Thursday, July 31, 2008

Western Union

I'm so freaked out about this election. I want to die every time I think about it. Recently I've been trying to assuage my own fears by getting some perspective on the most hilarious moments of the campaign thus far. For example:

A messenger delivered a handwritten note from McCain to Obama’s Chicago offices inviting the Democratic presidential nominee to a series of Goldwater-Kennedy-style debates. Bill Burton, an aide to Obama, told the messenger, "You know, you could have just emailed this."

A messenger! A hand-written note! Did he arrive on horseback? Covered wagon? Did he ask Orville Wright to take it to Chicago on his crazy flying contraption? The only thing that could make this story any better is if you exchanged the word "messenger" with "carrier pigeon" or "Goldwater-Kennedy" with "Pterodactyl-Brontosaurus."

I shouldn't worry. Surely your average American won't vote for a man that died twelve years ago. I mean, Weekend at Bernies was funny and all, but do you really want Andrew McCarthy and Jonathan Silverman to puppeteer the president at state dinners?

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Namaste or something

I was doing yoga this morning and I was dismayed to discover a rather long leg hair right behind my knee. Not long like, oops! Missed a spot! More like, oops! Missed a spot 4000 times!

Anyway, it reminded me of a class I took awhile ago from a lady hippie. Some people seem to really hate hippies, but I don't mind them. They keep a dolphin company. They eat salad for breakfast. And most importantly, they've got tofu the size of Texas.

But this hippie was different. This lady hippie had armpits full of hair. This didn't disgust me, necessarily. I was moreso bothered by her lack of originality. I mean, it's 2008! You are not Erykah Badu! Can't we think of a better way, as ladies, to subvert the dominant paradigm? Can't we be more clever in the ways in which we cast off the oppression of this patriarchal society? Broads: Surely there is a bigger world out there than our mammalian right to grow hair under our arms.

It's kind of like a lady keeping her maiden name after she gets married. I think it's a grand plan, but it just doesn't pack the same punch as it did 20 years ago. I recently read this book called I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley. She wrote an essay about a friend of hers who, when she got married, changed her last name to "Universe" instead of taking her husband's name. Now that's commitment, friends.

In closing, hippie, I suggest you get creative with your feminism. Why not ask your boyfriend to shave off all of his body hair? What about doubling up on the shoulder pads in your power suit? Wait! What made one dollar for every dollar a man made in the workplace? Holy shit. Did the back of your tiny head just explode??

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Meags' Ad Watch Continues

I've been seeing this commercial alot lately:

It's part of a series of commercials where the two overweight dudes bully the effeminate one who apparently won't rest until he has fag-ified the oh-so-tough brand image that Mike's Hard Lemonade apparently enjoys.

Just a thought, Mike's Hard Lemonade, but you might want to reconsider alienating your loyal fan base of 19 year-old girls and homosexuals (or any combination thereof) in an attempt to woo heterosexual men. Heteros aren't exactly known for their affinity for flavored malt beverages. If they were, my boyfriend's fridge would be full of Bacardi Breezers.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

True North: South of the Border

Yesterday morning I was getting ready for work with CNN on in the background. I wasn't really paying attention, until this commercial came on:

I put my bronzer down. An extraordinary what now?

Dear hilarious twenty-something copywriter for True North Nut Snacks: I think I speak for sleepy Americans everywhere when I say nicely played, sir. Nicely played.

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Estelle Getty, My Favorite Punch Line

Estelle Getty has died at 84. I don't know what I'm going to do—she was my go-to punch line for all jokes elderly. I don't know, "This sweater makes me look like Doris Kearns-Goodwin" doesn't exactly pack the same punch.

So here's to you, Estelle Getty. Thanks for introducing me to the granny zinger (Rose: "I just found out I'm the most boring person on Earth." Sophia: "Did something happen to Regis Philbin?") and for being younger than Bea Arthur.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Perverted Justice

I like to walk to work through Volunteer Park in the morning. It is nice in the park. Leafy. And usually the secret bathroom rendezvous have ceased by the time I'm making my forenoon promenade.

A couple of days ago, though, while listening to The Game featuring 50 Cent (BECAUSE I AM RAP'S MVP, FUCK!), my lady spidey sense began to tingle. I became acutely aware of a jogger following me at an inappropriately close distance. I removed my headphones and mentally practiced my judo moves.

He followed me through the park, until I exited near the tennis courts. He then oddly jogged a few feet into the nearest driveway. When he thought I wasn't looking, he surreptitiously ran out of the driveway and back into the park, thus proving that a) I can no longer enjoy the public park and b) he did not live in that house and was indeed a perv.

I relayed this tale to my male companion, who assured me that "pervs don't always rape ladies. Sometimes they just enjoy making ladies nervous." Deciding not to ask him how he knows so much about creepos, I responded, "Little did he know that I get my jollies from shanking pervs."

You better jog.

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

For Your Most Precious Keepsakes

Awhile ago, I was looking to help heal the political rift between my mother and me by purchasing her a clever Barack Obama t-shirt. Instead, I came across something even better.

Yes. A Barack Obama Secret Muslim Keepsake Box.

For some reason, the online proprietor of the Barack Obama Secret Muslim Keepsake Box has discontinued sales of the item, thereby destroying my dream of giving the best Secret Santa gift ever.

To contextualize, some enterprising young bigot used Barack Obama's most flattering secret Muslim picture:

And then glued it on the top of a keepsake box.

It got me thinking. What would I put in my Barack Obama Secret Muslim Keepsake Box?

1) My (dog-eared!) copy of Mein Kampf
2) My WWJD bracelet
3) A signed first edition of The O'Reilly Factor for Kids ("Almost everybody watched the TV show Friends on NBC. Unfortunately, some kids think that's what real friends are like. Of course, we can learn a lot of things from our Friends on television, but sitcoms are very different from real life.")
4) Another, smaller, Barack Obama Secret Muslim Keepsake Box

Let the eagle soar,

Monday, July 7, 2008

You mean, like, in a sexual way?

I used to have this other blog. It was about strange men saying inappropriate things to unsuspecting ladies. That blog is over now, but some of it was too funny to let slip into interweb oblivion.

From 11/14/2007

Last week (two weeks ago? When was that boring ass election?) Lindy and I partied hard at the Dan Satterberg election night party in Burien...which was unsurprisingly boring and totally white.

However, I was there to "help" Lindy procure interviews for The Stranger (and more hilarious tales can be found here, here, and here). And procure interviews I did when I approached the most unbelievable-looking war veteran I have ever seen. His name was Joel Harvey. He was magic.

Atop his long, greasy, mussed locks sat a mesh navy hat depicting what I assumed to be his ship (USS My Brain is Broken). On his stout frame, he proudly wore a satin baseball jacket over a heather gray Mt. St. Helens muscle tee.

Realizing immediately what an amazing opportunity this was to get the most insane interview of the evening, I approached Mr. Harvey.

Me: Hi, I'm here with the Stranger, sort of. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?
Joel Harvey: What? I can't hear out of this ear!
Me (now leaning uncomfortably closer to Mr. Harvey's good ear): Hi, I was just wondering, did you vote for Dan Satterberg?
JH: Yes.
Me: Why did you vote for him?
JH: Because he makes things right. That's why.
Me: Why did you come to his party tonight?
JH: You mean like, in a sexual way?
Me: " "
JH: Also, I like rum and cokes. You know, the reason I came tonight is the same reason I became a first captain in Vietnam.
Me: Dan Satterberg's party is like going to Vietnam?
JH: Yes. Can I get that rum and coke?

Yes you can, Joel Harvey. Yes you can.