Interview With Commander Pants

I know you saw the title and rushed right over here. And you read it right. I got to interview Commander Pants, the author of the novel Whom God Would Destroy. I can see that you're jealous and all, but rest assured I asked him all the questions you've been dying to have answers to.

I just finished reading Whom God Would Destroy and not a moment too soon, because I planned on blogging about it today. And if I hadn't finished it, I would not have been able to tell you with a clear conscience how much I enjoyed it - this fun poke at psychiatry and religion and Mickey-D-lovin' aliens, along with a sincere but clever and witty exploration of the debate about medicating the mentally ill. It provokes thought amidst its dark humor and unapologetic blasphemy. For the most part, a fun read.

I caught Mr. Pants down at home sitting in front of his computer while I sat in front of mine and barraged him with several questions and he volleyed with several answers. Let's watch an instant replay of that conversation of Panties vs. Pants.  

NGIP (Panties):  Why do I assume with a name like Commander Pants, that you're male?

Commander (Pants): I don't know, why do you? Perhaps it's because it's such a masculine can do kind of name.

Panties:  This question might be begging itself, but, what are you wearing right now?

Pants: I am wearing a remarkable t-shirt, but I took off my pants to avoid having to describe them to you.

Panties:  While your book is funny and satirical, it is also thought-provoking and quite possibly offensive to extremists. The story offers strong opinions about medicating the mentally ill. What motivated you to explore the debate of that topic in the book?

Pants: My alter ego actually spent many years working as a mental health outreach worker, like the protagonist in my book. While doing the job, he tells me that he saw medication being misused in ways that had absolutely nothing to do with any of their many fabulous recreational uses.

Panties:  The book also explores/satirizes the idea of the Second Coming as well as other religious themes. It seems you can't satirize certain subjects these days without offending someone who will let you know about it. What kind of backlash, if any, have you experienced from the public, whether it was about religion or any other topic you've tackled in your book?

Pants: It's been kind of disappointing, really. I was hoping to be a target for the first Judeo/Christian Fatwah, but so far not one person has suggested that I be taken out. As a matter of fact, one minister, after having read the book, actually said that she wanted to write a book about the book (whatever that might mean).

Panties:  Your book doesn't seem to mention goats (with the exception of a brief reference to goat stew on Page 251). Do you have strong opinions one way or the other about goats? 

Pants: Originally a goat was my protagonist, but then I thought better of it, realizing that the world just wasn't ready for the “goat hero.” Of course, I still love those really cool pupils.

So it was a wrestling match to the end, but someone edged out before the bell. I'm just not sure who. I think we were both unconscious by then.

You can visit Commander Pants at his blog called, oddly, Commander Pants. He also has a website for his book, Whom God Would Destroy, where you can purchase it for a few bucks less than Amazon, as the $14.00 price tag includes shipping.

And speaking of interviews, if you haven't read it yet, I highly encourage you to check out Joanna's The Fifty Factor blog, not because she interviewed me with great aplomb, but because she's giving away an Amazon Gift card along with it. Did you hear me? I said an Amazon Gift card!


THANK YOU LETTERS

I would like to thank Kristy over at This Train of Thought has been Derailed for presenting me with the Best Blog Award.

And Thanks also goes out to Theresa at An Officer and a Garbage Can for bestowing the Lovely Blog Award to NGIP.

Thank you, ladies. I'm honored that you thought of me and I really appreciate the recognition!

Putting My eCards on the Table

I used to get a lot of Happy Birthday wishes in the mail. This year, I got one. But, on Facebook...

Sixty-one! (So far. The day's not over yet.)

On my 21st birthday (this was back during the previous century) my stepmother gave me a rectangle: a crisp fresh-from-the-bank one-hundred dollar bill. Then we went to the Boomtown Casino, because she believed the first thing you should do when you come of age is gamble away all your birthday cash. This is the same woman who had me buying pot for her son for Christmas every year because apparently since I went to Humboldt State (a college David Letterman once called Marijuana State), every other friend of mine should have been dealing, right? My stepmom - she was a giving person.

Times change, but traditions remain and today, on my 4(*cough*)4th birthday, I have received more rectangles.

First my husband gave me this card:

He also gave me this rectangular....thing...:

I wasn't sure what this thing was for, so I had lunch on it. You know, like it's a TV tray with a built-in universal remote - how convenient is THAT?

But I thanked him like it was something I'd been talking about for ages, as if I've been stopping strangers on the street lately and asking them about theirs and if they liked it.

He also gave me something to wear at the upcoming BlogHer09 conference in Chicago:

So right about now, you might be saying, "Hey that's not a rectangle", but you'll notice there's one on the back.

OK, well I gotta go take my Dad out to dinner for his birthday. Oh, did I mention his birthday is today too? We will hit Mimi's Cafe together with the rest of the family and dine on French Rectangle soup.







Some of you guys surprise me, flabbergast me, and humble me with your gifts of generosity and well wishes. Check out these other cool rectangles I got for my birthday!


Mojo of Why? What Have you Heard wrote a WHOLE DANG POST about me and my birthday and gives me entirely too much credit for introducing him to Maggie Dammit, which led him to a whole thing with Violence Unsilenced. Thanks Mojo! I love this Goat poster/card/cake thingie!

Babs of Beetle's Memories and Ramblings  sent me this goaty card on my Facebook Page. Thanks Babs!

And Heather at Nobody But Yourself  gave me this!  Thank you, Heather!

My review of The Mighty Queens of Freeville by Amy Dickinson has been published on Curled Up With a Good Book. Amazon says it's available on their Kindle, whatever THAT is.

We Have No Waiting (Or a Sense of Humor) at Checkstand #1

So I'm at the 15 Items or Less line in the grocery store. Safeway to be exact. Checkstand #2 to be even more exact. I realize I'm standing behind my neighbor. He's an old guy who I've seen several times around the neighborhood who always seems a little out of it and every time we meet, he has this glazed look on his face like he has no idea who the hell I am. So I decide not to embarass myself in front of everyone around me by saying hello and re-introducing myself for the umpteenth time only to be followed by little or no awkward conversation. And when I say he's my neighbor, I mean that he LIVES NEXT DOOR TO ME and if he can't be bothered to remember me, I can't be bothered to be remembered.

He's unloading his basket. And unloading. And unloading. I'm about to start counting his items to see if he's over 15 (because I'm impatient and bored, and I needed to be needlessly riled up), but before I could count past three or so items, some lady with the telltale green apron and name tag says to me, "I can take you over here on Checkstand #1. So I  saunter over to Checkstand #1.

Mid-saunter, I brush up against a tall stack of Entenmann's chocolate cakes, setting some of them askew. The man who has followed me to the newly opened Checkstand #1, wearing a business suit, helps me to straighten them out. I figure, we've worked together now, I should say something. Being the comedian I think I am, I say something like, "Boy, I almost went over the 15 item limit there - ha ha ha!"

He didn't even acknowledge it. All I could hear were the crickets as I waited for the belly laughter from my audience of one. My invisible Critic From Hell swooped over and enveloped me with his black cape of comedy doom. Oh the horrors!

I suddenly felt very lonely as I was transported back to my youth and remembered when the self-labeled "cool kids" looked down their noses at me to make me feel like dirt, whenever I tried to be funny. They'd toss their perfectly feathered hair away from me as if I were some crass idiot. The snobs.

My freshman English teacher chastised me on paper when I wrote a silly essay, trying to turn a dull assignment into something fun. I was taught at an early age that writing is not fun. It is a chore to be taken very, very seriously. This isn't a creative writing class, young lady.

So anyway this guy in the grocery store...it bugs me that this guy helps me with the boxes, leading me to believe that it was socially acceptable to speak to him, and then nothing? NOTHING? What the hell?

I walk out to the parking lot and drive home trying to figure out what went wrong:

Did he think I was some crazy lady who talks to strangers and would be waiting for him outside to ask him for money?

Did he not get the joke?

Did I misinterpret his trying to help me and instead it was just that he's really anal and he couldn't stand seeing the cake boxes askew and had to fix them immediately?

Maybe he didn't even hear me, but was afraid to ask me what I said because then I might get all familiar on him and try to accost him outside for money. And what's his problem always worrying about storefront panhandlers, anyway?

Or maybe the Grocery Karma God in the Sky was getting back at me for not saying hello to my neighbor. In fact I'm a total hypocrite for complaining about the guy behind me not working with me, when I can't even say hello to a guy I share part of a roof with.

Goat Thing of The Day

Thanks, June!

In Other News...

My book review for The Brightest Moon of the Century by Christopher Meeks has been published on Curled Up With a Good Book. You can read it HERE if you wish.

Thank You Letter(s)

A big THANK YOU to Sherry of My Loonyverse for these two beauties!

Taking the "Fair" Out of County Fair

I don't know if it's ignorance, apathy or both, but I never noticed that Sacramento had a County Fair. Maybe it's just overshadowed by the order-of-magnitude, deeper-fried State Fair in August which is located on the same asphalt jungle we lovingly refer to as Cal Expo. Or maybe it's overshadowed by the largest jazz festival in the West, originally known as the Sacramento Dixieland Jazz Jubilee, later renamed to the more-inviting Sacramento Jazz Jubilee, and renamed again this year to the more accessible (and therefore, lame) Sacramento Jazz Festival.

Nevertheless, it stands to reason that if there is a State Fair, there ought to be a County Fair here in Sacramento that exhibits stuff like livestock and pies and art entered by children who get bedecked with red, white or blue ribbons with the chance to move on to the State Fair and be judged some more.

We just went for the goats.

Do I need to rant about the fact that it was three dollars to get into the fair, but it was TEN DOLLARS to get into the parking lot? No. I don't. Because that one is too easy.

This is the entrance to the illustrious event:

(click on any pics in this post to enlarge)

You must be no more than this tall (13 feet, 9 inches) to enter this Fair. Which is discriminatory, which is NOT fair, but whatever. Rules are rules.

We made a beeline for the goats. And while I think it's a nice wholesome activity for children to learn how to take care of animals and how to compete with good sportsmanship and all that, I was not prepared to witness the manipulation of these helpless and innocent animals, such as the removing of ears, just because they are in the way, or they are inconvenient for showing or whatever crazy and heartless reason they have for such violent and atrocious acts.

While my husband kept a lookout, I shot these pictures to expose the torturers for who they are. I will bring them to justice if it's the last thing I do. I will write my congressman, or whatever it is you do in cases like these. I wanted to vomit, but I soldiered on just to see if there were other suffering animals at this event. Just what the heck kind of Fair is this? It's not fair to the goats, that's for sure.

I'm sorry to say, it didn't get much better. These beautiful furry creatures used to be much taller...

...until their legs were whacked off at the knees. Who DOES this? The mafia. That's who.

 

 

I begged the ten-year old brat who owned this cutie-pie to tell me why he was made to stand in a bucket for hours and hours and you know what that mean, little 4-H child of Satan did?

He looked at me funny. But he didn't have the nerve to stop me from taking any pictures of his crimes, I can tell you that. Also? I heard his mother call him Guido. "Guido?" she yelled from across the goat prison cells. "Come get your pastrami sandwich!"

What follows can only be described as a modern-day bout of Goaty Gladiators. I should warn you that the next picture is not for the faint of heart. Viewer discretion is advised. This is no different than throwing Christians to the lions, if you ask me. (Notice my references to historical events that occured in Rome. Which is in Italy!)

This is very hard for me to say, but this pitting of goats against chickens in a game of Tic-Tac-Toe is nothing short of heinous. How can you not compare this to the inhumanity of cock-fighting?

I'm sorry to have to be the one to introduce you to the seedy underbelly of the County Fair, and I don't know if this happens at all county fairs, or just the one in my backyard, but I for one, was outraged.

I couldn't take any more. Wracked with sobs, I moved on to the other exhibits.

Maybe I was still upset about the goats, but when we got to the rabbits, things over there didn't seem normal either. I didn't say anything, though. I didn't want to arouse suspicion of my Big NGIP Exclusive that would soon be clogging the information super highway, and eventually putting some very serious criminals behind their own sets of bars.

On a completely unrelated note, Marilyn Manson's new album The High End of Low was released today.

Things were much more colorful outside.

Whoaaaaa! Not so fast. Did you catch that sign on the Diskotek ride? Let's see if we can get Manny, our camerman, to zoom in on it for us...Manny?

Hmmmm, just as I suspected. You can't tell me this is a coincidence. What, are we supposed to think those Italians really know how to make a carny ride? Yeah, and they're real safe, too. Youse pays extra for, shall we say.....protection. An' if you gotta problem wit dat, you go to da Office of Klownland Suckurity:

The more I looked around, the more I noticed just how much real estate those Romans owned.

How fair is that?

Then we saw a couple of gum-chewing bullies in Armani suits walking toward us smacking baseball bats into their hands and we high-tailed it outta there.

Yeah so anyway I don't think I'll be back anytime soon.

Oh Yeah? How Long Has It Been Since YOU Took a Bath?

I haven't taken a bath since the sixth grade which, I realize, sounds gross and all but you're my peeps and I figure I can tell you just about anything (except for that thing last year with the cop and the algae and the 437 rolls of bubble wrap - I'm not ready to talk about that yet.)

Anyway, some Frenchy frog blogger named Sheila (Ma Vie Folie) who makes natural bath products out of her garage or something sent me a boatload of products with a note attached that said: "P.U. You stink!"

Well. Of all the nerve.

Also, while it's true I haven't taken a bath since the sixth grade, it's not like I haven't taken a shower since then - sheesh!


Is it just me, or is it fun to get stuff in the mail? It's me, isn't it. You probably hate getting stuff. You guys are all givers, right? Not me. I take, take, take and take some more. My middle name is gimmegimmegimme.

So I tried the Orange Dreamsicle Lip Balm. I liked how the smell/flavor wasn't overpowering enough to knock out small pets or the guy next to you on the subway, but enough for me to get a good whiff. And the balm is kind of soft, not like those mini-candles they sell at the impulse item section at Walmart. In fact, if I were the PR guy, I'd start an ad campaign with the slogan:

Try our balm. It doesn't scrape the crap out of your lips! 

Catchy, right? And that's just off the top of my head.

I also tried the Mmmm Cheesecake! Lip Balm which had a little more punch in the aroma department, but if you like the smell of coconut (or at least I think it was coconut, it might have been pantyhose, I always get those two mixed up), then you'll love the cheesecake flavor. Also? This stuff is even better than that Chicken Poop Lip Junk that I mentioned last year.

After seeking therapy over my childhood traumas surrounding bath tubs (my grandfather died in a tragic accident when he and I raced in the 1st Annual Downhill Bathtub Race of 1977 at the Cliffs of Dover), I decided it was time to get right back on that horse. Albeit thirty years later.

And while we're on the subject of bath issues, I'm afraid to take a bath alone. I want my privacy, but if I slip in the tub, I don't want one of my neighbors breaking down the door wondering what that awful smell is and discovering my naked, partially decayed body in the bathroom. How embarrassing. And what about when the cops arrive...

"What's that smell?" Cop #1 would ask.

Cop #2 would plug his nose, "Rotting corpse?"

"No," Cop #1 would say, sniffing the air like a mouse, "I believe that's mocha mint."

Anyway, as I stepped into the bathroom to prepare a nice hot bath, I discovered a spider on the wall - Eek!  How am I supposed to relax in the aroma of Creamy Mocha Mint Latte knowing one of Charlotte's cousins is hanging around waiting for me to fall asleep open-mouthed in the tub? And why is it that spiders only seem to appear AFTER you've taken off all your clothes?

So I hairsprayed the little guy to death.

I brought a book in with me, thinking that I would get bored just laying there in the tub, doing nothing, staring at the tiles, mentally developing my ToDo list, calculating how many more moving boxes I'd have to buy, what I plan to donate to Goodwill, which stuff is going to Sacramento with me, how will I find a mover to move just a few large things 400 miles, finding a handyman to fix all the broken stuff, researching for a property management company... you know, normal every day stuff.

I climbed into the salt-infused bath and breathed. I closed my eyes and took in the minty mocha aroma. Thirty minutes later, with the water cooled, the book untouched, and the ToDolist uncontemplated, I emerged a new woman, totally relaxed. After drying off, I felt my skin. It was so smooth, not like after lotion, but something else. Needless to say, I couldn't stop touching myself (or is that not needless to say?)

Also? The thing I like about the bag for these bath salts is that it's resealable. I don't know, maybe it's just me, but I love things that are resealable. They make my day, that's how much they mean to me.

I've never done a home facial mask thing and had no idea what to expect, but all I had to do was mix a teaspoon of water with a teaspoon of this green powdery stuff and smack it across my face for a few minutes.

Oh! And take a picture, of course:

 I see this picture and think Halloween. Or Viet Nam.

But, I gotta say, after I rinsed off and dried, I kept feeling my face all night because it was smooth and tight and clean.

So, thanks for the stuff, Sheila, and if the rest of you are curious about all of her products at Aventine Hill Bath Emporium, check it out!

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go take a bath. And kill a bug.

Free Wink: Hostage Crisis Update

Wink has finally been returned to her rightful owner. And let me just be Paul Harvey for a second and give you the rest of the story of how this egregious travesty went down:

Wink was discovered just a couple of hours after she got out of her yard. Animal control picked her up and called Save-A-Mutt. Why? Because they are listed as the primary owners on her LoJack chip thingy and refused upon adoption to have it otherwise. It's been four years and they still won't transfer primary ownership to the actual owner.

For unknown, unjustified, and undocumented reasons the people at Save-A-Mutt kept Wink and accused the owner, my friend, of neglect and improper care. They claimed she was matted and dirty when they got her. They claimed to have taken her to a vet who said she had gingivitis and an ear infection. However when pressed for pictures or documentation to prove these allegations, they were unable to do so. Yet, they refused to return Wink to her rightful owner.

Initially they said they would find a more suitable home, but then lawyers got involved and seven long non-Wink weeks went by before a bitter and reluctant Save-A-Mutt rep agreed to return Wink TO HER RIGHTFUL OWNER. But...she had a list of demands including but not limited to:

1. Wink must see a vet at least once a year.   (She already does.)

2. She must be groomed at least every other month. (She already does. In fact, she missed her last 6-week appointment and numerous bath appointments because Save-A-Mutt held her hostage FOR SEVEN WEEKS)

3.  Save-A-Mutt must be allowed to inspect and check on Wink after one year to ensure she is being properly taken care of. If they believe Wink is being neglected, they have the right to take her away.


I don't know what misguided, low-self-esteem, overcompensating, bitterness issues these people have, but to use my friend as a scapegoat was hateful and hurtful. And makes me want to say mean things. As I understand it, it was really just one person who was causing all the trouble. 


So if you want to "sick your dogs" on someone, or give them a piece of your mind, you can contact them at the email address on their website.  WHICH SUCKS BY THE WAY. I'm just saying.

I Coulda Binna Supermarket Tabloid Journalist

In case you're wondering what an unauthorized interview looks like (where the interviewer can't get an audience with the interviewee so she just starts making stuff up - kinda like The Enquirer), you can check out my review of Anna Lefler's blog, which just came out on Humor Bloggers Dot Com. It is entitled The Life of Lefler: An Unauthorized Interview. (Feel free to rate it when you get there.)

Anna's blog is called Life Just Keeps Getting Weirder and if you're not reading her blog already, you should be.

Slow Blogging and F Bombs

So there's this Slow Blogging Movement kinda like the Slow Food Movement only with blogs and people who slow blog who blog slower than fast bloggers whatever that means although I think it refers to people who take their time with their posts not worrying about the frequency with which they throw something out into the blogosphere unlike some blogs that put up as much stuff as they can even stuff that isn't theirs just to keep feeding the beast that is the "audience" only now the fast bloggers  think that blogging isn't fast enough and have moved to other venues like Twitter where they can crank out little mini 140-character posts because the impatient cow readers can't stop long enough to read a long blog post anymore but whatever.

Of course, that's not why I called you here today. Today I want to tell you about a book I read called Is It Me or is Everything Shit? The subject matter of this book has not one annoyed author, not fourteen annoyed authors, but three insanely annoyed authors: Steve Lowe, Alan McArthur and Brendan Hay. The subtitle of this book? Insanely Annoying Modern Things.

This is a book of rants. My God, I thought I ranted, but these guys really bitch and moan. A lot. It made me wonder if you guys get sick of my complaining all the time because I could only take this book in small doses before getting annoyed by all their annoyances. You probably can't tell by the title, but have I mentioned the foul language?

They wax cynical about everything from politicians to China to tech-gagdetry to Kabbalah to things by which even you and I are annoyed. They hate "lists", which is funny, because their book is one big long alphabetical one. And I don't like lists either, especially in book form. It's a built-in bookmark, where all you can think about is how much you have left to read, rather than becoming really engaged by the text. The only book that pulled that off for me was A.J. Jacobs' The Know-It-All because there was a bit of self-deprecating humorous narrative throughout that moved the story along and allowed us to like the author. These other guys come across as a pile of snarky superiority complexes.

Okay, so maybe they don't mean for you to sit down and read this all in one fell swoop. I would keep this one in the bathroom, where it seems to belong. These blog-post-length blurbs might be perfect for that 2-15 minutes of "privacy time". That's right, potty-mouth humor for the potty, because this book swears like a sailor.

Is It Me... contains hundreds of short bursts of vitriol and anger and profanity, a minefield littered with F bombs. I would assume this book is more appropriate for the man on the can, meant to be read by the male persuasion during his own bursts of what-have-you. (And if you female types didn't appreciate that last bit of humor, then this is exactly what I mean).

And by bathroom humor, I don't mean to say that this is a book full of fart jokes, and redneck humor, far from it, in fact. I'm only suggesting the bathroom because of logistics. You could also read this book, say, while in line at the ATM, but not at the DMV, because now you're talking about too long of a stretch of time there. It just depends at which acronym you are standing in line.

This version of Is It Me... has been adapted for American readers - it's original version being published for the UK. Apparently we Yanks wouldn't appreciate the previous manifestos slamming The Tube or Graham Norton or the hundreds of TV versions of Jane Austen and Charles Dickens novels, or Fish and Chips, or whatever it is those Brits have over there on the other side of the Pond.

While this reader found the book funny at times, it falls short of hysterical. Some of the longer, less profane, entries feel genuinely angry, while others feel like the anger is forced: diatribe for the sake of diatribe. Did you ever see that Dick Van Dyke episode where Buddy, played by Morey Amsterdam, is such a versatile comedian, they throw subjects at him so he can make up a joke about it on the spot? It's kind of like that. With a curse word thrown in to "make it funny".

So if you're looking for a gift for the guy who has everything, who can handle more F-bombs than a season of The Sopranos, who reads above the 9th grade level (the vocabulary and writing style is oddly literate - that must be an "English" thing), and enjoys reading humor in small doses, consider this for Christmas. If you held a gun to my head demanding stars, I'd give it three out of five. It might have gotten four if they had not exposed a lack of confidence in their own humor with all the F**Ks and SH*Ts. I'm no prude but profanity, like exclamation marks, are much more effective when used sparingly.

* * *

For those of you begging for a photo of my Cute Butt award that I mentioned in my previous post, here ya go!

And I stand corrected. It is not a Cute Butt award. It is a Cutest Tush award. I hope you will find it in your butt - oops, I mean - heart to forgive me.

And speaking of awards, here are a few more bestowed upon me in the past few bloggy days:

I would like to thank Blicky Kitty for this rather large honor: The Blogs Worth Stalking Award. Thank you, Blicky Kitty. A hilarious award from a fellow Hilarian.

I would also like to thank Shan over at Last Shreds of Sanity for this Encouraged award.  Thank you, Shan, for this encouraging honor!

I would also like to thank Jennifer Susan over at Amongst Other Things for this award. 

And from the Thank You Sir May I Have Another Department...

If you're into throwing yourself to the lions, the blog review site Ask And Ye Shall Receive will brutally, but honestly rip your website apart, critiquing it until it squeals. They'll bruise your ego, and undo all the flattery you've ever received from your friends. And they'll do it for FREE!

On this site, I've seen such biting comments as:

"I’ve had more fun falling ribs-first onto a fence than I was having cobbling together this review"
 or
"Next to lame, in the dictionary? There is a picture of this blog."
 or
"This is the most pathetically incompetent attempt at "masterful entertainment" that I've ever seen."

Did I mention that it was free?

After I witnessed the cruel harshness toward bloggers and their pride and joy, I thought, "Sign me up!"

Click here to see the review of NGIP and you can tell me (and/or them) what you think.


* * * NGIP Shout Out * * *

Speaking of nonsequitors and the people who blog about them, Stephanie over at No Cleaning Here gives us a brief tour of her local county fair. Stephanie has also been so kind as to add NGIP to her "Favorite Funny Blogs" blog roll. Thanks, Steph!

Starbucks Spreads Its Legs for Old Times' Sake

Starbucks is going old school for the Coffee Experience: sex, sex, sex. Pictured at right is my coffee cup today. You can click on it to go a bigger version (that is, if you want to see through the eyes of a mermaid gynecologist). This is the original logo (1971-1987), featuring a split-tailed baubo siren, butt-nekkid, except for the crown. Donning a pose most middle-aged women couldn't attempt without pulling something and winding up at the ER, trying to explain to the nurse that she "fell down the stairs".

The last time this logo graced these cups, angry mothers and feminists protested, telling the company execs that their kids were asking why her legs were spread. So what, in this increasingly protesting, easily offended nation, are they thinking?

Here's what I think they're thinking: CEO Howard Schultz, having recently returned from retirement, is shaking things up. Remember the free coffee the other day? $1.00 cups of coffee before that? Starbucks closed for a few hours one day to "retrain" their baristas. There was talk of getting rid of the breakfast sandwiches. This has to be part of that campaign to bring back the Coffee Experience.

And who the hell am I to talk like I know about such things? Well, let me tell you, nosey. Having read and reviewed a book that was the Fast Food Nation of Starbucks, I learned a little something. You'll see the link for Starbucked in my Book Review section in the sidebar. And next time you'll think twice before questioning my authoritahhhh!

Book Review: The Cure For Modern Life

My review of The Cure For Modern Life by Lisa Tucker has been published on Curled Up With a Good Book. If you wish to read it, click here or on the book cover.

Where x = a Japanese Chicken Monster

LameMovies.net has posted my review of The X From Outer Space. Click here to read it, if you wish.

AND... if that isn't enough, the website has begun linking the reviews on imdb. Click here to see that. Or you can see it in the picture below. Here I was about to ask them if I could do it, and they were the tortoise to my hare. Or something like that.