Oh, man. This is funny. I can only imagine that the irrepressible Mummies of England were either laughing their fool, yet well-coiffed, heads off or were so scandalized that they just slapped the telly off.

There really isn't an in-between on this one.

Shamelessly pilfered from Margi, who, under the circumstances, could not have titled her post any better.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:10 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Yeah!

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I suppose, on one of them thar' sidebars, I should publish a warning that if you send me a stupid email, it will henceforth be published and subjected to harsh mockery. Well, I don't have any such warning posted. Pfft. Like that's gonna stop me.

While I've never had the need to publish such a warning---mainly because the Cake Eater mailbox has, mostly, been an unloved, ignored place---today has proved to be the exception to the rule. After all, it's not everyday you receive an email heralding that, since you have set yourself up as a vigorous opponent of Islamofascism, a fatwa has been issued against you.

Since whomever wrote this email has their wires crossed in such a way that they could light up Antarctica simply by blinking two times really fast, I feel the compulsion to have a little fun at their expense.

Let the mockery begin! more...

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The husband has said in the past that we should simply send in the Marines and that would be the end of that.

Jeff G. says, "{...} I say we take off and nuke the entire site from orbit."

Me? Well, I think we should just make everyone that works there eat a lot of French cheese, wait for the lactose intolerance to set in, and then light a match.

Cost effective, no?

Posted by: Kathy at 01:30 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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...to take on the Xenophobe Hour of Power (aka "Lou Dobbs Tonight") than the crack young staff at "The Hatemonger's Quarterly?"

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Yesterday, my neighbor put me to shame.

To explain: I like to bake. I really go all out during this time of year, too. The problem with this is that the husband and I can't eat all that I produce, even when I just stick to the basic favorites. Simply. Cannot. Eat. It. All. Or. Hips. Would. Go. Even. Wider. Than. Already. Are. Which would be bad. Neither do I want to listen to the husband complain about his lovehandles expanding. No one needs that. (And I'm positive he doesn't want to listen to my complaints about hip expansion, either, so fair's fair.)

This was a conundrum for a large number of years. We want all the goodies, but don't want fudge sitting around until February, either. When we actually attained neighbors that we liked (well, for the most part) a solution presented itself: I'd bake all the stuff we liked, would box most of it up and give it away as Christmas/Hannukah/Ramadan gifties. (The three major religions---as well as a token agnostic in the form of the husband---are well represented in the Cake Eater Alley.) This worked perfectly: we'd get the stuff we liked, but body parts wouldn't expand, and we'd get in good with the people who lived around us. Perfect, no?

Well, it was until the nasty Cake Eater Neighbor expanded his house, which included another huge kitchen for his (exceedingly lovely and very nice) wife's baking habit. She didn't like to bake in her old kitchen: it was too small. So, while their regular kitchen is now the size of a football field, she has another kitchen in their basement which is specifically set aside for her baking. A problem arose when she appropriated my habit of baking for the neighbors at Christmastime.

The first year she did this, I wasn't worried because everyone told me that my stuff was better. And I knew that they meant it. Great. I was confident in my abilities and everyone still wanted my stuff, and would go so far as to drop veiled requests for a larger share of the lemon bar stash and would wonder aloud about when the box of goodies would arrive. The second year was when the problem appeared: she decided that she was going to go whole hog and produced a huge tin of many varied sorts of cookies for our consumption. And they were good, too: the tin that was delivered to our house was snarfed down in record time. I had gained competition, it seemed, but the outcome of the race was unsure. Her first batch of cookies was nothing to write home about. But the second, well...as noted above, they were good, and the presentation was excellent.

This year, however, she went nuts. The third time round, indeed, appears to be the charm.

Crap.

Yesterday, high on Christmas Cheer, the obnoxious Cake Eater Neighbor delivered a oversized gift bag full of the following, most of it impeccably presented in clear, beribboned bags, replete with printed labels:

1. A huge bag of adulterated Chex party mix (which is really damn good)
2. A huge bag of this caramel coated puffy stuff mixed with cashews (the husband's favorite)
3. An oversized tin of Christmas cookies: macaroons, ginger bread men, coconut balls---and those are just the ones I've eaten. There's lots more in there. All perfectly baked and positively scrumptious.
4. A bag of pan baked chocolate chip cookies
5. An extra bag of those puffy white cookies that are coated with powdered sugar. And there are two chocolate cookies in that bag, too, that are also coated with powdered sugar. (She even thought to put the stuff coated in powdered sugar in a separate bag!)
6. A jar of elderberry jelly (she canned!)
7. And the most clever use of extra homegrown tomatoes that I've seen yet: a bottle of homemade Bloody Mary mix. (Which, I am sad to say, I'm going to regift: I despise Bloody Marys, and as the husband doesn't drink anymore and doesn't see the point in drinking Virgin Marys, well, there's no real use in keeping it around, is there? Besides, we'd have to buy celery. The ickiness of spiced tomato juice aside, it's still pretty darn clever if you ask me.)

How, I ask you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, am I to compete with that?

My little box of extra goodies is going to look like crap when compared to hers. And I have to whine a bit, because she got the friggin' idea from me, and now she's completely outdone me. She's put me in the shade. I can't up or vary my recipes: we just can't eat any more than we already do and I don't want to switch things around just to compete. While I'm sure she's looking forward to my cookies and is completely unaware of the angst she's created in me because she is a really nice person (despite her atrocious taste in husbands) she's nonetheless boxed me in and I don't like it.

Grrrrr.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:47 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Damn. I wish I'd written this.

It appears I'm not the only one who's had it with the constant staging and restaging of The Vagina Monologues.

{hat tip: Drew}

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What the hell is it with these people?

LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - Dozens of children visited Michael Jackson (news)'s Neverland Valley Ranch on Friday at the invitation of the pop superstar who is awaiting trial on child molestation charges.

Three buses containing mostly grade-school children and some parents as well as five minivans drove through the gates of Jackson's sprawling estate in the foothills above Santa Barbara, California, Reuters photographers said.

It was unclear where the children had come from. Jackson's spokeswoman said on Thursday such invitations were regularly extended to groups including churches.

What the @#$k are these people thinking? Let's take a crack. Could it be something like...

...Oh, it's Michael Jackson! Never mind that he's a freak---with a capital 'F'---of nature. Never mind that a grown man has a goddamn amusement park at his house. Never mind that he's facing charges that he sexually molested a young boy. Never mind that pedophiles are the worst of the worst sexual predators when it comes to recividism. Never mind that when there's smoke, there must be a frickin' fire somewhere nearby. Never mind any and all of that----HE'S A CELEBRITY AND HE'S RICH! Therefore we must get as close as humanly possible to him, lest he decided to shower us---the unwashed and unfamous masses---with his largesse on the day we're in the same zipcode with him.

Could that be it? Ya think?

Man.

I feel for all the people whose children have been molested by strangers. They must just be absolutely appalled that people would allow their children to get anywhere near this freak. I can only think that it must be like being forced to watch a train wreck and being able to do nothing to stop it.

Sigh.

Posted by: Kathy at 02:32 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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It had to happen sometime.

The San Antonio City Council has passed a measure to regulate strippers:

SAN ANTONIO - Strippers in this city will soon have to put on something they can't take off — a business license.

The City Council on Friday approved a measure requiring exotic dancers to apply for permits and wear them while performing.

Law enforcement authorities said the rule, which was unanimously approved by the 11-member council and goes into effect in 10 days, will allow them to quickly identify those dancers who are breaking nudity ordinances. (Among other things, full nudity and contact with customers are not allowed in San Antonio strip clubs.)

"We're trying to reduce criminal activity inside the establishments on the part of the entertainers, i.e., prostitution," said Lt. Mike Gorhum, who heads the vice squad.

The permit — expected to be roughly half the size of a credit card — would include the dancer's stage name and a photo. Police would be able to check that information against club records to determine her real name and other personal data.

{...}The new rule also mandates a 3-foot space between dancers and patrons to ensure no touching during table dances. Such contact is already banned, though violations are not uncommon.

Proving that once again, if you can't ban it, the best way to control it is to regulate it!

Snort.

More ruminations after the jump. more...

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I didn't feel like working this afternoon, so I hopped a bus to the mall and went to go and see a matinee of Flight of the Phoenix.

Dennis Quaid is, indeed, sans shirt for a few scenes.

This is good.

If you need more details than that, well, you'll find them after the jump. more...

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Drew makes some very good points about the Michael Moore vs. Mel Gibson, flog to the death-athon that's happening within the media as Awards Season starts.

Moore's film concerns politics. Gibson's film concerns faith. Creating this false dichotomy may also put faith and politics in competition, or perhaps equate them in a dangerous way -- as if both filims express extremist views, or both play fast and loose with the truth.

When drawing ideological divisions in this country, it's tempting to call "The Passion" a Red State movie, and "Fahrenheit 9/11" a Blue State movie, but labels are never that simple. Just as there are people who are not professing Christians who support our President, there are certainly people critical of George Bush who also have faith in Christ.

Go read the whole thing.

Posted by: Kathy at 03:16 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Taking to heart the general consensus of my very generous commenters, I am starting with Jeeves. Then will move on to Psmith and then the golf stories, leaving Blandings for last.

As such, I have reserved Very Good, Jeeves, Much Obliged, Jeeves and Ring for Jeeves. And courtesy o' the Hennepin County Library's incredibly generous delivery policy, which allows for the winging of books hither and thither across the county, I shall be picking them up at my branch within the next week or so.

Thanks for all of your help, and I will update when I get into them.

Posted by: Kathy at 03:08 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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And no, I'm not talking about this or this or this. (Although, while the critics appear to be evenly divided about whether the last one sucks rocks or is a bit of escapist fun, the reason I want to see it is because I've always had the hots for Dennis Quaid, and he's sans shirt in it! Woohoo!)

Rather, I'm talking about this. Make sure you watch all three movies. Then go and listen to Jonathan's critique.

How the hell he got three plus minutes of funny, yet somehow valid, film critique out of those I have no idea.

{hat tip: Galley Slaves}

Posted by: Kathy at 02:21 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Just got a photo Christmas card from my brother's family.

My fourteen year-old-niece, who, when I saw her this past summer, swore she was never going to smoke or drink because she'd seen the movie Thirteen and it scared her straight, has gone goth.

Yep. That's right. Goth.

She has dyed her formerly brown hair to that purply-black color that generally leads to bad things. Like dark purple lipstick, loads of black eyeliner, tattoos of Japanese characters that look cool, but in all reality mean "I'm an idiot," and multiple piercings in places most of us would cringe to think of having a needle touch. While she's wearing a very pretty, well-adjusted smile, a normal amount of makeup and a sweater that I'd swipe if we lived in the same town, it's the hair that's completely throwing me. It's black! What the hell?

This is surprising behavior from the girl who literally begged her parents for tickets to a Britney Spears concert for her birthday. As in she wrote a dissertation on why she should be allowed to go and posted it on the kitchen bulletin board, for all and sundry to read and chuckle about. Em didn't give care what other people would think of it: she simply wanted to go thought that if by posting her dissertation for all to read that perhaps she could gain a few allies, well, so be it. She's got chutzpah. Moxie. Whatever you want to call it. I can only surmise that this hair coloring adventure was not Mom and Dad approved. It was probably achieved in a friend's bathroom, under the cover of a slumber party.

Ah, the joys of transitioning from grade school to high school. I'm sure she'll outgrow it, but damn. Em! Your hair is black!? What the heck were you thinking? Aieeeeee.

Of course, this makes me wonder about high school nowadays. Particularly the high school she attends, because it's the same high school where I matriculated. All I can say is that there must not be too many hard-ass nuns left teaching there, because if Sr. Anthony (and yes, that was her name) was alive, well, let's just say my lovely niece would receive a reaming like you wouldn't believe based strictly on the color of her hair.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:40 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Man, that's just disturbing.

Ah, well. At least I won't have to bite my nails to the quick during next year's World Series, wondering when Pedro's arm is going to give out.

Posted by: Kathy at 05:41 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Oliver Stone sez that Alexander didn't do well in the States because Americans iz stooopid. At least when compared to those Humanities lovin' Europeans.

"People in America are apathetic to ancient history — they are," Stone told reporters Thursday in Paris. "They don't study the classics like they do in Europe, so there is a significant difference in reaction. I know this because I've been in 12 foreign countries in the last month, to 12 openings."

The director noted that his film — based on the life of Alexander the Great — was No. 1 in about 18 countries, including Greece. He said he's happy just to share the story of Alexander.

"It was a privilege to make a film about such a unique man, so financial concerns were not uppermost," he said. "I'm glad people can at least get a part of his mind and remember this man because he will be forgotten."

Of course the reason that this movie failed wasn't that the movie sucked, but rather that we Americans are apathetic to ancient history. And of course financial concerns weren't an issue: he's a friggin' genius and as such he's not ever going to be held accountable by the Gods of Money in Hollywood. They'll just keep forking over the cash for him to make movies that suck.

Because he's Oliver Stone and all. His reputation precedes him.

By at least a mile. And makes people laugh at his delusions of grandeur.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:59 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Can somebody find this guy and kill him?

Please?

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Honestly, is there anything better than Blaques Jacques Chirac shooting off his mouth to make your day better?

Tee hee.

President Jacques Chirac lifted a French flag from a plaque and dedicated the Millau span, which is billed as the worldÂ’s tallest road bridge.

{...}“This exceptional opening will go down in industrial and technological history,” Chirac said, praising the bridge’s designers and builders for creating “a prodigy of art and architecture – a new emblem of French civil engineering”.

The bridge will serve as a symbol of “a modern and conquering France”, he said.

(my emphasis)

A conquering France. Hmmm.

What's that old joke? French rifles for sale: never fired, only dropped once.

Of course, I'm assuming he meant "conquering" in the most literal sense of the word. It could be a metaphor or something equally obscure. Seriously.

Posted by: Kathy at 11:42 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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...when it comes to this sort of thing. Sigh. You know who's responsible for feeding my addiction to these sorts of things: the blog which shall not be named because I feel like a very weak person for always succumbing and I'll be damned if I'm going to give them any credit.

Read on after the jump if you're interested. more...

Posted by: Kathy at 11:23 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Much to the detriment of my reputation as a literary lionness, I must admit that I have never read any of P.G. Wodehouse's work. Thinking it was time I remedied this problem, I was browsing through the online catalog of our local library system the other day and completely failed to suss out the beginnings of his enormous catalog. I have absolutely no clue as to where to start. Usually I can suss this sort of thing out with a little patience and perserverance. Not so with Wodehouse.

Soooo...

Do I read Blandings first or do I stick strictly with Jeeves?

Where did you, you estimable Wodehouse fans, start with your obsession? Gimme the details, too. I want the reasoning behind your choices.

I'm counting on you people. Don't let me down.

Posted by: Kathy at 02:55 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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