Happy hunting

Some become giddy when they smell blood.

In our house, there are many mansions

Discover

Why my head hurts

"I am not a monster," said the man. "I could have killed them and no one would ever have known."

Oh, man, did we overreact! Wow. I'm so embarrassed.

*

HATE CRIME

"At 9:45 p.m. on May 1, 2008, two male suspects posted fliers at a McDonalds in the 7900 block of Van Nuys Boulevard in Van Nuys. The flyers were made to look authentic correspondence from McDonalds, and stated that due to a string of robberies, African American customers are now required to pay an additional fee of $1.50 per transaction. Police were trying to get fingerprints off the fliers to see if they could identify the suspects."
Thanks to The Subliterate Cinephile!

Theeeriously?! A Hate Crime?

See, my first thought is that it was a stupid ('n' tasteless) prank, or perhaps some performance art. Some wealthy white college kids were "Showing the Up the Inherent Racism Prevalent Even In Our Fast Food Culture" (for independent study credit).

*

And this made my head unhurt:

This year is a good year to spot whale migration along the Central Coast. I didn't know that when I went down to the water's edge, so when I saw the gray whale breach and the many spouts, less than a mile offshore, it was even more magical than if I had expected it (and even when you do expect it, seeing a whale is pretty damned magical).

I was standing there on the bluff, leaning against the railing, when a hideous clattering made me turn around. Walking up to join me was a girl, maybe five years old, in striped leggings and a crazy pattered dress - she was prints and plaids in pinks and oranges, with messy hair and some smudged face painting on one cheek. She dragged behind her a red, six-foot dog leash, and tied to the very end of that leash was a Breyer horse, a Bay Quarter Horse, to be exact, which lay on one side, getting the crap utterly slammed out of it as it was dragged along the asphalt walkway.

"Do you see whales?" she asked.

"I did earlier, " I said. "I'm looking for more."

She nodded. We stood quietly together.

"Hey!" She pointed to the cliffs nearby, where a dog waited for his surfing owner to come back to him.

"There's a Golden Retriever!"

This again?!

My Dr. Phil piece garnered so many comments that MSN gave them an entire site of their own.

This quote may go on my new business cards:

"Barbara Atkinson obviously is a liberal with an ax to grind."
Actually, it's a chainsaw. You know how we liberal gals like our power tools.

or this one:

"Perhaps if Dr. Phil began promoting moral relativism, abortion, gay marriage and promiscuity, Atkinson would approve."
Can this guy read my mind or what? My very first thought upon waking this morning was that abortion gets such a bad rap.

or this one:

"Ms. Atkinson has an issue with advice or practicality."
Truer words were never typed.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to work on my "Encourage two gay marriages, get one abortion free!" campaign. That darned liberal agenda ain't gonna push itself.

Let Them Eat Cake

Lewis Black is touring.



This not Lewis Black. This is John Bowman, the opener, and said Mr. Bowman kicked ass. While holding and vaguely strumming a ukulele.

He looks teeny and far away, but I'll have you know that I was a mere eight rows from his utterly foul language. No, really, someone yelled at him to use "civility" because he spoke some grown up words.

I have never before been to any performance with hecklers, and then I was. And, oh, it's even worse than you think. It's horrible. All you want to do is get out of your seat and find the person yelling at the performer (as if they were in their living room in their gray underpants with the stuffed ferret on the coffee table), and throttle them. And even when it stops, you spend the entire rest of the performance waiting for it to start again.

I thought people whispering behind me in a movie theater made me crazy. This was stroke-inducing.

I watched (on YouTube) comics being heckled and how they responded. The most vicious was perhaps Joe Rogan (not known, in general, for classy behavior, but he did stop short of going all Michael Rapaport), but how can you fault a performer who responds however they want to some stranger who is hiding in the dark, trying to ruin their act?



Hecklers should be thrown out by venue staff, unless it's a response to something said by Borat.

When Lewis Black has a microphone and gets upset (and he gets upset often), the sound of his voice - the one or two carefully chosen words used for punctuation and effect - goes directly from his vocal cords into the very center of your brain, where there is a small empty space the size of a walnut. And then the noise, it slams itself around in there like a furious, hungover, rabid weasel, until you begin to bleed internally.

But not in a bad way.

I have a picture, pinned to my wall

I will admit, grudgingly, that I attended a Thompson Twins concert. Once. I bought tickets as a gift for a friend and the second half of my gift was that I attended said concert with her. And maybe sang along, quietly, to myself. For moral support.

So it didn't puncture any preconceived Fan Bubbles for me to see that Twin Two, now known as "Miss Pokeno," has moved on. Indeed, I have developed grown up tics, too, including eating a wholesome breakfast and regularly pulling my hair out of my face.

Nowhere does it mention if she can actually upholster and develop the chair frame, or if she buys them pre-made and just shoves some squirrels inside. I wanted to know about the chair-making part. Is she all about the brass tacks, or what?

"One of the most shocking items is a chaise longue with a dead swan attached to the armrest. According to the principles of armchair destructivism, the dead animals' function is to unsettle the familiar association of furniture with relaxation."

Twin Two calls it "a collection of chairs to honor the godless."

Uhh, thanks.

(But just for future reference? We godless now also accept PayPal.)

Friday Nite Lite

Work sucks.

I don't mean the actual work. I big basket of kittens like my job. Pay me to write? Pay me to edit? Pay me AND be smart and nice AND point me towards a fridge full of FREE Diet Pepsi?

We've all been places where the air was tangy with fear, loathing and hungover salespeople. This ain't that. I didn't know companies that were fun and exciting existed after 2000. If they start making Monica Lewinsky jokes, I will get back in the time machine tout suite.

So, it's good. However, that traditional New Job Terror has infected most corners of my life. I worry if I am doing an okay job and what I should be doing and should not be doing and if the Diet Pepsi runs out. The NJT (New Job Terror) isn't leaving me much time to tell stories. That is how work sucks. Also, I have to put on pants.

I can take a moment to share with you one of my pressing concerns:

Tina Fey.

She's fabulously funny, smart, and comes across as a little too self-depreciating (but still able to pull her shit together enough to be hugely successful, so maybe she's not actually so self-loathing? Maybe she's doing a thing so people don't hate her success? In any case, well-played, Tina. Well-played). And cool. Who here does not want to have her baby? Show of hands?

But, I fear we are quickly reaching Fey Saturation Level Orange. "30 Rock" plus "Baby Mama" plus the covers of Xghtouynfmfnfty Magazine all may cause the public to overdose on her like so many Saturday night Beer/Ice Cream/Frito binges. And also? Amy Poehler is coming up fast on her heels. Watch your back, Tina, and go back under the radar a little, is all I'm saying.

If, the next time I swing by BK for a grease-and-beef-broth flavored, watered down fountain drink, I see an ad for a "Baby Mama" action figure (now with pregnancy test and Fossil bag accessories!), I'm taking my Alec Baldwin and going home.