Confessions of a Cheese Grits Fiend

I Need A Nap And A Cookie

2009-10-21T20:30:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those days...Okay, it was like this: if a Lewis Black monologue and a Ralph Steadman cartoon could get together and make a baby, it would look like today.

I have had three cups of coffee today.

Oh, and the Predators lost to Boston tonight. I may have to break up with my Secret Hockey Husband, Tim Thomas. Maybe I just need some space for a little while. I should have taken it as a sign when I walked out the door wearing a Red Wings t-shirt. Kevin took one look at me and said, "You are making Jason Arnott cry." I can't bear this. I'll give the t-shirt to Goodwill or wear it to my next dental appointment (#157 in a series of 1479) maybe Chris Chelios will scare my dentist and he'll actually let me get up and run around, go pee and decompress after two hours in the chair. Don't get me wrong. I love my dentist, but the past few visits have been more like being the workbench under a happy guy with a Dremel on a Saturday afternoon in May. By the way, Chris Chelios is making me cry. Every time I see him, I picture some little kid in a Blackhawks jersey following him down the ramp, screaming, "Shane! Shane!"

Should I really be this wired from three (3) cups of coffee? I am getting old.

Have I mentioned that I am going back to school? Have I mentioned that in order to do this I have to present proof of shots I got when Nixon was president? That I have to find out if I ever actually graduated from high school and if they accept United States currency to mail a transcript from Western Kentucky University. Of the four colleges I attended during my misspent youth, Western weighs in as the most expensive. Their transcripts cost 7.00. Overpriced Arts and Basketweaving comes in second at 5.00, Bayou Fried Chicken State set me back 2.00 and Tiger High's are free with the purchase of a Dana Kirk bobblehead. (#3 in the "Back In The Day Series") I got my MMR booster. The doctor was lovely and the staff deserved combat pay. The waiting room was like a Brueghel painting, only with Elmo instead of demons as a recurring motif. I will never again mourn not having a child.

Why, oh why won't this coffee wear off?

I really should have stayed home anyway. I would not have consumed that last cup of coffee and I'd probably have dozed off sometime after the final buzzer but before "Living With Ed" started. I am sure the people at Untitled Artists wanted to tranq me with a dart gun. I would have tranqed me with a dart gun. During the meeting I: 1.)apologized to a teenager on behalf of my generation for subjecting her age group to the linty horror that is the ouvre of Rankin Bass' holiday programming and the concommittant nostalgia that causes it to get foisted on a new crop of children every year 2.)allowed Robert the metalworker dude to be a Bad Influence and feed me scores and stats from his I-Phone during the meeting. 3.)be inappropriately amused multiple times 4.) talked way, way too much. Even if I know what I'm talking about, silence is golden and I should aspire to that kind of wealth. Or something like that. 5.) I also used the phrase "batshit crazy" is front of the aforementioned teen. I am still punchy and its...nearly ten thirty?

Coffee beans the wonderful fruit...

I think I also called a number of people and told them I loved them. If I didn't call you please know that I love you, too.

Love,
a very wired and silly me

Guest Blog: Meet a Boy Named Tzu!

2009-10-13T18:27:00.000-07:00

I'm turning the keyboard over to my newest guest blogger:

This is His Holiness the Doggy Lama Niklas Lidstrom the Shih Tzu. Touch his Puu Doll at your peril.

Hello! My assistant is busy trying to get some paintings finished before the deadline for her next co-op show and no one is watching hockey right now so I figured it was as good a time as any to get online and see what all the fuss is about. You're more than likely here because you want a different view on the important things in life: french fries, hockey and my Puu doll.

First things first. If you touch my Puu doll, I will cut you.

Second: All of the french fries are mine.

Third: I have been adopted into a hockey loving household. This is a huge improvement over the shelter. While I appreciate the people there for taking me in, it's nice to have the run of the house, occasional rogue turns at the remote, and a box of toys I don't have to share. Now if I could just get the fat one to stay off of my bed, everything would be perfect.

Hockey is really easy. The big panda bears in the net cages throw biscuits out on the ice and everyone chases them with sticks until someone grabs a person with the wrong sweater on and beats them before the color-challenged players tmake them go into the naughty box. I think they may do this because they are jealous of the pretty sweaters with aminals on them. There's also a man with a striped suit and no neck or facial expression who stands on the side. He may be there to walk someone out if they have to go wee.

There's this big wolfhound in a red sweater? His name is Ovechkin? Some people here like him. Some people's mothers will only say that they like him better than Hossa. Earlier this season Tim the Big Boston Panda knocked Ovechkin down and one of his teammates pushed him flat on the ice as he skated by. Gramma did this weird "Ha ha" Mom calls a Nelson Laugh. Hockey makes Gramma mean. It makes our friend Silbia mean, too. I heard she was at the Nashville/Dallas season opener and managed to get down next to the plexi and bang on it and tell Brendan Morrow that he was making her damned mad. I don't think they thought an 83 year old Methodist Sunday School teacher was going to do that!

I am also trying to get my friend, Maggie the Hampshire Pig to blog with me. She loves swimming and Michael Phelps. She said that he is the most beautiful man in sports and no one could turn her head. So I got out an old copy of Hockey News.

"Who IS that?" she squealed.

"Zdeno Chara" I said.

"He's...BEAUTIFUL!" I also showed her a couple of pictures of Pavel Datsyuk, so our girl is hooked.

Pigs. Give them a burrito and some pretty Russian men and they're as pliable as beeswax in Phoenix in August.

Until next time!

Nik

PS. Get well wishes to JP Dumont. As a former shelter dog, I am glad he took the time to speak on our behalf this Summer. He's my favorite guy here in Nashville and I miss seeing him on the ice. -Nik

Not the Essay I Meant to Write Today and An Open Letter to Polanski's Supporters

2009-10-06T17:13:00.000-07:00

I wanted to write about hockey and introduce you to my new dog and have everyone's pets hold forth about the mess of groin injuries that have kept some of Nashville's best on waivers.

I had also planned to write about why I think there's room for 32 teams in the NHL and that Gary Bettman needs to make it eight.

And I will. But not yet.

You see, a number of people, some of whose work I have loved and some of whom I have come to admire are referring to an incident in which a 44-year-old man doped, raped and sodomized a 13-year-old girl as she pleaded for him to stop as a "so-called rape" and "not exactly rape-rape" and "a sexual relationship". Their movies and books are in my personal library, but they won't be after today.

It has been hammered in my head from high school on that you need to seperate the person from the work and experience the art on its own merits. While there is some truth to that, it is also a fact that we each approach art from our own viewpoints that are formulated by personal experience. Unless we treat all art as something to be approached similar to the way a gallery show is blind juried, there's no way we can truly not see the hands, hearts and minds behind the work that we allow to feed our lives.

I'll go ahead and tip my hand here: I am a rape survivor. I have also spent a chunk of my adulthood working with sexually abused children. Maybe I should be able to turn that off and just enjoy the show, the books, whatever, but I can't. So anyway, count me as one of those "unsophisticated, barbaric Americans" who thinks Polanski needs to be extradited to the US to face the consequences of his actions. I think he's lower than worm dirt. The people who are so quick to dismiss this because he's a good filmmaker are no better as far as I'm concerned. So, the letter that follows is for you:

Penelope Cruz
Michael Mann
Wim Wenders
Tilda Swinton
Woody Allen
Pedro Almodovar
Wes Anderson
Jonathan Demme
Stephen Frears
Costa Gavras
Terry Gilliam
Buck Henry
Wong Kar Waï
John Landis
David Lynch
Michael Mann
Jeanne Moreau
Barbet Schroeder
Martin Scorcese
Harvey Weinstein
Ethan Coen
Whoopi Goldberg
Isabelle Adjani
Taylor Hackford
Isabelle Huppert
Neil Jordan
Milan Kundera
Sam Mendes
Mike Nichols
Salman Rushdie
Steven Soderbergh
and at least a hundred other people...

To those who support Roman Polanski,

Many of you produced work that fed my soul. Now I find it hard to even think about having anything you've produced in my house. So over the next week I will be purging books, movies and music. Of course this means nothing to you, you've already made money from the sale of those things. For that matter, I am hardly a person of consequence, so in the grand scheme of things, my displeasure means very little. I know this, and yet I still feel a need to offer a counterpoint to your use of your fame and influence to push for the trivialization of an incidence of rape.

I have to wonder if you have thought about what your response would be if you or your child had been raped and a group of influential people came to that person's defense, summarily dismissing the damage done to you. Judging from your actions, it sems that long as it's not you or anyone you don't know, you don't care. I find it tragic that your moral compass is so very skewed by talent and celebrity that you would have no problem lending your name and reputation to the support a rapist. I wish any of you could spend time with some of my former clients. You would see first-hand that an "indiscretion" isn't just one big "oops" but something that can cause lasting pain and damage to the victims. I wonder if it would even matter if you were given the chance to see it. I don't think any of you have any idea how damaging your actions are to those who are trying to get people to take sexual violence seriously and I am losing faith that you would care if someone you would listen to explained it to you .

Whoopi Goldberg has gone on the record as saying this in regards to the Polanski controversy:

“We’re a different kind of society. We see things differently..."

In my society rape is considered wrong regardless of the age of the victim or the status of the attacker, so yeah, to say it's a different kind of society is putting it pretty succinctly. It also tells me that you have little or nothing left to say that I would want to hear, so I'm getting rid of your work and will never again buy, listen to or watch anything you produce. I may be just one person, but I am one person who can express my displeasure by deciding who gets my entertainment dollars. Until you can convince me that what Polanski did was okay and your support of him was justified, those dollars will never go to anything with any of your names on it.

Preseason Biz and a Big, Belated Thank you

2009-09-21T11:18:00.000-07:00

It's almost time. Pucks dropped all over the place as teams rolled out their shiny new rookies and the long, multi-national nightmare that was the Dany Heatley Soap Opera has finally come to an end. He's a Shark. Here in the Athens of the South, we saw some favorites from Milwaukee do some good stuff on the ice and everyone is quivering with anticipa...tion for October. So yay for all that.

On a personal note, I owe a belated thank you to the nice people at the Predators Office. Earlier this month I was working on a painting and looking for pictures of kids wearing fan gear to make a visual reference sheet. For the record, I didn't use any of them and ended up painting Beautiful Alice's son, Dustin. He's one of the co-owners of Arnott and Tootoo (the blogging hamsters, not the hockey players).

So I was Googling things like "Predators Hockey Fans", "hockey fans", "NHL fan Jerseys" and "NHL fans" and I would occasionally stumble across a picture of my late dog, O'Neill. Curiosity got the better of me and I clicked on the link to find out he had won the Pedigree Predators Pet of the Month for April. Those of you who follow the blog know he passed away April 29th. It completely slipped my mind that I should check to see who the Pet of the Month was and I never got to thank whoever it is at the Preds office that picks the winners. So, whoever you are, it was a nice surprise. I'm sure he would have been thrilled to know his Pekka Rinne Fanboy status is now a part of the fan community's history. On behalf of his family and many friends, I'd like to offer a sincere Thank you!

Art For All The Right Reasons

2009-08-29T06:01:00.000-07:00

As a former social worker, I have friends and acquaintances who sometimes pause, squint, shake their heads and tell me they "just don't get the whole art thing". They sigh and then ask me, "What does it do?"

What does it do?

My short answer is, "So very much," at least for me.

My more complete answer is that many artists, especially the ones I have been lucky enough to meet over the past few weeks here in Nashville, often devote chunks of their time and talent to helping people gain a better understanding of issues that many people, people who you may never meet or know have to deal with on a regular basis. Want to see what art can do? Then walk the walk and devote some time to visiting this show:

These Small Things

THE DEETS:
September 5, 2009 / 1st Saturday Crawl / up through September 26
6-9 PM
Blend Studio
79 Arcade
Nashville, TN 37219

Middle Tennessee photographer Eric Denton is married to a hero. His wife teaches in one of the more underfunded corners of the state and he has been helping kids in that county learn to understand and share their world through photography. The show focuses on four young artists who have been working with him, but he would like to expand the program so more children can get an opportunity to learn about photography.

Do you have an old digital camera lying around, memory cards you're just not using or did you flip off a nun for cutting in front of you on Charlotte last Wednesday and now you need to cleanse your black little soul by making a donation to a good cause? (Yes, I'm lookin' at YOU, Sara.) Well, here's your chance.

Visit his site at Thinks I Make And Do and help Eric make a difference!

You're still here? And you ask what's in it for you? Contribute to Eric's program and I'll give you a 10% discount on your next order at ZenDixie.com and donate 20% of the proceeds from your order to Cameras For Kids.

Hockey Blogs To Follow: Pot Doo (Or is this Pot Twah?)

2009-08-18T07:11:00.000-07:00

Hockey withdrawal is not pretty. This is usually when I start commiserating with other fans online and seeking out good hockey blogs. Today I'm gonna link you to a pair that are not only educational, but darned funny. Oh, and as a lagniappe: video of Jordin Tootoo's summer hair. You're welcome.

First up...

Down Goes Brown
http://downgoesbrown.com

Whenever someone in the NHL makes the news, one of the first sites I check is Down Goes Brown.
Some of his best posts include his coverage of what TSN didn't show of Brian Burke at the NHL draft:

Burke (whispering): You need to listen to me very carefully. There is a bomb hidden under you draft table. It is about to go off. You need to evacuate right away, or else you will die. Do you understand me?

Kevin Lowe: Brian, I know it's you. I have called ID on my phone.

Burke: ...

Lowe: You're not allowed to call me. It's in the restraining order. (Click.)

Burke (still whispering): Dustin Penner sucks!

and the Leafs' secret Facebook feed:

Mats Sundin left the Toronto Maple Leafs network.
July 1, 2008

Bob Gainey poked Mats Sundin.
July 1, 2008

and an etiquette guide for Jason Spezza'a wedding

Occasional place setting mixups are to be expected at a crowded reception. DO NOT make a big deal out of the fact that everyone has a cup except Marian Hossa.

Imagine The Rick Mercer Report or The Daily Show if they were all hockey, all the time. The result would be something almost as good as Down Goes Brown.

Psycho Hockey Lady
http://psychohockeylady.blogspot.com

Katrina Cady is one funny woman who writes a love letter to hockey with a pen that is loaded with equal amounts of acid and honey. Her posts offer tongue-in-cheek advice on mix tapes for the road, how to handle friends who don't like hockey and other vagaries of 'bunny life. It's funny stuff and I love her blog.

What really grabbed me as a reader was her book, Down the Rabbit Hole: A Guide to Puck Bunnies. You can find it in the body of her blog as serial posts and featured as linkable chapters in the sidebar. Her take on puckbunnies is funny, sad, chilling and infuriating. Given that it was written as a therapeutic purge when she was eighteen, it's pretty impressive. It would be interesting to see what would happen if she tackled a rewrite in a few years with the help of a good editor and some temporal distance.

Note: I like to think that the majority of the players on my team are decent guys who love their families and try to live up to the motto that the Predators are about "character, not characters". So yeah, there's a part of me reading her book and thinking, "Not Dan Ellis! Not Arnott! Dumont? Mon dieu, non!" Still, on the rare occasions that I'm not engrossed in the game, I plan to take a look around and see if the puck bunnies in Nashville are anything like the ones she writes about.

aaand:

Versus seriously needs to pick this up. For that matter, why can't we get Canadian television down here? We can get BBCA but I have to find online bootleg feeds of "Slings and Arrows" and "Little Mosque on the Prairie"? Please... (And yes, I like "Little Mosque on the Prairie". Get over it.)

A Summer Rerun: There's Always Room For The Obligatory Pictorial Essay Making Fun of Vintage Cookbooks

2009-08-11T19:14:00.000-07:00

I wrote this essay in 2007 and it was published on my blog on August 1st of that year. A couple of days ago a friend asked me about it and when I did some searching in the archives, I noticed that someone in Ohio had recently been seeking this particular post. Hunh. So, anyway, here it is. I don't do reruns often. but this one makes me laugh. I hope you like it.

Everyone else is doing them, why shouldn't I? Maybe because everyone else is doing them? If everyone decided to strip down to their underwear and jump into the Cumberland River, would I do it, too?

The cruel fact is that not only am I caving in to peer pressure, but I am doing so because I am once again my alter-ego, Phlegm Grrl, and cinema-therapy isn't doing the trick. Over the past three days I've wept copiously over "Finding Neverland" ("Kate...Kate...You find happiness with Johnny Depp and drop dead? Where is the satisfaction in that?!?!?!"), "Omhide Poro Poro" ("Taeko...Taeko...You won't be happy until you ditch the cubicle job in Tokyo and stay on the organic soy farm with Hiro. Where is your head? See? They're playing "The Rose" and all the cute little characters are scampering around your feet. It's a sign, Taeko. Go back to Soy Boy!") and the baby penguin that got eaten and his keening parents in the Antarctica section of "Winged Migration"("Bad raptor! You suck! You suck, mean bird!").

I needed some relief. I needed a cheap laugh. So I started looking through the cookbook shelf in the kitchen. All of them had some entertainment value, but the dessert books made some of the biggest leaps from kind of sublimely cool to ridiculous. Here, let me show you what I mean:

This first image is from a 1982 cookbook by Judith Olney called "The Joy of Chocolate".

It's actually a cake with chocolate leaves that were cast from real cabbage. Pretty neat, hunh? Then I flipped through and found this:

Okay, the bag itself, which is made of chocolate cast from a paper bag, is very cool and the fruit looks tasty. Maybe I'm off-base with this, but it seems like the pudding, which looks a tad lumpy and well, poo-shaped, is a bad choice. It turns the whole thing into something a young Jacques Torres might have left on the front porch of a cranky neighbor before ringing the bell and running.

Another example, one that will probably insure that you will never again take anything I write seriously, can be found in the 1983 "Farm Journal's Complete Cake Decorating Book". Actually, there's a lot to love about this book because it's all about pretty, tasty desserts that can be made without having to take months of decorating classes. We're not talking about the stuff you see coming from Texas Culinary Bronwen or Collette. These are the kinds of cakes that would make your mama very happy at the Mother's Day brunch at church.

Then, I moved on a few pages and my evil inner ten-year-old giggled like a fiend over this cake:

I'm sorry. I really am.

No I'm not. It's funny. The only thing that would have made this funnier would be if I'd found it in "Favorite Desserts of Presbyterian Women of Northern Alabama" I've already promised Big Gay Kevin that I'll make one for his bachelor party if he's ever allowed to legally marry.

Of course you know I'm saving the best for last and here it is:

It looks cute and Bradylicious and all, but I have serious doubts that anyone in the General Foods test kitchens really cared whether kids in the late 70s' would want "Amazing Magical Jell-o Desserts". In fact, I think there was a lot of toking and giggling going in in that test kitchen and the result was a book intended for stoners who love to cook when they get the munchies.

Take a look at this:

Would you even think of making this, much less eating it if you weren't in some way impaired?

And this?

It screams, "We were out of spray cheese and Fritos and we ate it and hey, maybe your kid will think it's ice cream and eat it." Come on. Those cones are grounds for a visit from the TBI and Children's Services.

Not everything in this book is bad, but I suspect that the stuff that is fairly decent was probably cannibalized from "General Foods' Presents School Cafeteria Treats For Boys and Girls".

Here is "Ship Ahoy".

And Dr. Cosby is right. You can't go wrong with "Puddin' Pops"!

But what are we to make of this?

Where is ice this color? Love Canal? Chernobyl? Planet Zarquon?

and then there's this:

In the cookbook, it's called a "Banana Wobbler". It looks exactly like one of the things that Stewart From College brought to Beautiful Alice's bachelorette party that caused him to have to write a letter of apology to the groom's mother. But that could be my inner ten-year-old working in overdrive again.

And the holiday recipes in this book...They're the stuff of kiddie nightmares, especially the Easter dishes.

These are not eggs, they're "eggs". That's right, someone at the GF testing kitchen actually cast cloudy gelatin in real eggshells and made those things. Imagine being the kid who finds those at the Annual Easter Egg Hunt. Honestly, if Easter makes you feel this mean, just skip this step and give your kid balut. (Warning: not for the squeamish!)

There was also HeckBunny:

You just know there's some demented Sunday School teacher from Lubbock doing hard time after a suckerware box of those was intercepted by the deacons.

Speaking of evil handiwork, there is a running theme in this book which looks like someone came up with a bright idea and everyone just ran with it. I imagine that person's name was probably Nathan. Nathan had always been the slacker of the GF Test Kitchen Crew. He was nice enough and he always shared the wealth whenever he was holding. As a chef? Well, let's just say that his parents thought a year of culinary school would scare some sense into him after he got kicked out of MIT for earning the nickname "Anything That Moves" and causing his room mate to gibber and drool during Fall midterms.

So here's the scenario: One of the more Type A chefs, we'll call her Denise, approached Nathan and said something to the effect of, "Look, you've been here three years and you haven't come up with anything original. This is easy. It's a gimme. Kids and Jell-o products. Give me something, anything I can use."

So Nathan sighed heavily, disappeared into the walk-in freezer for three hours and came out with this:

To which Denise said, "What the-?"

"It's food and it has a face. Kids love food with faces on it. See? Choo choo! Here comes the jell-o with the face!"

There was a long pause as they thought about this. Then they realized that it was late and it made sense, sort of. So there were lots and lots of foods with faces added to the book:

And there was much rejoicing until everyone remembered that NASA Dave, the government wonk who was there to make food tubes for astronauts, had totally missed the discussion. So they presented him with this:

"Cute face" he said.

"What face?" they all deadpanned and then NASA Dave muttered something about things just not being the same since Nixon stepped down and went home.

And with that, I'm signing off. I want some Jell-o. Their strawberry-kiwi and raspberry flavors are like buttah!

copyright 2007 Jas Faulkner

Theatrical Thursday 1 :Wiener Dogs Kicked My Butt

2009-08-05T22:39:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Theatrical Thursday! There are a number of places on the internet offering creative challenges. Most of them are for visual artists and a few are for people who do prose and poetry. There are very few out there for scriptwriters. Right now I'm going to include this as part of my blog here. If it looks like there's enough interest, I'll create a separate blog where more people can participate as bloggers.

Here's how it will work, at least for now. On Thursday morning I will post a challenge. If it tickles your fancy, write it, send me a link or include one in the comments and then the next Thursday I will post links and info and a new challenge. Critiques are welcome. Suggestions for challenges are welcome.

Unlike many of the great month-long writing challenges, these are going to be smaller in scale. The intention is to get writing and to to write something that can be completed and presented in a relatively short amount of time.

Here are a couple of more things I need to make note of:

1. I own my writing. Everyone who submits owns the rights to their work. Please respect that.

2. Remember the golden rule when commenting.

3. Have fun!

Since this is the first week, I am going to give you two challenges to pick from. The first is the task I did for today's entry:

Challenge 1A - Write a monologue. Your speaker is sitting at a bar and someone has just asked them about the girl they saw at the door with a pool cue and a football.

The second will be a scene that I'll post next week with the new challenge and links to anyone who submits something:

Challenge 1B - Write a monologue. The first line will be "This is not what it looks like."

I hope you like what I post and I look forward to reading what other people write or have to say about what is written.

Challenge 1A

Wiener Dogs Kicked My Butt

(NOTE: This piece is rated R. Thanks!)

Drew: No man. You don't want none of that. Really. Get back here. Her? Yeah, she's sweet and all. She is cute. I see 'em. I noticed 'em last week. They're very nice. Dave? Dave? Hey Kevin, will you grab him before he gets out there? DAVE! Get back here! C'mere! No, I am not a pussy. You're the pussy. Geeze. Siddown.

That girl? Last Friday I went home with that girl. Listen. It was all good. We were sitting right here like you and me are right now. I got her laughing. You know how I do that thing like Jim Carrey from "The Mask"? It was great and she was dying. No man, it was between innings. A commercial was on. You think I'm stupid? So the game's over and she asks me if I want to go home with her. No, you D-bag, she asked me. So, I'm no idiot. Cute girl like that, of course I'm gonna go home with her.

So we get back to her place. It's nice. Lots of sports stuff. She's a huge fan. So anyways, she tells me to make myself at home and while she's gettin' sump'n cold she's talking about how she feels like she has angels who watch over her and keep her safe and all. And I'm lookin' around and I don't see no guys in sheets with wings an' swords. Just some pennants and a Pirates schedule on the coffee table. I start laughin' and then I hear these little toenails clickin' on the floor.

"Oh, that's Sidney and Geno," she says.

They're wiener dogs. And they're friggin' little. I ask if they're puppies and she says they're miniatures. So she comes out and makes baby noises at the wieners and they're all wiggles. Then she goes back in the kitchen and starts talkin' about angels again. So I laugh and ask her if her angels could protect her from a devil like me and when I say it, the bigger one, I think it was Geno, he starts growling and then the smaller one, Sidney, he starts growling too. It was like having two friggin' little muppets mad at me, so I growled back at 'em.

Then I hear Miss Girlie out there in the kitchen asking me what I said so I say her doggies are cute or sump'm and rare back on the couch to get comfortable. That's when Sidney? The littler one? He jumps up and bites down, right on the family jewels. And I'm trying to stay cool and at the same time I want to slap this friggin' little pooch offa my nards. Miss Girlie in the kitchen is still talkin' about angels and that yes she does feel protected and as she starts walkin' in from the kitchen, the other little fink? Geno? He's being the lookout. He barks to warn Sidney and he lets go and by the time she's back in the living room, they're sitting on either side of me on the couch wagging their friggin' little wiener dog tails. Sucks man. She looked at the wieners and looked at me and said maybe it was time to call it a night.

It's not funny, man. Those wieners were friggin' vicious. Hey, you want to risk it? Go. Have fun. Me? I happen to like my nards, so I'll sit here and wait for a girl without friggin' wiener muppet avengers for housemates.

copyright 2009 jas faulkner

A Serious Appeal from Arnott and Tootoo: Hamster Pundits

2009-08-04T06:48:00.000-07:00

Arnott and Tootoo, professional guard animals and internet pundits, have requested an opportunity to speak to you today about a matter that they feel is vitally important. This blogger applauds their willingness to engage in civilized public discourse and asks that you give them your undivided attention. And yes, I am aware that Arnott and Tootoo are Alice's sons' female hamsters. There is a lengthening list of people who are aware that they're female hamsters. That list does not include any of the following:

Alice's sons
Arnott
Tootoo

Tootoo: Hi! I'm Tootoo and this is Arnott.

Arnott: Hi.

Tootoo: Many of you associate us with our ability to add a sharp satirical edge to somber discussions about pressing social issues. We're going for a change of pace today.

Arnott: Yep.

Tootoo: It has come to our attention that the Humane Society of Dickson County, Tennessee is in serious trouble.

Arnott: Very Serious.

Tootoo: Because of the tough economy, many people have had to give up their pets. This has caused a crisis in the shelter because there is not enough room to keep them all or people to take care of them. Right now there are twenty-five dogs and puppies in dire need of placement.

Arnott: Get a puppy.

Tootoo: If you've thought about adding to your family, now would be a good time. Dogs make great family members! They're good looking, loyal, affectionate and fun to be around.

Arnott: And they eat poop!

Tootoo: Shh! For more information about the shelter, CLICK HERE. They even have a page full of pups and dogs looking for someone just like you. You can also contact Melissa Lee via email at hsdcxl@aol.com or you can all the shelter at 615-446-PETS. According to the letter, they are open on Saturday from 10am to 4pm. This is slightly different from the rest of the website that lists their days and hours of operation as Wednesday through Saturday from 10 to 4; so you might want to call before you head out there.

Arnott: That's 615-446-PETS

Tootoo: This is your chance to make a differnece in some dog's life. Please consider helping out these nice people who love animals! Oh, and thanks for listening. This has been fun.

Arnott: Peace.

copyright 2009 jas faulkner

TV Review: Drop Dead Diva

2009-07-29T11:50:00.000-07:00

The Deets:
What: Drop Dead Diva
Where: Lifetime Television
When: Sunday Nights at 9 ET/8 CT, encore on Mondays at 8 ET/ 7 CT
also available with OnDemand the day after the premiere and at the official page at myLifetime.com

Unlike many of the real critics out there, my response to Lifetime's newest series, "Drop Dead Diva" is negative and it's a shame. There are a few good things to say about it. The cast is excellent: Brooke Elliot and Brooke D'Orsay, who share the lead, are charming, lovely actors. April Bowlby is bringing her A game as the comic foil. Ben Feldman is dorky-sweet and if I were much younger, I'd probably find him crush-worthy. The rest of the cast is also quite good. The message on the surface is one of empowerment and acceptance. One half of the lead is not a size zero. At the very least, they're giving me an alternative to the screechy grinning neediness that has become the norm whenever anyone female and over 120 pounds appears on camera. Lifetime is throwing me a bone and I should be happy about this. Right?

No.

Lifetime is trying to get me to accept stereotypes about who I am and what I am like and be grateful about it because there are so few big women on television who are presented in a remotely positive light. No, thank you. Yes, it's nice that Jane is kind and a sharp lawyer and pretty. She is also a bit whipped by life because she has been conditioned to disappear in the presence of her thinner cohorts. She makes what can be described as orgasmic faces over pastries. Other than Rachel Ray, who does that? Instead of finding that exercise can be fun and feel good, she whines that it's hard. She's not even that fat. There's no reason she couldn't be experiencing an endorphin high from a good workout. Oh, wait a minute. She's not model-thin, so the only thing that could possibly make her feel good is biting into an eclair. Give me a break.

I could be wrong, but I get the feeling that this show is either written by people who have never been fat or by people who are writing to accommodate women who want to see themselves represented by a bigger actress and those who think the big girl is good for a giggle at the same time. By presenting Jane as a person with intellect and feelings, a spunky hero to root for, they are trying to say the empowerment is there. By putting in the moments when the most physical gratification she gets is from eating a doughnut, they chip away at the dignity of the character with the dramatic equivalent of gaping at a fat person's grocery cart or dinner plate. Sorry, but you can't have it both ways.

After three episodes and going from hopeful that it would get better to seeing it get closer to the way I feared it would be, I'm done with this show. There have been star turns by larger actresses on television where their characters' size and beauty weren't the only things that mattered to them or to the people around them. There will be again. Lifetime, this is one favor from you I don't need or want.

copyright 2009 jas faulkner

The Michael Vick Question: An Interspecies Panel Discussion

2009-07-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

This week Michael Vick will meet with NFL commissioner Roger Goodell to discuss his future with the league. A number of news sources have noted that it is highly likely Vick will be given provisional reinstatement and will be allowed to attend training camp if he is signed to a team.

I'll have to admit that my initial response was, "Well, that wraps it up for the NFL for me". After all, why would I want to invest time, money and emotion into following a league that would hire someone like Vick when people like Brett Queener and Alexander Ovechkin are still walking the planet as professional athletes? Being able to enjoy mad skills and almost otherworldly creativity in play shouldn't entail feeling dirty. (Okay, it can if you're with a group of women your age and older who are eyeing Tootoo and Little Ryan for all the wrong reasons, but...well, never mind.)

Maybe it was time to go beyond a gut check and get opinions from some friends of mine who love sports and could also offer some insight into human/animal relationships. Without further ado, let me introduce the panel:

Kevin has been an athlete since elementary school. His love of track and field events started when he went home from his third grade field day with a fist full of ribbons and a gift certificate from the local Krystal. His tastes have changed since then. Now he prefers White Castle, pina coladas and walks in the rain. He is Sophie's Daddy.

Sophie is a 14 year old golden retriever. Her athletic resume includes Senior Agility Camp for Fat Dogs, eating That Mean Bitch Chicken Trudy down to her demonic waist for chasing small children and marathon farting. She roots for Alabama football, Teller over Penn and everyone in the WNBA over LeBron.

Bernard is a retired Longhorn rodeo bull. He was rescued when someone found out that he was going to be barbecued due to his reluctance to get mean for rodeo audiences. He now lives on a small hobby farm with his adopted family. His favorite food is stolen cole slaw from the big church Tupperware bowl.

Maggie doesn't sweat, she glows. She will also occasionally wallow in the back yard kiddie pool. This lovely Hampshire sow adores Michael Phelps and thinks couture footwear is delicious. On cooler days she can be found in her Radio Flyer convertible, where she matches speeds with Jimmy Johnson. In her head.

Arnott and Tootoo are Beautiful Alice's sons' guard hamsters. They prefer nocturnal runs on their squeaky cage wheel, chewing and frantic relay sprints behind heavy furniture minutes before Gramma is scheduled to arrive. Their owners are still blissfully unaware that Arnott and Tootoo are female.

Me: Good morning everyone! Thanks for taking the time to talk with me. Is everyone up to speed about Michael Vick?

Sophie: Goodell has got to be kidding! I threw my squeaky badger at the TV when I saw the crawl under the Espys last night. I mean, come the freak ON!

Me: Does anyone else want to share their initial reaction?

Bernard: I wouldn't mind seeing Goodell and Vick booted around a pen. It would be even sweeter if they were upside down in rubber barrels.

Maggie: Heathens. Michael Phelps would never be mean to a dog.

Arnott: If Vick would be cruel to a dog, how effective could he possibly be on the field?

Tootoo: Defintiely a scaredy loser. He'd turtle the first time things got a little rough.

Arnott: Yeah. Is there an NFL team with pink jerseys?

Sophie: And ruffles.

Tootoo: And they could put "Turtle Vick" on the back.

(At this point lots of giggling ensued and I had to wait for everyone to calm down.)

Maggie: I know a turtle who would be better on the field. He's a pretty aggressive snapper.

Me: Kevin, what was your reaction?

Kevin: Well, I was disappointed.

Sophie: And?

Kevin: Very disappointed.

Tootoo: That's it?

Arnott: He's such a girl.

Sophie and Maggie: Hey!

Bernard: Of course I'm angry. I think that is the general reaction, but beyond that how does one respond? A decent person would understand his return to the sport would be problematic and consider other options. That he would do this, thus putting the onus on the league and the fans to forgive and forget, shows that he's still pretty self-centered. He needs to rethink this.

Arnott: He needs a swift kick in the harbles.

Tootoo: Yeah!

Me: Girls...

Sophie and Maggie: What?

Me: (sighing) Tootoo, Arnott...

Arnott: I'm just saying...

Kevin: Are you saying he should just go away?

Bernard: Maybe not that. There are other things he could do and still be involved in the NFL.

Maggie: That's a good point. Legally, he has paid his debt. He has a right to live his life and pursue what he wants. However, this doesn't mean he has a right to play pro ball. Something like that seems more like a privilege, especially given the nature of funding for pro sports, which more often than not are heavily subsidized by local taxpayers. Should the citizens of whatever city holds the franchise where he'd play be required to pay him to play ball? That's what it would amount to and I would be pretty resentful of my tax dollars going towards Vick's paycheck.

Kevin: That kind of cruelty is pretty off the charts in terms of bad behavior. I mean, people have been banned from sports for gambling, juicing and even talking trash about ex girlfriends. This guy tortured and killed dogs. Does he deserve another shot at pro ball just because he's dotted the i's and crossed the t's in a legal sense?

Me: People can change.

Bernard: Maybe he has. You know? I kind of doubt it.

Sophie: Me, too. And there's something about wanting to go back to the NFL that seems like he feels entitled. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Tootoo: Strong words from someone who eats poop.

Sophie: So do you.

Tootoo: Nuh uh. That's Arnott.

Arnott: I do not.

Sophie: Which of you is which? I can't even tell you two apart.

Tootoo: Oh nice. Poop eater.

Sophie: Oh, go lick your own harbles.

Arnott: That shows how much you know, smart girl. Hampsters don't have harbles!

Me: Okay, that's all the time we have for today. I would like to thank my guests, Kevin, Maggie, Bernard, Sophie, Arnott and Tootoo for joining me. Thank you, readers for clicking in. Until next time, this is Jas Faulkner hoping you have a good day.

copyright 2009 jas faulkner

Livable Streets Education: Kids with Flow and a Message

2009-07-21T21:13:00.000-07:00

Please check out this video and spread the word about this outstanding program:

Livable Streets Education

Who Are Those Children On The Ice At Centennial Sportsplex And What Have You Done With Vern Fiddler?

2009-07-18T19:19:00.000-07:00

We're two weeks past the NHL UFA feeding frenzy and I have managed to not reach the level where all hope for future happiness is lost and donating all of my Predators shirts to Goodwill and bitterly vowing to only follow MLL for the rest of my days seem like good ideas. Seeing the new recruits on the ice was a tonic. That Poile boy did a good job this year. What I'm not so happy about is knowing that Vern Fiddler will be wearing Phoenix laundry. Yes, I'll get over it, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it.

Big Gay Kevin, his wonderful new boyfriend, Bilbo and I have been looking over the schedule for 2009/2010 and our feelings, they are mixed. Neither of our favorite Russians will be visiting this year. If we want to see Malkin being all Gary Cooper on the ice, we'll have to go to Peetsborg, tovarishes. Seeing Stitch, er, Ovechkin play our boys will entail some travel as well.

That doesn't mean Sommet is going to be innocent of thrills this coming season. My Pink-Eyed Slovakian Hockey Husband (HI MOM!) will be making multiple visits with his newest BeeEffEffs for the next twelve years.

"Why do you not love me, Jas' Mum? Marian sad."

We will also get a visit from Olli "Crazy Eyes" Jokinen and multiple visits from Big Joe and the Bitey Fish. Sounds like fun. Will this be the year the Predators become contenders for the cup? As much as I want daft Alex to get to cuddle it at least once in his career, I think it would be even sweeter to see Arnott, Dumont and the crew hoisting 35 pounds of awesome next June.

copyright 2009 jas faulkner

The Air Up There...

2009-07-06T15:39:00.000-07:00

What to write about Steve McNair?

Like many Nashvillians and sports fans across the country, I am saddened by the events of this past week. What needs to be stressed is that the way he died was not the sum of who Steve McNair was as a person.

Please don't forget that that his was a life puctuated by instances of greatness that were tranformative enough to move an entire city. His legacy should be his football career, which was extraordinary. It can be found in the four beautiful sons who carry his name maybe even some of his talent. The love his fans, friends, family and the people who were part of the Titans organization have expressed for him is also a testament to who he was.

His efforts towards making life better for young people in Middle Tennesee and beyond has been part of the landscape for those who work in intervention for at-risk kids for quite some time. He was one of those rare celebrities who didn't require the presence of PR wonks and cameras when he reached out to kids who looked to him for inspiration.

There are a lot of people here and elsewhere who have expressed a desire to pay tribute. One of the best ways would be to support the foundation that bears his name so they can continue to do good. You can find them here: The Steve McNair Foundation

Rest in peace, Number 9. I hope they're taking good care of you where ever you are.

O'Neill

2009-06-20T11:15:00.001-07:00

When I was going through his pictures this afternoon, it was hard to decide which ones to use. As dogs go, he was photogenic but he dearly hated to have his picture taken. There are probably more pictures in my camera of his retreating fuzzy butt as he trotted away than expressive shots like this one of him blissed out on the couch.

That couch, by the way, was his. It was purchased with him in mind after he managed to destroy three of them by dint of chewing, dirt and general doggieness. This one withstood the last four years of his life and after me, my mother, his My Kebbin and Cookie Monster, it was probably one of his favorite things ever.

If you've read very much of this blog, you're probably aware of some of his antics over the years. Here's a bit more of his story:

He was part of a four-pup litter born in 1997 to a registered Old English Sheepdog mom. The identity of his father was always a little muddy. I have heard that his dad could have been either the doofusy Bearded Collie who loved to come visit or the suave Huskie who had a talent for climbing fences and a yen for pretty English girls.

When we first met him and his brothers at the shelter, the workers were pushing the other three pups, McNeill, McDuff and McGruff and letting O'Neill kind of languish in the background. His brothers had blue eyes or one blue eye and one brown eye and they thought it would be easier to get them adopted first. Also, O'Neill had feet like pie pans and was already the biggest of the four. I guess they figured things weren't looking too good for the boy. One thing he had over his brothers was a mellow, sweet disposition. He loved to play, but he also loved to be cuddled. There was never a question about which brother was going home with me that day. It's funny because when I brought him in for his first well puppy visit, the vet told me that they were worried he wouldn't find a home because of his brown eyes and quiet personality.

He was there through health scares, career changes, family crises. It wasn't until much later on I realized how much he served as my id, whether it was saying what I really thought about Sean Avery or farting in the general direction of The Worst Boss Ever and then smiling and wagging. A friend who was struggling through his dissertation while teaching full time considered O'Neill a brother under the fur. He went so far as to include O'Neill in the acknowledgments when he published his paper. He was a big, sensitive boy who adored children and small animals. He loved Spanish Guitar, C-Span and Sesame Street for background noise. He had a vocabulary of words and phrases that he recognized and would respond to when he heard them: pink squeaky, cookie, eating time is over, cornbread, go peepee, chicken, slider, go putter, cookie monster, Kebbin, go to bed and hey ball are the ones that come to mind at the moment. He loved summer and shared my thing for veggies. He would let anyone who dared to eat a stalk of broccoli without sharing know that they were horribly remiss in their manners and enjoyed delicately shelling and eating peas. The latter was the source of bets, astonishment and sometimes consternation for years.

Kebbin, or My Kebbin, is Big Gay Kevin. He was one of O'Neill's biggest fans, closest guy buddies and most vocal advocate for his rights as a Canine-American. I had never quite understood the dynamic behind married friends who got slightly resentful of their mates' buddies until Kevin and O'Neill laid eyes on each other. I might as well have left the house so the two of them could lounge on the couch together to watch PBS and eat White Castles. Whenever Kev came over, O'Neill would bound ahead of me and lots of growling and wrestling would ensue. I was lucky to get a backwards glance as if to say, "My company is here. Why don't you go into the kitchen and fix us some sandwiches?" If I had to pick a mental image that sums up their relationship, it would have to be one of the multiple times I've caught them sprawled on the couch, sharing a frappuccino. No, you did not misread that.

He died at home on April 29th. I won't go into great detail about it other than to say that after living a good, long life he realized he had worn out the body he was given and grudgingly admitted that it was time. He was and is loved and sorely missed by me and everyone who knew him.

The other day I got an email from someone asking me where he was and why he hadn't written about the Stanley Cup Finals or the NHL Awards. "Man!" The writer told me, "That dog is funny! You need to let him write your blog from now on."

I think he would have agreed.

copyright 2009 jas faulkner

"What Is The Law And How Do You Read It?" Luke 10:26

2009-06-04T09:07:00.000-07:00

Another Precis

This has to be one of the hardest essays I've ever written. Why? Partially because it's such a hot-button issue and I know that there are people in my life who will be very upset by what I'm going to say and partially because it's such a hard subject that I am afraid I'll be hurting more than helping by adding to the discourse. So now I'm putting on my virtual vestments, getting behind my digital pulpit and delivering another sermon. I really hope the next time I do this, it will be over something joyous. I'd much rather bring the funny.

Peace be with you.

Many, many years ago, probably before some of you were born, Dennis Miller was a young guy with big hair and the anchor's chair on Saturday Night Live's Weekend Update. Yep. Seriously. And those Ramones t-shirts? There really were Ramones at one point and they were great. But that's for another day. I bring up Dennis Miller because he made a statement back then that drove home to me why I needed to rethink my views on reproductive rights. I believe his words were something to the effect of, "When I get a working uterus, I'll get a say in the matter."

It's a pretty simple answer to a very hard question. Who gets to decide? It would be nice if we could all, to a person, make a rational, dispassionate stand for the right thing. It would be nice if we could take stances that are free of our own experiences and influences. I just don't think it's possible and that's why I ask you to look into your own heart and open yourself up to hearing the people on both sides of the debate.

Are we even sure of what the right thing is? We weren't created from a single mold, all the same and cookie-cutter perfect. We are all unique and beautiful and molded from the same elements as the stars. That's right, you, me, everyone, we're the stuff of stars. Like stars, we're shiny, irregular and possessed of so much that is ours and only ours....and all made from the same stuff that makes up stars. Wow.

Who are we to question the wisdom of a diverse humanity? The writers of the Bible must have felt the same way when the inspiration hit for Chapter 38 in the Book of Job. To give you some context, Job has finally had enough and he questions God as to why he is being tested. Th response is 41 verses of goosebump inducing poetry that reminds us how magnificent the gifts of the world and life and humanity really are. Included in that poetry is a deft, unmistakably mighty swipe to the side of our collective heads to remind us that we don't know it all. We can't know it all and when we endeavor to decide who lives and who dies we need to ask ourselves what right we have to make that decision.

The men who decided that Pvt William Long and Dr. George Tiller needed to die claim they were doing it to protest actions that compromised the sanctity of life. They did so by killing two men, probably without ever knowing what these individuals thought or felt about what they were doing or why they were doing it. How damaged, how removed from the best part of what makes us human do we have to be to kill someone as a symbolic act?

The worst part of all of this is that Tiller, Long, and their murderers are getting lost in the verbage because we can so conveniently scoot them behind their names and their professions and their deeds as abstract symbols. Tiller becomes an almost faceless entity who represents the abortion debate and William Long, who was really just a kid, is barely acknowledged because the press and we as a people are so weary of debating about war. We can overlook the human cost because we can see these people as symbols in an argument over ideas. It becomes black and white and you're for or against with the luxury of never seeing how it looks from the ground.

This isn't a new idea. In Luke 10:25-37, Christ tells the story of the Good Samaritan. I think it's interesting that Jesus chose to identify the players in that story by their places of origin. In older translations, it is understood that tribal and regional prejudices figure into the reluctance of some to offer help to the traveler who was robbed and beaten. The Samaritan was willing to see a person in trouble and instead of looking the other way, he chose to be kind. At the end of the story, Jesus even spells it out for us:

Luke 10:36-37

36"Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?"

37The expert in the law replied, "The one who had mercy on him."
Jesus told him, "Go and do likewise."

So I think it's pretty clear. We have to be merciful. If it's not a part of your nature, maybe you need to fake it until it's real. That starts with empathy. It starts with these questions being more than platforms for talking points. Lives are changed, sometimes ended over these arguments.

I have said that we are molded by our experiences and their effect on us is unavoidable. In all fairness, maybe I should tell you where I stand and why. When I was young, I was pretty sure of what I thought about the question of abortion and the legal devices involved in reproductive rights and regulations. In 1990, I found out I was pregnant. I had no intention of backing away from anything I wanted to do, but to my surprise, I also knew in my gut that I was going to do my damnedest to be the best mom I could be. I even picked a school with a good education and early childcare development program so I would have resources available for my baby while I was in grad school. A month after I found out, I miscarried. My boyfriend at the time was relieved and everyone else seemed happy for me but me. There is not a day that goes by that I don't think about what that child might have been like. I wouldn't wish this on anyone.

One thing I am grateful for is that I didn't face the kind of legal inquiries that women in my position have been subjected to in the past. When I hear about women who are dealing with the grief of losing a child to miscarriage or congenital illness, I feel some relief that the small mercy of legal protection is in place for them, at least for the time being.

I don't expect anyone to change their mind based on what I've written. All I ask is that you think about it. Whatever side you're on, whether it's the morality of our going to war or legal interventions regarding women's health issues, think about the Samaritan who didn't see The Other, he saw a person suffering and answered with kindness.

I've talked enough. Let's finish this up and get out of here so we can get seated before the first pitch.

copyright 2009 jas faulkner

Dennis Miller on The Right To Choose

2009-06-04T06:45:00.000-07:00

I was looking for Miller's original comments on Pro-Choice/Pro-Life and couldn't find them. However, I did find this rant. Personally, I don't agree with Miller about a lot of things, but his views on social mores and pop culture are often pretty accurate, sometimes more so than we're comfortable admitting.

Now I don't want to get off on a rant here, because basically tonight's topic is a minefield - Abortion. I couldn't be anymore on tiptoes if the show was being produced by George Balanchine. This is the Big Debate, and I'm talking bigger than who was the better Darren on Bewitched. Abortion is our nation's "Final Jeopardy," and I'll wager, Alex, that if our nation fights another Civil War, it will be about this. And I would remind you that this all from my perspective, the male perspective, a one-step-removed perspective, because I will obviously never have to decide on whether or not I should have an abortion. And by the way, my belief is that if men were the ones getting pregnant, abortions would be easier to get than food poisoning in Moscow. Having men decide the fate of a woman's reproductive system makes about as much sense as asking Quentin Crisp to coach the Raiders. All right, enough qualifying, let's get on with it. There's no doubt that passions run high on both sides, and this issue has created a divide in this country not seen since Carly Simon last yawned in public. The prevailing opinions on a woman's freedom to choose are going further to the right than a Greg Norman tee shot.

Pro-life activists attempt to paint anyone pro-choice as having no morals. On the other side of the ledger, pro-choicers are tagging pro-lifers as crazed and backward bible-thumpers bent on running the lives of the people who disagree with them. The truth, as always, is, the case of human endeavors lies somewhere in between. As much as the advance scouts on either side of this issue might not want to admit it, good people do get abortions and other good people are pained by their decision to get one.

Where do I stand? Well, I'm like most of you, I presume, I think there are far too many abortions performed in this country. And I also believe that at the end of the day, as much as I might disapprove, none of them are really any of my business. Look, there are always going to be arguments on this issue. The debate will rage until the end of time no matter what the whim of the Papal infallibility or the politics of the decade. But the simple truth is, that such a passionate and personal decision dictates that the choice be left to the individual. And you know, that's really all we can do, because we're just human beings, stumbling around in the dark, trying to get to the bathroom and kicking the shit out of our shins on the way there.

Now there's some things all right-minded human beings should agree on. We should all agree that abortions should be legal in the case of rape, incest and when the mother's life is at risk -- that's just common sense. But excluding that obvious assumption, everything else in the abortion arena is "in play." There are many quagmires complicating this issue. Religion. Now it seems that religion is most often the backboard for every bank shot put up by someone making it their business to get into your business. Roman Catholic doctrine forbids abortion. Fine. Take that into consideration when you make your decision. Right-to-life proponents contend that abortion is immoral. Fine. Take that into consideration when you make your decision. Another pothole on the road to a sensible resolution to abortion is "when does life begin?" At conception? When a heartbeat is detected? At the first drawn breath? You know, for me it wasn't until last Tuesday. Until then I was just a sperm with an accountant! Okay, so those are the variables, and there are obviously millions more variables that make each individual case unique. But the more you think about it, and the more it makes your head spin, and the more confused you get trying to figure out someone else's life for them, it becomes increasingly apparent that it has to be the call of the individual who is pregnant, because the collective, one way or another, won't have to suffer the consequences of that most personal of all decisions.

My fellow Americans, it is time to suck it up. Look deep into your immortal soul (if you believe you have one) and do the right thing. Have the courage and strength to live your own life, by your own standards, and stop trying to call the shots for everyone else. We all live with glaring inconsistencies, and sometimes, when you see something going on right in front of you that offends you to the very core of your being, sometimes the best thing you can do is walk away, because you know that's exactly what you would want them to do for you. There's only one judge on all this and that's God. And you don't get to meet him until you go backstage after the play is over. And believe me, you do not want to get a "thumbs down" from the guy who created thumbs, all right? In the interim, everybody has got to tend their own garden vis-a-vis abortion. And remember, when it comes to your body, only you wear the robes, and only you carry the gavel.

Of course, that's just my opinion, I could be wrong.

-Dennis Miller

Note: I don't own the rights to this and couldn't find the appropriate contact or copyright information. If there's a question of this adversely affecting his or his publisher's ownership of his words, I'll be happy to take it down.

Peace

2009-06-01T17:10:00.000-07:00

“Nonviolence means avoiding not only external physical violence but also internal violence of spirit. You not only refuse to shoot a man, but you refuse to hate him."

-Dr. Martin Luther King

"Nonviolence is not a garment to be put on and off at will. Its seat is in the heart, and it must be an inseparable part of our being."
-Gandhi

Jesus Wept

2009-05-26T21:34:00.000-07:00

A Precis of Sorts

I'm not a minister. The thought of being one has occurred to me in the past, but it's not really something I look back upon and contemplate as a road not taken. It simply wasn't in the cards for me to be a priest. And yet tonight I have been thinking about what I would say if I was giving a sermon this Sunday. I am not sure where the need to write this is coming from, but it's there all the same. So here goes. By the way, I'll spare you the usual formalities from The Book of Common Prayer, so don't worry about knowing when to kneel, stand, etc.

Peace be with you.

The passage I would like to talk about this morning comes from the Book of John, chapter 11, verse 35. It will take you far longer to find it than it will to read it so let me save you the trouble.

Jesus wept.

Short, bittersweet and to the point. Jesus, who was the human incarnation of God, experienced something we all encounter and behaved- no, it was more genuine than that, it wasn't just rote behavior, he felt. His heart broke and he did what many of us do when we grieve, he cried.

In the context of the narrative, he wept when he heard that his friend, Lazarus, had died. And then, being Jesus, he performed a miracle, taught a lesson and moved on. It's a great story about friendship and the healing power of faith but the most important lesson we can take from that passage, which by the way is John 11:1-44 isn't that Jesus can raise the dead.

Let me explain. I promise I'll try to keep it short. As Christians, you know that the Bible, particularly the New Testament is intended to be a guide for living. And as Christians, you know that we are to look to the Bible to gain an understanding of how we are supposed to be if we are to be Christ-like.

Let me get a quick show of hands. How many people here this morning can raise the dead? Hunh. Me neither. So if we can't raise the dead what part of Jesus' example are we supposed to follow?

Jesus wept.

We cannot mourn or feel loss or weep tears of real pain for others if we don't see them as fully human. If we don't value them as much as we value ourselves, what does that make us? Monsters. To deny anyone their rights as a human being is monstrous. In those two words from the Book of John, we're given in no uncertain terms the example to follow, that we are to be human and humane and recognize the humanity in others and respond in a loving manner that is truly Christ-like.

I think Jesus and the authors of the Bible knew that some of us can be a little thick, so they spelled it out in even plainer terms further along in the same book. John 13:34-35, don't worry about looking it up right now, but I do want you to keep it in mind for contemplation later on. Where was I? In John 13:34-35 , Christ says: "A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another as I have loved you, that ye also love one another. By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, that ye have love one to another." He didn't add any clauses or make exceptions or suggest that his love is exclusive or can be repealed or withheld based on certain conditions. He said, "love one another as I have loved you." Who are we to assume that any person or group would not be loved by Christ and would you want to follow someone who would withhold their love?

Right now there are people who are trying to withhold the rights of your friends, your neighbors, your brothers, your sisters, you fellow humans. They do this in the name of Christianity. They need, as we all do, to step back from Christianity and look deeper into the personality and spirit of Christ. People love to ask the question, "What would Jesus do?" I can't help but think that he has to look at us sometimes, do a facepalm and say, "I've already told you."

Thanks for hearing me out this morning. Now let's finish this up and get out of here before the Baptists get all the good tables at The Pancake Pantry.

copyright 2009 jas faulkner

More Secrets of Southern Women Revealed: Pleeeease Don't Tell My Mom I Wrote This!

2009-05-25T09:07:00.000-07:00

"You write like a girl."

That was the message from my mom after she got caught up on my blog."

"What?" I laughed, admittedly a little indulgently, but yeah, I laughed. Then she threw down the gauntlet.

"Build me a blog. I can do better."

"What?"

"I sent you to college and that's the only word you know now? You're too nice. I'll be more honest."

"Mom, I'm honest. It's just that I write about stuff I like."

She gave me The Look. So I built her a blog. And I have to admit she's definitely telling it like it is in the world according to "Dirtsister". The thing is, if you met her she would come across as the sweetest, most genteel, well read lady to have ever drawn breath. However there's this dirty little secret about Southern Women: When it comes to sports, they can bring the haterade like nobody's business.

There's no reason this should have come as a surprise. I grew up in a Dallas Cowboys Tom'n'Roger household and God help you if you even looked like you were going to offer aid and comfort to the Washington Redskins or their fans. To be honest, I thought that this was a football thing or a seventies thing or some other kind of thing that was a part of the past.

And then the NHL All-Stars Game happened and my mother got her first look at Alexander Ovechkin.

"I don't like him." she said, "He looks like a smart aleck. Do you like him?"

"Well, he's creative on the ice and he's always fun to watch."

Mom watched him and frowned.

"Who does he play for?" she asked.

"Washington." I said.

"I knew it!" She barked.

From then on Ovi8 became Boris Badunov to her Moose and Squirrel. Lucky for him, the regular season was over and the Caps had fallen to ~~Balder/Buddha/Jesus/Insert your deity of choice here~~ Sidney Crosby and the Mighty Opii before she'd started her blog. Her laser-like gaze of white hot sports hate was turned to one team and one team only, The Red Wings*.

She hates them all. She hates their fans. She hates their color commentators. It's an ambient kind of hate beam that falls on anything dressed in red and white that skates around a puck. Oh, every now and then she'll narrow her focus. There was the time she submitted Michael Babcock's picture to the "Women Who Look Like Old Lesbians" blog. And there's her thing about Marian Hossa. This dates back to Marian's first fight as a Red Wing. It was with her beloved Ryan Suter. You don't mess with Suter. (Or Pekka, or "Little Ryan"** or Erat...) So now, the big red-headed guy, (I know...Which one???) is known in Mom's world as "Mary Ann Hoser".

You think it's scary reading about this? Today she actually demanded to know if I liked the Red Wings.

"Please don't hurt me." I murmured.

"Well?"

"It's five months until the regular season starts."

"Get out of my house."

She's calmed down, but I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe they'll give me a nifty Preds gimme shirt when I graduate from re-education camp.

Want to visit Dirtsister's blog? She'd love to see you there!

OFF MY CHEST (because everyone is entitled to my opinion)

*Okay, being a Nashville Predators fan means that admitting any weakness for the Wheels'n'Wings will lead to eight weeks in a re-education center where you spend twelve hours a day eating raw meat and looking at old beefcake photos of Jason Arnott while an audio loop that says "Honestly, we love you, Sully! Please don't go!" plays nonstop until the lights go out and you are allowed to sleep on a Kroger Green Bag on the damp concrete floor of the site of the Union Station train shed for three minute intervals until the sun comes up. In other words, I am engaging in risky behavior here...

I like the Red Wings.

There. I said it.

** Ryan Jones. It doesn't matter that he might be bigger or older or have more years in pro hockey. Suter was first to the Preds roster so Jones will always be "Little Ryan". Welcome to the South.

copyright 2009 jas faulkner

TV Review: Glee

2009-05-23T05:41:00.000-07:00

The Deets
What: Glee
When: Coming This Fall
Where: Fox
As of this writing you can get the first episode free from Amazon or watch it online at Fox's website or at the Glee entry on IMDB

Who knew I'd start the summer writing TV reviews, especially right in the middle of the Stanley Cup Playoffs? Bear with me. You're gonna like this one. So let's talk "Glee".

"Glee" is the latest show from Ryan Murphy, the creative force behind the reptilian charms of "Nip/Tuck" and the heart and soul of high school as presented by the kids of "Popular". To say that it's a sitcom about a high school glee club is like saying "Seinfeld" was a show about nothing. That may be how it looks on paper and I could start describing the plot to you and you could probably finish every sentence. Hey! Let's try that!

Me: So there's this jock and the teacher sponsoring the glee club finds out he has a great voice and gets him to join the club -

You: ...and his team mates find out and give him an ultimatum where he has to choose between football and singing. Oh, and he rescues one of the geekier people from the jocks and makes a speech about being true to himself or something like that and...

Oh yeah, the plot could be telegraphed from my front porch to Chattanooga without any technological assistance. But here's the thing, Murphy and the writers and the cast sell this so well that you can't help but fall in love with it, bless it's cliched heart. There is an equal amount of tongue-in-cheek humor mixed with the kind of overly earnest face-palm worthy moments that go with being in or working at a high school. This works because while everyone is in on the joke (for the the most part, and I'll talk about that in a minute) they are aware that the moments, the desires, the whole awkward, goofy gestalt is what it is and you either love it or you don't.

If I have one quibble, it's that the "all athletes are stupid and mean" trope is getting old. (Getting? How about past gone?) I sincerely hope we see some of that tempered with more than one guy seeing the light.

The bottom line? I love it and think you will, too. Go to the Fox link in the deets and see what I (and your teen daughters and recovering drama/music geek friends) will be talking about this fall.

If you're too pressed for time to watch the whole preview, here's another taste of the show. Call me an easily manipulated simp, but this gave me goosebumps:

copyright 2009 jas faulkner

TV Review: Fourth and Long

2009-05-20T19:24:00.000-07:00

The Deets
Where: Spike TV
When: Mondays @ 10 eastern, 9 central
episode 1 is also available on the website

4th and Long | | SPIKE.com

"Let me make this perfectly clear. This is a football tryout camp. I don't want to hear any of that (deleted) about a reality TV show."
-Michael Irvin

Thus begins Spike TV's newest series, "Fourth and Long". So does Spike make good on Irvin's promise?

Thank goodness, yes! This show is football, football, football and more football. No stupid challenges. No middle school drama. This is about seeing who has the ability and the heart to play pro ball. The premise is simple: twelve men whose careers in football might have ended too early are given a second, possibly final chance to play on an NFL team. They are put through a series of grueling exercises and then based on their performances, one person will be eliminated each episode. So far there is no one on the show who makes you wonder if they were cast to make good television. So if you're looking for Survivor on astroturf, this might not be the show for you. If you want to see what it takes to make an NFL contender, tune in, you won't be disappointed. Beautifully shot, purposefully and perfectly cast, exciting...It gets two thumbs way up from me.

copyright 2009 jas faulkner

FAIL! Mission Aborted Due To Donkey Pee and Toddlers

2009-05-20T17:39:00.000-07:00

This morning I told Alice there was going to be a petting zoo at the East Nashville Farmer's Market thingie. I went on to mention that it would be fun for the kids and that I planned on getting some pictures of critters to use as models for drawing.

First she snorted and then she said that if she wanted Evan and Ryan to track animal poop in the house, she could take them to her parents' farm in Franklin, where her mother could get the satisfaction of exacting revenge for her own overly girl nature by making darned sure no poop in the field went unsquished before they were sent home.

I argued that they could pet them from outside of the pen, which was how I planned to take pictures.

"Besides," she said, "You won't be able to get one picture without someone's tot wandering into the shot."

So very true. My attempt at getting a picture of the bigger animals as they emerged from the trailer was blocked by an irate, bespectacled mother who stood in front of my camera and glared at me like an ostrich who has just caught a meerkat stealing one of her eggs.

As the animals skittered over to the farmer while I was trying to snap, my mother made the observation that I was going to have to suck it up and go into the pen. I was right on the cusp of agreeing with her when the miniature donkey stopped, looked very pensive and then released nine gallons of urine into the middle of the pen. A minute later, a small boy gleefully splashed through it. No. Just...no. Further attempts were scuttled by a wee, cute girl who kept jumping in front of me and shouting, "Hi!". Oy.

Honestly, I wouldn't blame any parent for being concerned when a stranger is nearby snapping pictures. What had me thinking "wha...?" was the parent who accosted us on the way back to the car. I figured she was upset and quite rightfully protective of whichever child was hers. I explained that I was trying to get pictures of the animals, particularly the pig and the chickens for an art project and then she demanded to know why I didn't like children.

You win, Alice.

copyright 2009 jas faulkner

Honk! A Word or Five About Driving

2009-05-16T08:12:00.000-07:00

This is not my blog post about driving. This is a brief word to Kevin and Tasha, who vetted this essay before I posted it. Guys, I had no idea that "gerbil" was already in use as a verb. Here's what I mean by "gerbiling":

In other words, it's the act of stuffing one's cheeks to the point that they pooch out. You've seen Alice's boys' gerbils, Arnott and Tootoo, do that when we give them treats. BTW, Arnott and Tootoo are female. You want to tell Alice's boys? Me neither.

This is my blog piece about driving:

I have this friend who ended up working in Egypt right out of college. He told me that people over there use their car horns as a substitute for the brake pedal. I'm trying to imagine the typical Cairo driver trying that in Nashville and thinking he might get, oh, fifty feet before he ended up turtled on a median. It's not that we don't use our horns here. In fact, take more than a milisecond to be sure oncoming traffic has truly stopped before turning and you'll hear a chorus of beeps and honks that will make you wonder if someone has put a "Honk if you're irritable!" sticker on your bumper. Drivers around here also tend to use their horns to show support for various demonstrations on the hoof. I'll happily honk to show my love when people are waving signs. No problem. It's kinda fun.

What isn't fun is the honking I had to do yesterday. Twice. Have I said argh? Argh. How do I put this? People get on the road and they're pointing and shooting this large mass of glass, metal and plastic at speeds of at least 40mph in town and you would think that would be sufficient to keep them fully engaged. No. Yesterday a couple in a van were arguing and on cell phones and driving. They whipped around the cars ahead of them and in and out of lanes, didn't like where they were, and whipped in and out again. Rinse and repeat. I finally held my breath, honked until I saw both heads swivel in my direction and then pulled around them (they were stopped kitty cornered across two lanes) so I could be on my way. Thirty minutes later a guy in a truck pulled out into the middle of an intersection, stopped and proceeded to unwrap and gerbil a hamburger as big as his head. When the light changed and it was my turn, I waited a minute for him to move on. Much to the displeasure of the people behind me, he was too engrossed with his food to move and so I had to honk until he looked up so I would be sure he wasn't going to suddenly realize where he was and T-bone me.

This is frustrating to me because it makes me feel like I'm coming off as ragey when I am in fact terrified. I know, it's all fun and games and texting and eating food the missus won't let you have because you're on nine medications until someone gets hurt. I don't want that someone to be me or anyone else for that matter. So here's the thing. Driving just is not conducive to multitasking. If you have something better to do than drive, please go do it. The road will still be there when you're finished.

copyright 2009 Jas Faulkner