(This morning when I was in a huge rush, guess which website refused to load for my Mamarazzi post. That's right--Mamarazzi. So I posted it here, instead.
But now it's on Mamarazzi, so what are you doing here? Go read it there.)
Petunia Pig look-alike Candy Spelling and Frankendaughter Tori don't get along. At all. And they keep thrashing it out in public, via books, interviews, and Candy's blog.
Candy just fired off a new salvo by claiming, in a recent radio interview, that Tori caused Aaron Spelling's death.
The fact that Aaron was 83 years old at the time of his death had apparently nothing to do with it. Nor did his oral cancer (please note the pipe in the above photograph) or the stroke that actually killed him.
Now, obviously Tori isn't implicated in her father's death.
Although I can't say the same thing about her roots. (OK, maybe they didn't kill him. But they're killing me.)
There's only one way to settle this.
With a good old-fashioned Dynasty-style cat fight:
you guys, I can't believe how dusty this blog has gotten or how busy I've been this week.
In the past five days, I've managed to bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let my husband forget he's a man--wait a minute, he's been out of town all week. But I've kept the house reasonably picked up and the children reasonably well fed. I've attended rehearsals. I've dragged my son off to sing in an Evensong.
But on top of that, all these trucks have been lined up in front of my house all week long because the landscaping company I hired in the beginning of April finally decided to show up and start sticking new plants in my yard. And I don't mean two bushes on either side of the front door. I mean trees and shrubs and perennials and outdoor lighting and really stinky mulch.
Yes, in a doomed attempt to make my teardown look a bit less so, I've sunk large American dollars into the yard. That sucking sound you hear is the landscape company vacuuming the last penny out of my wallet.
And this means that in addition to the usual crap I have to do, I had to keep going outside and patiently explaining that I hated the plants they picked out. Because honestly, with all the forsythia out there (which I don't like that much but was there when we bought the house and was therefore free) the last thing I need is more shrubs that make yellow flowers in the spring.
And anyway, witch hazel is something I buy at CVS, not something I want growing in my yard.
Anyway, what with giving the landscaping company a piece of my mind clearly communicating my wishes, and doing the driveway minuet with three or four trucks whenever I had to drive anywhere, plus the aforementioned musical activities, I've been frazzled.
But stick around, because eventually I'll post some garden p0rn.
Oh, and I posted elsewhere twice this week, so if you want to find out whether Clairol Nice 'n Easy Root Touch Up is worth buying, and whether there is any humor to be found in Miss California USA's family dynamics, feel free to exit click right now.
Anything to get the taste of so much WHOLESOME out of my mouth. Which tastes like the "Glucola" they make you drink when they screen you for diabetes.
Think I'm overreacting? Check it out:
Friday afternoon: Don obnoxious Girl Scout Leader uniform;
perform annual village cleanup with my Girl Scout troop.
Saturday morning: Go to church for son's Confirmation service.
Saturday night: Attend the annual school benefit.
Sunday morning: Church again, this time the usual service plus the annual thank-the-Sunday-school teachers plus more confirmation celebration, and an ice cream social.
Sunday afternoon: Don obnoxious Girl Scout Leader uniform;
pack American and troop flags in car; organize troop color guard; march in quaint village's 90th annual Memorial Day Parade.
Attend Memorial Day ceremony along with every other scout troop in village, also various ministers, members of the armed forces, and what looked like the village elders.
The first speaker mentioned the length of the historic Lincoln/Douglas debates. You know, the ones where Stephen A. Douglas spoke for an hour and a half and Abraham Lincoln
He totally pwned Douglas, by the way
rebutted for an hour? Well, I swear, today's speaker took that long to describe the debates and reiterate a couple of Lincoln's points. Which, OK, by the time he got to them, my mind had wandered far, far away. So it's lucky I could read the Wikipedia article. You know, if I chose to.
And now you know why I want to channel Patti Smith and perform at CBGB. And then do Jell-O shots. And then snort methamphetamine. And then have a one-night stand. With a priest. Who's gay. And married.
This morning I posted what is probably my five thousandth Mamarazzi entry, and guess what? It was about MADONNA. Why? Because no matter how hard she tries to avoid it, she's getting old. But mocking her? Never will.
And then, somewhere in my morning internet ramble, I came across an ancient meme, and its name was ... not Madonna. (See? I'm not a one-joke blogger. Not everything old is Madonna. Just most things.)
Anyway, the meme was this: If you had the power to erase five groups from the history of pop music, which five would you chose?
I'm not going to tag anyone, but feel free to play along, either in a blog post of your own or a comment. But I want some thought here. Anyone can make fun of the Dave Matthews Band or Hootie and the Blowfish. I want you to dig deep, people.
Me? I went way back to groups that have been driving me crazy for decades. These are the people I'd like to see cut off at the root:
1. I've got that Eagles Queasy Feeling.
Mostly because of "Hotel California." But "Lyin' Eyes," "Take it Easy," "Witchy Woman," "Tequila Sunrise" and "Peaceful Easy Feeling" all make me want to hurl.
OK, maybe some of you are deadheads and think Jerry Garcia was god, but you're wrong. If Garcia was god, he wouldn't be dead. And he is. But is he grateful? I don't know--but I am.
Maybe he was a good guitarist--he certainly makes all the lists--but those out-of-tune vocals get me every time. And all those shitty bootleg recordings being passed around by people who are obviously so high they wouldn't know a tuning fork if someone jabbed them in the ass with one. No, the best thing about the Dead was the concert posters. Or maybe the dancing bears.
4. America--'Cause there ain't no group for to give me more pain.
5. And last but not least--Madonna. Because actually, it really is all about Madonna.
Because it'sall Madonna's fault. Do you remember when female vocalists were fairly scarce on the ground? Probably not, since is you're reading this, chances are you're too young to remember that there actually was music before Madonna.
But if it hadn't been for Madonna, we wouldn't be stuck with Britney Spears, Vanessa Hudgens, Gwen Stefani, Lady Gaga, the Pussycat Dolls, Paris Hilton, Katy Perry, and a bunch of other female pop stars who thinks singing consists of forgetting to wear underpants and then doing something really daring like kissing a girl. Oooh. Edgy.
To prove my point, here is Madonna--not singing, not rubbing her privates on the statue of a saint, not looking deep into the eyes of the camera while lip-synching her gristly ass off--just being obnoxious while she thinks she's being edgy.
Yes, I think I could have survived the past 25 years pretty happily without her so-called contribution to pop culture.
OK, the ball's in your court. Which groups/artists would you like to expunge from the record?
I've had a funny last name for pretty much my whole life.
The only person I ever met whose last name was as funny as mine was a woman in graduate school whose last name was "Bosomworth." No lie. Believe it or not, my last name was just as funny.
Naturally, we took to each other right away.
Then I got married and--go ahead and tell me I've lost all my feminist street cred--took my husband's last name. It's easy to spell and doesn't reference a female body part.
That was a halcyon period of my life. An Augustinian time when everything was simply splendid. I had a normal last name. A name that didn't make sober, serious, mature people burst out laughing. And I had started blogging as Poppy. Just Poppy. I have to tell you, it was delightful.
But unfortunately, there are a lot of Poppies on the internet. In fact, there may be more poppies on the internet than there are in Flanders Field (and if you don't recognize the reference, put the laptop down and go find out. Or google it. I'll wait.)
There's Tall Poppy and Blue Poppy and Poppy Mom and Poppy Cedes and with one thing and another, sometime around 2005 or so, I decided I needed an internet last name.
So I picked Buxom. I don't really know why.
Well, that's not true. I don't know whether you've noticed, but I have a somewhat childish sense of humor. Also, "buxom" is fairly descriptive.
(Although I could just have easily have picked "Brown" or "Brunette." Why didn't I? Why?)
See, some kids at my kids' school are all up in my son's face (I exaggerate; they're actually too short to reach that far) about my internet surname. They're telling my son that "Buxom" means "having really huge breasts."
This just goes to show you how dumb today's teenagers are.
First of all, it's wrong. If you don't believe me, check a dictionary. If you want a synonym for "having really huge breasts," try "stacked."
And second of all, if you're interested in really huge breasts, why waste even one brain cell deciding whether your schoolmate's mother's internet handle is accurate? I mean, how deeply icky is that? Your classmate's mother's rack? Even Pamela Anderson's sons' friends would feel weird going there.
And what a ludicrous waste of time when you could be checking out internet porn instead.
We're mostly over all the sickness. Random coughing still erupts, but I ignore it.
My son is about to graduate from eighth grade. Mostly I am underwhelmed by the whole "graduation" aspect of it. But the "my son is about to start high school part" has me breaking out in a sweat.
The same son asked me today what "teabagging" is. I didn't know.
I introduced him to urbandictionary.com. Now he knows that when I act cool, I'm only faking it.
My husband is working late a lot. He just got off a conference call.
Yes, it's a retread from something I posted two years ago. But this time, it's the illustrated version. Because thanks to the magic of Google images, not only can I figure out my stripper name, I can find out what I'd look like! (Turns out I'm too shy to let you all see anything except my tacky nail polish.)
1. Rock star name (first pet & current car): Winkie Passat
What are your current obsessions? Battlestar Gallactica, my house and what else I need to do to it, rum, my iPhone, and whether I'm becoming a shallow, materialistic git.
Which item from your wardrobe do you wear the most often? Clogs, especially my brown suede Mephisto ones. But their days are numbered. I hope. Because strangely enough, it's not all that cold today. The world will see my toes any month now.
What's for dinner? "A feast!" And that's a direct quote. I don't know what it'll be--my husband and daughter will be cooking it. All I know is there's a pile of cookbooks on the kitchen counter.
What is your greatest fear at the moment? Whether my children will grow up to become independent adults, or live in my basement eating take-out food and burying themselves in whatever electronic devices will be around in 2019.
What are you listening to? My iPod, which right now is featuring The Unfinished Clue, a Georgette Heyer audiobook.
If you were a god/goddess what would you be? Hera. Beautiful, respectable, married (OK, to her brother--but we're gods, so we get to do whatever we want, people) and half-Cylon.
What are your favourite holiday spots? Big cities. New York London, Paris, Munich, pop musik.
What is your guilty pleasure? My spank bank. Isn't that the point?
Who or what makes you laugh? Unfortunately? Myself. Jen. Also badger. And this. And this.
What is your favourite spring thing to do? Garden.
Where are you planning to travel next? New Hampshire, England, and New Orleans.
What is the best thing you ate or drank lately? My cure for the common cold. Get a mug and add:
1 jigger of Meyer's rum
2 or 3 tsp lemon juice
honey
boiling water to rim.
Stir and if you have it, a chunk of fresh ginger and/or a twist of lemon are excellent.
When was the last time you were tipsy? Some time in the past three weeks I fell asleep while watching the Three Stooges with my son. I blame the red wine, because the Stooges, are of course, endlessly fascinating.
What is the biggest life lesson you've learned from your kids? Pregnancy, labor, delivery, and child-rearing are crap shoots. Don't even think you can control the outcome, because you can't.Count on being surprised--again and again. And sometimes? It's pleasantly.
What book do you know you should read but refuse to? King Lear. It's the only major Shakespeare tragedy I never had to read, and I take a perverse pride in refusing to do so. It's my line in the sand. I refuse to cross it! And anyway, it's pretty obvious that I'm more of a Midsummer Night's Dream kind of gal.
What is your physical abnormality/abnormal physical ability? My color discrimination is off-the-charts excellent. Although you'd never guess it to look at me.
What is your favourite color? Red. And not just any shade. Not tomato or geranium, but a nice true stop sign/fire engine/barn/Coke can red. You know that scene where Myrna Loy explains paint colors in Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House? I completely understand where she's coming from.
Best decade for fashion/music/movies?
1930s/1960s/1930s
The rules of this meme are as follows: - Respond to and rework the meme. - Answer the questions on your own blog. - Replace one question and add one question. - Tag 8 people.
