Don't

DON"T search in Google images under the word "shock" or, "shocking." You will find the grossest stuff you have ever seen in your whole life. And you won't be able to stop looking, either... DON'T use unnecessarily bizarre expressions like one British Airways flight attendant recently did when he announced over the PA system that, "Our flying time is seven hours dead."

Oi!

It rained five days out of seven while I was in Oxford and London last week. As anyone can see I was severely fashion-challenged by the dreary weather. My husband, brave soul that he is, said nary a word about my constant wearing of the hat I call the "tit." "Where's my tit?" I would ask every morning as we set out. Or, "I've found my tit!" or even, " I am so grateful for the tit." I admit that I enjoyed walking around that stuffy country with a nipple on top of my head. PS: The sign over my head in the first photo says, "Buttery." That's from all the clotted cream I was basting myself with. It was taken right outside the Christ Church College dining room. One might expect the food to smell delicious, it being part of the illustrious university but, no, it smelled just like the stinky school lunches I remember from elementary school. Too bad for all the smarty pants!

London journal

Recently, I made the discovery that prescription painkillers go down veddy nicely with afternoon tea, scones, jam and that heaven of all heavens: clotted cream. Then I made the further discovery that prescription painkillers go even better with a Guinness. Who knew?!! Merry Old England, indeed!

Mystery sister: episode 1.

You know what is really absurd? Getting a call last night from my brother* and finding out that I may have a long-unknown-about sister who is 47 years old, a CPA and lives in Arizona. When I heard the news, I thought, "That is so cool! I always wanted a different sister! (The one I have has never said more than maybe three full sentences to me unless you count "hello" and "bye.") (*I've got a whole, big, bunch of 'em, six to be exact, plus the one sister - which makes eight -and we are not even Catholic! Just the progeny of several Episcopalians and Jews and maybe one Lutheran.) ... HUH?!

Lamb Chop Gone Wild

How do you know your blog has gone to hell? When you leave the country for a week, have serious jetlag and then try and pass off a music video which stars a hand puppet and some feta cheese as a excuse for a new post.

So Geniusy

The First Gamut Genius Award to Lenora Claire, Los Angeles art collector and curator of the Golden Gals Gone Wild show this past August for possessing the brilliance to purchase the Bea Arthur painting off eBay for a measly $110. and also for gathering all sorts of artwork based on the show and putting it all together in one place.

All-time best t-shirt worn by a subway rider

A while ago I saw a rather enormous fellow on the F train wearing a t-shirt bearing the message: Rights for Imprisoned People with Psychiatric Disabilities. It made me aware of the plight of the many thousands of people in our criminal justice system who suffer from mental illness and do not receive proper care. But, more importantly, it proved to be very effective at getting him a seat on a crowded train. This is the all-time best photo of a t-shirtless fellow riding the subway train. Even though he apparently doesn't even own a t-shirt, I'd still give him a seat - right next to me. Grrrrr! (Thanks to FDNY Calendar of Heroes hunk Stephen Spagnola for his amazing bod. Uh, I mean, use of his photo.)

Truth in Advertising?

What is there to say about someone who dresses up as a giant turd - and actually looks happy? This woman has taken self-loathing to an entirely new level and come out the other side. She has accepted and embraced her essential turditude.

Oh, Sandra!

Absurd Blow to Women

The first woman ever appointed to the Supreme Court of the United States, justice, Sandra Day O'Connor, 77, retired in 2006 after 24 years on the bench citing a desire to look after her ailing husband who has Alzheimer's as the reason she was abandoning her post and indeed, everyone who cares about women's rights. It now turns out that her husband John has fallen in love with another woman at his retirement home in Phoenix, Arizona. Wait a cotton-pickin' minute! Did I just say, "retirement home?" Yes, folks, I did. It turns out that Sandra's excuse for retirement was bogus because John O'Connor is living in a facility, not at home with her. While many will be charmed by her potty husband's new found love with a geriatric temptress named Kay, I for one, am very disappointed because her retirement paved the way for Samuel Alito (*not John Roberts as I had previously written and which two deeper-thinkers pointed out to me was wrong. Suh-aaame difference, it all went to s---.) and a much more conservative and rights-reducing court. While hardly a knee-jerk liberal, (she wrote the 1989 majority opinion in Penry v. Lynaugh which ruled that a mentally retarded murderer with the intellectual capacity of a 7-year-old could be executed) O'Connor mellowed with the years. She was frequently a swing vote and even dissented with the majority of the justices in a case involving a private developer's use of eminent domain (see post below for more about this) in New London, Connecticut. About this, she said, "The specter of condemnation hangs over all property. Nothing is to prevent the State from replacing any Motel 6 with a Ritz-Carlton, any home with a shopping mall, or any farm with a factory. ... The beneficiaries are likely to be those citizens with disproportionate influence and power in the political process, including large corporations and development firms. As for the victims, the government now has license to transfer property from those with fewer resources to those with more."

Urban Architecture: The Absurdly Good, the Bad and the Stupid

Urban architects are mostly the lapdogs of real estate developers. (Actually, they are the whores of real estate developers, but, I don't want to disparage hard-working women by comparing them with the limp-minded men who design ever-taller, sky-and-sun-blocking phallic replacements.) Here are a few examples from each category in Brooklyn, NY. Absurd Architecture worthy of our love includes Cynthia and Arthur Wood's Broken Angel at 4 Downing Street in Clinton Hill. Though, the last we heard about the fate of this gem is that due to non-compliance with local building codes, the top two floors were to be removed and rebuilt and the rest of the building is to become condos, undoubtedly for more refugees from the suburbs who have just "discovered" Brooklyn. Absurdly Bad Architecture includes the Regal Cinema on Court Street in Brooklyn Heights. Deidre Carson, a lawyer who had previously represented other movie-theater developers and formerly the president of the Brooklyn Heights Association (a neighborhood organization originally created to protect the area from irresponsible development - ah, the irony!) actually had the gall to describe the building as a product of a "world-class architecture firm." What the hell does "world-class" mean anyway? If this building is any example, it means the biggest bull turd they can lay on you. Which brings us to Regal's bastard grandchild: Frank Gehry's absurdly stupid design for private-developer Bruce Ratner's proposed Atlantic Yards project. Designed to dwarf the brownstone neighborhoods nearby, Gehry himself called the project his, "ego trip" (shee-ut!) and our politicians greased their oily palms and pressed each others flesh in what has to be the most egregious crony love-fest ever attempted on the shores of Brooklyn. For all this and more, we hereby bestow a special Gamut Scabies Award to Bruce Ratner for trying to use eminent domain to steal, condemn and destroy people's homes to enrich himself. The following photos are: Broken Angel, Regal Cinema's UA Court Street Stadium 12, "Miss Brooklyn" and its architect, the penis-nosed Frank Gehry.

Absurd Music

I'M NOT IN LOVE. Everyone knows this song yet, few can name the band: 10cc. a now-defunct English group who experienced their heyday in the 1970's with the popularity of this song which reached no. 2 on the U.S. charts. Though the artier members of this pop group at first derided the song as "crap," (And they hadn't even imagined the videos to come!) the later multi-track version eerily layers multiple voices which, combined with the irony of the lyrics and Eric Stewart's creamy voice, make it unforgettable. As a kid, I especially enjoyed repeating the whispered refrain, "big boys don't cry, big boys don't cry" whenever I wanted to get under the skin of my big brother Angus. It used to drive him crazy especially when accompanied by an arm noogie. PS: For those of you who wish to enjoy this song karaoke-style, the following link has the lyrics and a wierd synthesized version you can sing along with. SING HERE

The royal bag

What better way to begin our journey together than by focusing on a needless fashion accessory for a obsolete monarch? Is she planning on popping down to the market to pick up a few things for dinner after she addresses Parliament? And what do you suppose she keeps in there? A cell phone? Surely not. Tampons? Don’t be vile. Altoids? Ah, that must be it. While never having been in her presence I am sure Lizzie Windsor has the freshest, mintiest breath of anyone in the, er, Queendom.