Earlier this week, I sent my peeps an e-mail with the historic CBS Nightly News clip that aired either Thursday or Friday night about the 29 year-old Marine who died of melanoma for which he was never given a diagnosis until it was already Stage 4. The reason I sent it was not because I wanted to discuss politics* but because it was an amazingly well-done piece and I was blown away by the condition of the guy when he died. (I mean, Dad weighed 130 when he died, but under 80 pounds on a guy that was likely average height!?? Good Christ, that’s unreal.)

Yeah, should’ve thought to embrace the bcc mechanism on my Thunderbird, because today—not Tuesday or yesterday, mind you—I had a whole e-mail war going on and all kinds of people annoyed, and I’m like, “Whoa, y’all! I wasn’t even talking about Universal Health Care!” That’ll learn ME. Jeez.

My big assignment for the week so far has been, in anticipation of Valentine’s Day, talking to NWI’s most “roMANtic” restaurants to find out what makes them the place to be: Is it ambiance? Food? What? And as I’m interviewing them, it occurs to me—and this will shock no one, I’m sure—that I’m probably the least conventionally romantic woman on the planet ... well, maybe not the PLANET, but it’s gotta be the Northern hemisphere, at the very least. I mean, the various owners were talking about this and that, and I get the whole flowers/cards/candy/nice dinner out thing. I just prefer to find “romance,” if you want to call it that, in less contrived ways. Or maybe that speaks volumes as to the guys I’ve been involved with over the years, I don’t know, but if someone wanted to take me out and spend that kind of scratch on me for Valentine’s Day, I wouldn’t appreciate it like he would want it appreciated. This of course is not to say that I would rather go to Outback Steakhouse over Rodizio’s or Lucrezia’s; I’m just saying it would be lost on me. (And probably something about the manner to which I’m accustomed.) But, like, rose petals in the bathtub and that kind of stuff? I could see myself thinking “Great. A cliche” if that ever happened.

What do I find romantic, then? That’s the other thing: I never know until it happens. Anyone else like that?

Went shopping with Girlie today to get a new pair of jeans before the big bad snow comes to bury us all, and as I came out to model, the following conversation ensues:

Ever eat something that you dig SO MUCH, you start eating it for like days straight because you totally can’t get enough of it, only to never pick it up again (like when I worked at Olive Garden in ‘94 and went on a green-noodle-marinara kick for weeks)? I’m really hoping that’s not going to happen with my beloved cauliflower thingy, because this stuff is like crack. Seriously. I’m not sure if it’s the lemon and olive oil or the pepper and lemon together (always a favorite of mine) or the fresh parmesan over all of it, but you know when I’m standing in front of the sink at 10:30 at night chopping up a damn cauliflower, I’m in love. 

when I drink two large cups of Dunkin’ Donuts hot chocolate and coffee mixed together (a concoction I never would’ve imagined would be so darn delicious, so thanks to my pal Ray for convincing me)? Aside from plying me with enough caffeine to keep me awake for the next three days, I can tell you what it DOESN’T do: Prevent me from setting my notebook on the roof of my car and then driving off.



Good thing I was paying extra-special attention today, or I’d have been screwed.

So, I got about four or five pounds of pork simmering in my new crock pot for dinner this evening, but I’m a little concerned that because the removable part is stoneware and not glass, we might not be eating until 9-ish or 10-ish. For whatever reason, it just doesn’t seem to be heating up like it should, even though I have it on high. (Of course, starting it way earlier than 5 p.m. probably would’ve countered that, but there was a DANCE! COMPETITION! to cover—you remember DANCE! COMPETITION! right, Cat?—and much to my surprise and good fortune, the teams didn’t suck to high heaven.) Good thing Girlie and Soph had a late dinnerlunch (and I finally dared to remove and sterilize the containers of corn and peaches buried in the back of the fridge since, oh, summer? Shhhhhhhhh!), because I just might be sending food home with them instead of eating heavy that late at night.

Exposure to something that whets the appetite, such as a picture of a mouthwatering dessert, can make a person more impulsive with unrelated purchases, finds a study from the February 2008 issue of the Journal of Consumer Research. For example, the researchers reveal in one experiment that the aroma of chocolate chip cookies can prompt women on a tight budget to splurge on a new item of clothing.

but hate what the humidity is doing to my hair, especially my bangs. It got so bad today that I ran into my D-list celebrity BFF’s whining “Make it stoooooooop!” So he did, and now I have a slanty thing going on, just like I used to have but longer. As long as they stop bending like they were, I’m fine with that.

Got the last of my Christmas presents over the weekend: A gorgeous pasta pot/vegetable steamer thingy plus several things to cook in it from my lovely brother B-Dubs (Thank you, Baby! Dig it thusly!). Of course, when I told Girlie of this, she immediately conned me into making dinner this weekend, so now I have no idea what I’m going to make. Omelets were suggested, which would be a fine idea if I weren’t so weird about eggs, and I don’t have enough gnocchi to do anything with that. So if anyone has any suggestions, I’m game. (Actually, Tara, if you could resend me that cauliflower thingy AGAIN, I’d love you for it.)

Speaking of Girlie, she called me the other day before picking me up to tell me of a new phenomenon that simultaneously perplexed and frightened: Did you know that you can purchase “marital aids” at Walgreen’s? Not just your standard condoms and K-Y either, but, like, MARITAL AIDS. She discovered this as she was printing off pictures from the holidays, and you can get them online only, but who knew? I mean, I’ll admit that when I’m thinking MARTIAL AIDS, Walgreen’s is the last place I’d think about getting them from, but I guess it would be convenient in some universe, maybe. Can you imagine the ad copy on that, though? 

but where does “Jeff, the god of biscuits” come from!?? Anyone?

I LOVED “Longer” when I was in 4th grade:

Singer Dan Fogelberg dies

Just the other day I was telling someone that if Ruth Ann ever wanted to give up her court beat, I’d love to take it over because even though court can be deadly dull, the cases are generally pretty meaty. And then I read this story today:

By Ruth Ann Krause
Post-Tribune correspondent

Lake Superior Court Judge Diane Ross Boswell rejected a request on behalf of Joseph C. Buchko, a former Merrillville school teacher convicted of sexual battery who wanted to avoid having to register as a sex offender.

Buchko, 38, of Griffith, who admitted he improperly touched an 11-year-old girl on school property on a Saturday between September and October 2004, said having to register would hurt his chances at landing a job with the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, defense attorney Sam Cappas said. Cappas argued the law shouldn’t apply to Buchko.

Deputy prosecutor Judy Massa said Buchko already had received a favorable plea agreement and sentence. Originally charged with child molesting, which carries a maximum eight-year sentence, Buchko pleaded guilty in 2005 to sexual battery and received 18 months’ probation. His probation was extended to allow him to comply with the requirements, and his felony conviction was reduced to a misdemeanor.

I’m still trying to figure out how in the holy hell these vermin burst her implant. Good Christ, y’all.

Victim: Gang-Rape Cover-Up by U.S., Halliburton/KBR

Found over at Jezebel, where you’ll also find links to contact your m’erf’in Congressmen about stopping this abomination of a company in the comments. Not that that will do anything, but it might keep you from plying yourself full of whiskey at just past noon. 

That’s kinda been my big excitement lately: It all started last month, when I left my car unlocked one night; the next day, I jump into my car to find my car manual sitting on my passenger side and a 12-pack of Pepsi GONE. Now, NOBODY takes my nectar, dammit, but what am I gonna do? And anyways, the kids were out of school for whatever break, so I figured it was teenagers being stupid. Whatever.

Until today, when I walked out to my car to find my manual once again on the passenger’s seat, plus my trunk and gas door opened. As far as I can tell, nothing was missing, but now it seems that someone’s fucking with me. So, fine. I’ll just keep my doors locked at all times, or maybe I’ll just start pointing a hidden cam at my car at night and tape the sons-of-bitches. I mean, I haven’t gone to the police about anyone in a couple years, so I reckon I’m about due.

And the episode that’s on now? The dude, Ricky, is from NWI because they showed him and his derelict pals ripping off DVDs from Southlake Mall. He’s definitely from Porter County, and his school was the Indians, so I wonder where he’s from.

Ok, it’s really late, and I’m still kinda drunk and freaked out at tonight’s turn of events, but guys? The title says it all, and I’m a little stunned at my cheekiness, but ... yeah. Wow. Yikes, even.

Did you guys hear about this? Mike Doughty, former singer for Soul Coughing and rockin’ artist in his own right, had one of his songs off excellent album Haughty Melodic ripped off chord for chord by some French chick singer named Maidi Roth. HIS song is “I Hear the Bells,” which I read somewhere this week is a tribute to the amazing Jeff Buckley, but hers is titled “Apres Toi” which, if I remember right from my piss-poor French skillz, is “With You” or “In You” or something like that. Anyway, this was no “Well, it maybe kinda sounds like it,” either. Observe: This is Mike’s version:



Now, here’s Maidi’s version:



You be de judge.

Some days more than others, I’m really happy I don’t cover any one particular municipality; I’m quite sure I’d have to be shot with a tranquilizer gun before press conferences such as the following, where this gem came out of Gary’s finest, Mayor Rudy “I pass out business cards the size of bookmarks” Clay. The story, written by Jon Seidel, with the parts of interest emboldened:

By Jon Seidel
Post-Tribune staff writer

GARY—Mayor Rudy Clay and Police Chief Thomas Houston touted the city’s June homicide rate Friday and accused media of ignoring the story.

Since a new police administration took control, Gary’s homicide rate has been cut to a fifth of what it was in May.

Fifteen people were killed in Gary last month, while three people were killed in the city in June as of Friday.

“We couldn’t even get it in the classified ads,” Clay said.

During a news conference held to swear in police reserve officers, Clay told his audience Gary recorded one homicide in June.

“Gary, Indiana, has had less homicides than Munster, Indiana,” Clay said.

According to the Lake County Coroner’s office, though, Gary had three homicides in June. Munster had one.

Later that day, a Gary Police Department spokesman confirmed the coroner’s records.

He said the mayor meant to say Gary had one homicide in 23 days.

On Friday afternoon, Clay emphasized that two of those occurred in domestic situations. A domestic homicide, he said, doesn’t mean the city is violent.

“I have continued to stand up and say to the world that Gary is not a violent city,” Clay said.

At the news conference, Houston said people would not be safe to march in a violent city, making reference to the Gary Catholic Diocese’s Golden Jubilee celebration.

Houston and Deputy Chief Thomas Branson assumed their new roles at the police department last month. ...[snip]