Our (Absolute) Last Post about Michael Jackson

I actually considered taking a personal day from work just so I could stay at home on the sofa and watch the memorial, but my newfound work ethic beat out over my natural tendency towards laziness. I did however take a few minutes at work to peruse the MSN pictures from the day and here were my initial thoughts, which I immediately emailed to Parker:

Sorry about the solid gold casket (that costs more than most homes in the Mid west) and the ugly spray of red roses.

I'm not kidding I think the family slathered those kids with dark Ban de Soleil to make them look like they could actually be Michael's biological children, because the three of them now look mulatto and the oldest son's hair is now black - it was light brown a few weeks ago. 

Brooke Shield's looks gorgeous and seems totally sweet. I hate that bitch

His backup dancers for his upcoming tours are doing a song and dance number - all the while thinking to themselves "Crap I need a new gig, stat"

The Cou de gras is a picture of Corey Feldman in the audience dressed in full MJ garb (fedora, Capn' Crunch jacket, etc.). I can't see his hand but I'd bed my left tit that he is wearing a sparkly glove!

And when did the Rev. Al Sharpton become manorexic? Geez Rev. Al - have a frickin' Quiznos now and then.

There is a pic of his daughter Paris totally breaking down on stage and I am now sitting at my desk with tears rolling down my face. 

Parker responded with a snort about how sweet little Paris at least could cry into Janet's soft, millionaire bosom - something most orphans are unable to do.

After work, I sat Shiva for the Anderson Cooper 2 hour special on the memorial and cried like a baby the entire time (I blame the PMS, as usual). The media played MJ's daughters tearful goodbye no less than 17 times last night and I bawled every time. I also cried when Jennifer Hudson sang. That girl has some pipes (yet somehow lost out on American Idol - I think Bucky Covington got further then her). 

Come and Knock on my (Prison) Door

I really don't have much commentary for this (as the picture speaks volumes), but I just had to post this Mug Shot of Joyce Dewitt. Surely everyone over the age of 35 recognizes this swanky lady as "Janet Woods" on the amazingly complicated sitcom "Three's Company". Wasn't Janet the voice of wisdom on that show? Doesn't everyone over the age of 30 know by now that Drinking and Driving (esp. on the 4th of July - hello?) is a total dumbass move (I speak from experience - someday I'll tell my tale). 

By the way - Joyce/Janet was so plastered she actually drove THRU the po-po barricade (perhaps she was fantasizing about the Sally Field role in Smokey and The Bandit that she didn't get?

4th of July Clusterf**k (and the wild week leading up to it)

This past week was literally my first full week off in over a year. It started out completely strange with the not-terribly surprising news of Farrah Fawcett's death. As a kid I loved everything "Charlies Angels", especially the short lived Farrah-era. My brother had the red bathing  suit poster and I had the same on a decal Tshirt (early lesbian tendencies?). I also had the Farrah Barbie Head (as shown below, holy shit) that I thought was the 'figizz' until the first time I applied makeup to it and the shit wouldn't wash off. I ended up  chopping all her hair off and leaving her in the garage while cursing the dumb makers of the el cheapo Farrah head. 

 To hear that Michael Jackson had passed the same day was completely shocking, although he had become incredibly frail and more and more odd over the years he was only 50 and the friggin King of Pop. I kept thinking, "Seriously who would have ever guessed he would die before Liz Taylor, Liza or  Diana Ross for that matter.  As a teen my room was mainly Duran Duran wall to wall however I gave some highly valuable real estate to a Michael Jackson poster, he was still black at the time and had his nose just right but apparently he didn't think so and proceeded to have it chiseled until it looked like a crumpling roman ruin. That year my dad scored tickets to the Jackson 5 Victory Reunion tour stop in Phoenix. I had my outfit ready to go; a black top with my 'Duran Seven and the Ragged Tiger' concert tee underneath, black and white checkered pants, white leather Duran Duran style shoes, and yes one white glove. Sadly the tour was canceled and I would not get to wear my one white glove in public afterall.

All of this news made me feel old and a little sad but alas before I could think about it too much D.W and I headed to LA for a weekend of fabulousness and fun with Val and her hubby and my sis and her boyfriend. We ate and drank like kings, shopped and laughed pretty much the entire time. Our big Star Sightings were Rick Hilton (not the least bit exciting - why wasn't he with his whorish daughter) and Florence Henderson who looks exactly like she did as the mom on the Brady Bunch. WTF she truly has the best plastic surgeon in Beverly hills.

Our much needed restful week ended yesterday with a 5k charity run in the morning followed by what I like to call the "Annual Family Fourth of July Clusterfuck." The party ended up being very fun however my house looked like a frat party and was only missing the pizza on the turntable. DW's brother has 5 kids under the age of 10 including 2-year-old twin boys. While all the kids are incredibly cute, the concept of not coming into a house sopping wet and standing over wood floors is  pretty much completely lost on them. The glass door leading out to the  pool was so sticky dirty it looked like Ray Jay and Kim Kardashian filmed their sex tape against it. I'm still swatting flys in the house from the door opening in and out so much. Also If you want to piss off a 6 year old off throw him into the deep end of a pool cannon ball style while not knowing that he can't swim as my brother did to my nephew.  Vengeance was his when he later threw some free weights from upstairs down the stairs making my cream colored wall now with black weight skid marks look like the side of a drive-thru Daiquiri Hut.

All in all a good time was had by all and no one went home missing a tooth or with a black eye so clusterfuck was indeed a success and DW and I are sure to be in bed by 8 tonight -the night of our 12 year anniversary. 

Party on Garth and happy anniversary Baby !
-Parker

The Holy Terrors of NY

I've managed to break away from the "Michael Watch" in order to view the first two TIVO'd episodes of "NY Prep" on Bravo. For those of you lucky bastards who aren't familiar with the show, "NY Prep" revolves around 5 or 6 egocentric spoiled adolescents living in NY. These whippersnappers apparently have no parents and are free to party, dine and shop at their leisure without a care in the world. 

Watching this tragedy (and hating myself for it), I started to imagine what a reality show based on my high school in the 1980's would be like - and here's a rundown and comparison of the two shows:

Instead of "NY Prep", my high school reality nightmare  would be called "Tucson Parochial" - based on kids attending a Catholic high school in a hot desert city. 

• The kids of "NY Prep" have personal shoppers at Barney's NY, donning the newest Prada and Chloe line: the kids of "Tucson Parochial" find themselves shopping at Contempo Casuals and are decked out in amazing acid washed zipper jeans and polar fleece pullovers.
• The kids of  "NY Prep" often dine at Nobu and cozy French restaurants on the upper east side: The kids of "Tucson Parochial" prefer to chow down at the food court at Tucson Mall, frequenting Hot Dog on a Stick.
• The kids of "NY Prep" throw parties at hip Japanese karaoke bars and cool downtown lofts: The kids of "Tucson Parochial" meet up in the wash below Costco for late night bonfire and beer (Paps Blue Ribbon) parties.
  
• The kids of "NY Prep" have private drivers who cart them around the city in large black Cadillac Escalades: The kids of "Tucson Parochial" drive 4x4 trucks with KC lights or their grandmother's inherited Oldsmobile or K-Car.

Oh the comparisons could go on for days. And, while I (sadly) will continue to watch Bravo's latest staged reality show, I am starting to think that "Tucson Parochial" would be a much better show.

By the Way - if one of the students of "Tucson Parochial" were to show up anywhere wearing the brown suit with piped trim (as modeled by "PC" above) he would be stoned to death in the parking lot with Cholla Jumping Cactus.

Updates from the Command Post

I haven't been committing myself to my Michael Jackson command post (aka sitting on my large chocolate brown sofa, perched in front of my tv with  CNN blaring and  a MacBook on my lap). However, over the past few days I have learned a few interesting facts that may or may not be true about The King of Pop:

• At the time of his death, Michael Jackson was 5'11" and approx 115 lbs. It is just wrong that I am 5'2" and actually weigh more than a 5'11" black man. I read that Michael's ribs were broken when the doctor attempted to give him CPR. Meanwhile, anyone attempting to give me CPR would just have their hands sink into a virtual pile of marshmallow fluff.
• Its now coming to light that Michael was not the biological father of his three children. Well no shit. I never would have guessed that Prince Michael with his albino hair was sired by another man. 
• Bubbles the chimp is still alive and well living in a chimp sanctuary in Florida. Poor Bubbles, just a pawn in Michael's late 80's publicity stunt and thrown away like a used glove.
• I also read that Michael was completely bald at the time of his death. You mean that sleek soccer mom hair style was a wig all along? 
• Joe Jackson (Michael's abusive father) is a jack ass (promoting his lame record company the day after Michael's death) and is a complete moron (announcing that "every country in the US loved Michael). His eyebrows also make him look like a drunk Satan wandering the earth.
• Lou Ferrigno (or as Larry King repeatedly called him "Lou Ferragamo"; does he make leather goods on the side?) is a total publicity whore (who knew?). The Hulkster has been on no less than 50 news programs over the past week and has not once neglected to mention that not only was he buddies with Michael (who worked out with Lou while wearing a black tux - normal) but that he may be on next season's "Dancing with the Stars." Hey Lou - book yourself on the Insider a few more times with your tales of Michael on the exercise ball and you're a shoe in for the Dancing show!
• Corey Feldman and Michael Jackson had a falling out on September 10, 2001. Corey however has remained silent and won't comment on what they argument was about. Jesus Christ, can someone (TMZ, I'm talking to you!) get to the bottom of this so that I can sleep at night?

George Carlin said it Best

Here is the amazing George Carlin waxing poetically about Michael Jackson. F - you Elvis.

R.I.P 70's and 80's Icons

Today is a sad day for anyone who came of age during the 70's and 80's. I literally have a command center on my couch keeping track of the Farrah/Michael Jackson deaths. Not since Anna Nicole passed away have I been so glued to my television and computer.

This morning I was confronted with the sad news that Farrah finally passed away after a long battle with anal cancer (yikes could anything be worse?) Farrah will always be known as one of Charlie's Angels and for her perky nipple poster (which hung on by  brother's floor to ceiling corkboard wall - so very 70's). However my fondest memory of Farrah was her amazing role as Holly in the cult classic "Logan's Run" - seriously she should have gotten a fricking Oscar.  I think I've seen "Logan's Run" at least 6 times over the years, because really, who can get tired of a movie who's plot revolves around a society that executes everyone once they reach the age of 30? I remember Farrah in her futuristic sparkly outfit with her soft airhead voice and thought she was "the bomb". 

As I left work I heard that Michael Jackson had passed away of a heart attack. Like most people, I agree that Michael was a freak, but god love him he was a talented freak. Unlike my children, I remember Michael as a black man, amazing dancer and great talent. I also remember doing the "mime in a box" dance to his "Off The Wall" album outside the school pod in 4th grade. The sparkly glove, and red leather jacket were a way hip in a lame but cool sort of way. I'd have to say that my favorite memory of Michael was his shy but lovable portrayal as the junkyard Scarecrow (with a Reeses Peanut Butter cup wrapper on his nose) in The Wiz (R&B's answer to The Wizard of Oz). His rendition of "Ease on Down the Road" with Diana Ross and Nipsy Russell kicked ass. 

So, to Farrah and Michael, I saw Rest In Peace. May the two of you do the Moonwalk, followed by a round of Battle of the Network Stars, and share your hair secrets up in Heaven. And may Ed McMahon greet you with a "Heeeere's Michael and Farrah".

-Val

Poop Eye. And, Speaking of Poop, My Thoughts on the Jonas Brothers

Yesterday I woke up with a raging case of Pink Eye. No big deal, however I couldn't help but be reminded of the scene from "Knocked Up" where Seth Rogan and Paul Rudd go to pick up their stoner friends for a Vegas road trip and they can't go because they are all infected with Pink Eye caused by farting on each other's pillow. Apparently (according to the writer's of "Knocked Up" who are clearly opthamologists on the side) Pink Eye is/can be caused by getting fecal matter in your eye. Needless to say, yesterday as I showed up at work looking like I'd just left a hotel room after hanging out with Snoop Dog and Willie Nelson, I couldn't stop wondering if I somehow got poop in my eye, and if so, how could it have happened? Did someone fart on my favorite pillow when I wasn't looking? Did my dog do one of those butt-scratching slides on my pillow while I was at work? Did I accidentally pick up a pair of someone's skid marked undies while doing the laundry and then touch my eye? Maybe a floating fecal particle flew into my eye the other day when it was particularly gusty. Regardless, I can't get the whole poop eye scenario out of my head. 

This morning I woke up and not only is my eye the color of Cherry Kool Aid but now it is completely puffy. Perfect timing, since I am having lunch with a friend who I haven't seen in 20 years who will undoubtedly mistake me for Farrah Fawcett's character in The Burning Bed when I arrive. 

While we are on the subject of Poop, I wanted to just throw in my two cents about a little sensation known as "The Jonas Brother's" (or, as I like to call them, simply "Jonai", which I think is probably the plural of Jonas??)

First of all, can someone tell me what the appeal is? Even my 11 year old daughter thinks they are dorks (unless she's just playing it cool and really has a secret Jonai collectible stash hidden somewhere in her room). If you ask me, the "teen heartthrob bands of the 1980's were so much better.

Jonai actually have a song called "Pizza Girl". I can't be certain, but I am guessing this might be about a girl who works at a Pizza Parlor. I wonder if this was co-written by Elton John and his writing partner Bernie Taupin, because there is just no way a group of teenagers could come up with something as beautiful and poetic as "Pizza Girl" on their own. My favorite Jonai song, however is probably "Everyone's Allergic to Poison Ivy". Well no shit Sherlock. Again, some pretty heavy stuff coming from such young novices. 

At least Duran Duran took it to the next step and actually used some Metaphors in their songwriting. "Hungry Like the Wolf" and "Reflex" are some examples that come to mind. While we are comparing the two bands, I have to say that style wise, Duran Duran ran circles around the Jonas Bros. Jonai, with their mini fros (except Joey, who has clearly discovered the magic of the flat iron), and their sports coat and ascots can't hold a candle to Duran Duran's stylish Panama hats, white linen jackets and magenta colored blush. 

I could go on for days, but NY Prep is burning a whole in my Tivo (just dying to be watched). And I have to put on my battered wife best for my lunch today. So until next time, remember that Everyone (that means YOU) is Allergic to Poison Ivy. Thanks for the head's up Jonai.

-Val

A Classy Video that Says "I Love You Dad...Happy Father's Day"

My dad actually reads this blog on occasion (sorry about the constant vulgarity, Dad), so maybe he'll watch this video, which is an tribute to Dad's everywhere! Pass it on to your dad (if you dare) - a great way to say "Thanks for being irresponsible, Dad!"

I love the grumpy dad and his facial expressions - it reminds me of my youth!

Thanks for Not Pulling Out - Watch more Funny Videos

Even More Proof that Getting Old Bites

The other day, in a rush to get ready for work, I found myself squeezing into a size "0" pants (from 9 years ago) when I am now a size 4 (keep in mind I am very short), and covering it with a long maternity-like tunic - praying that a gust of wind would not blow the tunic up, exposing my Pop-N-Fresh Dough stomach. Imagine if you well, taking 10 lbs of sausage and stuffing it into a casing made for one Farmer's John breakfast sausage link and you'll get a visual of me getting dressed that day. Those pants were about 75 times tighter then the black number Olivia Newton John was wearing during the final scene in Grease. I'm pretty sure there might now be some internal bleeding, or at least some damage to my inner organs.

I now find myself getting up at least once in the middle of every night with an uncontrollable urge to urinate. As I shuffle to the bathroom like an 87 year-old man with prostrate issues, I have to wonder how it is possible for my entire body to get bigger by the minute, while my bladder miraculously seems to shrink day by day?

How is it possible that I can have a raging case of PMS (one which makes Janice Dickinson look like a tame kitten) and simultaneously have pre-menopausal hot flashes that wake me up in the night and render me looking like I am halfway through the Boston marathon? That is so not fair. 

I have three sharp whiskers that are playing "whack a mole" on my chin. The moment I pluck one out, another appears the next day. That one immediately gets plucked and the third (and darkest whisker of the bunch) rears its ugly head. By the time #3 is plucked, number #1 is back in action. I can't win. 

Also this week, a stranger called me "Ma'am", and my daughter asked me why my hands were so "veiny". I've also noticed that my interest in watching MTV and VH1 reality shows has waned considerably over the past year, while my desire to watch a new Dateline murder mystery has never been stronger - a true sign of aging. Son of a bitch.

-val