Hillbilly Holiday Highlights

Installing a door with my dad,
Cost: Free -- Salvaging parts from the local dump.
Not having him yell at me whenever I lose my grip during installation,
Cost: Priceless.

Plus, you know your friends rock whenever they play Johann Sebastian Bach’s “Ode to Joy” on their new hammered dulcimer when all iPods lose power.

pets! in hats!

peace on earth and goodwill toward small pets that have no defense against easily amused owners.

"Gift of Blankness"

If you’re like me, you are sick of VH-1 specials of eight hundred comedians giving their three million different takes on one theme. I love to hate the “I Love” series in which a network pays people to sit and make snide comments about pop culture. If I wanted to partake in this, all I have to do is have a couple of friends over for dinner and a film like Point Break starring Patrick Swayze and Keanu Reeves.

To my horror, this trend of superficiality laced with irony is no longer a fad but a way of life. This movement was coined by Jesse, and best explained by Alex Blagg (and observed by many) as the “New Sincerity.” If I were to process this into my magical critical/social theory skills, I would say that Americans particularly are sick of crap. Particularly hypocritical crap. Case in point, we want to “shock and awe” a country because we believe they may have WMD. Motive: We want oil. They have a lot of it and probably can’t defend themselves. Hey, coincidentally, we also have this excuse of a domestic terror attack that we could use as a scapegoat. Unfortunately, our leadership did not foresee the less than peaceful welcome.

Another example is paying an exorbitant amount of money for "health care" wherein exchange we receive overpriced and limited medical attention in addition to extremely long waits in office lobbies wherein we contract additional diseases from wailing, young children who do not have parents that teach them the importance of god forsaken covering their mouths whenever they cough, sneeze, vomit and emit piercing squeals. [And I thought Indian health care was bad. I would forego "health care" for Indian hospitals any day (but there are no Indian hospitals in Indiana so we will talk about that another time). This is not considering the American population who neither have the luxury of health care nor hold a CDIB card. You get the picture?]

In our search for some sort of real meaning and depth, we look to our recent past that was so real that it was unreal. Like Bret Michaels donning pink, glittery lip gloss and singing, “UnSkinny Bop.” These people were serious about their stupidity, whereas now we are just stupid by being too serious. We prefer fortified cereal with marshmallows and high sugar content. Or gummy bear vitamins. Or glamorizing reality television. Or buying artists’ records that were produced before they ever played live. And then forgiving them for lip syncing live. Or supporting our children’s education with lottery money.

So ‘tis the Spirit, bitches. Alas, I did not win the holiday new sincerity contest hosted by the aforementioned Blagg Blogg and Splangy. So, in the words of Point Break’s Brodhi, this is my “gift of blankness” to you.

Providing Impoverished Third-World Children with Fashion Dolls
The Official Christian Charity of the New Sincerity

Because Mattel will save you from hell.

"I found the most beautiful bride Barbie doll somebody sent. And down that little rocky path again came little Sarah, and this time grinning from ear to ear. She bathed her little face and combed her little hair so straight and found some kind of a little -- not a ribbon. It looked like it was a piece of cord like she found a cord like someone tied a horse up or something. And she made it all like a bow. And she stuck this in her hair with a little piece of wire. And she was the cutest little thing. Bare footed but clean. And when she walked up there and I was able to hand into those little arms the little bride doll and showed her the picture of Jesus on it. And I said Sarah who gave this to you? And that little hand went straight up to Jesus, Jesus did. Jesus did. And that's the joy of being able to do that.”
- Journal Entry from Jan of “Praise the Lord”
http://www.smileofachild.org/about/index.php/1/6.html

In essence, Barbie dolls are more filling than food.

Oh piddle

Do you remember that time at the Z104.5 Edge Birthday Bash before Weezer graced the stage for three songs? It was somewhere after drinking four of the $9, 12 ounces of cat urine golden goodness called sponsored domestic beer. This was right before being nailed in the head by a 13 year-old crowd surfer and directly after basking in the 101 degree Oklahoman sun at noon. Somewhere between this time span, I consumed a $6 bottle of Dasani water. And I just had to, you know, go see a man about a horse. Powder my nose. Punish some porcelain. S hake the dew off the lily. But Southern Culture on the Skids was next in the lineup and I can’t waste the time at some portapotty, waiting behind a girl complaining about how her ripped fishnets do not match her mary janes but her new tattoo itches so much and ohmygod can you believe that she is dating doug because doug was so with brittany the other night and god knows what disease she might be carrying*.

Well, those days are no more. Ladies, I bring you the p-mate. You can purchase them here, but the Dutch site is prettier. Plus, I like that they use the word “trousers” for the American word “pants.” Because “pants” in England means “panties,” and can cause some awkward situations when trying to borrow “pants” from a British girl.

This product harkens back to the days before the p-mate. When keggers in rock quarries required pre-planning, such as remembering my Quilted Northern with my Camel Golds. Also learning survival skills such as finding adequate foliage, and judging incline and wind direction. For added security, selecting a potty mate early in the evening to alert you of any incoming disruptions, such as wildlife and stray drunkards, is essential.

My worst outdoor experience was one winter evening during which I consumed many strawberry-flavored daiquiris that induced an uncontrollable girly giggliness. I decided to meander into the darkness for a quick break. While lurking in the shadows was a lone stump, waiting for its opportunity to attack my bum while I was in the perched position. Luckily, it only caught my left cheek and spared my orifices.

So, hurrah to the inventor of the p-mate, the saviour of splashed shoes and bruised bums. The matronly saint of snow tidings in yellow cursive.

*Please note sarcasm in mentioning the above bands. In fact, I’m way cool about my music. Just check my myspace profile where I list all of my favorite bands by genre, era, and geographical origin. This, by the way, takes up my entire profile. I have no life. Enter more sarcasm here and a picture on my profile in which I did not have the p-mate available**. Also, enter gaffaw here because this isn’t my real picture. In fact, it’s actually a man. And I also don’t have a myspace profile. Jeez. Stop taking me so literally.

**Link found via Kristin Tracy.