problems. Some would say that I don’t have a husband, or children, because that’s actually the way I want it to be (the inescapable influence of a self-fulfilling prophecy, perhaps?). Those same people would probably assert that even if I were filthy rich, my life would still have followed the exact same course. Maybe they’re right. All I’m saying is, I’d love to have the opportunity to experience being wealthy first-hand, and then draw my own conclusions.

Donations are now being accepted at http://kimopolis.com.

Share: Facebook | Digg | Del.icio.us | StumbleUpon | Reddit | Blinklist | Twitter | Technorati | Newsvine | Permalink

Posted in Because I Said So | Tagged: , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

Raisins Ruin Everything

Posted by kimlno on September 11, 2009

Raisin

Raisin

Why is it that everything that has cinnamon in it ALWAYS has raisins in it too? Is there some unwritten epicurean law that I am unaware of that mandates the coupling of these two ingredients? For once, I’d like to bite into a cinnamon roll and NOT have my unsuspecting taste buds assaulted by withered fruit. Raisins ruin everything. Don’t get me wrong, I like raisins. Just don’t go hiding them in my food. Raisins are fine all by themselves. They’re sweet and tasty and make the perfect snack, but if you insist on adding them to salads (BLEECH!) or jello (“But, Lane, you love raisins.”) I am going to have to call a Food Foul.

As long as we’re discussing salads, do you know what else is NOT okay to put in a salad? NUTS. Just keep your slivered almonds and pesky pistachios OUT of my lettuce. That goes double for sunflower seeds. An uninformed diner could choke to death on one of those tiny food assassins, and they’re too damn small to pick out every single one. Nuts and seeds are fine on their own, I’ll even go as far as allowing nuts, seeds, and raisins to co-exist together in a nice hearty trail mix, but they are meant to be enjoyed separately. They are not a garnish, they are a snack food. If I find them in my salad, I’m gonna be pissed.

Another food that’s fine on its own, but should NEVER be coupled with anything else besides carrots in a simple cru d’ete, is celery. Celery does not belong in TUNA. At no point should tuna be CRUNCHY! That’s disgusting. Want to ruin a perfectly good stuffing? Put celery in it. You might as well add some nuts and raisins while you’re at it, because I’m not going to eat it. Not every food needs to have “texture”! This isn’t Top Chef! Michael Ciccarello is not judging you on your creativity and none of the above ingredients are part of a “Quick Fire Challenge”.

While we’re on the subject, the only proper way to serve onions is deep fried. Don’t go sneaking any onions into my tuna, either. But, most importantly, do NOT put onions in my enchilada. When enjoying a cheesy, gooey enchilada, smothered in red sauce, the last thing I want is to crunch down on a hard, raw piece of onion. Are you happy, now, because you just ruined my dinner?!? If you insist on adding onions to something, they should be cooked well enough as to be unrecognizable to the human eye. Translucent, small, and indistinguishable from the food in which it has been added to. Any other method of onion adding is just plain WRONG.

Furthermore, as a general rule, don’t put cold, wet things on my sandwich. Maybe you haven’t noticed but bread is not good when it’s soggy. Just save the lettuce and tomato to make a nice side salad. Oh, and all you grill masters out there? Don’t even consider putting that ice cold vegetable crap on my hot juicy burger. I will cut you.

(Can you tell I’m on a diet?)

Share: Facebook | Digg | Del.icio.us | StumbleUpon | Reddit | Blinklist | Twitter | Technorati | Newsvine | Permalink

Posted in Because I Said So | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

Evan Rachel Wood(en) Is NOT Sophie-Anne Leclerq

Posted by kimlno on August 31, 2009

Um, no.

Um, no.

NOTE: If you don’t watch True Blood, don’t even bother reading this. It won’t make any sense, and you’ll probably just think I’m a bitch (if you don’t already). Secondly, start watching True Blood. Oh, and read Charlaine Harris’ Sookie Stackhouse series while you’re at it. Go on, now. Scoot.

Three words: Evan. Rachel. Wood(en). SO unimpressed. Did she not get the memo that she was portraying an 1,100-year-old vampire, and not a cheap 20-something tramp with poor taste in furniture and fangbangers (Did you see that ludicrous line up of what I am assuming were supposed to be delicious human morsels? It looked more like an audition for the Broadway cast of Hair, if you ask me.)? Perhaps I am biased, because I’ve read the books, and maybe that’s spoiled me…maybe no actress would’ve been good enough. However, really ANYONE would have been better than Ms. Wood(en). Let’s pick her apart, shall we?

She lacked poise and grace. She was nervous and unsure. She moved like an awkward young girl who’d never worn heels before. And, to make matters worse, she was less than intimidating, and honestly, her acting (if you can call it that) was stiff and arch. I no more believed she was a seasoned vampire, ruling the entire state of Louisiana, mind you, than I believe in the Tooth Fairy. Faeries, maybe. But the Tooth Fairy? No.

She gave me the feeling that her only qualifications for playing a vampire were the fact that she dated Marilyn Manson and has an unhealthy predilection for Goth fashion. She was certainly not hired for her ability to emote convincingly. To be frank, I cannot wait until she’s killed off…if that’s indeed what eventually occurs. Okay, here’s where I am going to discuss the Sookie books, so be forewarned…SPOILERS AHEAD. Please do quit reading now if you don’t want to know what happens. Not that Alan Ball is sticking even remotely with the original storyline, but just in case…right?

For those of us who’ve read the Sookie Stackhouse series, we know that Bill later on reveals that Sophie-Anne Leclerq (STOP READING NOW, this is your last warning) hired vampire Bill to seek out Sookie and essentially coerce her to fall in love with him. As you can imagine, this puts a great strain on Bill and Sookie’s relationship. But in tonight’s episode of True Blood, neither Sophie-Anne nor Bill acknowledged their covert Sookie-seduction, or that it’s even a matter of interest in their grand plan. Aside from mentioning she’d like to meet Sookie one day, Sophie-Anne hardly gave her more than a passing moment of thought. Too busy playing Yahtzee, I suppose.*

And, excuse me, but what’s this with her making out with Eric in next week’s episode? I thought she liked GIRLS. Did she bone him in the books? If she did, I don’t remember it, so I’m just going to pretend it didn’t happen. All I know is that Evan had better take her hands off my man Eric or else…there WILL be blood. HERS, all over that tacky marbled “day room” floor. God, even Liberace would’ve been offended by those awful chandeliers juxtaposed with those sad-looking, taxidermied seagulls. I mean, REALLY.

On a TOTALLY unrelated note, did anyone else notice Todd English’s freakishly large head on Top Chef? So, off-putting. I wonder if he had anything to do with the band Big Head Todd and the Monsters? If not, quite the odd coincidence, don’t you think?

*Yahtzee? Really?!? Couldn’t they think of a more dignified parlor game to pass the millennia playing? Bridge, perhaps? A little Canasta? Snooker? She might as well have busted out the game of Life. At least that would’ve been slightly ironic, and not just plain moronic.

Share: Facebook | Digg | Del.icio.us | StumbleUpon | Reddit | Blinklist | Twitter | Technorati | Newsvine | Permalink

Posted in Because I Said So | Tagged: , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments »

What A Girl DOESN’T Want

Posted by kimlno on August 4, 2009

This could be me. (Geez. I hope not.)

This could be me. (Geez. I hope not.)

Yesterday’s post generated a TON of feedback. Thankfully, it was mostly positive. Some readers felt I was a little strict about a few of my “rules”, especially the one regarding a man’s availability. Not having any exes or children might be unfairly ruling out some perfectly good men. Others pointed out that I had neglected to mention some rather important personality traits that needed to be addressed, such as both mental and physical health. Not surprisingly, I agree with all of the above.

What I came to realize is that, in truth, everything is negotiable. Nobody is perfect, least of all me. In a sense, yesterday’s itemized inventory of “My Man’s Musts” is really more of a shopping list. Those ten items are just the basics I need, but I won’t know until I get to the grocery store what kind of selection they’ll have in stock. I may have to substitute certain items for others, or just take the best of what’s available. As long as I end up with a couple of bags full of good stuff, I’ll be happy.

However, that being said, there are certain products, if you will, I’d never, ever purchase under any circumstances. In all fairness, I’ve decided to create a list of “My Man’s Mustn’ts” just to be crystal clear on what I will not tolerate in a potential mate.

So, the top ten “Non-Negotiable No-Nos” are:

  1. NO CRIMINALS: no jail time, no felonies, no prison record. If I have managed to avoid being convicted of a crime, then you must also have not been convicted of a crime. If that’s asking too much, then I wouldn’t even bother reading the rest of this list.
  2. NO NARCISSISTS: no plastic surgery, no more than one hour a day spent at the gym, no excessive use of hair products, and absolutely no body waxing. If you are extremely hirsute, you’re not the man for me.
  3. NO PSYCHOLOGICALLY UNSTABLE MEN: no severe phobias, no history of manic-depression, no schizophrenia, and no pathological liars. If you’re a little bit crazy, like me, and your psychological issues can be handled by daily medication and weekly therapy sessions, that’s fine. Like I said, I can’t ask my potential mate to be something I’m not. I’d rather be with a man who is aware of his problems and working on making them better, than a guy who lives in denial.
  4. NO MEN WITH BAGGAGE: no overbearing mother, no meddling exes, and no “friends” who think you’d be better off drunk in a strip club…nobody who might be able to sabotage our relationship.
  5. NO COMMITMENTPHOBES: no perpetual bachelors, no playboys, no womanizers, and certainly no men who believe they cannot be satisfied by just one woman. PUH-LEASE.
  6. NO WHINERS: no complainers, no cranky men, and no nit-pickers. If you’re unhappy with your life, you should have the wherewithal, not to mention the common sense, to change it.
  7. NO GEOGRAPHICALLY CHALLENGED INDIVIDUALS: no long-distance love affairs, no romantic discourse solely via telephone, email or chat, and no one who lives in another country. If you don’t live within an hour of my location, it’s just not going to work.
  8. NO LOSERS: no unemployed slobs, no lazy good-for-nothings, and no one who doesn’t have a life.
  9. NO BIGOTS: no racists, no chauvinists, no hypocrites, no homophobes, and no one who is prejudiced in any way.
  10. NO VIOLENT TENDENCIES: no hitters, no shouters, no screamers, no physical, emotional or verbal abusers, and no one with a bad temper.

Well, I think that about covers it. Although, I may have also just ruled out every single available man on the planet in the process. Gosh, I hope not. *SIGH*

Share: Facebook | Digg | Del.icio.us | StumbleUpon | Reddit | Blinklist | Twitter | Technorati | Newsvine | Permalink

Posted in Because I Said So, Sharing Is Caring, Trials and Tribulations | Tagged: , , , , | 6 Comments »

Where Is Will Shortz When You Need Him?

Posted by kimlno on July 23, 2009

Merl Reagle: ASSHAT

Merl Reagle: ASSHAT

Merl Reagle is an ass.

Who is Merl Reagle you ask? He is the asshat who has taken over the Sunday Times crossword puzzle.

Ever since I started doing the Sunday Times crossword puzzle, when I had to use a chisel and hammer to write the answers in the boxes (it REALLY sucked when you accidentally put the wrong letter in the box, let me tell you), it was written by a clever little couple called Barry Tunick and Sylvia Bursztyn. Sadly, Barry died in October of 2007. However, because he was a genius, he had enough crosswords stockpiled to last until the middle of 2008. At that point, Sylvia took the reins and did all the puzzles solo. It was obvious that Barry was the real brains behind the outfit, because Sylvia’s solo puzzles were never quite on par with previous editions. They weren’t awful, but they weren’t fabulous, either.

For the record, I only do one crossword puzzle a week. I would do more, as I enjoy working them quite a bit, but that would mean I’d have to venture into hostile uncharted territory that is currently guarded by my mother, the crossword-aholic. My mom completes no less than three crosswords PER DAY: the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, and the L.A. Times online puzzle. Why the L.A. Times has two different puzzles available daily, I don’t know. I can only assume that there’s a high demand for it. Well, at least in my family there is.

Currently, my mom is the “dealer” for all three branches of our clan. She supplies crosswords to my grandma, who gets a might testy if they don’t arrive on time, my Aunt Judy, and my Uncle Vince. This entails making copies for everyone, including the answers, and then popping them into the mail each week so nobody goes into crossword withdrawal. As you can imagine, crosswords have become a valued commodity and the only puzzle I am deemed worthy of solving is the Sunday Times. Not the one in the magazine, either. Just the one on the back of the Lifestyles section, next to the horoscopes. Perhaps, when I am older, I might earn a spot amongst the crossword puzzle master’s chosen few, but I honestly believe someone will have to die before that happens.

Why can’t everyone do all the puzzles and live in perfect harmony? Well, because life is not like a Coca Cola commercial. And we’re all a bit competitive when it comes to being knowledgeable (see THIS post for reference) and there’s only so much room at the top. As it is now, all four puzzlers live in four separate households and there’s no chance of any cross-contamination. There’s very little chance that a crossword clue will be accidentally revealed prior to seeking assistance from others. Much like watching Jeopardy! in a room full of people, it’s never as enjoyable when someone else is blurting out the correct answers. The same goes for crossword puzzles.

So, if I were to start working puzzles on a daily basis, being that I live with the Queen Bee of Crossword Puzzle Land, a plethora of complications could arise. The worst being kicked out on my know-it-all ass.

What does all of this have to do with Merl Reagle? Well, about a couple of months ago, his name started to appear on the by line at the top of the puzzle. New puzzle authors always take a while to get used to because just like any other legitimate writer, each person has his own style of writing. If you read enough of that author’s material, or solve enough of his puzzles, you have a better understanding of what he is trying to communicate. The problem is, if you have no frame of reference for what the puzzle author is attempting to cleverly convey, it can be very frustrating trying to solve them.

Merl is a BIG fan of the “Question Clue,” which is not so much a clue as it is NOT a clue. For example, a clue from a recent puzzle read: Skunklike? (5 letters). Note the question mark. This means that the answer will be something witty, a play on words, if you will, or so the author intends it to be. Usually, it is just a lame attempt at humor. Let’s go for the literal answer and see if we can’t delineate the clever answer from there. What is like a skunk? What are some skunk attributes? The clue could be referring to a skunk’s appearance, in which case the answer could be striped, or black and white. Or the clue could suggest the skunk’s smell: stinky, smelly, and putrid are all acceptable answers. But the question mark leads me to believe that none of the above are correct. Skunk can also mean to cheat, marijuana or refer to an obnoxious person. That’s a lot of different meanings, and even though I had tried a whole bunch of synonyms for those things nothing was working. Do you know what the answer was? DRUNK. Obscure minutia, if you ask me.

As if that weren’t bad enough, his puzzles are riddled (no pun intended) with them. Then, just to make things more difficult, the word going down (or across, as it may be) is of absolutely no assistance whatsoever. That’s just cruel. How am I supposed to figure out the correct answer if I don’t even have any letters to narrow down my choices? At least give me a fighting chance, will you?

Sometimes you simply have to accept defeat and look up the answers. This isn’t as easy as it sounds. Crossword puzzle writers know that you may need to consult the all-knowing internet for a little push in the right direction. Therefore, they do everything in their power to make cheating as difficult as possible. Crafty little buggers.

This past Sunday, Merl pushed me past my breaking point. His inane, far from clever puzzle forced my hand and made me commit a sin so heinous, I almost dare not mention it. For perhaps only the second or third time in the history of the Sunday Times Crossword puzzle…I quit. Yes, you read that correctly. I placed the cap back on my special green pen, reserved solely for the purpose of crossword puzzle solving, unclipped the paper from my laptop desk, and handed the puzzle off to my mom. Merle had defeated me after two passes at the grid revealed only a handful of answers and none of them definite. So, I made the executive decision to let a more seasoned solver have at it. I just couldn’t justify looking up practically a hundred clues simply to decode the secret theme. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t care anymore. This man had sucked the joy out of a decade’s long tradition in the course of only two months. That BASTARD. How DARE he?

I am now officially on crossword puzzle strike. Until the Times sees fit to employ another crossword puzzle author, I will no longer participate in their shenanigans. If that means excluding all crossword puzzles from the rest of my life (except the one in United’s Hemispheres inflight magazine…at 35,000 feet it’s a must), then so be it. I will not play Merl Reagle’s reindeer games. You and your puzzle are dead to me.

Merl Reagle, I abjure you.

Share: Facebook | Digg | Del.icio.us | StumbleUpon | Reddit | Blinklist | Twitter | Technorati | Newsvine | Permalink

Posted in Because I Said So, Trials and Tribulations | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

Something’s Coming

Posted by kimlno on July 5, 2009

The air is humming, and something great is coming!

The air is humming, and something great is coming!

Can you feel it? There’s a buzz in the air, and no, it’s not just your ears ringing from the fireworks last night*. Something’s coming, and it’s something good (if I can wait!). Ladies and gentlemen, it’s “Big Brother” season.

Oh, I can hear you all now, “Christ, Kim…ANOTHER reality show? Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?” To which my answers are, “Yes,” and “No,” respectively. Besides, “Big Brother” is different than all those other reality shows. “Big Brother” is the ultimate social-psychological experiment and CBS has generously provided 24/7 access to watch these human guinea pigs in a controlled environment…for free. You don’t even have to leave the comfort of your own home.

There’s a whole lot of crazy going on in the house most of the time, and the reasons behind the insanity are multitudinous. To understand why these people suddenly snap and go completely bat-shit crazy for no apparent reason, it’s important to understand their living situation. Let’s review the “rules”, shall we?

  • Once you enter the house, you can only leave if you are voted out. The door is locked, and the outside world no longer exists.
  • No newspapers, no magazines, no internet, no iPods, no cell phones, no books (except the bible), no games, and no pens or paper. The written word is completely banished in the BB house. The only televisions in the house are closed-circuit with one in the HOH room, and the other in the main living room. Just imagine trying to live for one day without even one of those items. Yeah, I couldn’t do it either. Heck, I don’t think I could even survive an hour.
  • Privacy does not exist. Houseguests wear a microphone 24/7. Cameras are abundant throughout the house and the only room without a camera is the tiny 3’x3’ box where the toilet is. EVERYTHING else is captured by cameras at all times.
  • The only access to the outdoors is the backyard. Although equipped with a pool and a hot tub, the only discernable difference between the backyard and the house is the blue sky above. (Once or twice, someone has attempted to relay information to the houseguests by using a plane to fly overhead with a message trailing behind. I don’t think anyone’s attempted skywriting yet, but I have no doubt they will.) In addition, the backyard is only available when BB rolls up the solid steel gate covering the sliding glass doors to the outside. So, sometimes, the whole cast is trapped inside with each other for HOURS on end. Claustrophobia, anyone?
  • Food and booze are limited to what the BB producers feel like providing. There are weekly food challenges, and the losers always have the indescribable pleasure of eating “BB Slop” until the next challenge. Slop looks like oatmeal, but isn’t nearly as tasty.
  • The final, and most important factor, is that everyone in the house is your competition. To win the $500,000 prize, you have to outlast your houseguests for THREE MONTHS. That’s a LONG-ass  time. Even if you managed to avoid being voted off each week, you still have the unbelievably difficult task of making allies with your opponents, all the while trying to get them ousted before they give you the boot. This leads to all sorts of subterfuge that showcases the entire spectrum of human emotions, from tears to anger to desperation. The will to live is tested on a daily basis in the BB house. And THAT’S what makes it so interesting to watch.

Admittedly, when BB first aired, I wasn’t a fan. In fact, I really didn’t start watching the show until season 8, the one with “Evel” Dick. From then on, it was like heroin. I certainly couldn’t stop watching it and I needed more of it the longer I watched. In all of their utter brilliance, CBS airs the unedited, uncensored version, “Big Brother: After Dark” on Showtime. BB: AD doesn’t always make sense, and it can be mind-numbingly boring, as well…but other times, it is PHENOMINAL. Case in point, when Joshuah lost his MIND on Allison in the hot tub. Here’s a CLIP (Joshuah SNAPS at 6:47, for those who don’t want to watch the whole, ugly, nasty confrontation. WARNING: Explicit language!):

In season 9, James literally had a nervous breakdown on camera when his BFF, Chelsia, was voted out of the house. He sunk into a deep depression, the likes of which this seemingly happy-go-lucky guy with a shocking-pink mohawk had never demonstrated before. It was heart-wrenching. And, THEN…his misery turned to RAGE. James screamed and yelled at everyone and anyone who was in his proximity, and it got UGLY. I’m not gonna lie. Here’s a clip when James confront his surrogate mother in the house, Shelia, and he is so confused by her back-stabbing behavior, he doesn’t know whether to laugh, shout or cry. So, he does all three at once. Click for CLIP:

Good stuff, huh?

Some of you are sitting there, reading this and thinking, “Duh, Kim. All of that ‘drama’ is scripted. The producers give the guests prompts on how to behave, what to do, and exactly what to say.” And to that I say, “I DON’T CARE!” It makes no difference to me if BB is really real or not. It’s GOOD. More power to CBS for creating a fabulously cast and well-acted show. Bravo.

Just, whatever you do, CBS…don’t take away my BB.

*Was it just my neighborhood, or were there a multitude of unscheduled (not to mention illegal and HIGHLY dangerous) firework explosions before, during and after the Palisades “Official” Fireworks Show? I mean, it’s freakin’ 11:13 in the p.m. and some asshat keeps setting them off like 100 yards away from my balcony. Enough already. Patriotism is great and all, but my heart is racing like a teacup Chihuahua on speed every time one of those blasted (sorry, couldn’t help myself) things goes off. My nerves are frayed. Jesus, pass out already, people. Or, at least, go somewhere else.

Those DICKS! They just did it again! (11:16)

And AGAIN! (11:45)

Share: Facebook | Digg | Del.icio.us | StumbleUpon | Reddit | Blinklist | Twitter | Technorati | Newsvine | Permalink

Posted in Because I Said So, My Happy Place | Tagged: , , , , | Leave a Comment »

I See Dead People

Posted by kimlno on July 2, 2009

Since people are dropping dead left and right, now seems like as good as time as any to discuss death. More specifically, the after life. “A world of never ending happiness where you can always see the sun, day or night,” according his Royal Purple-ness, Prince.  I don’t know if I believe that particular notion of Heaven*, but the topic is now open for discussion.

Near Death Experience by BP-Girl, DeviantArt.com

Near Death Experience by BP-Girl, DeviantArt.com

I have had the unique experience of actually being dead. Twice. I know, I know…LUCKY ME. I wasn’t dead long enough to sustain any permanent brain damage (at least that’s what the doctor’s would have me believe, but those of you who know me well might feel differently). It’s also important to define “dead.” Dead to one person is practically alive to another. Miracle Max explained it best:

Miracle Max: It just so happens that your friend here is only MOSTLY dead. There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive. With all dead, well, with all dead there’s usually only one thing you can do.
Inigo Montoya: What’s that?
Miracle Max: Go through his clothes and look for loose change.

You may or may not agree with Max’s concept of death, but to some it is just as valid as bringing people back from the dead. Like Dr. Frankenstein. Or Voodooists.

In my case, dead meant no heartbeat, no respiration and no signs of life. Each death was less than 2 minutes long and, of course, CPR was started immediately to keep my blood and oxygen flowing. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that although a medical professional could do CPR indefinitely, thereby technically keeping me alive, it wouldn’t necessarily bring me back to life. Case in point, Michael Jackson. Usually that’s about the time they bring out the paddles to zap some life back into you, and keep cranking up that dial up until some sort of heartbeat initiates, giving the EMTs the high sign that you might survive. Might, being the operative word. Again, look at Michael Jackson.

There are about a gazillion tales of life after death. Although, not surprisingly, only from those who have been brought back to life. So, as far as reliable sources of quality death information, they aren’t ideal.  (Think of it as a baby when he’s born…sure, he just went through the birthing process, but he couldn’t describe it with any accuracy.) Most of these tales from the crypt, if you will, involve hovering over their own body, watching the medical professionals attempt to revive them, a bright, shinning beacon that beckons them to go into the light, and a sense of calm almost serenity. Much like alien sightings, the proof is supposed to be in the sheer quantity of reanimated people who describe the exact same experience. However, it doesn’t really work like that. In fact, the theory of mass hysteria applies more than the theory of validity.

A film that demonstrates this “white light” phenomenon is the supernatural tear-jerker, Ghost. When Patrick Swazye dies, a brilliant white light shines from above and he is supposed to go into that light and achieve enlightenment or move on to a higher astral plane or something. But he totally screws that up by ignoring the light to attempt to save his wife, Demi Moore. His punishment is becoming an Earth-bound spirit who cannot communicate with the living. He would’ve been better off going into the light. Eventually, things work out and he gets his second chance to ride the stairway to heaven, albeit a bittersweet moment for the widow Demi. (Personally, I think any woman who responds with “ditto” when you tell her for the last time, before you vanish into eternity, “I love you. I’ve always loved you,” is a heartless bitch. Plus, I bet half the people reading this don’t even know what a ‘ditto’ is. Might as just well have said “Xerox”.)

ANYyouknowyouthoughtitwascreepwhenitlookedlikeWhoopiandDemiweregoingtomakeoutandIbetthiswouldn’tbeyourfavoriteromanticfilmofalltimethenwouldit, one of the funniest films to hypothesize about what happens after you die is Albert Brooks’ Defending Your Life. No white lights, no opportunities to stay on Earth and become a ghost, when you die you get taken to a city much like any other city. You’re checked into a hotel, encouraged to eat copious amounts of the most delicious food you’ve ever tasted, and await a trial in which your entire life will be evaluated by the “Big Brains.” Do well, and you move on to a better place. Prove to need more time on Earth to evolve, and they send you back lickety split. You’re born again and get another chance. Of course, you won’t remember anything that happened after your death, so a learning experience it isn’t.

For me, though, the thought of an afterlife really chaps my hide. Life is difficult enough as it is. And now I am expected to live FOREVER with all of my dead friends and relatives. And THAT’S supposed to be Heaven? Hell is supposedly worse. Something about having your skin flayed from your body, again and again, for all eternity. I think I am going to take a HUGE Pasadena on the whole lot, Heaven and Hell. In my experience, dead is dead. There is nothing else. You are dead. Oh, Kim, but what about your SOUL? Well, I have an answer for that, not surprisingly.

Your soul is what makes you who you are. It is the life within. When you die, that life can no longer abide, trapped in its carcass coffin. Unlike your heart and your brain, your soul leaves behind its mortal shell and gets absorbed into those that love you. If you think of your soul as your life, then imagine the millions of different parts of your life you’ve shared with everyone you’ve ever known. Now, those living beings are what keep your soul alive. Call them memories, if it pleases you, but the label doesn’t matter.

So, is there life after death? Sort of.  Is there consciousness after death? I don’t believe so. The only real life after death is the life we live inside the hearts and minds of those who knew and miss us. However, if I am wrong, which isn’t an impossibility, it’s just very rare, I’d like to think of the afterlife as Buffy describes it to Spike once her meddling friends have selfishly brought her back from the dead.

Buffy: I was happy. Wherever I was… I was happy… at peace. I knew that everyone I cared about was all right. I knew it. Time… didn’t mean anything. Nothing had form. But I was still me, you know? And I was warm. And I was loved. And I was finished. Complete. I – I don’t understand theology or dimensions, any of it really… but I think I was in heaven. And now I’m not. I was torn out of there. Pulled out, by my friends. Everything here is hard and bright and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch. This is Hell. Just getting through the next moment, and the one after that. Knowing what I’ve lost.

Heaven would have to be a lot like that for me to want to spend eternity there. But, still…I think I’d rather have the nothingness, because, like I said, then I wouldn’t even know.

*Does anyone remember the store Heaven? It was the precursor to Ahhs! and it was filled with all sorts of cool doodads and thingamajigs. The most coveted of all was the Heaven T-shirt. The original was white with bright red lettering that resembled the Flashdance logo. I wanted one of those more than life itself. Well, more than a pair of gellie shoes, at the very least. However, these were before the days that I had my own money supply, and my mom refused to spend $18 on a T-shirt. I suspect the sticker shock was particularly astonishing because my father used to own a wholesale menswear business, and she knew exactly how much it actually cost to produce that T-shirt and silkscreen a logo on it. Needless to say, I never owned a Heaven tee. I bought a pinback button and attached it to my jean jacket, but it just wasn’t the same. *SIGH*

Share: Facebook | Digg | Del.icio.us | StumbleUpon | Reddit | Blinklist | Twitter | Technorati | Newsvine | Permalink

Posted in Because I Said So, Trials and Tribulations | Tagged: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

The Texas Chainsaw Mascara

Posted by kimlno on June 10, 2009

LashesA while back, I wrote a particularly pithy article[1] about eyebrow maintenance.[2] It was a popular post, but I didn’t think I’d be writing another piece on personal grooming so soon. But, here we are, a few months later, and I feel it is necessary to discuss[3] a disturbing new trend in world of eyelashes.

For centuries, women have traveled far and wide to uncover a secret potion that would make their eyelashes appear longer, thicker and more evenly spaced. If you’re lucky enough to be born with naturally luxurious lashes, chances are you also have an excess of long, dark hair everywhere else on your body. Personally, I’d rather have to apply a little mascara when necessary, rather than requiring  a full body wax every three to four weeks. But that’s just me.

So, people in the Mascara Business have been working non-stop to develop a better mascara. One that doesn’t clump, or smudge. One that gives your lashes volume, or makes them a different color (e.g., blue, green or purple). One that curls your lashes as it lengthens, or nourishes them with nutrients like vitamin E. If you have problem lashes, they have a cure. But, mascara can be exhausting to apply, day after day, and remove, night after night.

For those looking for a longer lasting solution their problems, there’s lash tinting, a semi-permanent dye that should only be applied by a skilled professional. Tinting your own lashes is about as practical as brushing your teeth with a broom, and there’s a slight possibility you might blind yourself. Nobody wants that.

Lastly, there’s something called lash extensions, a relatively new procedure that I know very little about. I imagine they’re much like hair extensions, and we all know how natural THOSE look. I don’t even want to THINK about how they are applied, much less kept in place.[4]

Recently, Brooke Shields has been abusing her famous status by hocking a new lash product called Latisse. I can only assume being the spokes model for Colgate toothpaste wasn’t as fulfilling as she thought it would be. Selling merchandise is nothing new for Brooke. She was the face of Calvin Klein jeans before she even hit puberty and Ivory Snow when she was just a wee baby.[5] However, no previous product bearing the Brooke Shields stamp of approval has had quite as many potentially adverse side effects as Latisse.

Before we go any further, I think it’s important to point out that Brooke is a hirsute woman. She has thick, gorgeous hair and thick, not-so-gorgeous eyebrows to match. She is no stranger to waxing, I assure you. Therefore, having her sell a magical eyelash tonic is, essentially, cheating. Brooke’s got PLENTY of eyelashes. Now, if they had chosen a blue-eyed, natural blonde to sell their goods, I’d be more inclined to believe it really works.

ANYtruthinadvertisingmyass, Latisse is a prescription medication that is applied to the lash line once a day. It claims to actually GROW your lashes. It’s like Rogaine, but in a smaller package. If it works, I don’t know, but after hearing about the side effects, you can rest assured I won’t be testing it out on my lashes any time soon.  Why? Let’s take a look at the Latisse website, shall we?

What they say: “LATISSE™ use may cause darkening of the eyelid skin which may be reversible.”
What they mean: Don’t be surprised when your eyelids turn brown and remain that way for the rest of your life, making you appear to be sleep-deprived and chronically ill.

What they say: “LATISSE™ use may also cause increased brown pigmentation of the colored part of the eye which is likely to be permanent.”
What they mean: If you have blue or green eyes, use this and they’ll turn brown. FOREVER.

What they say: “It is possible for hair growth to occur in other areas of your skin that LATISSE™ frequently touches.”
What they mean: Hairy eyelids are a distinct possibility if you use this product. I don’t know about you, but I do NOT want hair growing all over my eyelid. Not only is that gross and disturbing, it also sounds rather uncomfortable.

What they say: “LATISSE™ solution is intended for use on the skin of the upper eyelid margins at the base of the eyelashes. DO NOT APPLY to the lower eyelid.”
What they mean: Holy crap! What the hell happens if you apply it to your lower lashes?!? Blindness??? Because you just KNOW that some eyelash junkie is going to completely ignore that warning because she doesn’t want her lower lashes to feel left out! Oh, this is not good. Not good at ALL.

Still want to try it? Really? Well, I suppose it might be worth it if you never had to apply mascara ever again. I mean, if you use this stuff, mascara is completely unnecessary, right?

“No, LATISSE™ does not work in place of mascara. LATISSE™ is a solution treatment for inadequate or not enough lashes and requires a prescription from a doctor. However, mascara can be used on your eyelashes in addition to LATISSE™.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. Are you saying that even if I use this highly questionable and possibly dangerous product, I STILL have to use mascara? Then, what’s the point? That’s totally bogus, man. TOTALLY. If I want “impossibly long, thick lashes,” I’ll just purchase a set of fake ones, thank you very much. Oh, and Brooke? You should be ASHAMED, girl. A-SHAMED.

[1] If I do say so myself.
[2] You can find it HERE.
[3] And by “discuss” I mean I’m going to give you my opinion.
[4] Is braiding involved? Glue? Hot irons?
[5] I want my baby back baby back baby back baby back baby back baby back ribs. *Chili’s* Baby back ribs.

 

Share: Facebook | Digg | Del.icio.us | StumbleUpon | Reddit | Blinklist | Twitter | Technorati | Newsvine | Permalink

Posted in Because I Said So, I'd Buy That For A Dollar | Tagged: , , , , | 11 Comments »

« Previous Entries