As told by one Tara Reid:

NEW YORK - Tara Reid wants to prove she's a great actress instead of a party girl. The actress says the media has unfairly represented her and that she just needs a good movie to break the stereotype.

"I think there must be a journalist school where students are taught how to kill Tara Reid," the 29-year-old actress says in a Steppin' Out magazine issue on newsstands Oct. 12.

"The one thing I want to say about American journalists is: why is partying and having a good time bad?" Reid says. "And how come when someone else gets messed up or is a junkie or gets DUI'd and goes to rehab and is considered a hero again?"

Reid says she doesn't plan to go that route because she'd be "admitting guilt for something I'm not guilty of." Instead, she has fired her publicist and hopes to find a good role because the 'wild girl' reputation is hurting her career.

"I need one more great movie role so they say, `Wow, she can act! She's a great actress.' Then I think they'll leave me alone."

She needs one more great movie role so they say "she's a great actress!" Sweetheart, you'd need to have at least one decent role TO BEGIN WITH before you can say you need one more. American Pie was a funny movie, but your role in it? Well, let's just say you weren't at band camp that summer, were ya? Nope. I loved the scene in AP where your character lost her virginity. A cabbage would have done a better acting job. The green leaves and folds just lend themselves to emoting, wouldn't you agree? Which is more than I can say for you: you looked mildly constipated. Until you actually go out and learn how to act---which I can only imagine will cut into your hangover recovery time---you will be unable to get those nasty paparazzi get off your back so you can snort coke/let your tit hang out/get drunk/screw boy toys with impunity.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:56 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I will put it after the jump so as not to spoil it for you Tivo viewers. more...

Posted by: Kathy at 09:39 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Just damn.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:20 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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If he wasn't one serious fussbudget.

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You all remember James, right? Well, his Mom---Christi---has a something she'd a like to say to you all.

Hi,

This is Christi (the Cake Eater sister), mom of James. We are finally getting our act together and thanking all of those out there in the blogosphere for helping us out this summer in trying to find a cure for Type I Diabetes. Many of you helped us not only reach, but surpass our goal of $4000. James' Jaywalkers in Omaha was able to raise $4400 this year! We have you to thank for that.

It is always amazing to us how generous our friends and family are when we send out our walk letter. But we are even more amazed when people we don't know are compelled to help us out, too. We so appreciate the sacrifice.

We had a fabulous time at the Diabetes Walk this year. We had wonderful weather (and that is rare in August in Nebraska). The kids had a ton of fun. And best of all, James had the feeling that he is not alone in this battle. He has so much support, from people he knows and people he doesn't know.

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts!
Christi and James

She also passed along a photo of all those who walked that day, so you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, could get the whole Walk to Cure Diabetes experience.

I will add my thanks to hers. You are a great group of people!

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Clicket on the image for a bigger, easier on the eyes size.

Cartoon by the brilliant Scott Kurtz of PvP Online.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:38 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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{Cue the kid from Poltergeist}

We're Baaaack. And by "we" I mean that the Demystifying Divas and the Marvy Men's Club are back from our hiatus two month tour of Europe, Scandinavia and the Subcontinent.* Did you miss us?

Let's keep the tears of gratitude and thankfulness to a minimum, ok? We know you missed us. There's no need to get all blubbery about our return, ok. Turn off the faucets already. We get the point... And there, my devoted Cake Eater readers, is my exceedingly clever segue into today's topic: just how emotional should a man be?

And the answer is... {insert drumroll here} it depends, and I believe it's a regional thing.

I'm sure if you were a woman and lived in, say, California, you would be much more used to guys who were in touch with their sensitive selves. Because everyone knows that California is where it's considered de rigeur for men to go out and hug redwoods and weep for all the times their fathers spent slurping martinis instead of playing catch on the front lawn with Junior. I'm sure the women out in Californiaaaay are used to this sort of thing and I daresay they appreciate the honesty. After all, it's what they're accustomed to. They, most likely, grew up in California. They were probably there at the beginning of the "me" movement so, undoubtedly, redwood hugging is nothing new in their book. They probably wonder why all men don't come out and commune with the redwoods to get in better touch with their feelings. I would assume they probably budget for therapy and the resulting anti-depressant prescriptions the way I budget for the electric bill.

I, however, live in the Midwest. I was born and raised here. This is where we repress our emotions until we melt into vast puddles of stressed-out goo. Because that's what our ancestors did and if it was good enough for them, well, damnit, it's good enough for us! They came out here and tamed this land and there was nary a blubberer amongst those brave pioneers. Yet, I will admit, Midwestern Man (tm) has evolved and has come into the twenty-first century. He is no longer the emotional troglodyte his ancestors were. He has become familiar with the ways of the kleenex, but for the love of GOD, he will never actually let anyone know about this familiarity, ya dig? That's just the way he is.

So, I will admit, I want a man who knows himself, who is in tune with what's going on in his head and his heart, but I do not want someone who is going to blubber about the state of fifth chakra every other day. I've got better things to deal with, thank you very much. Like the cuticle on my left thumb that needs trimming before it erupts into a hangnail.

Now run along and see what the other delightful demystifing divas have to say on the matter. Then, if you're hankering for a dose of testosterone, you can flip the coin and see what The Wiz, Stiggy, Phin and The Foreign Minister have to say on the topic. Jamesy has also joined up with the Men's Club this week, go and read what he has to say, as well.

*Bonus points to whomever gets the quote.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:28 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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As in the Netherlands will shortly cease to exist if this sort of thing is a governmental priority over, you know, beating down homegrown Islamofascists.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:04 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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At the back of every issue of Forbes is a collection of quotes on a certain topic. This week's topic is grammar. I thought I'd share a few because they're amusing.

Cut out all these exclamation points. An exclamation point is like laughing at your own joke.

---F. Scott Fitzgerald

Commas in The New Yorker fall with the precision of knives in a circus act, outlining the victim.

---E.B. White

You can be a little ungrammatical if you come from the right part of the country.

---Robert Frost

Bad spellers of the world, untie!

---Graffito

Save the gerund and screw the whale.

---Tom Stoppard

Waiting for the German verb is surely the ultimate thrill.

---Flann O'Brien

The adjective is the banana peel of the parts of speech.

---Clifton Fadiman

I am the King of Rome, and above grammar.

---Emperor Sigismund

To be loose with grammar is to be loose with the worst woman in the world.

---Otis C. Edwards

I never made a mistake in grammar but one in my life and as soon as I done it I seen it.

---Carl Sandburg

Posted by: Kathy at 10:21 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Sorry, kid, but we need to have a wee bit of a chat about this post.

You know, I just don't understand what all of the fuss is about regarding the mentioning of so-called Intelligent Design theories when discussions about Evolution arise in our nation's schools.

Yeah, yeah. I know that Evolution is the one with all the cool fossils to see and that there is no proof when it comes to Intelligent Design. I also know that some scientists feel that without proof and without any means of testing a theory, a theory is considered bunk. However, not so long ago, the best minds in the world were convinced that the earth was flat, so I'm thinking we should be a little more inclusive in our discussions.{...}

Phoenix then goes on to claim that her teachers tried more to "indoctrinate" rather than "educate," and says her father set her straight on more than one occasion when an educator gave out faulty/less than complete information. Due to this, she has learned critical thinking, which is good. I'm not knocking that. Critical thinking is always good. But then there's this whopper of a statement at the end of her post that, quite literally, made my jaw drop:

{...}So, I say, let our children decide for themselves. Perhaps Intelligent Design can't be proven or disproven now. Perhaps Evolution is the real deal. But what does it hurt to expose our children to the entire debate? Can we not trust them to come to their own conclusions? If I had to sit through 4 weeks in a world history class listening to extended discourse on Islam in the 8th grade, including the 5 tenets of Islam, why can't today's students hear about the beliefs of some Christians as it relates to this issue? Learning about Islam didn't turn me into a Muslim. Being exposed to the idea of Intelligent Design isn't going to throw your child to the lions.

What's the big deal? Can't we trust our kids to decide for themselves?{...}

Sweetheart. You really want to know what the big deal is? Ok, well,Was the 2nd Amendment the only thing you learned about when it came to the Constitution? Because, if it was, you should know we have this little thing called the Establishment Clause which, along with all the other subsequent case law that follows it, declares that no religion shall be taught in public schools. It's pretty simple stuff. This is why Intelligent Design shouldn't be taught in public schools---because, in a very small way, it's teaching religion.

To miss this point is to miss the big fat pink elephant that's plopped its fat ass down in your living room. That's what the "big deal" is. And there is a bit of a difference between teaching the Five Pillars of Islam in a historical context to being taught that, because some people don't believe in Darwinism and take offense at the notion they were descended from apes, there should be an entire section added to the science curriculum---a section that has nothing to do with science, but has everything to do with religion. Yet these people claim the teaching of ID is all about offering students "a choice." That's all well and good but one choice is based in science; the other is based in religion. And neither one can be proved.

Look, I don't see CAIR asking for an entire section on Islam to be taught in all World History classes, do you? The analogy Phoenix raises is faulty. When the tenets of Islam are being taught in a World History class it is because, to be sure, a good deal of the world's history was shaped by that religion, hence it's fair to make sure students know precisely why the Ottoman Empire was out there, raping and pillaging for Allah. It's the same when Christianity is taught in relation to the Crusades or the Holy Roman Empire, or how Hinduism is relevant to the rise of the British Empire in India. It's knowledge that is essential to the discussion. It's rote knowledge; it's knowledge that's matter of fact, taken for granted. I fail to see, however, where intelligent design is essential to the discussion of evolution---particularly when that discussion is taking place in a public school. It is an explanation of evolution that is, for the most part, based in religion, and as we've established, religion does not belong in public schools.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: if anyone wants their kid to learn about creationism, they should send their kid to a parochial school. It's pretty simple stuff. Your kids will be taught the religion of your choice, without any messy and inconvenient facts to get in the way of things.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:15 PM | Comments (19) | Add Comment
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No new House episodes until November!

Damn you, Major League Baseball! Damn you to hell and back!

Yeah, I know I'll get wrapped up in the playoffs like everyone else, but damn. I just got House back and now...just like that...poof. He's gone.

Which leads us to the obvious conclusion: House is Keyser Soze.

Just try and tell me otherwise.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:22 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Just go and read already.

{h/t: Doug}

Posted by: Kathy at 10:22 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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{Insert snort of glee here}

Posted by: Kathy at 09:33 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Don't scare the Italians by staging an impromptu pr0n shoot in their midst.

It's just not nice. They were your allies once upon a time; you people should have some respect for that.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:30 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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A request from Chrissy:

My mom and my best friend's (Susan's) mom are in DeRidder, Louisiana, a small town just above Lake Charles.

I have confirmed with the local electric company they will be out of power for two to three weeks.

Cameron and Lake Charles have been laid to waste.

I'm told by people there that DeRidder looks like a war zone.

My mom is freaking out a bit. While she has weathered many storms, none have come this close or caused this much damage. Then, there's that thing about being alone without my father (he died in December) standing over her to tell her what to do.

Susan's sister also lives in DeRidder and her house took a tree through the roof. Her mom took a tree to a shed.

Susan and I have been networking trying to figure out the next step. We need to get both of our moms out of the area until the power comes back on. There's still major power outages and gas shortages from Houston to Lafayette with roads also being closed through Houston, Beaumont, and Lake Charles.

If Susan's uncle from Tyler, a police officer, is not able to get enough gas to them in the next day or so, I will put together a truck with enough extra gas cans to take to the back roads to head that way. Both my mom's vehicles have gas we can syphon once I get there.

If anyone is between Houston and Lake Charles, please speak up and let me know what the gas situation is where you are.

If you have any information, go throw said information into the comments over at Fistful of Fortnights.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:54 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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The Financial Times profiles Paul Wolfowitz, the new President of the World Bank.

A sampling:

{...}An important part of this agenda is a focus on what the bank can do to help empower women in developing countries. Education and healthcare will remain priorities for the bank, but Wolfowitz is likely to focus its efforts on girls and women. “The role of women is something that has hit me very hard pretty much since my time in Indonesia, where you have a reasonably liberated female population in a predominantly Muslim country. And you can see that the country as a whole is the better off for it... It seems to me that it is an almost arithmetic equation that if half of the population is held back, then your development is going to be held back.”

Bank insiders say his thinking on this issue may have been influenced by Shaha Riza, a bank employee, Middle East expert and specialist on gender issues, with whom the divorced Wolfowitz has had a relationship for the past couple of years. “I have sympathy for someone who says that the Swedish model or the American model of relatively far-advanced feminism is not necessarily something that even women of other countries want,” he says. “But there is a point at which it is more than just a cultural thing and that is a fundamental violation of human rights and a fundamental denial of equality of opportunity, and when you do deny equal opportunity you are trying to run a race with one leg tied, sort of. And often your best leg.”

In Pakistan, last month, Wolfowitz heard a better analogy: at a meeting in the Punjabi village of Dhok Tabarak, a woman told him that development is like a cart: it has two wheels, and if one of the wheels is not turning you will not get very far. Wolfowitz was so taken with the metaphor that during the rest of his visit to Pakistan he quoted the woman on 20 or more occasions. After the first few times, he added a horse to the story, to represent economic growth. “If the cart does not have something strong to pull it - the horse is growth - then it does not matter how fast the wheels can turn.”

Of the three full days Wolfowitz spent in India, one day was spent talking to assorted groups of rural women about bank-sponsored development programmes. Women were also notably present at all his meetings in Pakistan and India and when I asked him if this was a deliberate policy that he intended to continue, he said that it was. “We can empower people simply by meeting with them; I think there’s a tendency to think that if the World Bank president meets with people then they must be important.”

Wolfowitz told me one day that someone had just described him as a feminist. He laughed, and said: “It is the first time in my life I’ve been called that, I certainly don’t think of myself in that way. Look, we are not talking about a particular cultural way of male-female roles, but you can tell when women are denied equal rights or equal opportunities and that is not only unfair to them, it is unhelpful to the whole society.”

Such sentiments from the former Pentagon hawk might sound odd to some in Washington, but they went down well in Hyderabad, where Wolfowitz one day spoke to a hall packed with 300 women from self-help groups across the state of Andhra Pradesh. The groups help women lobby together for health and education, and gain access to micro credit loans. “Who wants to tell me how the self-help group has changed their life?” Wolfowitz asked. All hands in the audience went up. Twenty women started to talk at once, each struggling to speak longest.

There was a lot of laughter and not much translation, but the cheerful mood was killed when the state’s chief minister rose to give a 20-minute speech about his administration’s achievements. The women listened in silence, but perked up when Wolfowitz began to speak again, clapping every time he paused for the translator. The loudest applause came at the end as he told them: “The thing that has impressed me is not just the money you earn but the way it helps you to make your children’s lives better. When I see how well the women are doing here, I think you have to teach the men to walk faster.”

Later, the chief minister asked Praful Patel, the bankÂ’s vice-president for south Asia, why Wolfowitz had received so much more applause than him. Patel said he thought the chief minister had talked at the women, while Wolfowitz had talked to them and asked questions, and that had made a difference.{...}

Go read the whole thing.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:44 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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A politician who kept an election promise!

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I do believe I mentioned that one of the Cake Eater brothers, Stephen, was in town the other night. Steve is the car dealer and when he got stuck here he was returning from getting his first look at his dealership in New Orleans. He was one of the business owners who was allowed to come back into town earlier in the week, to see what the situation was. Well, it wasn't pretty, to say the least. The dealership is, to put it bluntly, wrecked. If it wasn't nailed down, it was either picked up and thrown around due to the storm or someone tried to steal it. Any computers or electronics that didn't get flooded were looted. Cars were stolen, and in one memorable instance an air compressor was ripped off the little red wagon it had called home. If it was nailed down, well, then it was flooded with that murky concoction---and it was five feet deep. I saw the photos he took for insurance purposes and, well, yuck covers it quite well. Not only was all the office furniture, paneling, drywall, wallpaper---and fax machines, copiers, etc. covered in that muck, think about what a service bay at your car dealership looks like and then think of those big canisters of motor oil and anti-freeze and the like---and then imagine them turned over and leaking goo everywhere. I could go on, but I think you get the gist. It's just a mess and a half.

Steve was very tired when he got here, and he was a wee bit dazed, but he had a lot to say about what it was like in New Orleans, how surreal it all was, etc. Yet he neglected to mention that he'd hooked up with a reporter from the Billings Gazette who did a story on the death and dismemberment of the dealership due to Katrina. He never mentioned it, but that stands to reason: he's got bigger fish to fry right now.

I'm just glad I didn't know his GM was packing during their trip. Sheesh.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:22 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Sheesh. After taking the summer off, and being all serious for their election, it seems like they're getting stupid again.

Thank effin' God. I was beginning to wonder what the hell was happening over there.

Anyhooo....today we have the story of a flasher in Berlin. He apparently didn't get the reaction he was hoping for.

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It is absolutely gorgeous in the Twin Cities today. It's currently sixty-two degrees, and the breeze that is blowing is, for the first time since spring, a wee bit on the crisp side. The sun is shining and the sky is that gorgeous shade of deep blue you only see when the smog clears out. The trees are beginning to turn every so slowly and little hints of red and yellow stand out amidst all the green. The squirrels that (over)populate my yard are scampering around said yard, gorging themselves on acorns from the six oak trees we have, in between battles with each other. Earlier this morning, on the branches of the tree right next to my office window, I was privileged to watch yet another squirrel reenactment of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon as they chased each other, jumping from branch to branch. What this death match was about one can only guess, but I believe it has something to do with a female, following the rules laid down long ago by Mother Nature. The only difference between the squirrels and Chow Yun-Fat and Ziyi Zhang was that humans were much quieter. Squirrles are very noisy when they fight, filling the air with the quick crunching of claws meeting bark, as they scamper up the tree at lightning speed and then across the branches to meet their destiny.

I returned from Lake Harriet earlier and I was reminded of all the joys of a fall Friday when I walked past the local high school's football field. Apparently there is a game there tonight. I don't know who they're playing or what the team's chances for a victory are, but it's the first home game and I couldn't help but be a little excited for the people that were there: it's the first time they get to partake in the tradition. The cheerleaders were dressed in their school colors---purple and white---and were decorating all the entrances to the field with balloons and streamers. The marching band was on the field and it seems, after listening to them march around the neighborhood for the past two months, that they've finally got their stuff together. They were playing I Believe I Can Fly but they'd not only upped the tempo, they'd funked it up a bit as well. The tuba section was having fun on the field, and the drum line finally sounded as if they were one humongous drum, instead of fifteen poorly arranged snares and bass drums. It was a nice thing to watch. It reminded me of all the promise that beautiful autumn Fridays possessed in high school.

The day would start off slowly, but it would hold promise. A blue sky, a hint of warmth would soon be found when the sun worked its way toward its zenith. The grass was still green, but it had been cool enough to kill off some of the more annoying varieties of insects that buzzed about, bothering you. You'd drag yourself through whatever class you were dreading that day. Was it a test in Chemistry? Or was a paper due in Sociology? Or was Sr. Rosaria on the war path once again because you flubbed the translation of the one sentence of Caesar's Gallic Wars she'd given you. It didn't matter. There was the hope of the evening hours to get you through the rest of the school day, which always seemed like such a waste. Surely being stuck in school on such a gorgeous day was an affront to God. But since that creative excuse wasn't going to fly with the principal, Itsy Bitsy Betsy, also known as Miss Kish---the world's shortest school prinicpal, EVER---you instead focused on other things. You chatted with your friends about your plans for the evening. There was, as always, a football game to go to. You had to go to the game if it was a home game. There was simply no choice about it. After the game there was a dance at a rotating selection of schools. You worked on sorting out the day's truly important business: whose parents were going to drive you where so you wouldn't miss anything. And it was important you shouldn't miss anything...because Friday nights were when you got to go and ogle the boys.

As I've mentioned before, I went to a Catholic all-girls high school. Obviously, we didn't have a football team; but we had the boys' school down the road---and they had a football team. This school is conveniently called Prep, which is short for Creighton Prepatory School. At that point in time, Prep didn't have its own football field, so their games were held at UNO's field. For a few Friday nights every fall, we'd work our way over to UNO to watch Prep pummel whichever opponent they were up against that week. We'd find seats in the large stadium and then we'd sit there and watch the boys, while pretending we were really watching the game. When you're a freshman, you actually believe that some cutie is going to come on over and talk to you and you wait with bated breath for it to happen. By the time you're a sophomore, however, you've been disabused of that notion. Junior year is when it finally happens and it doesn't seem as interesting as you'd thought it would be. By senior year, well, you're a bit beyond it, or so you'd like to think.

Then, when the football team was done with their pummelling, you'd go and find the car of whomever the lucky parent was who'd pulled the mid-shift chauffeuring stint, and you'd be off to some high school gym to gyrate madly for hours on end. Omaha's a pretty Catholic town: there are---counting on fingers---seven high schools (that I can think of---there are more now) and each of them would rotate hosting a dance or two. So, you'd go and you'd pay five bucks to get into some high school gym where either a garage-band-done-good or a DJ awaited you. My generation apparently didn't have any problems with dancing. This was not a situation where the boys lined the walls and the girls were the ones on the floor. Nosireebob. Everyone got out there and danced and the only time you saw anyone on the sidelines was when they were winded and needed to take a break. You might have snuck outside to get some air with your friends and some boys may have followed, hoping to chat you up. Or you might have met someone while you were waiting for a coke in the cafeteria. You may have even gotten friendly enough with one of them to find a place for a quick make-out session, or you might have been wholly annoyed with one of them because they wouldn't leave you the hell alone. You might have found a new crush, or you might have been crushed by the one you fancied. It was an adolescent soap opera and I have to think it was just as amusing as hell for the chaperones to watch. But, no matter, because as always, time is fleeting. These things were always over with by midnight, so you'd round up your friends, you'd walk into the now quite chilly, pitch black parking lot to find the unlucky parent who'd pulled the chauffeuring late shift and you'd work your way home.

Sometimes you'd be highly satisfied with the evening. Everything would have gone right and you would have actually worked up the courage to talk to the boy you liked---or they'd finally gotten the clue that you liked them. But those were far and few between. The night would, most likely, be unsatisfying. Someone would start a rumor about you and when you finally heard it, it would make your face flush with embarrassment and shame. Some boy might break your heart by ignoring you. You might get into a fight with one of your friends. It didn't really matter what happened, but the posters for the dance should have had the warning "potential adolescent hell" pasted all over them. Yet, surprisingly enough, the potential for it to be an awful night didn't really hit you until it was all over with. Somehow, you always hoped for the best when you started off the evening.

I have to wonder what Friday nights are like for today's teenagers. Are they similar to the ones I endured, even though fifteen years has passed? Or is the entire process different? What do they do after football games nowadays? Do they go to parties? Do high schools even host dances anymore? Or have they canned that activity because it's just a lawsuit waiting to happen? It's all very curious. I'm sure, however, the overall emotional experience is the same. They're probably looking forward to the evening, and they have their hopes and expectations as I did. Some of them will wind up on the positive side of the evening, and some will wind up on the negative, because that's just the way the world works. Ah, anyway...I wonder.

But they'll at least have a football game. Thankfully that much hasn't changed.

Posted by: Kathy at 03:24 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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