Those Wacky Japanese People: Fetish Edition
The Japanese have worked hard in the past to surpass us as a world power, and while I personally don’t have a problem with being colonized by the country that brought us both Godzilla AND sake, I’m seriously concerned that their lack of success is making them crack under the strain.
Things haven’t been going well for them lately, and instead of thinking about how to get themselves back into play as an economic force to be reckoned with, they seem to be spending a lot of time exploring their feminine side. It’s understandable. It certainly beats trying to bolster the yen, which, from what I hear, is largely a thankless job anyway. But there is a fine line between healthy curiosity and just plain weird, and now they’ve sailed over that line in a pair of hot air balloons.
A while back I told you about a machine that had been invented in Japan that was supposed to teach men what it felt like to get a period. I have to say I was pretty disappointed. Instead of developing a machine that could be seen as a decent representation of one of the Miracles of Nature, as it was called in my middle school health class, this machine essentially pees down the man’s leg, forcing him to lurch around like a large, mutant, faux-menstrual Betsy Wetsy. Sure, some of us can relate to that large and mutant feeling at that time of the month, but my point here is that there is a HELL OF A LOT THEY LEFT OUT.
You’d think they’d be satisfied with that, wouldn’t you, but they’re not. After convincing themselves that a woman’s menstrual cycle was a damp yet relatively painless cakewalk, they’ve moved on up, so to speak, to wondering what it would feel like to be the owner of a pair of breasts.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Daiso Inflatables:
I can’t embed the video, but it’s certainly interesting, so here’s the link: http://vimeo.com/1601461
You’re welcome.
Where's My Can Of Home Fries?
Proof that the Universe loves us and wants us to be happy, or an evil experiment to determine that we don’t actually need real food to survive?
Discuss.
Bacon. Flavored. Pancakes. In a can. (Courtesy of Gizmodo.com)
Back-To-School Night Blues
Now that our kids are safely ensconced in their classes, let’s all take a moment to thank the courageous Springfield teaching professionals who risk life, limb and sanity every day in order to give our children an education. These people welcome our children into their lives, open their eyes to different ways of thinking and, most importantly, give us adults roughly six, child-free hours each day in which we can have a coherent thought. I work from home, so for my money, that alone is worth my property tax bill.
And don’t think for a second that the kids aren’t benefitting. On the very first day my son, D., came home with this important Life Lesson:
“My Comm. Arts teacher read us a story today.”
“That’s wonderful. What was the gist of the story?”
“Always be nice.”
“Was that it? Nothing else?”
He thought for a second. “Always be nice or you’ll get Detention.”
So don’t tell me the kids aren’t learning.
The only thing I have a complaint about is the exercise in masochism called Back-To-School Night. Every year like clockwork, I get an e-mail from D.’s school, cheerfully informing me that his school would be happy to introduce me to his teachers and show me all of the exciting adventures he has as he makes his way through his day at school.
“All you need is a copy of your son and/or daughter’s schedule, and we will do the rest. What fun you will have, as you breeze through your child’s classes and chat with his and/or her teachers!” the e-mail cheerfully informs me.
On the surface, Back-To-School Night is a cheerful, P.T.A.-pastry-filled event that is supposed to give us parents a thrilling glimpse into the daily lives of our little students. In reality, I suspect that the teachers use Back-To-School Night as a way to have fun with us. What they don’t tell you is that the schedules are abbreviated to about one nanosecond of their normal length, the classrooms are at different ends of the school, the crowds of confused parents in the hallways requires more agile parents to surf the hallways like a mosh pit, the teachers, just for fun, have decided to all trade classrooms for the night, and all of the bathrooms are closed. I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking that this might be a form of retribution for the fact that they have suffered a stunning loss in funding over the past few years and are apparently at the point where they are selling their plasma to buy classroom supplies. With everything they’ve gone through, I frankly wouldn’t blame them if they set booby traps. It’s not a profession for the faint-of-heart, and if it makes them feel better to play this annual prank on us, well, I say go for it. We’re ready.
I can always tell which parents are at Back-To-School Night for the first time, because they are the ones who show up with just a copy of their child’s schedule and hopeful plans to meet every single one of the adults their child interacts with during the day, including the janitorial staff.
But the first rule of Back-To-School Night, as they say, is that we don’t talk about Back-To-School Night. The second rule is that we bring the proper survival equipment, like a reliable GPS system for locating the classrooms which appear to be numbered randomly; comfortable running shoes for getting to each class on time; high-protein snacks for endurance; and the Xanax-tipped blow darts for slowing down the occasional reluctant teacher who might be edging his and/or her way toward the door.
The veteran Back-To-School Night parents among us know that the first-timers haven’t got a chance, but we’re not going to help them out. Let them learn like we did: in the mosh pits of Back-To-School Night.
(Reprinted with permission from my column, “Next Exit” on springfield.patch.com, ©2010)
Alberta, Canada: Our New BFF
Dear Alberta,
Hey, how are you? Did you have a good summer? Ours was pretty hot, what with the global warming thing. Not that we’re feeling sorry for ourselves, but how come it only seems to hit us down here in North America? Ha ha. Sorry, you guys are still part of good old N. A. too, right?
Listen, we know it’s been a while since we’ve been in touch, but we wanted to thank you for the clever Times Square ads. We couldn’t have been more surprised to hear from you, frankly, and then you totally punk us by dropping those signs in the middle of New York City. Beauty, eh? Do you guys still say that?
Our BFFs
So… oil in Canada! Maybe we weren’t exactly paying attention, because we’re pretty sure you mentioned it once or twice in the past, but way to go!
We know we’ve been really busy lately and have been hanging a lot with the Middle East, but just between you and us they’ve gotten way too uppity for our tastes recently. Oh, and can you say TWO-FACED?! We have put just about everything we had into that friendship, and what have they done for us? Do they ever pick up a cheque? We spend and we spend on them and everytime we think things are going well, their psycho brothers come along and blow something up and guess who has to clean up the mess? Man, it gets our toques in a twist. Hosers.
Anyway, we just wanted to say hi and let you all know that anytime you wanted to take off for some beers and back bacon with us, we’re totally there. Please.
Your BFF,
The United States of America
Pass Me Some of That There Jumbo Shrimp
Sitting down? Good. Maintain a steady grip on your armrests, because this one might hurt your brain.
An Italian economist interviewed by CNBC Europe says we now appear to be entering what he calls a “Growth Recession.” Yes, I thought of George Carlin’s oxymorons routine, too.
Why Jane Gassner Rocks My Socks Off
New and very funny interview with Jane Gassner of Mid-Life Bloggers, over yonder. Jane is a stitch and I had a lot of fun with her on this one. She made it easy, which was a blessing for someone who is not completely comfortable with the interview process yet, much like this one I did about a year ago.
Thanks Jane!
This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Ever since I can remember, I’ve thought of our country as one, big, mostly happy family. Stay with me on this; it’s not as delusional as it might seem.
Like all families, there is always one relative who gets caught doing something naughty. And instead of admitting fault and taking his time-out like a man, this relative decides to take the passive-aggressive way out and stockpile potentially dangerous, radioactive elements in the hope that implying that they were capable of nuclear devastation would be enough to make us say, “Ha ha! No, really, we forgive you. Now please put the bomb down.”
What, that’s never happened in your family?
Maybe that’s why I wasn’t surprised when Goldman Sachs, they of the ginormous securities fraud case, announced recently that they were thinking about paring back on their securities trading business and buying up all of the uranium CEO Lloyd Blankfein could get his hands on. Who amongst us hasn’t secretly resented the familial criticism that rears its ugly head every time the SEC accuses us of constructing bogus investments and taking money from hedge funds in order to allow them to influence the portfolio selection process?
Really? Still no? OK, maybe it’s just my family.
According to what I’ve read, Mr. Blankfein seems like a nice man who just happens to find himself with his back up against the wall. A tad hostile, perhaps, but who can really blame him? It’s not like he’s not working for the greater good. The information coming from his Constellation Energy Group says that the sudden interest in uranium is due purely to help promote a continued reliance on nuclear energy. In fact, I think we should thank him for his selfless efforts.
Here he is:
Photo courtesy of the AP/Manuel Balce Ceneta
Now, doesn’t he look like someone OMG IT’S ERNST BLOFELD! Run! Run for your lives!
The Year of the Dog: My Guest Turn on Motherhood Later
I was thrilled to be asked to contribute a piece on parenting to the wonderful Motherhood Later blog. Thanks to Robin Gorman Newman, the goddess behind the blog, and also to Amy Reynaldo, for being my guru of the interwebs.
Paging Dr. Obvious
Apparently, it is all in our heads, but like for real. Like we’ve been saying all along. And when those new neural pathways and “abnormalities” finally kick in, they are going to be so sorry they doubted us. Oh,
are they going to be sorry.
Indiana Tea Party Has Democratic Candidate For Dinner
… with some fava beans and a nice Chianti. I kid, of course. No one ate anyone as far as I can tell, and it would be totally irresponsible of me to suggest otherwise.
Of course, it’s a small step in the right direction for the conservative members of the self-declared Tea Party to want to learn more about the other side’s
Democratic candidate Sanders, in a white-wine sauce with shallots
campaign strategies, sorry, ideology for the purposes of opening their own minds, and we applaud them for it. It would be completely jaded of me to set forth the notion that they had him for dinner, damn! had him to dinner for any other reason than to share a fine meal, exchange viewpoints, and do everything they could to help bring the two sides closer together. That’s the kind of sensationalistic journalism that I personally can’t stand and will not abide here, although I do find it kind of curious that they asked him to bathe in chicken broth before he made his appearance, don’t you? That definitely would have been a huge blip on my radar, but that’s just me.
Thankfully, though, the Democratic candidate made it wholly and safely through the evening, until he brought up the subject of Obama and immigration, whereupon the crowd open-mindedly stoned him to death.
The Machine That Goes "WOO-WOO-WOO!"
One of the things I admire most about those who go into science as a profession is the creativity and critical thinking required to advance us as a species. I can think of quite a few scientific inventions that have increased our quality of life — the microscope, vaccinations, this — but sometimes a few of us wander off track, so to speak, and it behooves the rest of us to pull them back from the brink. Because otherwise, you might find yourself strapped to one of these babies.
Speaking of babies, the previous link is the invention of a Dr. George Blonsky, who somehow got it into his head back in the ’60s that strapping an expectant mother to a
gurney that rotated at neck-breaking speed would make the delivery of a baby easier. Apparently influenced heavily by his mentors, the honorable Drs. Larry, Moe and Curly, it was his opinion that applying centrifugal force would loosen the muscles (not to mention several critical sphincters, I would imagine) necessary to extract the baby.
Those of you who are particularly sharp-eyed will note the considerate inclusion of an expertly-positioned net to ensure that the infant wouldn’t shoot out of the whirling birth canal, taking out several medical personnel in the process. You just can’t be too careful with that kind of thing.
Happy Ending For Al Gore In Sexual Harrassment Suit
In political news, the charges held tightly against former Vice President and alleged “rabid sex poodle” Al Gore have been dropped, according to Portland
"About THIS big... I swear." (Photo courtesy of This Magazine)
television station KOIN. Gore’s accuser — massage therapist Molly Hagerty — was apparently unable to erect a cohesive case against Mr. Gore, and the District Attorney was quoted as saying that Ms. Haggerty did not even have a third leg to stand on, from a totally legal point of view.
All charges in this particular case have been rubbed out, and it is deeply satisfying to see that Mr. Inconvenient Truth is still a stand-up guy.
NEW Bloggy-Contest-Giveaway-Goodness!
The righteous Aimee of Ain’t Yo Mama’s Blog is spreading the chocolatey, “PMS” love amongst her devotees by giving away TWO copies of my book to anyone within the U. S. or Canada (abject apologies to my overseas readers; I’ve heard you and I love you lots, but it’s ‘spensive to keep mailing books across the Pond).
Just leave a comment on her blog right over yonder before Tuesday, August 10 for a chance to win.
Guest Blogger Martha Frankel Reporting LIVE From The Wedding Of The Year!
Some journalistic scoops are just too good to pass up. When a big story comes your way, the best thing to do is to grab your artfully hidden-from-the-Secret-Service Blackberry and tell it like it is. That’s what the fabulous Martha Frankel did, and we couldn’t be more grateful that she sent her observations straight to us here at CYGAWA without any thought to her personal safety and security or, for that matter, her reputation as a journalist. Thank you, Martha, for helping us stay current and for revealing things about OMG FRICKING CHELSEA AND MARC’S WEDDING that probably went uncovered by other, nameless sources who were left to weep outside the door. Pfft. And they call themselves journalists. Kudos also to ace reporters Kitty Sheehan and Mark Cuddy for getting Martha into the wedding of the year in the first place.
Martha Frankel, breaking the news as only she can
Martha, of course, is the author of “Hats and Eyeglasses” (Tarcher/Penguin, 2009), an intriguing memoir about her childhood spent learning the game of poker from her father and her uncle, and more recently, “Brazilian Sexy” (Perigree/Penguin, 2010), co-written with one of the founders of the J Salon in NYC and which reveals the secrets to living a “gorgeous and confident life.” She’s wonderful, and I know you’ll love her and be just as grateful for her reporting skills as we are.
So here, without further ado, is a live report from the wedding of former First Daughter Chelsea Clinton and Marc Mezvinsky:
Ssshhh. They’ll take my crackberry away if they know I have it. But Chelsea looks gorg. And it’s a very cool wedding.
They just threw out Ruth Bader Ginsburg for having a potty mouth! I’m hiding in the bushes so they don’t hear mine.
Omigod, Bill is f*cking rocking out!
Better not be any crisis tomorrow — Hillary is druuunk!
Just danced with Henry Kissinger. Turns out he’s hawt…
Headed into an hour and a half of these f*cking fireworks. Who knew even this could be boring? zzzzzzzzz….
A skunk just walked right through the crowd! Everyone went running.
O.M.G. I’m sure as sh*t I see Chelsea hiding a baby bump behind that bouquet. Stay tuned.
What the f*ck? It turned into a cash bar at 11!!! I’m gonna have to ask Oprah to buy me a drink. No, no, Gayle will do it.
Hillary got locked in the Port-A-Potty, and Bill is doing the Hokey Pokey.
First puker spotted — turns out to be one of the Bush twins! Who invited them?!
Barbra Streisand and Kid Rock doing duet of “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore” w/Bill on sax! Who knew Hil is a flautist? Best. Wedding. Ever.
Right in the middle of “The Electric Slide” they flicked the lights on and off. Last call!
Blackhawks waiting to ferry guests back to Rhinebeck. Will wait to get on the one w/Tom Hanks. Private party after at the Beek.
Forgot to tell you about the food — Chelsea fooled everyone. It was a total Woodstock thing; Joshua’s did the appetizers (delish!) And Yum Yum noodles did the dinner.
And the cake, which was to die for, was from Jabelli’s bakery (at Lori’s Creative cafe.) A pineapple and whipped cream thing. Wowza!
OK, off to the post-wedding, pre-brunch breakfast.
This is a room full of the most hung-over people I ever been with. Since yesterday. Thank God for mimosas.
OK, finally going to the brunch. Am so over this Chelsea-Marc thing. Just wanna go home to sleep it off.
Well, Chelsea and Marc LOVED my wedding gift (a cherry picture frame with the date and 2 birds carved in.) Going home to sleep it off. Sorry, that should be file my report.
Might have to skip Weight Watchers this week because the wedding was a 2-day pig fest. Bill told me he’s already gained back 8 pounds.
Thanks again, Martha. This one will win us that Pulitzer for sure. Everyone else, head on over to Amazon.com and pick up Martha’s books. You will really love them.
If You Think There Are No Jobs Out There….
… you are clearly not thinking creatively.
BP is hiring. Position requires a positive attitude, an ability to laugh off harsh personal attacks on your character and a willingness to clean up Tony Hayward’s poop.
Please help us. We'll do anything.
Those Liberal Media Bastards…
… now they’re changing Sarah Palin’s eye color.
According to The Christian Science Monitor, the publishers of Sarah Palin’s new book, “America By Heart” (working subtitle: “Because I Should Probably Know Something About It Before I Get To The White House, Right?”), made an executive decision to airbrush her eyes a dull shade of grey, even though her
natural eye color is brown, with just a hint of sparkle.
Brown, the color of the tea we drink when contemplating the evils of health care reform and the attendant death panels.
Brown, the color of the Bridge To Nowhere, which we were for, until we realized we were supposed to be totally against it.
Brown, the color of good old American soil, the soil our ancestors tilled even when the dinosaurs roamed the Earth.
Your God, will they stop at nothing to keep her down? Compare, contrast, and refudiate.
"Burlington, VT: We May Have Different Priorities Than You, But The Skiing Rocks"
Old impression of Vermont: Great skiing, beautiful landscapes filled with kind countryfolk who genuinely care about each other.
New impression of Vermont: Nazi state regime filled with scary, cow-worshipping maniacs. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, Vermont. Please don’t behead me.
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