Somewhere between Bell's Palsy and death
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Dual purpose for not shaving my legs

Would somebody like to explain to me how it is that, barring external factors like absence, if a man and a woman of the same intelligence level take the exact same classes in college; or take the exact same training program for their companies, the WOMAN is the one who needs “more training?” And if the problem is “Well, the women have FAMILIES to raise, so they can’t be there for all the classes,” wouldn’t the more effective (read: fair) solution be “provide better affordable child/elder care so women can complete the tasks with which they are given?” Just curious.

And I wish I could take credit for this question, but I shall post it here in case, by some twist of fate, someone with any means to get it to the proper channels sees it:

I personally would like someone to ask Sarah Palin during the VP debate why she feels if their ticket wins, she doesn’t deserve as much money as Joe Biden would get.

Fortunately for Ms. Palin, it’s a non-issue since, if she gets elected, the VP’s pay is federally established. Wonder if she’d support the party line if it weren’t.

Posted by Broad5:14 PM
Monday, August 25, 2008
Funny, I don’t FEEL shocking

E! Television declared depression as the No. 1 SHOCKING MENTAL DISORDER EVER, apparently because Kirsten Dunst checked herself into Le Cirque to get her head screwed back on.

Well, shoot. Had I known, I might’ve demanded a cookie or something.

Posted by Broad4:15 AM
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
I need a salad

Ever eat so much meat that you’re just, like, “GUH, that’s a little gross”? I know that kinda sounds like heresy, but man. I need to get thee to the farm stand stat.

So yeah, the tornado. First off, a big sloppy mashfest with tongue to the peeps who checked to make sure I wasn’t dead—I sure wished I were at times, what with the no power and the out-of-control mother and looking like I smelled for the better part of a week (well, Ok, I didn’t REALLY wish for death, but shit’s hard when all you can do is take a washrag to your bits without freezing them off), but you know, that which does not kill us makes us stronger, except for groin injuries, etc. Since I’ve told the story to, like, a million people, I’ll keep it short: I was sitting here wrapping up my story for the night when Mother calls: “The siren’s going off! What should I do!??” I, not hearing the siren, told her I didn’t hear it and that I would call her back in five minutes when I finished my story. Soon as I hung up, what do you know, I hear the faint roar of the siren across town. Huh, I thought, so I called the desk and said, “Hey, my ma just called and said the siren was going off. Is something coming?” Night Desk Chief and buddy JG said, “Well, let’s take a look ... tornado warning for (town four miles away) ... (next town over) ... (MY TOWNOMFG) ... yeah, something’s coming.” “Oh, wow,” I said. “Well, I just sent so I guess I shou—vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvt!”

(That was ‘hood’s power going out.)

True to form, the little guy headed for the hills, so I knew there was no wrangling him, but I couldn’t find Rube, so I just left the back door open because any time the door’s open, he thinks it’s a big party and goes running for the hallway. I made my way down the back stairs to the basement, which was pitch black, and thought “Hell NAW am I going down there alone without a light apparatus,” so I sat on the steps and watched what I could from the backdoor window. As you can imagine, it was quite a storm—constant, violent lightning and the wind whipping the trees all around for a good 10, 15 minutes until all of a sudden, the wind. just. stopped. Well, I thought to myself, that’s got to be the tornado, except I didn’t hear the giant locomotive-like roar you’re supposed to hear with twisters, so I stood there trying to see if the big cat made it downstairs and waiting to get wiped off the face of the earth. About a minute later, my downstairs neighbor called out to see if I was around, and I headed up to her crib because she had beer and lit candles.

After the first beer, I call Mother back, and her machine didn’t pick up so I knew her power was down and that I’d better get over there to make sure she hadn’t gotten wiped off the face of the planet (also: to assess her mental state to see what kind week I was in for). It had stopped pouring, so it was safe in that respect even though there were no streetlights for miles. First thing I noticed as I zipped through the shortcut I usually take, aside from the water puddled in the potholes that swallow small children, was an overturned semi cab and roofing shingles scattered about. Then I looked over to my left, saw a lit-up police car in front of the subdivision nestled behind the crib. Got to Mother’s—her power was out and she was all twitchy, of course, but no worse for the wear—then went back out to the subdivision. (You knew that was coming.) Got out of the car and walked through the blockade to be greeted with the first house that had its front sheared off. Started reporting straightaway, the end.

Yeah, that wasn’t really a short story, was it? Alas, they never are where I’m concerned. And I ain’t even STARTED on the nightmare that fixing my shower became. THAT was even worse than not having power (but not as bad as not having cable).

Posted by Broad4:43 PM
Monday, August 11, 2008

Still here; STILL without cable/neenernet. Hope to regale y’all with all my complaints later this eve.

Posted by Broad6:07 PM
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
No no, I’m fine. Don’t y’all worry about me

Have a little excitement going on up in these here parts, but because there’s no power, posting my version of events is going to be light (Doing ANYTHING computer-related is pain at the moment; I’m over at Ogger‘s as we speak, and I dictated all my storm coverage last night. In the rain). Tell you what, though: I think I need love my big storms at a distance.

Posted by Broad10:12 PM
Monday, August 04, 2008
Anybody got some damn Pamprin!??

Allow me to state for the record here that I absolutely HATE when women use their monthly as an excuse for being pissed off, but since I’m sure some jackass out there will think it, I thought I’d save you the trouble. (And I DARE YOU to ask me about my meds. Do it. PLEASE.)

Earlier today, a company in town had its big send-off for the almost-to-scale replica of the Statue of Liberty it created for one of its biggest accounts—you know, music, free food, a zillion balloons released into the air, 30 (!) semis leaving the lot and hauling the statue, traveling with police escorts all the way to Missouri. A real feel-good, family thing I was covering, except it wasn’t JUST a big feel-good, family thing because also at this hootenanny, the company’s owner announced which municipality would be taking the statue once it comes back. What’s go great about that, right? Well, considering that the real statue’s in NYC and there’s no other replica anywhere else (never mind that not everyone may make it to NYC or even see the real one if they’re there; I know I’ve been there twice and haven’t seen it yet), this thing has the potential to draw a whole lot of people to NWI. Oh, did I mention it’s made of STYROFOAM!??

So I cover this thing; covered it all week and sent in the photo request, like, 10 days to two weeks ago like I’m supposed to for this admittedly feel-good but pretty important and highly photogenic event. But a photog from MY paper was nowhere to be found. See, they had to go to the beach today to wait to see if a dead kid washed ashore from a drowning yesterday.

Are you KIDDING me with this!??

First of all, no credible paper, even with the industry’s current horrific state, is going to risk running a shot of a dead, bloated body unbagged, so what? You’ve already shot rescuers searching for the kid, and you’ve gotten the poignant “crying relative” shot and the “concerned onlooker” shot; why the hell would you waste the photog’s time on something that MAY NOT HAPPEN when you have a huge event THAT IS!?? Un. real. And I’m sure I’m going to hear the “Bleeds/Leads” crap—NO. It was a piss-poor call. Hell, *I* could’ve taken the shots. My camera’s not that great, but it sure would’ve beat leaving a good photo op with its dick hanging out.

And while I’m at it, could someone please tell me why there’s another drowned kid!?? Park officials don’t close swimming at the beaches for their health; they do it for OURS, so why would anyone think moving to another beach = No Undertow!?? It’s not In-ground Pool Michigan, people. No, the kid didn’t deserve to die. What he deserved were guardians who wouldn’t let him and his brother go out in dangerous water.

Posted by Broad3:02 AM
It is the job of a good person to be honest. To be self-aware. To deliberately explore the fault lines of your character and try desperately to not inflict suffering in this strange, ghost-ridden world of worked and fabricated objects. Sometimes the jobs of writer and good person coincide. But more often they don’t. There are way more writers in the world than there are good people.

100 things
Info meme #1
Typelogic says I'm an INFP.
Check my weekly astrological groove here.

Give it to me, baby.

Pssst ... My birthday's Feb. 3, and I want this, and this, and this ...

The Make-Believe Oral Cancer Foundation (M-BOCF) is now accepting donations on my behalf. Won't you please help those of us who jump to hideous conclusions regarding our oral health and help me get a root canal or two!??:

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Broad said: Like I said, my feelings are complicated on the matter, so ... I’m interested, however, in Her Highness’ thoughts on… ...[go].

Caterina said: ARGH!!! Not to deny you your goddess-given right of reflections and wishing what might-have-beens, but this guy was straight up… ...[go].

Wholovesya? said: By the by, guess who was most nasty about the charitable giving?  The frigging church.  My church and my mom’s… ...[go].

Wholovesya? said: By the by, I’m not the only one I know.  I have friends who work at soup kitchens because they’re… ...[go].

Wholovesya? said: As you know, I was a voyeur to the beginning of this, and I was loving your comment!  I have… ...[go].

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This explains that large bit of type at the top.

Tagline by Ben F'in Mollin, talking about those times you wake up still drunk from the night before.


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