The Daily Hose-Down

That should be the name of whatever newsletter congressmen get. But today it's all about Thelonious' favorite hot afternoon pastime -- getting sprayed by the garden hose. Here's how it works -- it's hot out, I arrive home, I tell Thelonious to pretend he's Lindsay Lohan in a jail cell, then I say "shower time!" and he goes completely ape shit.

First, he gets terribly excited. In this instance, the anticipation causes him to momentarily evolve into a biped -- a very docile-looking velociraptor, I think -- then he very gracefully transitions into the ape shit phase.

Then he gets cranky about the hose being shut down. This is what Sarah Palin did off camera right after that uber-bitch Katie Couric got all up in her pageant bangs and asked her that super impossibly hard and terribly personal question,"What do you read?"

Then he gets dried off so that when step four rolls along, he doesn't go all black lab face on me.

Then he accepts defeat and goes all pig dog. You may think he is attempting to dry himself, but he is in fact just trying to rub all of the "No!" 's off.

Then, just to clear the tiny brain, he takes a consolation dump.

Medium Cooper

It's time for my occasional mechanical obsession. Last time it was a blender (YOU go from whipping cream with a fork to a KitchenAid). This time it's an automobile. Mini has come out with a new tiny car, only this one is a little less tiny, a little more...medium. But Medium Cooper doesn't sound good, I guess, so they're just calling it a Mini. Which means now I have a couple of problems with Mini -- they've labeled a Medium a Mini, and, more importantly, they do not use midgets in their advertisements.

This is the new Countryman, Mini's latest bean on wheels. As you can see, the people in the picture think it's so handsome, they've collapsed.

It looks a little bit tiny. Certainly tinier than most cars. But mini? To show you how decidedly medium this Mini is, here's the Countryman next to an original Cooper. Elephant in the room? I think yes.

Countryman: GREETINGS, TINY CAR!

Cooper: Wee, wee, wee, wee!

And here's the modern Cooper next to the Countryman. Not that huge a difference, I guess. But where the fuck are the midgets?

Eyebrow Factory

It's been pretty warm here in the Queen City of the West, we have no air conditioner, but a ceiling fan that blows our misery around the room, and Thelonious is shedding fur like a congressman sheds his pants for a Twitter pic. Like a good wife, I sweep every day, and every day I come up with the same pile of white fuzz (and mud and house plant pieces and long lost macaroni). Today, after furminating Thelonious (there is an actual pet brush called the "Furminator," and we have it), I took a couple of Christmas card pictures.

In this one you see Andy Rooney's eyebrows when Andy is very curious about something -- Why the mail doesn't come every day at precisely the same time? Who's stolen his fourteen carat slinky? Which tweed jacket to look grumpy in? We'll never know.

And here you see Thelonious wearing Andy Rooney's eyebrows. Doesn't he look like such a wrinkly old asshole?

Father's Day Dance-Off

We played a little Michael Jackson Experience up at Levi's brother's house today. It's an XBox Kinect game that requires one to dance along with Michael Jackson backup dancers to Michael Jackson songs. The little magic box makes a hologram of the person in front of it up on the T.V., so you get to watch yourself doing whatever you're supposed to be doing. It's designed to make you feel bad about yourself and your whiteness. Which makes me think Jacko's fade from black to white was a purposeful and cruel joke on we pale, beat-less folk. I only want to think that because it makes Michael a little more funny, a little less I-moved-arcade-games-into-my-hotel-rooms-and-named-my-children-after-lame-inanimate-objects weird. Blanket? Weird. Grab your crotch while balancing on your toes and tilting your fedora over your brow while you're white? Totally awesome.

We stuck to Michael Jackson Experience Thriller and Bad and Smooth Criminal, which turned out to be funny later when Levi was dancing with Thelonious and making up his own words -- you've been hit by...you've been struck by...a smooth fox terrier. (This is where I'm supposed to insert a photoshopped photo of Thelonious wearing a sparkly glove, but that takes effort, and this is a half-assed blog). Blow job points for Levi, am I right? I refused to dance because I'm shy when I'm not drunk or brimming with coffee cake and egg souffle. These things make me either A) uninteresting, or B) a nasty You Tube video waiting to happen. But I now do desire an XBox Kinect just so I could practice Michael Jackson moves in the privacy of my souffle-free T.V. room. I'm tired of having to break out the sprinkler at weddings and parites, and I think my friends and family deserve better.

Newsletter

Congressman Anthony Weiner is seeking therapy. You know what they say -- if your sex scandal lasts for more than four hours, see a doctor.

(Washington) Sarah Palin is insisting that she wasn't wrong when she claimed that Paul Revere's famous ride was intended to warn both British soldiers and Revere's fellow colonists. Well, that and he had to get to Starbucks before it closed.

There's a new triple decker Oreo cookie. With three layers of cookie and two layers of "I can't fit into these pants."

The Connecticut woman whose face was torn off by her neighbor's chimpanzee has a new face. And you thought George was curious before the accident.

New photos of the Milky Way's twin are out. Imagine that -- twins in the universe that Playboy has not yet contacted.

John Edwards says he did not break the law with his campaign funds. No surprise John's just kind of waiting for this whole problem to just kind of die.

You can now buy a Congressman Anthony Weiner doll. It even comes with accessories -- a cell phone, a hair brush, even its own Twitter password.

Sarah Palin's 24,000 emails don't seem to be revealing any new information. [Except of course that now we know her favorite Beatle was Vinny.]

Scientists say they have found a "master switch" gene for obesity. No surprise the switch is all tucked away in our brains like a remote control between fat rolls.

Wells Fargo has reached an agreement with the government to pay up to $16 million to settle complaints from customers who are deaf. Because money talks, but it apparently does not sign.

A dead rhino was found on the property belonging to an Albuquerque, New Mexico man. A sure sign that the economy is finally turning around.

The National Pinball Museum in Washington is closing. It's the same old story -- they ran out of quarters.

Lady Gaga and Madonna are distant cousins. No wonder their potato salad recipes taste so similar.

Some new photos of Hitler have been uncovered. I'm guessing there's a reason Hitler hid the picture of himself wearing Mickey ears so well.

Sarah Palin has authorized a feature-length film about her rise. Buy a ticket to that movie, and you get a free bucket of Palin memoirs.

Real Housewives of Atlanta's Kim Zolciak gave birth to a baby boy. Both mom and accessory are doing well.

Shaquille O'Neal is retiring. I'm sad that Shaq's leaving the game, but think of how many families will have new homes once the guy recycles all of his old shoes.

A new superstore-sized garden center in Phoenix will cater to those who want to grow their own marijuana. And you thought Walmart's greeters were slow.

Scientists have trapped antimatter for more than 16 minutes. Still no word on how they got the cast of "Jersey Shore" to stay in one room for that long.

Justin Bieber won a country music trophy. First Justin Bieber wins a country music award, next thing you know Lady Gaga will be honored by the USDA.

Britain's Prince Philip received a new royal title from his wife Queen Elizabeth II as a gift on his 90th birthday. Wouldn't you know it, it's the Duke of Prunes.

Hugh Hefner's wedding this weekend was canceled because his 25-year-old Playmate fiancee changed her mind. What a waste of half a wedding dress.

How To Get What You Want

When you want a beer, you go straight to Lindsay Lohan's glove compartment and get it.

When you want a headache, you use your Twitter account to send out photos of the bulge in your pants.

When you want an NBA championship ring, you produce your own prime time special, move to Miami, then keep on tryin'.

When you want to kiss David Letterman, you train your duck to eat cottage cheese out of your mouth, have a swig of whiskey, then walk onto the stage of the Ed Sullivan Theater.

When you want to take Alan Rickman out for a glass of wine, you take a swig of whiskey, then start writing a screenplay just for him.

This is just to say I haven't been so excited to write something since I revised the gospels. And, hot damn, this project probably won't get me sent to hell. So that's neat.

By Grabthar's Hammer...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kgv7U3GYlDY

Snape Crush

Levi and I have been on a Harry Potter movie-watching rampage, and I've unexpectedly fallen in love with Severus Snape. It could maybe possibly maybe be Alan Rickman that I'm in love with, too. I'm trying to figure it out.

I've had this problem before, some of you know, and that culminated in an awkward, wet kiss on the Ed Sullivan stage and what I like to call a two-hundred dollar severance check. It would perhaps be keen of Alan Rickman to begin keeping an eye open for a cottage cheese-eating duck -- when the premonition arises, things are always swift, always certain. My apologies in advance.

So Levi's having to bear both his wife's fictional character slash celebrity crush and an Alan Rickman-heavy Netflix queue -- Robin Hood (Sheriff of Nottinghman), Galaxy Quest (Worf's lesser-known, purpler cousin), Dogma (pants-dropping seraphim), Sweeney Todd (Judge Turpin), Michael Collins (not Snape), Nobel Son (not Snape) -- but now I'm asking if he'll start wearing a dark wig, cape and eyeliner to bed, requests with which so far he seems reasonably less cool.

Rickman plays interesting people. Harry Potter would be mostly quidditch dust and Malfoy's pomade if it weren't for Snape. Die Hard would be nothing but Bruce Willis stank and chest hair if not for Hans Gruber. And that Family Guy scene featuring Alan Rickman's answering machine? Simply pointless if Alan Rickman hadn't called and left a message on his own answering machine. Thank you, Alan Rickman, for taking on interesting parts. They make you a better person, and they go better with your eyebrows.

Here's a fun Alan Rickman fact -- the information superhighway tells me that "two researchers, a linguist and a sound engineer, found 'the perfect [male] voice' to be a combination of Rickman's and Jeremy Irons's voices based on a sample of 50 voices." Well I'll be damned and take a good spit out the window if I ever thought of that. I think they might consider throwing James Earl Jones's baritone into the mix, but who am I? Just the girl who sat on a toilet seat warmed by James Earl Jones before the Letterman engagement. Did I ever mention that happened? Because it did. And it was awesome.

If you're thinking about buying a new book...

it might as well be this one because four of my stories are in it:

30 Under 30 ed. by Lily Hoang and Blake Butler Pub Date: June 1, 2011 Publisher: Starcherone ISBN: 978-0-9842133-3-7, Paperback, $20

Starcherone’s 30 Under 30 is the weird cousin of the New Yorker’s great but predictable 20 Under 40 anthology. Some of the writers showcased here are familiar to lovers of innovative fiction – most notably, Joshua Cohen – but the amount of new names is refreshing. The writing is also excellent. My favorite story is Black Kids in Lemon Trees by Shane Jones, author of the novel-soon-to-be-a-movie Light Boxes. The story is a bloody but beautiful tale of 200 cops stuck in a cloud, clubbing birds, shooting guns, and trying to get down. If that sounds weird, that’s because it is weird, very weird, but it works. Second on my list is Angi Becker Stevens’ story, Blood, Not Sap, a cute vignette about a woman’s relationship with a tree who becomes a man. Jaclyn Dwyer’sBiography of a Porn Star in Three Parts might be the most touching reflection on hardcore pornography ever written. On the whole, this anthology gives me a lot of hope for the writers of my generation. If you only order one short story anthology this summer, make sure this is it.

http://www.amazon.com/30-Under-Anthology-Innovative-Fiction/dp/0984213333