You Know What This Is Like?

Yesterday The New York Times reported that a small town in Louisiana has banned sagging pants, not citing possible gang or drug associations, which has had the ACLU predictably screaming about freedom of self expression, but citing indecency due to exposure of underwear.

I guess this means that the next time I see the top of a girl's thong above her jeans I can make a citizen's arrest. But something tells me, in my incisive and keenly muckraking Professional Critic way, that this law was not meant to crack down (sorry) on girls and their thongs. If that were the case, Britney and her in-the-public-eye vagina would have gone to the hoosegow long ago.

Don't get me wrong--as a fashion statement I am totally against sagging pants on the grounds that they simply look ridiculous, a straight jacket for the lower body. So if they must be banned, at least do it for the right reason--that we cannot, in good conscience allow the citizens of our country to look that stupid. And while we're at it we're going to go ahead and ban the permed mullet, too. But I digress.

The Times quotes Benjamin Chavis, former director of the NAACP, “The focus should be on cleaning up the social conditions that the sagging pants comes out of,” he said. “That they wear their pants the way they do is a statement of the reality that they’re struggling with on a day-to-day basis.”

And that's when it hit me--I know what this is like. Banning saggy pants is like banning full-size toiletries on the airplane. It doesn't really make sense, but the TSA has to take public action of some kind, so taking away your bottled water and toenail clippers will do. This doesn't change the conditions that help breed terrorism, nor does it change our woeful lack of undercover agents or our dearth of Arabic speaking intelligence monitors since they were all fired for being gay, but by making us jump through enough hoops before we board an airplane, we might feel safer and that goes a long way at election time.

The social and economic conditions that help make terrorism possible and those that compel a person to wear their pants real baggy are big, not easy to fix and don't make for good sound bites. They require years of tedious things like education, economic opportunities and equality, which as we all know are un-American. On the other hand, it is a snap to make travelers hand over their lethal shampoo and belt buckles. That makes a great photo op, too, the grim-faced TSA agent displaying piles of confiscated contraband--sippy cups of juice, nail files, sunscreen, hummus, gallon-size Ziploc bags--you know, the dangerous stuff. And even better--when you change out of your disturbingly crotch grabbing fighter pilot suit, throw a thumbs up and declare "mission accomplished"-- I don't know about you, but when I look at this picture, I couldn't feel any safer.

Precious Moments

It's been a while since I've posted and I'm sure that's a disappointment to my legions of reader. I hope this post makes up for it in some small way.

Today I stopped at Safeway to pick up some salsa and sour cream for my weekly dinner with The Mama. As I was walking through the produce aisle, something on the floor caught my eye. I looked down--it was some type of nude colored plastic object. A set of dismembered Barbie legs dropped by a child in the throes of a low blood sugar fit? No. I looked more closely. Oh my God. Is that what I think it is?

Readers, it was a butt plug--the sex toy designed with a flared end so that you can safely stick it up your ass without fear of an awkward ER visit at the end of the night. I was rattled as I stood in line at the checkout. Should I tell the cashier that there's a butt plug in the produce aisle? What do I say if she doesn't know what a butt plug is? Must I be the one to tell her?

I didn't tell her, so great was my desire to skulk off and enjoy a burrito. I just got in my car and drove away. But as I was driving, the question that was bound to emerge, did: how the hell did a butt plug end up in the produce aisle at Safeway? Did it fall out of someone's ass as they pored over the kiwis? That person must have been wearing a skirt and no underwear ... or no underwear and really loose fitting pants. Wouldn't you notice if a sex toy fell out of your butt in the grocery store? But if it did, would you stop, bend down, pick it up and toss it into your cart? What a dilemma. Would Mss Manners know how to handle such a delicate situation? Is this what is meant by the New Etiquette, since we no longer use finger bowls or wear mourning dress?

I did a quck scan of the book preview and there did not seem to be an entry on how to graciously retrieve your dirty sex toy from the grocery store floor. Maybe that will be addressed in the next edition.

But perhaps this somewhat jarring event is all right in line with the universe. As I was looking at the Good Vibes website to see if I could find a picture to illustrate aforementioned butt plug, I learned that August is Anal Sex Month. Who even knew there was such a thing? Our friend at Safeway. Enjoy!

I Toot Other People's Horns, Cause They're Cool

You've seen the link to the right but what do you really know about Bedroom Walls? They're touring, so here's your chance to find out how much they kick ass. Their shows in SF are peopled by some mighty cool customers, so it would be awesome if a reader went to a show and threw a bra at Adam like a crazed groupie. Do it! Okay, even if you have no intention of hurling your drawers, go anyway because it's a rockin' good show.

If you're not already, tune in to this season of Design Star on HGTV. One of the four remaining contestants is a friend of The Mama's! She's Kim Myles, the sassy cute one from New York. Actually, she's the only woman left on the show right now, along with three ostensibly straight men--they just kicked off the most delightfully flaming homosexual and incredibly talented designer, Sparkle Josh. Tune in and root for Kim--there are only 3 shows left and the winner gets their own show on HGTV. How cool is that?

The Nasal Enema

Last week I visited an alternative health practitioner who did all sorts of interesting things to my head and the inside of my mouth in an effort to adjust my apparently scarred and malfunctioning melon. In a very "the thigh bone's connected to the knee bone" way, this may be partially the cause of chronic infections that make my eardrums go ppht.

That's just the back story though. What I want to talk about today is my new practice of nasal lavage, or basically pouring a bunch of salt water up ones nose in an effort to flush allergens and unwanted gunk from the cilia, the little wavy hairlike things inside your shnozz. Yoga types do this with a neti pot, low-tech people snurfle water up from their cupped hands, and the Professional Critic squirts it up there with a bulb syringe, the kind that moms use to suction snot out of their babies' clogged nostrils.

Based on some responses out there on the interweb (the evacuation of "evil chunks"), I was expecting something a bit more dramatic to come out of my nose--a long-lost sock, some beef jerky or the Commodore 64 computer I had in 1980something, but it was all just very thin clear, you know, snot. Too soon to tell whether my nasal enema is making a difference, but how very cool that this could accomplish what piles of Claritin and steroid nasal spray could not.

In a more shallow matter, Angelina is starting to develop the bobble-headed quality of the emaciated female, formerly rocked by Calista and Nicole. Not too long ago this girl had some enviable curves, now she appears ready for an NG tube. Scary.

The Key to Happiness

It's as easy as a clean ass.

Birthday Wishes and Corporate Beer Cozies

My monthly ING e-statement appeared in my inbox today. The subject was "Get Your eStatement and Happy Birthday Wishes." I delightedly clicked it open hoping that like a nice grandma, ING was going to give me a generous birthday check. Instead I discovered a 15% coupon off my next purchase at the ING store. The ING store? Like where you buy insurance and mortgages? Maybe I could make a $100 deposit in my savings account for $85?

Reader, none of the above. My birthday offer covered a selection of items emblazoned with the ING logo: mousepads, coffee mugs, tote bags and lawn chairs--just what any person would thrill to buy themselves for their birthday even though ING employees probably get this crap for free on employee appreciation day and even then they could still feel bitter about because it was not the check they were hoping for which as we all know is the most meaningful token of appreciation corporations can offer.

Speaking of ING, I was pleased to see that according to a Real Simple article in the horribly named "life skills" category (as if I am a developmentally disabled adult who really can live independently with just a little support), I am actually doing something right by using online only banking.

Observations, Monday

1. Seemingly moments after eating my delicious home-baked taralli, my farts smelled like fennel. Could fennel be one of those substances like asparagus, that shows up immediately in your waste? Not sure, but the fennel may have actually caused my gas.

2. Dooce. Not only does blogger Heather Armstrong hilariously describe being canned from her job for having a blog, providing both a cautionary tale and entertainment at the same time, she takes a picture of her dog Chuck everyday, which endears her to me.

3. The marine layer can kiss my shivering, fog enshrouded ASS. Check out this scenic video from the comfort of your own home where you won't require multiple layers of fleece even though it's August.

4. I have no feelings about the weather.

My New Food Obsession

Taralli. If you've not had these, they are a crunchy, unsalted pretzely, savory biscuity southern Italian snack. Last week I bought a bag of these at Long's, not exactly where you expect to find imported Italian food, but that's what I like about the bay area. Even a chain drugstore offers a cornucopia of culinary delights. I tore the bag open right in the parking lot and was immediately hooked. Crunchy and delicately flavored with olive oil, wine and fennel, taralli kick the ass of any pretzel, even a Newman's Own.

Could I recreate this delicious snack? I followed this recipe, using fennel instead of pepper. There were multiple steps involved, but all were simple, requiring neither skill, special equipment nor high falutin' ingredients. I halved the recipe but will definitely make the whole recipe next time as I fully intend to eat most of these 40 rings of bliss tonight.

Last night I watched Catch and Release starring the puffy-lipped, grapefruit-foreheaded Jennifer Garner. I had my doubts about it but Netflix gave it 3.5 stars so I gave it a whirl. It was hideously boring and ridiculous. Jennifer Garner seems like a very nice and earnest girl. She and Ben made an awfully cute baby. She was pretty adorable in 13 Going On 30, and is also chipmunky cute in Neutrogena commercials. But she was awful in Alias, which was just a bad show. And she was no better in this turd of a movie. The biggest insult was that Timothy Olyphant, Seth Bullock in Deadwood, turned up as the love interest. Agh! They cancel Deadwood so you can act in drek like this? Oh, the humanity.

In an unrelated matter, I want mention that my wish to become a mole for the FDA will probably not be realized. Job postings for Consumer Safety Officer are located in Georgia and Maryland, places I am unlikely to ever live. Oh well. As always, I love to peruse the warning letters to see what grody violations the Officers are turning up. This one is pretty gross. In addition to the revolting phrase "rodent urine stain," note use of word"insanitary." I thought this was a mistake but it is in fact a synonym for unsanitary.

The Scottish Spartan

I just finished the first season of Rome. Very satisfying, though the large cast of characters was confusing and my utter lack of knowledge regarding this time in history didn't help. The names were all somewhat familiar and I do know that Caesar was killed by Brutus, and I thought he said, "Et tu Brute?" But apparently he did not, according to Answers.com:

Caesar almost certainly did not, in fact, utter these precise words upon his assassination. Plutarch says that he died wordlessly while Suetonius says that he said "Καὶ σὺ τέκνον" (Kai su, teknon?), Greek for "You too, my child?" (literally, Even/and you my child) (Suetonius, De Vita Caesarum, LXXXII [1]).

In Rome, he just looked understandably distressed prior to expiring.

So then I was on a little ancient history kick and watched 300, about the Spartans battling the Persians at Thermopylae. Based on a graphic novel (which I still want to call a comic book, sue me) by Frank Miller, 300 was absolute eye candy-- all those rippling Spartan thighs, with impressive six packs a close second. Either these men were in incredible shape or they used a whole heck of a lot of body paint. There were lots of disembodied heads flying around and severed limbs spurting blood but it was all so very stylized that even the gore looked great. I watched the "making of" extra which was a mistake because the director basically said of every single shot, "this was fake," "this is all cgi," "this is blue screen" etc until all the things that seemed cool and magical just minutes before were no more than computer trickery.

But what was oh so odd is that Gerard Butler, the actor playing the Spartan king Leonidas, had this incredibly thick Scottish brogue, just a touch more mild than Sean Connery, if you can imagine. Butler is Scottish and I guess they just let him go with it. Anyway, I was able to brush up on my history and learned a thing or two which I'm certain will get crowded out shortly with facts about Nicole Richie's upcoming jail stay or Tom Cruise's incredibly creepy new haircut.