i can haz Corolla commercial?

a) This commercial is hilarious.

b) Can someone please tell me what the EF IS GOING ON?

c) OMG i haz kikked all u ninjaz ass!!!

Turkey n' Dressing Up

Thanksgiving has never been a big decorating holiday. Turkey day icons haven't evolved much past pilgrim hats and traced turkey hands (Not like, for instance, Christmas lights. Candles on the tree come Christmas morning evolved into - thank goodness - electric lights on the tree all December which evolved into electric lights around the windows, which evolved into electric lights all over the effing house starting in September). There may be some harvest gourds and cranberries on the centerpiece, but overall, the commercial focus is on the food.

Part of this might be because of the troubling mascots Thanksgiving has to play with. Holidays like Christmas and Easter (or even Halloween) are pretty ancient and can draw upon a variety of fun-loving characters. Not really into the birth of Christ? You can still celebrate the Solstice with a tree and big fat dude in a Red Suit to commemorate rebirth into the new year and social altruism. Not much for Passover or The Resurrection? Here are some adorable fertility symbols of eggs and bunnies.

Thanksgiving is fairly secular to begin with, not to mention recent. And what is the story of the first Thanksgiving? Pilgrims and Red Injuns sharing a meal to give thanks to the natives for showing them how to grow corn. And there's a Turkey. I have never been so moved by this story. It's hard to feel "aw shucks" and teary eyed when we all know what came next.

This is partially why decorations for Thanksgiving have focused on the food. There's the occasional Pilgrim Buckle Hat (In recent years, coloring books and costumes have shied away from feathered headbands to keep any accusations of racial insensitivity at bay. Though I bet you can still find all that Peace Pipe stuff at Walmart.) but for the most part, it's all about the dinner. And the Turkey.

This, to the decoration creators around the world is totally unacceptable. There's got to be SOMETHING we can sell people to get them through from Halloween to the start of Christmas. That's when the seasonal depression really takes hold, because there's nothing to dump in the front lawn to show the neighbors how truly happy and festive we are. (Scratching goateed chin) I wonder what it could be...




Of Course...I giant inflatable Turkey. So simple. So perfect. What can we dress it in? Just a plain old turkey is no fun. Why the finery of its tormentors, the Pilgrim Hat and vest. Now THAT's Fun.

Notice the look of complete ambivalence on this turkey's face. Looks so resigned. "Do what you will. I know my role. I 'll be slaughtered and roasting at 325 for 4 hours soon enough."




This guy is just stunned. How did this happen? Who are you people and what am I doing in these clothes?

I wonder that too, turkey, what ARE you doing in these clothes? Why...WHY is is necessary to dress up our food like PEOPLE. We covered this the anthropomorphic food section, but I feel it bears repeating. I DON'T WANT TO SEE TURKEYS DRESSED AS HUMANS. and on top of that, I don't want the doomed turkey to look like it could have FEELINGS about the situation. None of the Turkeys I've seen look remotely happy about what's going on. They all have expressions of terror, surprise, or resignation.

Why do we do this? To satisfy our own simmering bloodlust and latent desire to eat a being cognizant of its surroundings? If that's the case, why not just eat people? Save ourselves the trouble of having to dress up and humiliate this poor bird.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to very quickly overcome my disgust have some left overs. That Turkey can take his attributed consciousness and shove it.

Random Thanksgiving Thoughts

The holidays have officially arrived as of today, bearing their brightly colored pinata...inside is a ton of bricks. They tie a bandanna over my eyes, hand me a bat and tell me to get swinging. Someone switches on a mariachi version of "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree."


The Holidays are such a strange time of year. I like them in the same way I like extreme weather. Everyone deals with it in their own way, but, in some regard, we are all in it together.

Before the Holiday hurricane makes landfall...I want to share the list of big and small things that continue to make my life more interesting. And yes, I am thankful today (and everyday) for them.

1. I like my nephews. Of course I love them, but I also like them a lot, the two savage gentlemen. Even when they draw on my computer. Even when they screech right outside my door at 7am on a Sunday.

2. My friends. The women in LA, CP Jan and Tina, who have called me to check in on a regular basis. You know me better than almost anyone, and have put up with loads of my bullshit. Thanks for not jilting me into the Pacific. Thanks for WANTING to talk about politics, art, pop-philosophy, and getting drunk and telling the Truth. You are hard women. I love you.

For Chicago friends who have continued to care and offer support. For being among the most intelligent, most creative badasses I know. For being funny. For being excellent writers. For enduring weirdness after weirdness.

For my new friends, who I have gotten to know in the last few months, and who I am excited to know more about, and who are great inspirations to me.

For the unknowing lighthouses out there. You may not realize it, but you keep my ship from going belly up. Thank you.

3. My sister has a great shower. Nice water pressure. Extended hot water supply.

4. I have a job that teaches me. I am adjunct faculty at a University and the more I teach these kids, the more I learn.

5. I have all my fingers and toes. I have not one, but two eyes that work. My nervous system seems to be fully operational. I'm also really glad that it's not 1905, that most things are clean, and most maladies I have are treatable. If it were 1905, I think I'd be dead or in a house of bedlam.

6. The CTA. As much as you torture me, I'm still thankful that you're around.

7. My Parents. Familial relationships continue to be a convoluted mess. There is never one way to describe one's relationship with their mother or father. I'm always a little suspicious when someone says, "Oh, yeah...I have a good relationship with my parents." I suppose I shouldn't be so hard...how can one say "Oh yeah, I have a total push/pull, love/hate, blame/forgiveness thing going on and I'm terrified that one day they will die and leave me here and how will I ever survive when that part of my childhood is gone?" I guess you can't say that succinctly...so, "Yeah, I have a good relationship with my parents."

And I do. My dad has a quirky sense of humor, and quiet sense of honor. My mother is explosively creative and can express delight without shame. I can never fully convey my gratitude to them and for them.

8. My Brother-in-Law, B. A generous and funny man, who has offered sage advice. During the storms, he fixed the rudder with some good common sense. I'm glad you married my sister.

9. My sister. My role model. My inspiration. My support system. My best friend. She is always the smartest person I have ever met. She has listen to me cry and moan, gotten me out of jams. She is thoughtful in ways that I have never been. She walks the walk...even when she doesn't feel 100%.

To all of this she will shrug, and roll her eyes and say "I'm not that great, JJ."

To which I will say, "Shut up."

10. My time with D. As difficult as these months have been, I am still thankful for your presence in my life. Then and now.



The people are cheering as I swat at the pinata. I know how this will end, but I swing anyway. It's fun. There's music and everyone is laughing.

Maybe there's some candy mixed in the ton of bricks.

This Magic Moment

Like most girls between the ages of 12 and 15, my notions of a first kiss were on the ethereal side.

Try as we might, ladies, to scratch and claw our way from the suction of the Pink Princess Hole (which, as I type this, comes across as somewhat perverse on a variety of levels), woven into the fabric of a young female's life are unicorn droppings and fairy dust. We didn't ask for these expectations, but there they are and, like Christmas glitter shimmering on your bathing suit in July, they show up in the most surprising places.

For myself, I never fully embraced the Princess role as a part of my life - if anything I tended to identify more with the Prince Charmings and Elven Sidekicks - but the fantasies I grew up on still whispered in my ears. They whisper in everyone's ears: A girl is born in a flutter of doves and at that moment she is charged to get married and have babies. All done without the slightest hint of oily discharge, hair, or BO. The End.

A more delicate nature is not an inherent handicap. When I talk about my personal definitions of femininity, my tone tends to marginalize those who choose the more classical approach to womanhood. (I think this tone exists elsewhere as well) Being "girly" is not bad in and of itself. It's the wholesale acceptance the Madonna, Whore, Princess and/or Chief Domestician roles and not considering more complicated options, that stirs the little bra-burning fires in my heart.

None of this is news. In a post-feminist world, us girls struggle with competing ideals. And even if we reject these labels outright they won't vaporize in an instant. We still define ourselves against them.

With all this whizzing around in the cultural cosmos, my half formed 15-year-old brain couldn't even give voice to this tension. Forces at work on my identity simply existed then and I didn't quite know what they were or even what questions to ask. All I knew was that my first kiss would probably be with my big crush, or longtime - but as yet unrealized - love. The entire event would culminate in a gently pristine caress of the lips and probably taste like Charm's Blow Pops.

That's not what happened.

My friend Z.,a full year older than I (and quite possibly the coolest human being I had ever seen up close. Think Madonna - the singer, not the "role"- circa 1985 in Desperately Seeking Susan.), invited me to spend the night. The pretense of this invitation was so the two of us could attend a cast party thrown for a spring musical at a neighboring high school. I was assured the Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill would be flowing free and that the chaperons were "totally cool" with the kids drinking in the basement.

Most of the night was unremarkable. There was a fire in the fireplace, exposed stone walls, shag carpeting, and a gaggle of mushy, brace-faced, spiral-permed teenagers (among whom, I was one...yeah...I had a perm.). The party itself was a pretty stupid affair. I took my place on the couch and heaved a sigh, simmering in boredom. My friends Z., C., and N. had abandoned me for some exciting make out sessions in the garage.

Then Brant sat next to me.

What drew him to me, I will never know. It could have been my big buckle clod hopper type shoes (which he remarked upon) or my chartreuse knit turtle neck. Whatever the reason, Brant, in his mustache and short sleeved button down (with a tie) had a serious "Some Enchanted Evening" moment and flew to my side.

A brief conversation transpired, the topic escapes me. He edged closer. I wondered where Z. was. Brant said something like "Oh...around." I stared into the fire. Brant told me about how he was attending the Fruitland Bible Institute. Huh? Then what was he doing here? And how long have we been sitting here?

I craned my neck to see where the hell Z. had disappeared to. Brant made his move, taking the bold opportunity to shove his tongue right into my mouth. Nothing could have been further from a Charm's Blow Pop.

The human mouth is an interesting place and when two people are attracted to each other, it can be fun to lallygag in and around there. When ambushed (and I must say, comPLETEly unprepared for the French Kiss experience) by a feather haired would-be minister, it's like eating warm bologna.

What. On. Earth.

I know the teenage years are brimming with strange oral encounters (i.e. meeting at the back top to make out with an arbitrarily chosen member of the opposite sex – or, sure same sex, couples passing gum from one mouth to another as sort of a little trick, I suppose), but this appeared utterly random. Who was this guy?

When the whole slobbery affair was over, I turned, stunned and stared into the fire. He put his arm around me. He bopped my nose with his index finger. Jesus. Were we a couple now?

If I were an alien, experiencing for the first time the mating rituals of the Homo sapien, I could not have been more baffled by what was happening.

The next few minutes are a blur. I escaped his gravity and headed for the kitchen. It turns out Z. and C. had witnessed the entire incident, and were laughing hysterically. I can’t say I blame them - I probably would have laughed, too.

“We have to go.” This was not a request. Z. (which is why, despite her laughter at my expense, I believe we were friends) put on her serious face. Exit we did, and rapidly.

That night, spending the night on the floor of Z.’s bedroom, I dreamt over and again of Brant’s slacked legs descending on me from above.

The next day, at a Saturday drama class, C. passed me Brant’s number.

“He really liked you.”

Needless to say, I never followed up. That was the last I heard of Bible Brant.



In a way, I’m thankful for Brant’s indiscretion. It shook the gumdrops and bubbles right out of my pie hole and, as a result, was able to enjoy future, more pleasurable kisses without dampening the experience with unrealistic expectations.

And as for those expectations, while I'm glad they were dispelled, I suppose I never would have even had a first kiss to begin with if anyone had warned me that it might be like eating warm bologna.

Song for a Birthday Tuesday

When I was in High School I had a vivid, almost feverish dream. The look was sort of film reel, from the 60's, but the black and white contrast was razor sharp. A Catskills comedian in horn rim glasses and a plaid jacket stood in a hot spot light. He said, in the rehearsed cadence of a joke:

"I had a friend who owned a hardware store...it's okay, he's HALF OF 70!"

The audience went crazy. I woke up.

Today, I am half of 70.

I'm looking forward to 35. It seems like an interesting number, two prime numbers shoved together in an uneasy partnership. It's got a 5 in it.

(I came to the conclusion yesterday that 5 is my favorite number, with its strong brow and stout body. It's a prime number and part of my birthday date. I always have enjoyed counting by fives. )

34 always seemed to hedge it's bets, you know? "See, I'm still KIND OF in my early thirties, right?" Now there is no looking back. I'm in my Mind-thirties today.

I must say, I am proud of it. Glad to be here.

So, what to choose on such a momentous day? Favorite song ever? Least favorite song?

Since 35 feels like a halfway mark, a looking forward and a looking back...today's song is "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" by Deodato. This is the groovy vibraphone filled (nearly ten minute long) 1973 version.

The original, Also sprach Zarathustra by Richard Strauss was composed in 1896 in response to Friedrich Nietzsche's work of the same name. In 1968 Stanley Kubrick used it as part of 2001: A Space Odyssey, his film adaptation of Arthur C. Clarke's colossal mindbender. Looking back on the use of this piece of music as an response to and instrument in the questionsing of humankind's purpose, I am in complete and total awe.

And in 1973, the year of my birth, Deodato took the first steps into electronic irony by incorporating Strauss' notes into this strange "rebirth of Spinal Tap" jazz fusion release.

Enjoy!




For those who want to hear the beautiful and terrifying (and considerably shorter) original...

Read my palm

Undiscovered Talents

There are plenty of stories out there about a commoner - not unlike ourselves - who one day sits at a piano and writes a symphonic masterpiece. Or creates mind boggling works or art. Or discovers an equation that solves the mysteries of the universe.

I think we are drawn to such anecdotes because they offer the hope that, deep inside, there is some untapped potential. This American Life did a story on something similar - knowing only a little bit about a subject and, for better or worse, trying to use that hair's breadth of knowledge to alert the world to the special genius within.

It is in this spirit that I thought I'd try my hand at something I know almost nothing about: Haiku.

Here's what I know:

5-7-5 syllable scheme.
Some reference to nature.

Behold.

My nephew broke in
and drew on my computer.
Winter approaches.

I feel queasy from
the expired aspirin. Do
I smell burning leaves?

Stranger on the bus,
you smell just like my uncle.
Or a rotting log.

I ran out of lip
gloss. I guess I have to go
buy more Springtime now.

I didn't mean to
break your glass. Tornadoes don't
know where they're going.

Huh. Oh well...I'm sure there's a cancer cure I can whip up with some Glass Plus and vitamin supplements.