Why does Rachael Ray bother me so much?

Okay look I don't hate her hate her. I don't. And my grandmother loooooves her and would be scandalized to hear that I really can't stand the apple-cheeked foodie. But man, Rachael Ray just makes my blood boil. I totally know why, except that the intensity of my dislike isn't merited by the stuff that bothers me.

It's the cutesy little things she says--"e.v.o.o." instead of "extra virgin olive oil," and her little quippy quips that people eat up, they're just so annoying. Like today on Oprah she was talking about street food in New York and she was at this Indian food cart and the camera panned to a I guess Indian dude eating and she was all "see a real Indian likes it so it must be good" and the crowd busted up at that clever observation like she was a freakin' comedian. Meanwhile I'm on the couch making a face like I just sucked on a lemon. Prolly the way people slurp up her cutey cuteness like the most delicious ice cream cone ever doesn't help.

But, that's almost it. Oh, and her crooked smile grates. And...well...yeah, that's pretty much all of it, 'cept for also, she's perky. Perky people are annoying to my kind. Someone told me once I should be perky, 'cause people like perky. That someone's beloved pet vanished mysteriously, only to reappear in a stew served to that someone a few days later. Then that someone died of food poisoning.

Not really.

But I fucking hate perky people. Even the ones who can cook. Sorry Rachael, I know you're probably a sweet gal in real life, but I want to run you through a meat grinder when I see you on TV. I have a sneaking suspicion you might feel the same way if I was the one on TV, annoying you. You're probably my Lex Luthor. "RR," "LL," same diff. And e.v.o.o. can be my Kryptonite. I prefer regular ol' olive oil, anyway--it's more versatile 'cause it doesn't have as strong a flavor. We're not all rich TV/magazine personalities, you know.

Celebrating Black History--Nubia

Wonder Woman used to have a Black sister. Not just "sister" as in "sistergirl." Not just "sister" as in fellow Amazon. But "sister" as in when Hippolyte made Wondy out of clay, she also made another baby out of (duh) darker clay and they both came to life thanks to Aphrodite.

Her name was Nubia, and she represents all that was groovy and fantastic about comic books before the nerds got all obsessed with continuity and keeping superheroes serious and "special" (Wanting Superman to be the only survivor of Krypton, no Krypto or Supergirl, etc.) and whatever else. A sweet time in comics when it was okay--no--it was necessary for Wonder Woman to have a Black sister no one had heard of for years and years 'cause Mars stole her when she was a baby. How great is that? Freakin' great! Wonder Woman has a Black twin sister, hurray!

Nubia fought Wonder Woman for a minute, but when WW realized that Nubia was under Mars' control, the ladies worked it out and managed to call Mars out on his fear of woman. Take that, god of war! Ha!

Suffering Sappho!

DC didn't use Nubia nearly enough, but she did merit a doll from Mego, as shown with her sister doll above. I haven't seen her myself, but apparently there's a character in current WW continuity called Nu'bia or something who is a sort of tribute to the forgotten sister of Wonder Woman. That's nice, I guess, but you know, the world of comics could use a few more Black superheroes, and maybe some other nonwhites, just to keep things colorful. They don't have to be related to Wonder Woman, though that would be okay with me if some of them were.

Apple Hi-Fi a Booming Disappointment

The Apple Store (U.S.) - iPod Hi-Fi

The Apple faithful ate their lunch at their desks, skipped their meetings and were feverishly hitting the refresh button at 1pm (EST) pissing off IT guys across nation.

However, today's much hyped announcement of "fun new products" left many Apple fans disappointed. In large part the consternation was due to the fact that what was released was in no way surprising. Additionally the "fun new products" did not appear to be as revolutionary as one might expect from the company that claims to "Think Different".

I love Apple products and wish that they had included an Airport Express card expansion slot in the Hi-Fi. This would have moved the product to "kick ass" status. Additionally, if they had offered a larger hard drive in the mac mini it would have be a much more suitable companion to the home entertainment center.

Steve J. -- maybe the Pixar/Disney money has made you lazy because these new products suck.

Sincerely,

Chris

Grizzly Bear - The Untold Story

So we watched Grizzly Man last night on The Discovery Channel. I had heard basically what the film is about--a guy who goes off to live with Grizzly Bears and winds up being devoured by his passion, literally--and I had also heard over and over about how good it was. Good? I'm still confused about that one. I will admit that I draw some satisfaction from seeing the results of one person's stupidity coming to its natural conclusion, but beyond that, the thing tries really hard to be defferential to a subject, Timothy Treadwell, who is clearly bat-shit insane and, I hate to say it, had it coming. But on top of that, the annoying accent of the filmmaker, and the irksome if occasionally and unintentionally funny antics of Treadwell, the film is completely biased against the better half of its title--the Grizzlies.

It's easy to see that Treadwell loved the animals (a little too much, that's the point), but throughout the film we are constantly reminded of how one "mean" Grizzly murdered Treadwell and his companion, Amie Huguenard. Don't get me wrong, I feel bad for Huguenard and much less so for Treadwell, but can we really blame the bear? Let's take a look at the Grizzly's side of the story.

Summer 1990
What the hell? There I was, at the stream looking for fish like I usually do around midday, and then all of the sudden this fruit with a shitty hat came up and started talking babytalk to me. I gave him a look and kind of growled, but then he just said I was being "saucy" and kept on with his jabbering. Needless to say, I lost my concentration and about every Salmon in the whole damn river swam past me while I was trying to get this whackjob to get out of my face. He named me "Muffin," which is a goddamn insult, and then pranced off.

Summer '95
Guess who showed up again! I swear to God there should be some sort of law to keep that blonde weirdo away from me and the rest of the poor bears here. Oh wait, THERE IS! The Rangers in this park suck ASS! If he calls me "Muffin" in front of the females one more damn time, I can't be held responsible for my actions.

Yes, in the woods. Bears actually do.

Summer '98
SON OF A BITCH! I thought for sure this was going to be the year he wasn't going to be back, but not only is he back, he brought a damn video camera with him! Great, now the whole world can see what this nut does out here all Summer! I watched him the other day and he spent twenty minutes just screaming a crazy stream of obscenity at the poor camera. What more proof does the world need that this guy is insane? He spent the rest of the day filming some of the other bears. I'm pretty sure he was masturbating to the video in his tent last night, but there's no way to tell if he was jacking it to us bears or to his own pretentious whining.

Fall 2002
We all just held an emergency meeting before hibernation. Everyone was there--us bears, the foxes, birds, squirrels, even some Salmon who were annoyed by that lameass (we ate them after). We discussed it for all of about ten minutes and we decided that if he comes back next year, it's up to us to kill him. We can't take another Summer of this crap. All right, I'm going to sleep...

When animals attack... with guns and baseball bats.

Summer 2003
That's IT! The sick son of a bitch touched my sister's shit! He touched it and he sniffed his finger and kept saying "it was inside her" over and over. That twisted loser is going down tonight. I talked it over with the foxes and they support me fully. Ever since one of them took his stupid hat (HI-GODDAMN-LARIOUS), he followed him to their den and started yelling more obscenities. I swear he hasn't heard of a four-letter word he didn't love. I feel bad that I'm going to have to eat him in front of that poor blonde girl, but I've promised to let her go unless she does something stupid like hit me on the head with a frying pan instead of running for her life. But that would be retarded, even for someone dumb enough to hang out with that whacko.

You're next, Crocodile Hunter! You're next!

So you see? The bears, the entire refuge had been pushed to edge and beyond. Is what happened kind of sad? Absolutely, just like it's sad when a moth, drawn to the flame, catches fire and dies. But then you compare the potential brain power of a moth to that of Treadwell, and suddenly it's hard to feel so bad about it. The only tragedy I can see is that three very important safeties failed--common sense (Treadwell should have had some), psychiatric care (Treadwell should have gotten some), and the law (he should have been kicked out of that refuge a LONG time ago for violating a myriad of laws meant to keep both the bears and people like Treadwell safe).

Jason risked his life taking these wildlife photos. He'll be missed.

G-D, The Sequel

My aunt and I were taking the elevator in the building I used to park in and these two ladies came in. One exclaimed to me, "Oh my God! You look exactly like Geena Davis!" Which, I don't. At all. Once we got out of the elevator I asked my aunt if that was supposed to be a compliment. She thought it probably was. But now I bet that lady just liked to say crap like that to people, to see what they did.

Once I moved to L.A., I thought it would be funny to do a slightly different thing--run up to people and pretend I thought they were someone famous, and be all excited and whatever, and ask for photos or autographs and junk. I thought it might be even funnier to pick celebs they looked nothing like, in a nod to my elevator friend. But then that stretches the credibility a bit, I guess.

The thing is, you really do run into plenty of celebs major and minor 'round here, particularly in my neighborhood, but I'm so much in my own little cloud of Jenni that I don't always notice them. So knowing me, I'd run up to someone and act all excited, and it would actually be a celebrity, though perhaps not the one I was acting like they were, and then I'd look and feel even dumber than I intended to.

But back to G-D. I could totally be president but I'd prefer something less democratic, more imperial. Something that requires or at least allows for wearing a crown.

R.I.P. Don Knotts

I just heard that "Three's Company" landlord Don Knotts passed away on Friday. Or at least that's what I think I heard. Either he's dead or I misheard Jack Tripper saying that he's going to have a threesome with Janet and Mrs. Roper.

The Incredible Mr. Limpet

Don Knotts
July 21, 1924 - February 24, 2006

Celebrating Black History - The Brothers of "Star Wars"

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away... there sure were a lot of white people! You may have been too caught up in the amazing epic space fantasy of Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope to notice, but for a diverse galaxy full of all sorts of alien creatures, there sure were a lot of honkeys. Luckily, someone was paying attention and in time for the sequel, Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back, the Black fans of the Star Wars films finally got a character they can cheer for -- Lando Calrissian.

Lando (he's not a system, he's a man), is probably the coolest character in the entire Saga. A gambler, businessman, womanizer, player, and snappy dresser, Lando, or "ol' smoothie" as Jenni likes to call him in that lustful way that makes me a little uncomfortable, has it all going on. For starters, check out his fly bachelor pad. Name one woman who could resist living in a floating city of gorgeous sunsets. Sure, Leia managed to hold on to her love for Han, but if Darth Vader hadn't shown his crispy mug, Lando would have won her over in a matter of time.

Lando also clearly has the skills to pay the bills. I'm a hardcore SW fan and even I don't know what kind of "maneuver" he "pulled at the Battle of Tanaab" (I'm guessing three Twi'lek dancing girls AT ONCE!), but it was enough to get him promoted from guy-who-sells-out-his-friends-to-the-Dark-Lord-of-the-Sith to a goddamn GENERAL with a new cape and everything! Han even lets him borrow his old ship back! So you can imagine how craptacular it is for Lando to end up, at the conclusion of Return of the Jedi with nothing better to snuggle up with than Wicket W. Warrick.

But while Lando has the old school Trilogy covered, none other than the bad mofo of Jedi Masters, Mace Windu, is the dominant Force for the Black community in the prequel trilogy. There's not much that needs to be said about Mace Windu. He's second in skill only to Master Yoda (which meant a lot more before he got creamed by Palpatine). He was a flawless swordsman, could decimate thousands of battle droids with his FISTS (check out the first season of Clone Wars), and if not for some sniveling "Chosen One," would have saved the damn day. Among his other accomplishments, he managed to behead Jango Fett, which is pretty hardcore for a Star Wars movie, and a feat only surpassed by a BLIND Han Solo accidentally smacking Boba Fett in the jetpack and sending him screaming into a belching Sarlaac (can we get a ret-con on that one, Mr. Lucas?).

Don't make me get all Jedi on your ass.

So while the original Star Wars might have been a little on the "light" side of the Force, the five subsequent films managed to show us all just how cool Black characters can be, and that's something that works every time.

Thank G-d the olympics are over!!

i would just like to say that i for one am glad the damn olympics are coming to a close. between the bad sportsmanship by the american speed skaters, Bode Miller's spectacular flameouts and endless coverage of curling the whole thing about put me over the edge.

screw you NBC for putting me through 2 weeks of this crap. i am so glad that law and order is coming back.

Dumb, Dirty Star Wars Names: A Sleazebaggano Tribute

This is stupid but explicit, so watch out.

One day, before the release of Episode 2, Jason and I were at Target or something and we flipped through and eventually bought a Star Wars coloring book based on the appearance of the "death stick salesman," because we couldn't believe the incredible stupidity of it all.

Years later (yet at this point, years ago), Jason IMed me with details on the name of the guy and more, and one of the dirtiest IM conversations not involving Princess Leia in a gold bikini transpired:

Jason: Get a load of the death stick salesman's name. This is straight from StarWars.com: "The shadowy depths of Coruscant are full of many unsavory characters. A slimy narcotics peddler who frequents some of the entertainment district's nightclubs and gambling bars, Elan Sleazebaggano looked to make a quick credit by selling his illicit wares. After attempting to sell death sticks to a Jedi Knight, Sleazebaggano reportedly went home that night and completely rethought his life."

Jenni: Shut up

Jenni: That's worse than anything we could ever come up with

Jason: Seriously. Sleazebaggano.

Jenni: Crackwhoretta

Jenni: Analrapendo

Jenni: Fattassetto

Jason: Jar Jar Molesto-Wan

Jenni: Mas Tur Bator

Jenni: Eatmy Nutso

Jason: Booby Fetish

Jason: Mido Clitorians

Jenni: Bas Tardinian

Jenni: Fell Aceio

Jason: Han Jobbo

Jenni: Plugg the Hutt

Jason: Poon Tango

Jenni: Dildoinan Asz

Jason: Shlonggassia Erecto

Jenni: Drung Pucha

Jason: Testa Cullikkar

Jenni: Bak Dour

Yeah, we're sitting by the phone, waiting for Lucas to call us with job offers. We really think we have the hang of this. If we're this good with just naming shit in a super Star Wars-y way, just imagine how awesome we'd be at like, storylines and character arcs. Three words: Wookiee Ewok Gangbang.

Now that's what I call a sticky Wicket!

Baggage Claim

Delta/Song Airlines are hearing some complaints from me. I just flew back to L.A. from a trip in New York on Sunday, but my luggage didn't make it back in town until 8:30 p.m. Tuesday night. That's the last time I check my bags on a Delta/Song flight. The night I flew out of NY was a windy one, so 100 bags had to be removed from the flight so the plane could be loaded up with extra fuel to make the upwind flight. The kicker is that none of us passengers were told that 100 bags weren't going to make the flight until after we landed at LAX.

Day 1 without my suitcase:
It'd be nice to have a toothbrush.

They actually had the nerve to tell us that 100 bags were removed from the flight the precise moment we were about to deplane at our final destination. They obviously were removing the baggage before we left NY, but they didn't bother to tell us while they were in the act of inconveniencing us. If we knew that we would be without bags before we departed, we could swing by the gift shop to stock up on the toiletries we had packed in our bags. I could have made sure that someone brought me my extra car keys since my other set was packed in my suitcase.

Day 2 without my suitcase:
Where's that one shirt I like?

It's one thing for Delta to inconvenience us on purpose by removing our bags because of weight issues, but it's another thing for Delta to inconvenience us on purpose a second time by being afraid to notify us of the baggage issue as soon as they knew it would be an issue.

Day 2 without my suitcase:
Suitcase is still in New York. Come home, Suitcase, come home!

There were 100 angry passengers arriving at LAX. It was like winning a bad lottery -- we found out that our bags didn't make the trip when we consulted a list posted outside our terminal gate. All 100 of us had to file a baggage claim at the airport office. And this was at 12:30 a.m. And no one ever thought to apologize or offer us some sort of compensation.

Night 3:
Suitcase hitchhikes home. Suitcase has a longer trip than I had.

poetry hack attack!

As a Mac user, I applaud Apple's intelligent design and easy-to-use products. As an IT professional, I think that Cupertino's strategy for counteracting hackers is a bit naive.

A recent CNN report on Apple's poetry attack outlines how Apple embedded an admonishing poem in OS X to dissuade hackers from cracking of its OS. In the last two weeks, there have been two separate worms announced: "Leap.A" and "Inqtana.A." I don't think that sneering arrogance and stinging words are going to be enough to counteract viruses.

I don't actually run an antivirus on my computer, but I am sharp enough to not do obviously stupid things which would leave me open to attack.

Rock, Don't Walk

Photographed across the street from CBGB's in New York City, February 18, 2006.

Podcast Episode #002 --- N.Y. vs L.A.

I just posted our second show! Check it out I am so excited because Jason did an awesome job. (I edited episode #001).

The coast-to-coast crew tells stories of jury duty, burlesque shows and an inadvertent trip to Disneyland on "Gay Day."

Subscribe to our podcast by using the link on the right under "More Hands In the Air"

Jenni's Top Ten! Presidential edition!

Top Ten Dirty Sounding Last Names of US Presidents

10. Polk
"He Polked her."

9. Bush
"He Polked her in the Bush."

8. Van Buren
"My Van Buren is getting tingly as I watch him Polk her in the Bush."

7. Johnson
"Johnson, are you watching this Polk session?"

6. Harding
"I predict a bit of Harding in your future if you are."

5. Buchanan
"Ooof--I think I just Buchananed myself."

4. Taft
"I did Buchanan myself. My underpants are coated with Taft."

3. Hoover
"Gotta Hoover up the Taft in my underpants."

2. Bush
"Excuse me, miss--do you need the Hoover for your Bush? That was quite a Polk."

1. Fillmore

"The Hoover's pretty full, but I'm sure we can get it to Fillmore."

Misfortune Cookies

"Your bright personality will attract the best of friends." That's the message I got from a fortune cookie I had for lunch today. It sounds like it's making some sort of sage statement, but unless my personality is going clubbing when I'm not looking, I really don't think it's been making any new pals (or at least that's what the devil voice in my head keeps telling me).

Maybe if the cookies' Lotto numbers hit the jackpot on occasion, the fortunes wouldn't be so lame. So, I guess that's why the recent story of X-rated fortune cookies that were misdelivered to a Brooklyn charity is such a great news item. The event organizers had some custom fortunes made to tout their city, but 350 of the 1,750 cookies were delivered with dirty messages on them. And I'm not talking about 350 dirty messages where you and your friends tack on "...in bed" after reading the fortune.

I looked up some places that sell naughty edibles (Boobie Cookies, Penis Sexy Snack Cookies) and one of the X-rated fortune cookie messages they quoted in their catalog read, "Big cats are dangerous, but a little pussy never hurt anyone." ...In bed! Ha! Double dirty! Me-yow!

Now, here are some examples of the pro-Brooklyn messages that the charity organizers intended for their cookies: "Brooklyn -- it's like an everything bagel" and "Brooklyn -- The 10th Planet." ...In bed! Ha ha! Bagels in bed! A planet in bed! I'm not even mildly turned on! ...In bed! Wait, none of this is working at all.

Those are the worst ancient Chinese secrets I've ever heard in my life.

photos by Jason ...in bed!

The point is that dirty fortunes are more fun to read than boring ones. The charity dinner would've been a forgettable non-event if it weren't for the Cinemaxed messages, and if my after-lunch cookie was raunchier, I might've been a mildly-amused Lotto non-winner. Plus, you can't spell Confucianism without "F-U." ...In bed! No, wait. That still doesn't work.

The Heeling Factor

Crunch has a workout, Stiletto Strength, that helps women get their back, legs and especially ankles in shape for wearing high heels.

Not that we all didn't know already that many people don't really go to the gym for their health, but mostly because it's a pretty direct route to looking good. And you can't blame a business for catering to their clientele, though generally speaking, it's a bit kooky for a health club to be putting more emphasis on the "club" aspect and less on the "health" bit.

But that's Crunch for ya. Their lack of pretense is as adorable as it is profitable. I gotta respect 'em for that

I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor

photo and choreography by Jason

You gotta admire a company that knows it has an absurd ad campaign and is willing to run with it. Visit Pepto-Bismol's online Dance Machine to find out what happens when the Macarena meets Burrito Combo #3 with Extra Beans.

Laundry Day

photo by Jason

Podcast Episode #001: Pizza Party

This our first Podcast and we left it to the least artistic but most technically oriented to edit the damn thing. It made Jen's mom laugh at least...

Chris, Jason, Jenni and Steve talk fast food, the Hulk's endowment, Dylan McDermott Mulroney and other flavorful things.

Subscribe to our podcast by using the link on the right under "Hands in the Air - The Podcast."

Photo and illustration by Jason.

Rejected "G.I. Joe" Code Names

Trapdoor, Rifle Butt, Flagpole, Spider Hole, Pup Tent, Cockpit, Up Periscope, Porthole, Poop Deck, Sick Bay, Barf Bag, Bunkbed, Mess Hall, Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy, Cargo Pants, Shore Leave, Dishonorable Discharge, Gangplank, Camo Toe, Sailor Hat, A-Bomb, Hummer, Safety Harness, Trigger Finger, Mushroom Cloud, Muzzle Flash, Tailhook, Olive Drab, Mustard Gas, Military Time, Side Saddle, Binocular Cozy, Ejection Seat, Lemon Meringue, Blueberry Muffin

Don't ask, don't tell? But knowing is half the battle.

For real G.I. Joe code names, go here.

Let Them Sing It For You

Wanna be serenaded by the words you type into your computer? Go here, then type in any phrase to hear it sung back to you using audio from a lyrical mishmash of popular song clips. Everything from Starship's "We Built This City" to Guns N' Roses' "Paradise City" to Petula Clark's "Downtown" are sampled. Finally, there's a way for Rick Astley to class up the rhymes of Sir Mix-a-Lot's "Baby Got Back."

Sean Preston Is So Not Overprotected

Y'all, raising a baby is hard.

Sure, Britbrit appears to have driven her SUV with son Sean Preston in her lap, apparently to escape aggressive paparazzi, who of course got shots of it all. I think there's some irony tucked away in there somewhere. But come on, she's a new mommy, and we should try to see from her perspective. Yeah, there must be a better way, and she shouldn't believe in taking chances with her son.

But who am I to say what a girl is to do? Who are any of us to say? There weren't even laws about seatbelts or baby restraints or whatever when we were kids, and we all made it. Besides, she was only two minutes from home. No excuse, but it's not like she was driving on the highway going 90 with Sean Preston's head hanging out the window like a stupid dog or something. That's sort of a funny image, actually. I picture the baby fat in his cheeks flapping in the wind, and drool trailing behind him. Aww!

Ahhh anyway, it seems like the Department of Family and Child Services might get involved, which I think is a bit silly in the LA area, where, you know, I'm relatively certain actual child abuse and endangerment is going on all over the damn place.

So I guess the paparazzi win this time. Twice.



I was alerted to this story and encouraged to write something about it by the only person I know who cares even more about Britney Spears' every move than I do, Lisa Weseman.

Enter the Mexagon

I’m going to start a petition to stop Taco Bell from thinking "outside the bun. So far, Taco Bell’s extra-bun-icular activities have led to food mutations I’d rather not eat:

Taco-on-taco action

Enchilada yarmulke

I’m not sure what exactly exists outside of the realm of the bun, but the outer-bun worlds that the U.S.S. Taco Bell is exploring are apparently wonderlands where hard tacos can spoon with soft tacos without fear of discrimination. That would explain the Bell’s Double Decker Taco, a hard taco nestled inside a soft taco cozy. Cross-breeding the two varieties is like Pizza Hut offering "New York-style pizza" as a topping for a Chicago deep-dish pizza. But then again, Pizza Hut and Taco Bell are sister companies, so I wouldn’t put that sort of bastardizing past the Hut (jenni knows what I'm talking about).

Now, Taco Bell has come up with yet another menu mutation, and it’s quite possibly the biggest fast-food embarrassment since the time I got stuck in the Grimace cage at McDonaldland. What do you get when you cross origami with an enchilada? No, not a tissue paper swan filled with beans and cheese, silly. I’m talking about the Crunchwrap Supreme. Honestly, you should never eat something that looks like one of those fold-up paper fortune teller thingies.

Even worse, Taco Bell missed the mark with the Crunchwrap’s name. It totally should’ve been called the "Mexagon." Actually, if it was really called the Mexagon, it might be worth all the embarrassment of eating something so stoopid looking. In this case, I don’t think the Taco Bell folks were merely thinking outside of the bun. I think they thought outside of the bun, crapped on it, folded it into a Frisbee, then got lost ‘cuz they wandered so far into uncharted bun territory. It’s a dangerous world out there. Think inside the bun.

Celebrating Black History - Mr. T

On the 21st of May, 1952 in the city of Chicago, a miracle happened. I'm not talking about a tiny miracle like snow on Christmas Eve or finding the clitoris, I'm talking about a real, actual miracle. And that miracle, is called Mr. T.

Mr. T stands for everything that is good about the human race. A spiritual and inspirational person, T has faced down all comers. He's defeated drugs, cleaned up the streets, taught kids to stay in school and stay clean, defeated cancer, and drove probably the most kick-ass van in the history of the universe.

Who can forget his many achievements? Many will remember Mr. T's wrestling career in the WWF, where he delivered knuckle sandwiches with the aplomb of a guy who works in a deli, and punches people, in the FACE. Or maybe you remember him from the modern television classic, The A-Team. As "B.A. Baracus" he utterly destroyed fools with his crack military skills and driving. And by "destroying fools," I mean shooting at them a lot, but not actually hitting them and rather making some conveniently placed barrels explode and sending said fools flying over camera.

But then who could forget Mr. T's turn as "Clubber Lang" in Rocky III? Sure, Carl Weathers' "Apollo Creed" was a great and inspiring African-American role, but by the third film he had gone from Italian-beating badass to Softy McSoftypants. Mr. T infused some righteous Black rage into the series once again and was perfectly willing and able to pound Sly Stallone's face into hamburger. He would have won the whole thing, except that he is a consumate professional actor and there was a script to be followed.

Perhaps my favorite T role is that of hard-livin' taxi driver "Samson" in quite simply the best goddamn Joel Schumacher movie ever made, D.C. Cab. While some (Jason), might argue that Schumacher's exploration of the dichotomy of homosexuality apparent in the vampire myth and its relation to Corey Haim's awful wardrobe and gratuitous Rob Lowe posters in The Lost Boys takes the title, it's clear to the cultured film enthusiast that D.C. Cab is, in technical terms, the cat's pajamas. If you, for some unknowable reason, have not seen D.C. Cab, shoot yourself in the face for your lack of good taste, then resurrect yourself and let your undead corpse bask in its beauty.

And that brings us to today, where Mr. T has seen a bit of a resurgence. If you have not deemed yourself worthy of reading his most excellent comic book, give yourself a treat by picking it up (you can just flog yourself for your insolence later). But alas, Mr. T has been skipped over for some pretty key roles. For example, you may have heard of some scuttlebut about Chuck Norris making its way around the Internet. If you have, then you have assuredly asked yourself the question, "Why the Hell not T?" Why the Hell not, indeed!

But though T may not get the retro-nerd love, we here at Hands in the Air celebrate this remarkable man and all he has done for all peoples of every race in every country around the world. I pity the fool who doesn't love them some Mr. T.

Ghost Story

What do you suppose the ghosts from the game Pac-Man were when they were still alive? What, exactly, are they ghosts of? When the last quarter is spent and Pac-Man dies, will he turn into a yellow ghost and hang out with Inky, Pinky, Blinky and Clyde?

I bet those ghosts are fallen Pac-Men of different colors. That's why they haunt the maze.

I think probably my favorite ghost is Clyde. He's the orange one, the one who goes by "Sue" in Ms. Pac-Man. We all know Sue is just Clyde with women's underpants on, not that we can see the underpants. I think Clyde's message of tolerance and acceptance and choosing the right actor for the part regardless of race or gender is kind of beautiful, and I learned a lot from Clyde.

When Pac-Man becomes a ghost, he'll probably be a lot like Clyde.

jenni tooked the picture

Rest in Peace

photo by Jason

"Grandpa Munster"
Al Lewis

April 30, 1923 - February 3, 2006

Lactose Intolerance

It's Super Bowl Sunday and, when that pesky football game isn’t getting in the way, you want to see the commercials that the advertisers spend the big bucks on. They’re outrageous. They’re funny. They introduce awful catchphrases to America. But this year, one special ad didn’t make the cut. It got benched when ABC deemed it inappropriate for its standards.

The ad in question is a PETA spot called "Milk Gone Wild." It’s an anti-milk campaign that parodies the "Girls Gone Wild" videos, except the girls in this ad lift up their shirts to reveal double-D cow udders. Got milk? The hoochies in this ad do! They’re milking their own boob-udders while squirting milk mustaches onto the faces of thirsty frat guys! The milk fountains actually get so extreme that the horny dudes are essentially sporting ZZ Top milk beards. Flash, flash. Squirt, squirt. These crazy chicks just can’t stop milking themselves, baby.

My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.

PETA is sooo right that milk is disgusting. Cows in the wild don’t even milk themselves! But other than the fact that milk makes me fart, I think the only dairy-related disservice this milk ad achieves is that it's single-handedly ruining Mardi Gras for all the boob lovers of the world. Thanks a lot, PETA.

Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen

Some words of advice: If you’re Lindsay Lohan, you probably shouldn’t be documenting your life in print in a diary. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with committing your memories to paper, but I think it’s pretty safe to assume that most of Lindsay’s daily escapades are best forgotten. Seriously, Lindz, do you really want to relive the Wilmer Valderrama chapters? If most of your life is spent stocking your closet full of skeletons, you really don’t want to leave a trail of kibble outside to make it easy for the dogs to find your boneyard. But Lindsay loves to court trouble and she had another fling with it last week when her diary turned up missing only to reappear with two pages missing. The diary must’ve been chock full of gems, so what could’ve have been so good on those two particular pages? One can only guess, and in pure James Frey-style, I’m going to fake it and imagine what could have been in those Million Little Pieces of gossip gold that went AWOL from her diary…

Anne Frank? Never heard of her.

January 2, 2006
Partied so hard that I had an asthma attack! I haven’t been so outta breath since I found out that Aaron Carter was on the rebound. Pant. Pant. Like, my lung capacity is so much smaller since my boobs shrunk. Huff. Puff. You know what I could use right now? No, silly, besides an inhaler and a Snickers. A pregnancy test. For my friend. Not for me. For my friend. I’ll have a friend bring me a home preggers kit to me. Asthma sucks.

January 12, 2006
Partied with Kate Moss at Scores. We even jumped on stage and did some pole dances. I haven’t been so outta breath since I found out that Jared Leto was on the rebound.

January 26, 2006
You’ll never guess where I’m staying at! Bryan Adams’s mansion!!! I know! What’s he doing with a friggin’ mansion?!? I don’t really know who he is anyway, but I think he used to sing for Loverboy. I found his diary in his drawer full of plain white t-shirts. Here’s the first entry:

July 8, 1969
I got my first real six-string. Oh, at the five-and-dime.

Loverboy must suck. And this guy’s had bangs since 1969?!? Jeez! I’m gonna go take a shower and grab a cup of tea.

January 27, 2006
Bryan Adams’s house is a death trap. Watch that first step outside of his bathroom. Anyhoo, I’m back in the hospital getting 10 stitches from a little teacup mishap. Bryan keeps joking that the teacup "Cuts like a Knife." I don’t get it. Loverboy must suck. Hmm. I wonder if my friend needs another pregnancy test.

The Littlest Jedi

photo by Jason
"Bad feeling about this have I."

The Not-So-Many Faces of Matthew McConaughey

Now I enjoy a good Matthew McConaughey movie as much as the next guy (when I actually see one, I'll give you a call). I've seen U-571. I've seen Reign of Fire. Hell, I've even seen Contact. I wouldn't say that I'm a "fan" per se, but he doesn't drive me screaming from a movie theater. I also like to support a guy who is capable of shenanigans like these.

So I will try not to blame Mr. McConaughey, who is clearly just in need of a paycheck, for starring in his various "rom-coms" like The Wedding Planner, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days and his latest, Failure to Launch. Now, not only are all of the films shitty--no, I haven't seen FtL, but I am willing to go out on a limb and say that it's a dismal failure of a film--and co-starring some really unappealing actresses, but they can't even think of a different picture of the guy for the movie posters. I present to you, the evidence:



See? Same goddamn stupid-ass pose! Can't they think of some other way to communicate that it's a shitty romantic comedy starring Matthew McConaughey and some blonde who looks like Skeletor? I've grown to accept the undeniable plague of unoriginality in the films themselves, but when it actually spreads to the movie posters, that is taking it too far.

The good news? Both of these films give you fair warning by incorporating words like "lose" and "failure" in their titles. At least the people naming these pieces of crap still have a sense of decency. Personally, I'm waiting for McConaughey's next romantic comedy sure to be titled Phoning it In.

Midnight Snack

Photo by Jason

Rules for Mogwai

1. Never get them wet

2. Never feed them after midnight

3. Keep them out of direct sunlight

4. Don't see the sequel

jenni tends to mishear things

So I'm in the kitchen doing something food-related when I hear a commercial sung to the tune of "He's got the Whole World in His Hands"coming from the TV, and the lyrics I think I hear are:

"I've got this red mouth in my pants!"

Naturally, I walk back to the living room to see what's being advertised that has a red mouth in its pants, because you know I'm gonna have to buy it, and I discover to my infinite disappointment that the commercial is for Fresh Step kitty litter, which means the lyrics probably are not, in fact, "I've got this red mouth in my pants!".

I coulda used TiVo to rewind the commercial and figure out the actual lyrics, but I'm gonna hang on to the "red mouth in pants" scenario for just a little longer. I'm sentimental that way.

That sweet image is from Sephora. Ain't it purty?

Fortune Cookie Self-Discovely

I like to think that I'm pretty secure in who I am, but yesterday I discovered something about myself that I'm not sure I like. See, I was born in 1982, which in the Chinese calendar is the Year of the Dog. Every time I'd go to a Chinese food place and look down at my little paper placemat, I'd read the little description of the Dog in the Chinese zodiac and nod approvingly:

"People born in the Year of the Dog possess the best traits of human nature. They have a deep sense of loyalty, are honest, and inspire other people's confidence because they know how to keep secrets. But Dog People are somewhat selfish, terribly stubborn, and eccentric. They care little for wealth, yet somehow always seem to have money. They can be cold emotionally and sometimes distant at parties. They can find fault with many things and are noted for their sharp tongues. Dog people make good leaders."

That's from here.

Do I exhibit the best traits of human nature? You bet your ass I do! Do I have a deep sense of loyalty and honesty? Do I inspire other people's confidence because I know how to keep my trap shut? Damn straight! Some of that less flattering stuff is kind of true--I suck at parties, for instance--but that last bit about being a good leader is certainly correct.

So what's the problem? Well, according to Blogger, I'm not a Dog, I'm a COCK! (They say "Rooster," but I've seen "Cock" on plenty of those paper placemats) What the hell?! "Why is Blogger so wrong," I asked Jenni and Jason. Then Jenni goes and turns my whole world upside-down. See, I was born in early January, and since Chinese New Year isn't usually until at least mid to late January, it was still the year of the Cock when I was born. "Humbug," I exclaimed! Surely Blogger must be wrong!

So, as with all big questions about life, I turned to the only true source of wisdom in this world--the Internet. Doing a quick Google search for a Gregorian to Chinese calendar translator, I came up with this page. I put in my birthdate and was shocked.

"Year of the Chicken"

DAMMIT!

So basically my whole damn life has been a lie! I've been duped by the false simplicity of a paper placemat into believing I'm something I'm not! This whole time I thought I was a Dog, and I'm really a big, fat, late-year Cock! So what's the description of the Cock? I'm taking this from the same place I got the Dog description.

"People born in the Year of the Rooster are deep thinkers, capable, and talented. They like to be busy and are devoted beyond their capabilities and are deeply disappointed if they fail. People born in the Rooster Year are often a bit eccentric, and often have rather difficult relationships with others. They always think they are right and usually are! They frequently are loners and though they give the outward impression of being adventurous, they are timid. Rooster people's emotions like their fortunes, swing very high to very low. They can be selfish and too outspoken, but are always interesting and can be extremely brave."

Okay, this thing is WAY off. Sure, the "deep thinker," "capable" and "talented" apply, but some of this stuff is just plain wrong. I am not "eccentric," for example. I wish I was. I'm painfully "normal" actually, to the point of being boring. I am pretty much always right, something I would point out to Jenni is NOT in the description of people born in the Year of the Rat. I'll buy the "loner" and "timid" stuff, although I don't even front about being adventurous. I am definitely not "selfish" or "outspoken" or "interesting" or in any way, shape or form "brave."

So what the hell am I supposed to do now? My whole life I lived in the comfort of knowing I was a Dog. That was my identity! All of my friends are Dogs, that zodiac is diametrically opposed to people I hate, it's perfect! But now everything is topsy-turvy! Do I need to be more selfish now, less like a Dog and more like the Cock that has apparently been waiting 24 years to burst forth into my life in all of its throbbing, thrusting, pulsating glory? I'm sorry, but this whole realization that I'm a Cock might be too much for me to swallow.

Punk Rawk

photo by Jason

For Your Ears in February

Traditionally, adding a "z" to the end of a word grants it instant cred, like Boyz in tha Hood or just about any of the current hip-hop jamz on MTV Hits (they really should have pluralized it with a "z"). But that's not to say that merely capping off a word with the ol' zed -- as the Canadians like to say (Not Canadianz, mind you. Not aboot to give them that cred) -- will equal cool. Note the sad exceptionz: Smooth jazz, Jason Mraz, Boyz II Men, Cheez Whiz.

Another sad exception to the Z Rule are the Kidz Bop CDs. Well, at least until seven albums into the series. That's when Kidz Bop 7 transformed what was formerly a Chipmunk'd version of the Now That's What I Call Music compilations into a hipster novelty with its kindergarten chorus taking on the indie histrionics of Modest Mouse's "Float On." Then Kidz Bop 8 came along, so tots could shake their Pull-Ups to a googly-eyed version of Franz Ferdinand's "Take Me Out." This month, the latest Kidz Bop CD is coming out, and sweet fudgeknuckle, I think I'm going to have to get it.

Mark your calendars -- February 21 is the day Kidz Bop 9 presents a new set of toddler-transformed- tunes that I'm pretty sure will be a hit on the preschool musical chairs circuit. The indie hit du jour this time around is "Feel Good Inc." by the Gorillaz (note the "Z"). And for some reason they do a version of the Crazy Frog cover of the "Axel F Theme." A helium-throated frog or The Sippy Cup Singers? What's the difference? Even stranger is that Hilary Duff's "Wake Up" sounds a few octaves lower than the original when 5-year-olds are singing it. Plus, it's kinda unsettling to hear preschoolers singing about how they "wake up, wake up on a Saturday night" somewhere on "Hollywood and Vine" or in "London, Paris, maybe Tokyo." Someone put a leash on those Kidz Boppers! They shouldn't be waking up in random places like that! That's just ridiculuz. With a capital Z.

Other music to check out in February:

2/07
Belle & Sebastian • The Life Pursuit

One Tree Hill, Vol. 2 Soundtrack • Friends with Benefit -- A random character on the show gets cancer! The result is a benefit concert and an OC-style compilation CD with half-good indie bands, and half-crappy ones. Guess who's malignant and who's not.


2/21
Arctic Monkeys • Whatever I Say I Am, That's What I'm Not

Bloc Party • Helicopter (Remix EP)

Lilys • Everything Wrong Is Imaginary

Magnet • The Tourniquet