Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

The Biggest Loser Wins My Enormous Respect

I had written earlier in the viewing season about one of my guilty reality show favorites, NBC’s The Biggest Loser. How I enjoyed watching it because it did not demean the participants or force them to eat horse rectum for cash. That I wished more of our nation’s obese adults - 25% of the population - would get on board and mirror what the TV trainers were teaching to the lucky participants.

And yes, I did call them lucky.

That comments threw many readers who emailed to ask how I could call a “bunch of fat rejects” (I am quoting here), lucky? My answer was simple: Out of 150,000 applicants, 14 were lucky enough to be chosen to head to the isolation of “the ranch” where they would not only reap the benefits of two personal trainers, but have three months, in a very controlled, supportive environment, in which to change their lives forever.

How many of us are ever that lucky?

Well, as the season played out, I watched each Tuesday night, literally being moved to tears each time they showed the progress of the person who had been voted off that week. There is simply no way to write off, discount or not be moved by someone who has literally worked their ass off and lost the equivalent of a full grown man from their body.

Sure, there were several contestants who did not merit tears at their departure, or for any progress. Like any cross section of human beings, there were bad attitudes, difficult personalities and whiners. And face it, it’s hard to like a whiner even under the best of circumstances.

Last evening was the culmination of series 2, the episode last week being the one in which the final three were chosen and then sent back to their normal lives for three months to continue on their own in their quest to be The Biggest Loser and collect the top prize of $250,000.

As the live finale began, I was excited to see how all the contestants had fared since being eliminated. Then host Caroline Rhea came out and I got momentarily confused. I swear her head looked like it had gained all the weight the contestants had lost - with hair worthy of a guest shot in a Working Girl movie remake - and make-up which certainly had those tuning in a bit late wondering if they had somehow stumbled upon The Biggest Drag Queen instead of The Biggest Loser.

But I digress...

No, actually I don’t.

Caroline, honey, get a new stylist and for God’s sake, if those contestants can drop 827 pounds, maybe you should give some thought to emulating their new lifestyles. You seem to be getting bigger in each episode.

OK, now I digress...

Watching the eliminated contestants compete for a runner up prize of $100K was as humbling as it was inspiring.

Take Jeff, the physician who, at 370 pounds, had lost all credibility with his patients. After all, it is kind of hard to take health advice from man who is as wide as he is tall. He lost an incredible 217 pounds. And he gained an untold number of years to live and watch his four beautiful daughters grow up.

Then there was mom of two, Jen, who started her journey at 267 and now weighs 176! And Shannon, who wanted to be an inspiration to her young daughter, went to the ranch weighing in at 257 pounds, but showed up for last night’s weigh-in at 149 - a whopping 108 pound loss - that’s me and my dog!

Especially awe-inspiring were police officer Mark, who initially weighed 358, leaving barely an inch between his stomach and his patrol car steering wheel, and Pete, the largest contestant at 401 pounds. Mark dropped an amazing 193 pounds, or 46.09% of his body weight and lost out on the $100K prize by only .04% by Pete who worked off an incredible 216 pounds, or 46.13%.

I reiterate the word inspiring - these people are. Pete’s wife was finally motivated by his incredible determination and will power, and showed up last evening 70 pounds slimmer and healthier.

And healthier is the part that I hope gets through to the millions of people just like Pete and Mark and Suzanne and Andrea who watch this show. Yes, the weight loss is fantastic and looks wonderful, but the changes on the inside are the one that truly count. These people have added years back onto their lives, have gained immeasurably in terms of self confidence and increased self esteem.

There is no dollar amount that can be placed on what they have gained.

That being said, it was even more exciting to see the final three come out. You simply would not know they were the same people had there not been a split screen showing their initial arrival at the ranch. They were toned, vibrant, alive - all things they were not at their initial weights.

Seth, a new Dad, started out at 291, emerging from his fat cocoon at a sleek, muscular, happy 168. Suzie, who had begun the journey at 227, is now a toned, tanned 132. And Matt, the former athlete, who had sulked his way through much of the series, had dropped the word “former” and was once again wrestling - he won the top prize at 182 pounds - having lost a life altering 157.

I am happy for them all, not just for the stellar weight losses they achieved with the help of the trainers and controlled environment, but because they are living new lives, on their own, fully committed to their futures and determined to never be “those” people again.

They have traded quantity in pounds for quality in life.

And if they can do it - so can you. If you have not been a viewer of this show up to now, start. If you weigh as much as these people did in the beginning, head over to NBC.com and apply for the next season. And even if you are just someone who is simply struggling to lose the proverbial five pounds in time to fit into that sparkly New Year’s dress or smaller jeans - take a virtual walk over to The Biggest Loser site and check out what is possible when you set your mind and heart to it.

Five pounds will suddenly be a breeze to lose when you see the before/after photos of someone who has lost one hundred eighty-five of them.

My congratulations to them all - these biggest losers are all ginormous winners.

Missing The Point

Here I sit, once again, shaking my head at yet another study, done under the auspices of increasing our knowledge and protecting our well-being. Yes, this is one for the books, people. A study for the greater good of all mankind. Or maybe I should rephrase that...a study of the greater “goods” of all mankind?

Ahem...

It seems that the braintrust of the venerable Adelaide and Meath Hospital in Dublin have made one whopper of a discovery. In their presentation to the annual meeting of the Radiological Society of North America, they brought forth evidence to corroborate what any eight year old boy, or Mr. Whipple, could have told them: People with big asses need longer needles for shots.

I’ll pause while you sit on yours and reflect.

Yes, research dollars were granted so they could poke, prod, probe and generally misuse the rumps of 50 rotund patients. And at the end of their assinine study, they determined that the puny needles used the world over, simply cannot make a dent in the derrierres of the overweight populus.

Standard-sized needles failed to reach the buttock muscle in 23 out of 25 women whose rears were examined after what was supposed to be an intramuscular injection of a drug. A full two-thirds of the 50 patients in the study did not receive the full dosage of the drug, which instead lodged in the fat tissue of their buttocks.

This is important Why, you ask?

Victoria Chan, a member of the research team sets out the real dangers, “Besides patients receiving less than the correct drug dosage, medications that remain lodged in fat can cause infection or irritation. There is no question that obesity is the underlying cause. We have identified a new problem related, in part, to the increasing amount of fat in patients' buttocks."

Um thanks Victoria, but again, did we really need a study to tell us this?

Don’t get me wrong, I realize it is important for physicians to understand that when giving an injection meant to cure, they need to consider the posterior of the patient, butt really, didn’t they have an inkling of this before now? It seems that anyone with a grade school education in mathematics could figure out the answer to this word problem...

“Joe’s butt muscle is concealed beneath 12 inches of beer-Cheeto-fast-food-Hershey-Bar lard. Joe’s doctor must inject 5 ccs of penicillin into it to ward off tetanus threatened by a cut Joe received when prying a rusty bottle cap off a Bud with his greasy palm. If the needle is only 2 inches in length, how likely is Joe to develop lockjaw and die?”

The average length of the standard needle is 2 inches long - enough to make even the most stalwart of grown-up queasy. I can only imagine the fullscale fainting that will occur if a pleasingly plump patient now sees a 6-9 incher coming at their rear flank.

(Note my restraint in not playing the double entendre card after that last sentence. Christmas is coming and I want to be on Santa's "Nice" list.)

Victoria wrapped up the presentation with the shocker, "The amount of fat tissue overlying the muscles exceeds the length of the needles commonly used for these injections."

Vicki - take a walk through any WalMart or Mall this holiday season. Many elephant gun tranquilizers could not reach the butt muscles in question. With over 300 million of the world’s adult population classified as obese, it seems that there are two very simple options in terms of addressing this derriere dilemma:

1. Merck, Eli Lilly and Pfizer will get richer by governments making it mandatory for doctors to begin stocking bunker busting needles for their chunkily challenged patients.

or

2. Those 300 million people will wake up and smell the health issues associated with their girth and make some life changing decisions like, oh, I don‘t know...Chew Less and Move More?

Unfortunately, as documented in sweaty detail on NBC's The Biggest Loser, number 2 is the harder choice for so many. Butt maybe, just maybe, this new study (as ridiculous as it is) will give them some food for thought as they peruse another plate of food for their tummies.

If not, that’s ok. Some people need more than mere words for motivation and I daresay that the next time they require a shot and their doctor enters the room with flippers and a harpoon gun, they will finally get “the point“.

Black Friday / Red Tempers

The holiday shopping season officially began at 5am this morning and even though yesterday’s repast has yet to be completely digested, people are already acting like so much turkey shit.

I know this not because of the minute by minute updates being shown on CNN from across the country, but because, as has become a grand, somewhat perverse tradition of mine, I arise when the earth is dark and cold to make sure I get a front row seat for the greatest spectacle in shopping.

Yep, I am one of those “Early Bird” shoppers, intent getting first dibs on certain “Door Busters”, but my main incentive in getting up at the buttcrack of dawn is the entertainment provided by my fellow human beings.

For the uninitiated, who prefer snuggling under their down comforters to throwing down over a half price comforter, allow me to explain just what you are missing...

The Living Dead: People who stand in line at 4am to start shopping at 5am pretty much roll right out of bed onto the sidewalk (Myself excluded - I do have standards that include mascara and lipgloss). They are ugly - no make that fugly - they wear hats or sport bedhead, are pale and dark circled, and they smell bad. I’m serious. Normal hygiene seems to remain asleep as there is a heady aroma in the air - an odd combination of cigarettes, morning breath, B.O and Pachouli.

WWF: Walmart Wrestling Federation. The living dead take discount shopping very seriously. Pushing, shoving, punching, glaring and groping are the norm. In fact, the prime retail footage on CNN right now is of the fist fight-dog pile involving a man in an Orlando Walmart who tried to cut the line for laptops. He was subdued by some employees, a couple male customers and an old woman wielding a 42” Plasma TV like a light saber.

The scene this morning in my own Walmart was similar. The laptop special, at less than $400, was obviously a huge draw, but distributing them took on a Lord of the Flies atmosphere with announcements finally echoing over the PA system begging people to “calm down” and “stop screaming”.

I don’t get it - I guess if they were distributing internal organs and I was on my last kidney, maybe I would throw all dignity to the wind and bitchslap my way to the front of the line, but a laptop?

Personal Note To Walmart: Loved the new standard issue employee accessory: Boxcutters. Nice to know that you’ve armed all those pissed off, tired, not highly enlightened teenagers with sharp weapons.

Lines Like The Magic Kingdom: You’ll stand in lines so long, for so long, that you’ll begin to hallucinate and talk about how excited you are to go on Space Mountain. OK, maybe a slight exaggeration, but you will see people asleep on their feet, heads leaned against their pile of three TVs, two digital cameras and a laser printer.

Breakdown of Society’s Rules: (Reference WWF) People simply drop all convention and pretense of politeness in the face of 60% off electric chocolate fountains and cashmere sweaters. God help you if you attempt to be one of the first 100 in line at a store giving out $10 gift cards - you may very well pay with your life. Shoppers ignore traffic lights, signs about No Food or Drink in stores, and will loudly berate you if you have the audacity to pick out an item without a tag, necessitating a price check. And do NOT plan on paying by check, unless you want it to be the last one you ever write. Have your cash or plastic within easy reach as soon as the total is announced.

Now, all that being said, there are ways to insure both your safety and sanity should you wish to join in the fray next year...

1. Have a plan. There is a reason the papers are full of sale flyers the day before. Map out what you really want and what stores you must enter to obtain them. Then as soon as you enter the store, ASK AN EMPLOYEE WHERE THE ITEMS ARE. These door busters are seldom in the correct departments, for example: portable DVD players by the mens’ underwear or laptops by the milk.

2. Make yourself presentable. You’ll not only stand out from the rabble around you, but you will be treated better by the salespeople. Slap on deodorant, brush your teeth, spritz on a little perfume or aftershave and the management will practically roll out the red cash register for you.

3. Bring your smile. And use it. A lot. Smiles are the AIDS of facial gestures - they are highly infectious and easily transmitted from one human to another with little effort. I diffuse many an irate shopper by simply lighting one up and saying something inane like, “Wow, I LOVE that sweater in your cart - it would look so good strangling the life out of your disgusting body.“ (OK, fine - I say that last part in my head, but we both come away from the encounter with a smile.)

4.  Accept that you may not get what you came for.  People descend like vultures on roadkill when the boxes are opened.  In some cases, there may be very limited quantities or people who hog them all - it is not out of the ordinary to see ten DVD players in one cart.  Saving $50 on a flat screen TV is not worth risking physical harm.  Let the stupid people get what they want first - the stupid people outnumber you and see nothing wrong with punching a total stranger in the face to get to the last $5 Drew Barrymore DVD. 

Now before you ask, YES, despite the challenges, I will be continuing my Black Friday tradition next year - the bargains are too good to pass up and the people watching is better than the Las Vegas strip in summertime.

I do believe, however, that next year I shall concentrate more on Ho, Ho, Homemade gifts, like cookies, fudge and brownies. After all I didn’t see anyone getting beaten to death over the last bag of powdered sugar.

Thanks for Giving Me So Much (To Write About)

With the Thanksgiving holiday here again, it is time to reflect on what we are truly thankful for in our lives. Family, health, happiness, good friends. All important, all worthy of raising a glass and toasting as we gather together. Yet, as you fill your tummies with turkey and your hearts with memories of Uncle Herbert fighting with your three year old over the last drumstick, I would like to share with you the other things I am grateful for this year . . .

The Catholic Church: Yes, my disdain for the institution in which I was raised is well documented, but after today's announcement, I simply must offer thanks to the Vatican for the best laugh I have had in a long time.  They released a document today finally explaining homosexuality to the world.  Apparently, it is rather virus like - something that will run its course and can actually be overcome, like the flu.  According to their new guidelines, a man who makes it three years without homosexual activity will be deemed "cured" and fit for the priesthood.  Yes, thank you Pope Benny for clearing that up, now maybe you'd like to try to explain this rule to the estimated 30-60% of your priests...who are actively gay.

Scooter Libby: The man once strongly identified with family values and upstanding citizenship, now taking the fall for a serious CIA exposure, is actually the author of a novel rife with bestiality, hot sex and murder galore - all those things we upstanding, family oriented citizens discuss around the dinner table with our children.  Thanks Scooter, for personifying the word hypocrite.

Apple: With the advent of the iPod and iTunes, it has been so much easier to indoctrinate my children into the truly great music of the past.  You have no idea how happy it makes me to see my daughters cranking Def Leppard and singing all the words to "Pour Some Sugar On Me" .  Thank you...

Hurricane Katrina: Yes, I wish to thank Mother Nature for this beast of a hurricane that tore through the southeast.  Thank you for making me realize that if I ever choose to live below sea level, protected from drowning by a beaver dam and a prayer, it will not be my fault when my home gets submerged and swept away.  That I can sit on my waterlogged ass, point fingers and collect money.

eBay:  I simply do not know how the world ever survived without this international internet garage sale.  Thank you for making it possible to sell and buy everything from Holy Grilled Cheese to naked garden gnomes.  In the past year alone, I have managed to buy Hamtaro toys from Japan, an African mask from Nairobi, Crest White Strips from Tennessee, colon activator (don't ask) from California, and an old oar (not worth asking) from Maine. 

IKEA: You came to my town and suddenly everyone who lives here has some degree of taste.  Seemingly overnight, my city's homes were better decorated thanks to your incredible magic with presswood and hex wrenches.  I even like the Swedish names on the products - last trip I bought a Fro, two Flarkes and an Oppli.  Who cares what they're called when they are so cheap, yet look so incredible in my home?

George Bush:  God love the man (they speak often from what I understand) - I truly believe he has a decent heart under all the verbal missteps and insincere photo ops, however, as a leader, he lost me many miles back.  I thank him, nonetheless, for constantly giving me reasons to shake my head, scream at my TV, and remember to cross the days off my calendar till the next election.

Stupid People:  I am mostly thankful for the glut of ignorant, self absorbed, nonthinking, perverted, callous, insane, braindead folk that people this planet.  Without you, these rants would not be possible.  Keep up your good work of abducting children, killing one another, wasting my tax dollars, suing each other, blowing up innocent folk, being worthless celebrities, pointing fingers, and hating anything that is different.  You not only make life interesting, you insure that I always wake up each day to something that triggers my "don't get me started" response.

Time passes quickly, this holiday will come and go, and before you know it we will be decorating for the winter festivities. So as you gather around the table, prepared to enjoy the physical and emotional bounty of Thanksgiving this year, pause for a moment and truly think about what makes your life interesting, what you are most thankful for - besides the obvious.

Personally, in addition to the above, while I am enjoying my family, I shall be giving thanks for the elastic in my pants that will allow me to eat a second helping of everything and three pieces of pie.

Gobble, gobble.

I Don't NO

I’m not a big fan of taxpayer supported studies - they tend to quantify useless information such as the recent finding that mice can sing. Whoa. Really? Hmmm, and just how does this impact my life? It doesn’t. Period. Now if a study can tell me that mice woo one another with rodentia imitations of Usher, Gwen Stefani or Clay Aiken, I might be interested for the pure entertainment value, but typically these studies are only exciting to the people who conned the government into funding them.

There was, however, a study a while back that determined the amount of stress felt by a parent in the morning rush of getting children ready for and out the door to, school, was equal to the stress endured by a soldier in an active foxhole.

Now that’s a study I can get behind.

Whether it is a lost permission slip, favorite pair of jeans, burnt waffles or missing tennis shoes, there is always some crisis on top of the already chaotic scene. In my home, this time also serves as the forum for one sister to bash, trash talk or generally dis another.

So it was, that while rushing around this morning, attempting to feed The Three Stooges (my daughters), and get them ready for school, that this exchange took place between Curly and Larry (Moe tends to commune quietly with her Pop Tart)...

“Do you have change for a twenty?” Larry asked Curly.

“No.” spat Curly.

“Come on, I know you have money - you babysat twice this past week and I need to buy a basketball tshirt today - exact change only!” Larry retorted.

“No.”

(Insert shitty look here.)

“You’re so mean. See if I ever give you anything when you need it.” (Brief appearance of visual daggers here.)

Listening to the exchange, I had a revelational rant. (Yes, I realize I just invented a word and that my Spellcheck is going to have a seizure.)

I knew for a fact that Curly had the ability to make change for a $20, having just last evening walked in from a 2 hour babysitting job $16 richer, but that wasn‘t what set me off. Nay, it was her immediate ability to say “No” just because she didn’t want to exert the effort it would take to say YES. It’s something they all do often.

Out came the soapbox and I climbed aboard, proceeding to lambaste Curly, Larry and Moe for this shabby treatment of one another. I then turned it around and posed a rambling series of rhetorical questions...

“Wow - that‘s so cool how you just spit out NO because it’s not convenient for you, because you don’t want to, because it’s her. What would happen if I decided to make No my new favorite word? Let’s see...Can I play basketball? NO. Will you come to my home game? NO. I need you to wash my green hoodie. NO. Take me to play practice. NO. I have two soccer games on Saturday. NO. Can Ashley spend the night? NO. Can I spend the night at Ashley’s? NO. You need to buy milk. NO. I need $5 for a field trip. NO. I want to see the new Harry Potter movie. NO. Tuck me in. NO. Wake me up on time. NO. Help me with my Science project. NO. I need to you to buy me some more poster board. NO. Can I watch Nickelodeon? NO. Will you help me find my other shoe? NO. Can we decorate the Christmas tree? NO. I’m hungry. NO. I’m cold. NO. Hug me. NO. Can I sleep in your bed because dad is out of town? NO. I need to be at the school early tomorrow. NO. Will you buy me a Slurpee? NO. I need an angel costume for the play. NO. Can you come to see me sing with the choir? NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

You get the picture. Essentially I wanted to bring home the point that if I just decided to stop doing things that chap my ass, inconvenience me or that I’m simply not interested in, it would seriously rock their little worlds.

The problem is, I have a serious inability to say NO. When it comes to the kids, I don’t give them every single thing they want, but I do move heaven and earth and toy with that time-space continuum thing to support their endeavors. I’m a Mom - it‘s my job.

Yet when it comes to the outside world, I seem to struggle with this same inability. NO just doesn’t spring to my lips often enough, which is exactly how I end up tearing out my hair from simultaneously being Team Mom for two soccer teams, hosting two separate soccer parties in my home, baking cakes for them, being Lead Room Parent for the entire 4th grade, making costumes for seven mermaids, two angels, a penguin and a partridge, not to mention the damned pear tree, decorating my house, promoting a new book, designing a new website for said tome, making 27 scarves for those aforementioned soccer teams, editing two books, reviewing three others, decorating the entire elementary school stage, driving carpool and speaking at yet another Middle School Career Day.

It seems I have an chronic case of CantSayNoToSaveMyLifeosis.

I swear I don’t auto-Yes because I’m some weird masochist, stomping for sainthood in my afterlife, or spreading good karma a la Earl in the hopes that some of it will come back to me. Rather, I think more often than not, I step up because so many other people step down. Too many other people can’t be bothered to inconvenience themselves with extraneous time demands or to help out with additional projects.

And maybe, just maybe, I hope that by enduring this disease, I may somehow infect The Three Stooges and that they will someday begin to exhibit the classic symptoms of CantSayNoToSaveMyLifeosis - a quick smile, a nod of the head and the reassuring firmness of the word YES.

I think it may be working, for as soon as I finished my rant, Curly immediately went upstairs, found her cash stash and came down ready to transact business with Larry. She even said two words that come even harder than the word “Yes” to most people, “I’m sorry.”

This parenting thing is truly the hardest job in the world and the stress endured in my foxhole is sometimes more than I think I can bear, but would I change anything about it?

In a word, “NO”.

Hmmmm, maybe there’s hope for me yet.

Playing The Holiday Season Name Game

Ahhhh, I love this time of year.  The brights lights, the cooler temperatures, the excitement of small children, the warmth of family and home, the parties, the presents, the anticipation, the inevitable bitchfest over what politically correct greeting is acceptable to say to another human being...

Yes, it makes me warm all over - especially my head which tends to turn as red as Santa’s suit in frustration.  I get a little hot under the collar area as well.

This time of year which should serve to bring people together, open hearts and minds to diversity, tolerance and respect, and be full of good cheer, is once again mired in people’s intolerance, tunnel vision and lack of respect for anything that is not familiar to them.

Basically, adults deserve a stocking full of coal.

Yes, you can divine from my references that I celebrate Christmas.  Santa, stockings, tree with lights, even my Carpenters Christmas CD playing full-time.  I celebrate Christmas because that is how I was brought up, that is what I was taught.  Bethlehem, manger, donkeys, wise men, yada yada...

That’s what I believe.

That does not mean I expect everyone to cater to my belief and I am absolutely comfortable wishing people Happy Holidays, a term I believe covers all the bases from Thanksgiving to Hanukkah to Ramadan to New Years’s Eve.

Happy Holidays.  Simple.  Non-denominational.  Say it with a smile and walk on.

Unfortunately, there are many others who suffer religious tunnel vision, which in addition to making them not much fun at parties, makes them indifferent, callous and insensitive to anyone who does not ascribe to their particular way of thinking.

You know who you are.

Even my own mother gets her panties in a wad when store clerks don’t say Merry Christmas, but the more inclusive Happy Holidays.  Her attitude is that more people celebrate Christmas, so that’s what they should say.  I love my Mom, but no amount of debate can make her see that a "single tolerance-majority rules" mentality is how things like oppression, Auschwitz and genocide take root.

Now poor old WalMart is being nailed to the proverbial cross.  Like most retail establishments, they recognized long ago that alienating customers is not exactly a North Star beacon towards a manger full of profits.  And like any Target, KMart, 7-11, JC Penney, etc, their dominate banner greeting and associate verbiage is Happy Holidays.

I don’t know about your WalMart, but mine represents the salad bowl - forget melting pot - that our great nation has become. We are a country of different people, beliefs, languages and, of course, observed holidays.  A walk through the store will afford you a glimpse of both rich and poor, ethnically dressed and pure American casual, and the accents you hear are as myriad as the choices of cereal you see.

It makes total sense to me that hosing the store down with jingle bells and tinsel and acknowledging only one belief system would be just plain wrong, and quite frankly, more than a little insulting to the other people who make up their customer base.  WalMart may like to tout those Made In America signs everywhere, but their billions are made in every language.

But according to Catholic League president, Bill Donahue, acknowledging more than one belief (Bill’s of course) is ”corporate arrogance”.

Um, no Bill - maybe corporate strategy or corporate marketing, but certainly not arrogance, you seem to have that one covered.

He went on to state, "We want a) an apology for insulting Christians by effectively banning Christmas and b) a withdrawal of its insane statement regarding the origins of Christmas and c) a revision on its website."

Hmmm, last time I was in WalMart, Christmas was more than evident, Billy boy.  In fact, the menorah selection was confined to one shelf, next to the stockings.

The entire brouhaha erupted because a temp employee of the retail giant responded to an email from a customer who was disgruntled as she felt Merry Christmas was being replaced with Happy Holidays. 

No, it was not my mother.

At least I don’t think it was...

The elf, sorry, employee, who got kicked from WalMart’s sleigh, emailed a response that was neither scripted nor endorsed by the company.  An excerpt, “The colors associated with Christmas red and white are actually a representation of the aminita mascera (sic) mushroom. Santa is also borrowed from the Caucuses, mistletoe from the Celts, yule log from the Goths, the time from the Visigoth and the tree from the worship of Baal. It is a wide wide world.", of course has kicked off a Catholic maelstrom reminiscent of the Crusades.  And Bill’s call to arms includes the boycotting of all WalMart stores.

I’ve got news for you Bill.  My Mom is Catholic, but she’s also on a budget - so don’t expect her to stop buying her toilet paper there anytime soon. 

I guess, like Rodney King, I just wonder why we can’t all get along.  Is Happy Holidays really so bad?  Is it so terrible to respect that the world does not revolve around you and your beliefs?  So repugnant to coexist in a live and let live environment?  So distasteful to allow that you only believe what you believe because you were taught to believe it by someone else who was taught to believe it - which is fine - but is exactly the same scenario for someone of another belief system?

Face it, had my Mom given birth on a camel in the desert, holly leaves and mistletoe would, to me, simply be foliage, not festive.

Anyway, like WalMart, I am sticking to my Happy Holidays plan.  So if you pass me and I say it to you, don’t be offended, I seriously do wish you a happy holiday - regardless of which one you observe.  I wish you brotherhood, compassion, love, hope, family and friends, spiritual fulfillment and peace.  The true cornerstones in any religion.

Hmmm, maybe everyone has something in common afterall.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Glue

I daresay that, with the rare exception of high school sweethearts, most people reach adulthood having weathered at least one fairly traumatic break-up.

You know, the kind that leaves you depressed, in tears and face down in a bucket of Chunky Munky for two weeks? (Not that I’m speaking from experience or anything...shut up.)

Anyway, we have all been in that situation where the person you have been dating announces they really aren’t digging you anymore and that you should basically drop dead. (Again, I’m just surmising...)

It hurts. It’s supposed to hurt.

Whether the hurt stems from an affair just running out of gas or one person cheating on another - pain and anger are the two basic emotions through which one suffers. And most of us find that, indeed, the sun does come out tomorrow, and after several weeks realize that we are much better off without that rude, sniveling, two timing SOB who farted at the table and picked his teeth with a car key. (Just generalizing here...ahem)

We move on. We transcend. We find another person who is unworthy of our love...

But then there are those for whom a break-up spells the end of the world, ultimate humiliation, unbearable angst. And they go a little overboard.

Lorena Bobbitt ring a bell?

Remember her? - she "bobbed" her husband while he slept because he had been abusive - and quite frankly, if that is true, I would have sharpened the knife for her. (There are many men out there, abusing women, who really need their load lightened in the trouser area. And before someone gets their panties in a wad thinking I hate men - I don’t. Women who hit men deserve to have their penises cut off too.) As for Lorena, I would not have let her throw it out of the car (to be recovered), however - no, I would have directed her to the garbage disposal and pushed the ON button myself.

Now granted, Lorena is an extreme example of someone who doesn’t handle their significant other situations very well, but there are many more who get equally as creative.

Today’s winner? Gail O’Toole of Pennsylvania. She is currently being sued for $30,000 by Kenneth Slaby, her ex, who claims that while he slept she SuperGlued his genitals to his abdomen, glued his buttcheeks together, and wrote an obscenity on his back in nail polish.

Gail was apparently unhappy about their break-up and the fact that he was dating someone else.

Dating someone else? Allow me a Dr. Phil moment here, Greg dear. If you were dating someone else, why were you at Gail’s and in such a position that your clothing was minimal and you were asleep?

Just curious.

Poor Greg awoke to find himself in a sticky situation and had to walk (I imagine it was with very small steps) a mile to a gas station to call for help.

And so he is suing Gail for $30K, which I believe she could put to better use on some Anger Management courses. Gail has an attorney as well, Chuck Evans, who says it was a consensual act and Slaby wasn't permanently damaged.

A consensual act?

OK folks, I realize that in the realm of all things sexual, I am probably fairly naive and completely unaware of some of the nuances, quirks and fetishes that are out there, but I find it hard to believe that any man would ASK for someone to glue his manhood to his tummy and seal his butt shut, much less derive pleasure from the act.

It remains to be seen how far this gets in the judicial system, but in the meantime, may I offer a few words of advice to the lovelorn who can’t seem to let go?

#1 If someone doesn’t want you, get on with life. You deserve to have someone with you who wants to be with you, not someone who is with you because they are afraid of what bad things you might do with that staple gun or buzz saw.

#2 Don’t fight over someone. What better ego trip can you send someone on than fighting another person for their affections? Again, if they do not want to be with you, maintain a little dignity for God's sake - set some dog poop on fire, ring their doorbell, and move on.

Lastly, and perhaps most important of all...

#3 If you’re going to glue someone’s buttcheeks together, please take pictures, ok? It has to look pretty damned funny and I, for one, need a good laugh.

Store Denies Responsibility, Butt Man’s Sticking To Lawsuit

When it comes to personal responsibility, I believe that your choices are yours to suffer with or from.

If you smoke, don’t sue Phillip-Morris on your way to death’s door. If you’re obese, don’t point your greasy finger at McDonald’s. And if you skydive and your chute doesn’t open? Well, you probably won’t be around to complain, but your relatives will, completely overlooking the fact that jumping out of an airplane, at any altitude, is a crapshoot at best.

No, I think people need to take responsibility for their own actions and even when something happens to them that is not specifically their fault, need to accept that sometimes shit, does indeed, happen.

In the case of Bob Dougherty of Boulder. Colorado, however, I guess it would be more accurate to say that sometimes things happen when you sh... ahem.

It seems Mr. Dougherty was shopping in an area Home Depot when nature called. No big deal there. We all have had occasion to visit any number of retail bathrooms. Unfortunately, someone had visited this particular one prior to Bob’s arrival and applied a layer of glue to the toilet seat.

See Bob sit down.

Turn head while Bob does his business.

OK, you can look now.

See Bob struggle to stand up.

See Bob stuck to toilet seat.

See laugh get stuck in your throat.

Yes, poor Bob was a prisoner of the toilet stall and frantically began hollering for help. (The story did not mention how long he weighed personal dignity against being freed, but it was obviously long enough to adhere him well.)

See no one come to his aid.

“They left me there, going through all that stress," Dougherty told The (Boulder) Daily Camera. "They just let me rot."

Actually an employee did in fact hear him making a commotion and radioed to the head clerk, but their first reaction was that someone was just joking around. And let’s be honest. If YOU were walking by a store bathroom and someone hollered something like “Help! My butt is stuck to the toilet seat!” your first inclination is probably not going to be to run in and render aid.

If anything, in today’s oddball-laden society, you will probably push your cart a little faster and turn down a side aisle as quickly as you can.

And so, because there is no one truly to blame in this scenario, Bob Dougherty, in true-blue American form, is suing Home Depot. He acknowledges that it is not their fault he got glued down, but says someone has to be responsible for the fact he sat there panicked and alone, worried about a python coming up the toilet while his rear flank was exposed.

(OK, OK, I made that last part up, but those damned snakes seem to be everywhere this year.)

The lawsuit states store officials called for an ambulance after about 15 minutes. Paramedics unbolted the toilet seat, and as they wheeled the "frightened and humiliated" Dougherty out of the store, he passed out.

Or pretended to anyway - that’s what I would do.

I feel badly for Bob, but give me a break. Home Depot should not take a hit because of some prank they were not involved with. Butt, I’m sure, in typical corporate form, they will throw money at Bob to make him go away (and to pay for lotion - removing the seat left abrasions).

All Bob is really deserving of is a little sympathy and perhaps a few words of advice:

You should have gone before you left the house! and Didn't your grandmother always warn you to never sit down on a public toilet seat? Mine did.

Now I know why.

Mike Brown’s FEMAil

So the drama continues...

It’s not enough that he was replaced during the post Katrina devastation, then he was vilified by the Senate review panel and crucified on the front pages of every paper in the country - now Mike Brown is being resurrected in order to flagellate him some more.

The horse is dead people - we can stop beating it.

Alas, the media does not see it this way, therefore they are having a field day highlighting and examining every single syllable transmitted via cyberspace by Mike Brown in emails during the Katrina crisis.

And of course, stupid lemmings that we are - the watercoolers of the land will be crowded with people repeating and analyzing and judging them all day long.

Now, it’s not that I have a problem with the Freedom of Information Act or the fact that all government correspondence are public domain. That’s a good thing. And believe me, I am not defending Mike Brown as some FEMA super hero - he was not. I simply have a problem with the media broadcasting excerpts and taking items out of context in order to make news.

Here are a few of the gems being read, twisted and turned into graphics on the airwaves:

· Aug. 29, 7:19 a.m., Cindy Taylor, FEMA deputy director of public affairs to Brown, about his shirt as he appeared on NBC's Today: "My eyes must certainly be deceiving me. You look fabulous - and I'm not talking the makeup."

· Brown, 7:52 a.m.: "I got it at Nordstroms ... Are you proud of me? Can I quit now? Can I go home?"

OK, fine - I was a bit pissed off at the email Cindy sent instructing Mike to roll up his sleeves so he would look “hard at work”, but only because it completely demonstrates how stupid the viewing public is perceived by the PR machines of these people. Cindy - I could care less if Mike Brown was wearing a sequined thong and pasties, much less rolling up his sleeves. I wasn’t really looking - I guess all those other images of people on rooftops and dead on lawnchairs distracted me.

As for Brown’s comment about Nordstroms? So what? Not to get all biblical here, but he among us who has not used black humor in the face of a crisis, cast the first stone. It’s a human nature coping mechanism, period.

· Aug. 30, 10:52 p.m. Brown to assistant Tillie James: "Do you know of anyone who dog-sits?"

Listen, people died in Katrina because they refused to leave their pets alone. I certainly don’t begrudge him an inquiry about care for his own animal.

· Sept. 2, 8:37 a.m. Brown to acquaintance Betty Guhman, on his pre-Katrina plans to leave FEMA: "Last hurrah was supposed to have been Labor Day. I'm trapped now, please rescue me."

Again - taken out of context it doesn’t sound great, but for anyone who doesn’t see the attempt at a joke in it - note to Mike Brown: from now on you should really use emoticons so the cyberaddicted can better decipher your meanings :o) - you may want to start searching eBay for your lost sense of humor.

I daresay that a cursory look through anyone’s Sent file would turn up some golden nuggets that could be completely taken out of context and used against them. And for the sake of that argument, I offer up these tidbits from my own email - and these were just this morning...

~ Have to get the kids up for school. Hmmmmmmmm, how shall I amuse myself this morning? Drop the dog on their heads? Bang on Carson's Bongos? Perhaps I should take a boombox in and jam a little Def Leppard in their ears?

It’s a joke people. Put the phone down now - you don’t need to call Child Protective Services.

~ Yes, my vertically challenged middle child, Kendall The Oompa Loompa, made the basketball team.

Nothing I don’t joke about to the child’s face. We’re both short, if we can joke about it, so can you.

~ My only goal when I go skiing is to look good.

Well now, doesn’t that make me sound like a big bag of vanity?

~ ...have a great spontaneity that includes dragging one another into a bedroom closet while the kids are occupied with Gamecube or Teen Nick.

Ahh! Pornography and child neglect! Someone call Michael Moore - I smell a documentary!

~ Don't they know I just want to lay on my lazy ass and watch reality TV?

Perfect example of how if you don’t know the entire conversation thread - you simply cannot understand the context. I do, however, enjoy The Biggest Loser and American Idol.

~ Glad to have you guiding this baby to birth!

No, I am not pregnant, but you wouldn’t know that would you? You don’t have any idea what the rest of the email said.  Someone get some smelling salts for my husband, please...

I could go on, but hopefully you get the point. People joke, people use levity to cope, there is nothing wrong with that, even at government levels. That does not mean the person doesn’t care. It means they are trying to muddle through their present reality with a shred of sanity intact.

What is wrong is that the media can grab hold of someone’s emails and purposely distort, hype, smear, and read innuendo into them.

Mike Brown is dead, ok? Maybe not literally, but certainly in terms of career, reputation and even future prospects for a PTA post. Hell, the Red Cross probably wouldn’t trust him to give blood correctly.

So give up the ghost, media mavens. There is nothing left to report.

Unless of course you can dig up his grocery list. I can see the twisted headline now...forget apples, bananas and pears - this one could get him the lead float in the next Gay Pride parade...

Former FEMA Director Is a Fruit Lover

You've Got Male, baby.  You've Got Male.

With This Nomination, It’s Alito Or Nothing

It would be an understatement to say I was less than surprised when Grandma - er, sorry - Harriet Miers withdrew her nomination last week.

Anyone with half an eye on CNN or any newspaper could have seen it coming.

President Bush got John Roberts (who looks suspiciously like the lovechild of actor Greg Kinnear and Gopher from the Love Boat) on the bench as Chief Justice - that was a big victory. And while I cannot say I agree with how tightassed - wait, sorry - conservative Roberts’ leanings are, after watching his entire hearing, I will admit that he is a skilled orator and seems to know what the hell he is talking about.

Double points for not reciting a speech, Johnny. (Bonus points from my husband for driving a minivan.)

Then along came Harriet, nominated by family values man Ozzie Bush. No real qualifications, but a mighty fine lady and longtime pal of the Prez. But like a pot roast scorching in the oven, it just didn’t smell quite right.

Never a judge, no briefs or papers anyone could review to gauge her stance on anything, opposition was fast and furious. Sheeesh, Bush would have had better luck nominating me. At least with my mouth being the Luby’s cafeteria that it is - Congress and all the Senators would have a buffet of reasons to choose from to oppose me.

As it was, Harriet may indeed be the nicest Church Lady this side of Dana Carvey, but the fact remains that she was woefully under qualified for the position of Supreme Court Justice and everyone, including she and Bush, knew it.

So she withdrew. Knock me over with a feather.

Fast forward one weekend and who does George pull out of his ass? Judge Samuel “Goober” Alito (give me a break - all of Bush’s cronies have pathetic nicknames - Scooter, anyone?) of the 3rd US Circuit Court of Appeals.

This is a man whose qualifications are unmatched by any nominee going back 70 years. And yet he was 2nd choice to Grandma Moses - sorry, Miers? I find that hard to believe.

What I find easier to believe is that Miers was sacrificed on the alter of public scrutiny and scorn, with the plan all along being that she would be cast aside and Alito would roar in looking like an overwhelmingly better nominee.

At least, being a judge, he does know how to put on the robe.

But judicial fashion aside, he does also have what Miers could not offer - a documented track record of his rulings, arguments, cases and biases. And with the bench already leaning precariously to the right with the addition of Roberts to ultra conservatives Scalia and Thomas, Alito’s track record indicates he would make that teeter totter hit the ground.

As a liberal that scares me.  As a woman that scares me a lot.

The push has been on for years for Roe v Wade to be overturned - taking away a woman’s legal right to choose an abortion. Alito, is most closely associated with the word abortion - as in, he believes the law should be aborted. A staunch Catholic, even Alito’s mother was quoted as saying, “Everyone knows where he stands on it, he’s a Catholic!”

Amen.

Not only does he oppose a woman’s right to choose, in 1991, in one of his more well-known decisions, Alito was the only dissenting voice in a 3rd Circuit ruling striking down a Pennsylvania law that required women to notify their husbands if they planned to get an abortion.

So not only should the men on the bench (you do realize this would make Ruth Bader-Ginsberg the sole X chromosome, don’t you?) be able to tell women what they can and cannot do with their bodies, they should be able to remove our rights to privacy as well?

I have news for Goober Alito, it is 2005, we women don’t belong to you men and when it comes to abortion, you MEN need to stay the f*ck out of the equation.

Come to think of it - perhaps if more people (men and women) took that last statement literally, we would not have as many abortions.

But I digress...Do I believe husbands and wives should have better communication than the wife sneaking down to Planned Parenthood and ending a pregnancy? Of course I do. I also think that people shouldn’t treat sex as casually as a handshake either, but let‘s be honest, hooking up these days and getting pregnant is as easily passive as sneezing and giving someone a cold.

Christian conservatives loudly proclaim that each life is a gift from God - that He planted the seed. No, He did not. These pregnancies are the result of unprotected sex, not divine intervention. There is nothing sacred about casual sex. And make no mistake, the object of all this sex is NOT to make another life.

But when pregnancy occurs, it occurs IN THE WOMAN’S BODY.

And that’s with whom the decision should lie. Not with men who have no concept of carrying a life or the impact it has on the mother. I swear, if men could get pregnant, not only would birth control be 100% covered by insurance, abortions would be free and legal as well.

As it is, men run the majority of government and healthcare and insurance systems where birth control is not given complete coverage, but Viagra is dispensed like gumballs and covered by all.

I see. Make it possible for a fixed income Grandpa to get it up, but not for hard working women to protect themselves.

It’s that kind of logic and power that has gotten this world to its sorry state. The world did not arrive at its current mucked up, pockmarked, warmongering condition at the hands of women, but at the hands of MEN like these.

I am raising three daughters - I will hopefully be sending three strong, independent, level headed women into this world one day. They deserve equal representation at the highest levels of their government and their judicial system, and they most certainly deserve the right to privacy and choice when it comes to their own bodies.

Alito is not the answer. And unfortunately, with his nomination and the sacrificing of Harriet Miers, the stage has been set for him to rise to the highest court.

Meaning George Bush’s legacy will alter the course of my daughters’ lives for years to come.

Hmmm, I think we may have just found those weapons of mass destruction...