October 4th, 2009
My friend Mary told me that I would never win any handwriting awards. This is really a shame because there is nothing I would love more than to be the recipient of that trophy. I would display it next to my ribbons for being the state champion of napping. I admit that my handwriting might resemble that of a 5 year old, a doctor's prescription or upon analysis, put me in the category of serial killer.
I do have an excuse for my “special” style of written script. I am a PROUD member of the 10 percent of the population that are lefties, southpaws, sinistrals. All these terms describe our misunderstood group of people. Lefties have been unfairly treated for hundreds of years. Did you know that the Bible contains about 25 unfavorable references to the left hand? I didn't either. Jews are always the last to learn fun New Testament trivia.
Right-handed people are thought to process information using a “linear sequential" method while left-handed persons are thought use “visual simultaneous" to process information. I don't want to get into the scientifics of that which sways us to the left or the right. I just want to be the voice for those of us lefties, with ink on our hands, who have grown tired of right- handers with their "Oh spiral notebooks and lecture class desks are made for our superior race.”
The majority of lefties that I have crossed paths with are seldom mediocre. I see my people as extremely gifted or fucked up. Often both and seldom no shades of gray in between. Statistics show left-handed people are more likely to die young, be schizophrenic, alcoholic, delinquent or dyslexic. Awesome. Sure we might believe in Dog, but our brain's award winning right hemisphere deals with music, art, perception, emotions, and other forms of abstract thinking. Did you know that many of the world's great artists, leaders and thinkers are left-handed? The last 4 out 5 presidents were lefties. The one who wasn’t? Yes, the linguistic impaired George W. ‘Nuff said. We’re also in the good company of famous musicians, scientists, comedians, and athletes. Some of the most notable southpaws are Jimi Hendrix, Babe Ruth, Leonardo da Vinci, Paul McCartney, Tina Fey, Bill Gates and Jerry Seinfeld.
So lefties, please join me on August 13th, International Left-Handers Day, where we'll celebrate sinistrality and increase public awareness for our dominant hand.
Don’t be envious righties. Hey, firearms are made in your favor. While I’m venturing down the road to perfect alcoholism and artistry, you’ll be overwhelmed with emotion as you say, “This moment is bigger than me” as you receive your Best Handwriting golden statue.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Day 56 - The Great Happiness of Taxidermy
October 3rd, 2009
I threw it out to YOU today(via my Facebook status update) and asked for a word that I can blog about. David Hammond and Neil James, both residents of the metro New York area, replied simultaneously. I will incorporate both of their suggestions. Dave gave me “taxidermy” and Neil suggested the mini phrase “Great Happiness!” Yes, that’s two words(and an exclamation point) but he’s one of my favorite gays who feeds me while watching “True Blood” at his cozy apartment. I’ll let it go.
Although limited, I have had a few run-ins with deceased, stuffed and mounted animals. One commonality that I have taken note of is that they all seem to be smiling. At first glance, this seems astonishing considering their last contact was with a rifle wielding hunter(presumably a waspy Ivy League alumni named Farnsworth, an inbred good ol’ boy or the lovechild of Dick Cheney and Sarah Palin.)
I have peeled the onion(or skin) of the grinning dead wildlife conundrum. It has occurred to me that the quality of life (or afterlife) of these brutally mutilated wall ornaments has dramatically improved.
Let’s look at why these content murdered mounted beauties have every reason to be experiencing great happiness!:
• Taxidermy is truly a uniter. Not a divider. Where else can mammals, birds, nematodes, reptiles and amphibians live together in harmony on a wood paneled wall deep in the backwoods of Alabama?
• Let’s face it, we’ve seen the statistics and deer will have an unpleasant run in with an automobile at some point in their lives. They’re like a trailer home just waiting to be attacked by a tornado. Once they have passed on, the possibility of a deer/car collision is significantly reduced.
• Mounted animals agree that the removal of their skin for tanning is a bit brutal. But the payoff is worth it. Once the plaster cast of their body is complete, things start getting fun because it’s time to add the artificial teeth! Preying on gazelle can do a number on your pearly whites. Predators seldom get dental insurance and now they have the opportunity to get those sparkling porcelain veneers that they’ve been dreaming about.
• Mounted animals no longer need to bath themselves because their killer will work hard to preserve his “trophy”. Say goodbye to pesky hairballs and the degrading act of self genital cleansing. Taxidermists polishing their prize is comparable to getting a lovely lavender aromatherapy massage. It’s simply a decedent and soothing experience. They only use the finest products. Windex, for example, works wonders when polishing horns, antlers and fur. Just remember, NEVER brush against the grain of the hair. Amateur mistake.
• Proof of karma is certainly something to smile about. For example, let’s say a jaguar preyed on a sheep at 10:00am. Later that day, a drunk fraternity brother named Scooter shot the jag. Now they’re BOTH hanging next to each other, in dead equality, at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house at the University of Georgia. It’s similar to the gratification of seeing that jackass who speed by us on I-85 being pulled over an hour later.
So it seems clear that “Taxidermy”& “Great Happiness!” go together harmoniously just like other great unions in history: The Bush Administration & Ethics, Tom Cruise & His Heterosexuality and OJ Simpson & His Innocence.
I threw it out to YOU today(via my Facebook status update) and asked for a word that I can blog about. David Hammond and Neil James, both residents of the metro New York area, replied simultaneously. I will incorporate both of their suggestions. Dave gave me “taxidermy” and Neil suggested the mini phrase “Great Happiness!” Yes, that’s two words(and an exclamation point) but he’s one of my favorite gays who feeds me while watching “True Blood” at his cozy apartment. I’ll let it go.
Although limited, I have had a few run-ins with deceased, stuffed and mounted animals. One commonality that I have taken note of is that they all seem to be smiling. At first glance, this seems astonishing considering their last contact was with a rifle wielding hunter(presumably a waspy Ivy League alumni named Farnsworth, an inbred good ol’ boy or the lovechild of Dick Cheney and Sarah Palin.)
I have peeled the onion(or skin) of the grinning dead wildlife conundrum. It has occurred to me that the quality of life (or afterlife) of these brutally mutilated wall ornaments has dramatically improved.
Let’s look at why these content murdered mounted beauties have every reason to be experiencing great happiness!:
• Taxidermy is truly a uniter. Not a divider. Where else can mammals, birds, nematodes, reptiles and amphibians live together in harmony on a wood paneled wall deep in the backwoods of Alabama?
• Let’s face it, we’ve seen the statistics and deer will have an unpleasant run in with an automobile at some point in their lives. They’re like a trailer home just waiting to be attacked by a tornado. Once they have passed on, the possibility of a deer/car collision is significantly reduced.
• Mounted animals agree that the removal of their skin for tanning is a bit brutal. But the payoff is worth it. Once the plaster cast of their body is complete, things start getting fun because it’s time to add the artificial teeth! Preying on gazelle can do a number on your pearly whites. Predators seldom get dental insurance and now they have the opportunity to get those sparkling porcelain veneers that they’ve been dreaming about.
• Mounted animals no longer need to bath themselves because their killer will work hard to preserve his “trophy”. Say goodbye to pesky hairballs and the degrading act of self genital cleansing. Taxidermists polishing their prize is comparable to getting a lovely lavender aromatherapy massage. It’s simply a decedent and soothing experience. They only use the finest products. Windex, for example, works wonders when polishing horns, antlers and fur. Just remember, NEVER brush against the grain of the hair. Amateur mistake.
• Proof of karma is certainly something to smile about. For example, let’s say a jaguar preyed on a sheep at 10:00am. Later that day, a drunk fraternity brother named Scooter shot the jag. Now they’re BOTH hanging next to each other, in dead equality, at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house at the University of Georgia. It’s similar to the gratification of seeing that jackass who speed by us on I-85 being pulled over an hour later.
So it seems clear that “Taxidermy”& “Great Happiness!” go together harmoniously just like other great unions in history: The Bush Administration & Ethics, Tom Cruise & His Heterosexuality and OJ Simpson & His Innocence.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Day 55 - Inanimate Object Whisperer
October 2nd, 2009
In 7th grade, we had a creative writing assignment and one of my classmates wrote something that inspired a response in me that went something like, “Damn, I wish I wrote that.” His essay was from the perspective of a carved pumpkin sitting on a suburban porch on Halloween night. The orange gourd-like squash was making observations of all that crossed his path. It all started off so innocently. “Look at these precious children in pirate and superhero costumes.” Then the rising action kicked in. “Wow, these kids seem too old to be trick-or-treating. Why do they have rolls of white paper that they’re throwing into the trees? It’s beautiful!” Then in the final climatic scene, Pumpkin says, “That’s strange. One of these egg throwing toilet paper hurling teens is approaching me. Why are you picking me up? Don’t throw me. No. No. Noooooooooo!” Splat.
As humans, we spend an exorbitant amount of time, money and energy self reflecting and dissecting our ever changing emotions. Unfortunately, inanimate objects are expected to hold in their innermost feelings as if they’re with their family celebrating an awkward waspy Connecticut Christmas. One time in an improv show, we ended up playing items in a purse. I was the only girl so I played the tampon. Obviously. There was something liberating and philanthropic about giving these objects a voice. Soon after this, my HP computer ( his name is Esteban) spoke to me. He had 3 messages. “Don’t type on me so hard. I’m fragile. Like a delicate flower. Secondly, you really need to get Norton AntiVirus. Seriously Jax, don’t be an imbecile." Finally, Esteban said that I must act as a conduit for objects that lack the quality of being alive.
I owed it to myself, to my laptop and to inquiring minds to go upon this journey. Immediately, I started hearing the voices. It was as if I just needed permission to enter the inanimate world . Interesting note, my boobs were the first to reach out to me. They introduced themselves as Mommy 1 and Mommy 2. Both of them really laid into me. “Please, enough with those Victoria Secret Bras. Sure, they have a certain allure..but their lasting power is for shit.” Also, show us off more..we need to breath. It’s getting colder and you’re going to start hiding us behind Performance Fleece. He’s a dick.” Clearly their complaints struck a chord with me because I ended up writing Day 5- Unintentional Cleavage [LINK REMOVED]. The overall message being that letting the ladies out will result with life working for us rather than against us.
I grabbed a bottle of Evian water and went upon my purposeful research. Immediately, the plastic bottle spoke to me. “ Jax, keep drinking my overpriced goodness but this whole ‘I’m from the natural spring’s of Lake Geneva' is bullshit. I was bottled from a toilet at a Shell Gas station off Highway 46 near Denville, New Jersey." Sadly, that revelation made me vomit for the majority of the day. This project was intense and I needed to baby step my way into my calling.
After I had ejected all contents from my stomach from the past year, I decided it would be most logical to hit a sports themed Mexican bar. The voices ran rampant. There seemed to be a lot of jealousies and rivalries among things without heartbeats. The mild salsa felt inferior to the hot salsa, the 150 watt light bulb constantly condescended the 75 watt and the well liquor compared their segregation from the top shelf spirits to America’s race relations in the early 60’s.
Wheel of Fortune was on TV and all of a sudden 14 letters from the alphabet started a rumble with the 12 most common letters: E, T, A, O, I, N, S, H, R, D, L and U. The slighted letters finally backed off, told Pat and Vanna their lack of use was a breach of contract and left in a huff to join Dave Chappelle in South Africa.
I had suffered angry inanimate object overload and needed to end my day’s work and returned home to Esteban(who I’m beginning to think might have questionable connections to the Spanish mafia.) Regardless, He was really proud of me and said that if he had a hand he would pat me on the back . My vocal computer had one final message that he needed me to pass along to all Apple Computers. “I’ve been talking with all the PC’s and we have some issues with you holier than thou Apples.” I told him that I would be happy to relay his message as I see most of them at my local coffee shop down the street. “Please let the motherfuckers know that we are sick of their self righteous, user friendly ways and awesome, dare I say kick ass, graphics. Also, please give the Power Macintosh G3 my number because she’s smokin’ hot.”
In 7th grade, we had a creative writing assignment and one of my classmates wrote something that inspired a response in me that went something like, “Damn, I wish I wrote that.” His essay was from the perspective of a carved pumpkin sitting on a suburban porch on Halloween night. The orange gourd-like squash was making observations of all that crossed his path. It all started off so innocently. “Look at these precious children in pirate and superhero costumes.” Then the rising action kicked in. “Wow, these kids seem too old to be trick-or-treating. Why do they have rolls of white paper that they’re throwing into the trees? It’s beautiful!” Then in the final climatic scene, Pumpkin says, “That’s strange. One of these egg throwing toilet paper hurling teens is approaching me. Why are you picking me up? Don’t throw me. No. No. Noooooooooo!” Splat.
As humans, we spend an exorbitant amount of time, money and energy self reflecting and dissecting our ever changing emotions. Unfortunately, inanimate objects are expected to hold in their innermost feelings as if they’re with their family celebrating an awkward waspy Connecticut Christmas. One time in an improv show, we ended up playing items in a purse. I was the only girl so I played the tampon. Obviously. There was something liberating and philanthropic about giving these objects a voice. Soon after this, my HP computer ( his name is Esteban) spoke to me. He had 3 messages. “Don’t type on me so hard. I’m fragile. Like a delicate flower. Secondly, you really need to get Norton AntiVirus. Seriously Jax, don’t be an imbecile." Finally, Esteban said that I must act as a conduit for objects that lack the quality of being alive.
I owed it to myself, to my laptop and to inquiring minds to go upon this journey. Immediately, I started hearing the voices. It was as if I just needed permission to enter the inanimate world . Interesting note, my boobs were the first to reach out to me. They introduced themselves as Mommy 1 and Mommy 2. Both of them really laid into me. “Please, enough with those Victoria Secret Bras. Sure, they have a certain allure..but their lasting power is for shit.” Also, show us off more..we need to breath. It’s getting colder and you’re going to start hiding us behind Performance Fleece. He’s a dick.” Clearly their complaints struck a chord with me because I ended up writing Day 5- Unintentional Cleavage [LINK REMOVED]. The overall message being that letting the ladies out will result with life working for us rather than against us.
I grabbed a bottle of Evian water and went upon my purposeful research. Immediately, the plastic bottle spoke to me. “ Jax, keep drinking my overpriced goodness but this whole ‘I’m from the natural spring’s of Lake Geneva' is bullshit. I was bottled from a toilet at a Shell Gas station off Highway 46 near Denville, New Jersey." Sadly, that revelation made me vomit for the majority of the day. This project was intense and I needed to baby step my way into my calling.
After I had ejected all contents from my stomach from the past year, I decided it would be most logical to hit a sports themed Mexican bar. The voices ran rampant. There seemed to be a lot of jealousies and rivalries among things without heartbeats. The mild salsa felt inferior to the hot salsa, the 150 watt light bulb constantly condescended the 75 watt and the well liquor compared their segregation from the top shelf spirits to America’s race relations in the early 60’s.
Wheel of Fortune was on TV and all of a sudden 14 letters from the alphabet started a rumble with the 12 most common letters: E, T, A, O, I, N, S, H, R, D, L and U. The slighted letters finally backed off, told Pat and Vanna their lack of use was a breach of contract and left in a huff to join Dave Chappelle in South Africa.
I had suffered angry inanimate object overload and needed to end my day’s work and returned home to Esteban(who I’m beginning to think might have questionable connections to the Spanish mafia.) Regardless, He was really proud of me and said that if he had a hand he would pat me on the back . My vocal computer had one final message that he needed me to pass along to all Apple Computers. “I’ve been talking with all the PC’s and we have some issues with you holier than thou Apples.” I told him that I would be happy to relay his message as I see most of them at my local coffee shop down the street. “Please let the motherfuckers know that we are sick of their self righteous, user friendly ways and awesome, dare I say kick ass, graphics. Also, please give the Power Macintosh G3 my number because she’s smokin’ hot.”
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Day 54 - 1982 -Jax and A Day of Bad Decision Making
October 1st, 2009
It’s a good thing that I wasn’t a young adult living in New York in the early 80’s because I’m pretty certain that I would have had feathered hair and a major coke addiction. Ahhh…. dissenters see three decades ago as the birth of Reaganomics, the beginning of the decade of greed and an unwelcome intro to burgeoning yuppies. But for me, as a youngish child during this time in history, my memories are much lighter.
Let’s look specifically at 1982. That was a very special year for me. I was seven years old and won the tallest trophy(that was almost bigger than I was) at the Starmount Country Club swim team awards ceremony. I earned it for having the “best attitude”. My brother won the second biggest trophy..for well, just being the best.
In my case, innocence and youth persevered during the early 80’s. Let’s make a complete 180 and go down a hypothetical day of me being a hot young hot woman living in the big city in 1982. My day begins with my clock radio blasting Survivor'‘s “Eye Of The Tiger”. I hit the device several times, get myself into an over steamed shower where I stand hunchbacked with my eyes closed, insert my shoulder pads into my “smart female in the workplace” suit and drink a black cup of coffee(standing up) as I peruse the entertainment section of the newspaper. I see that Michael Jackson just released his second album, “Thriller”. Follow-up albums never outdo the debut album.
On my way to work, I walk through the crowded streets with the Go Go’s “We Got the Beat” playing in the backdrop. Where is the music coming from? Doesn’t matter. I’m glad I don’t have a car because I’m in no position to pay the hefty gas price of 91 cents per gallon. I show up at my dead end secretary job where my boss is a sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot. At lunch, I go with two other female coworkers to buy some rope. After seeing “9 to 5” two years ago, we have a little plan for the bastard.
I get home, put on an electric colored leotard and insert my Jane Fonda jazzercise tape into the Beta Max. I don’t work out. I just watch it while I get coked up and drink a Tab. I remain wired in front of the TV. This new NBC anchor, Tom Brokaw says that Ozzy Osbourne bit the head off a bat at a Des Moines concert. I do some more drugs and a sudden burst of euphoria kicks in as I begin manically vacuuming as “Wheel of Fortune Comes on”. Some “starlet” named Vanna White just replaced Susan Stafford as the letter turner. Like she’s gonna last. Just like the limited future for that new Broadway show that I saw last night, “Cats”. Dancing and singing kitties..please. Like that will be around now or forever. My shag carpet, windows and creases between my bathroom tiles are spotless. I’m ready for some primetime TV shows. I have a lot to choose from because I have three channels. I bypass T.J. Hooker , Knight Rider and Fame because singer Jermaine Jackson is guest-starring as Tootie’s idol on a very special “Facts of Life”.
The night is still young and I want to go discothèque-ing at Studio 54 . I doll up in my finest Madonna “street urchin" best that includes short skirt over leggings, rubber bracelets, and fishnet gloves. I arrive and immediately see a Tom Selleck lookalike in a pinstripe suit that I must get to know. Our eyes meet and we saunter towards each other as The Clash’s “Rock The Casbah” blasts. He asks me if I’d like to see “Porky's”. I’m not sure if he means the newly released movie or if it’s sexual innuendo. Either way, we go to the bathroom to get high. The next few hours are a blur but I seek solace that what I don’t remember can never hurt me. I’m not really sure how it happened..but I did make it home and my 23 hour day had come to an end.
Cut to an hour later. I violently hit the alarm clock and feather haired Jax repeats cycle.
It’s a good thing that I wasn’t a young adult living in New York in the early 80’s because I’m pretty certain that I would have had feathered hair and a major coke addiction. Ahhh…. dissenters see three decades ago as the birth of Reaganomics, the beginning of the decade of greed and an unwelcome intro to burgeoning yuppies. But for me, as a youngish child during this time in history, my memories are much lighter.
Let’s look specifically at 1982. That was a very special year for me. I was seven years old and won the tallest trophy(that was almost bigger than I was) at the Starmount Country Club swim team awards ceremony. I earned it for having the “best attitude”. My brother won the second biggest trophy..for well, just being the best.
In my case, innocence and youth persevered during the early 80’s. Let’s make a complete 180 and go down a hypothetical day of me being a hot young hot woman living in the big city in 1982. My day begins with my clock radio blasting Survivor'‘s “Eye Of The Tiger”. I hit the device several times, get myself into an over steamed shower where I stand hunchbacked with my eyes closed, insert my shoulder pads into my “smart female in the workplace” suit and drink a black cup of coffee(standing up) as I peruse the entertainment section of the newspaper. I see that Michael Jackson just released his second album, “Thriller”. Follow-up albums never outdo the debut album.
On my way to work, I walk through the crowded streets with the Go Go’s “We Got the Beat” playing in the backdrop. Where is the music coming from? Doesn’t matter. I’m glad I don’t have a car because I’m in no position to pay the hefty gas price of 91 cents per gallon. I show up at my dead end secretary job where my boss is a sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot. At lunch, I go with two other female coworkers to buy some rope. After seeing “9 to 5” two years ago, we have a little plan for the bastard.
I get home, put on an electric colored leotard and insert my Jane Fonda jazzercise tape into the Beta Max. I don’t work out. I just watch it while I get coked up and drink a Tab. I remain wired in front of the TV. This new NBC anchor, Tom Brokaw says that Ozzy Osbourne bit the head off a bat at a Des Moines concert. I do some more drugs and a sudden burst of euphoria kicks in as I begin manically vacuuming as “Wheel of Fortune Comes on”. Some “starlet” named Vanna White just replaced Susan Stafford as the letter turner. Like she’s gonna last. Just like the limited future for that new Broadway show that I saw last night, “Cats”. Dancing and singing kitties..please. Like that will be around now or forever. My shag carpet, windows and creases between my bathroom tiles are spotless. I’m ready for some primetime TV shows. I have a lot to choose from because I have three channels. I bypass T.J. Hooker , Knight Rider and Fame because singer Jermaine Jackson is guest-starring as Tootie’s idol on a very special “Facts of Life”.
The night is still young and I want to go discothèque-ing at Studio 54 . I doll up in my finest Madonna “street urchin" best that includes short skirt over leggings, rubber bracelets, and fishnet gloves. I arrive and immediately see a Tom Selleck lookalike in a pinstripe suit that I must get to know. Our eyes meet and we saunter towards each other as The Clash’s “Rock The Casbah” blasts. He asks me if I’d like to see “Porky's”. I’m not sure if he means the newly released movie or if it’s sexual innuendo. Either way, we go to the bathroom to get high. The next few hours are a blur but I seek solace that what I don’t remember can never hurt me. I’m not really sure how it happened..but I did make it home and my 23 hour day had come to an end.
Cut to an hour later. I violently hit the alarm clock and feather haired Jax repeats cycle.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Day 53 - Hair-licious!
September 30th, 2009
I had a very brief stint of guitar playing in college. Yeah, I had some rock star fantasies. Like you didn’t? It’s a shame that I didn’t stick with the instrument because I have pretty good female singer/songwriter hair. Depending on the day and the weather, I tend to exhibit two looks. Marcia Brady or Bon Jovi circa ’86. Hair(or lack thereof) has proven to be a barometer that we use while attempting to navigate and judge our way through the human experience. Hair even found itself to be the title of the legendary musical. Clearly the protein filament that grows through the epidermis would inspire groups of political hippies of the "Age of Aquarius" to fight against conscription into the Vietnam War.
It’s important to note that hair assists in the deciphering of our own “sexibility” and that of others. It’s my understanding that men with receding hairlines interpret their growing forehead with a lessening of getting laid. I do give a lot of credit to bald men who own their lack of head coverage. Mr. Clean found a respectable niche. So skinheads, you had the option of becoming a spokes model for a multi-surface liquid cleaner. Shame on you for taking the hate crime route. You know, there are different organized social clubs out there for your kind. Um, Hair Club for Men. Instead of burning crosses, you can burn the illusion that you need to ignite crosses in lawns forever. There’s really no future in that.
As far as the female persuasion, word on the street is that blonds have more fun. Also, ladies with over teased mall hair imply that they are willing to offer up the goods pretty easily. Therefore, blonds with hairspray collections are the top contenders for the “Living a Happy and Productive Life with STD’s” public service announcement. It would be unruly for me not to mention my thoughts on waxing. My thorough analysis can be perused at Day 12 - Wax-achment. http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2009/08/day-12-this-entry-is-rated-r-youve-been.html
Last night, I found one of my long blond hairs in my dinner. I should really wear a hair net when I cook. Just run with that visual. I would put my brother and sister-in-law under the neat freak umbrella. When my nephew was born last year, I thought it would be helpful if I bought him a baby hair net or a baby doo-rag(just in case he were to join a baby gang.) I decided against it and went with a bib with a picture of the band Kiss. Is there a hair double standard? It’s good to have hair on our head, yet viewed as despicable when it resides in our food. Let’s talk eyebrows. Shouldn’t we raise one of these for easily accepting the normality of having two random patches of hair above our eyes? However, those who don’t have them look bizarre(to the delight of the folks in the eyebrow liner pencil industry.)
Hair affects the day to day of animals as well. How come humans don’t get hairballs? If you’re reading my blog..I know that you’ve indulged in a “self licking bath” at some point. It's really quite refreshing. Watching a cat about to vomit a tight elongated pack of fur is a disturbing sight to see. Imagine Garfield having a violent seizure. Poor standard poodles and those emasculating haircuts. I was at the dog park and saw one of these ridiculously coiffed creatures being made fun of by the other dogs. It broke my heart. I guess it’s worth mentioning Chia Pets in our animal portion of this blog. Have you ever met anyone in the market for animal-shaped figurines that sprout vegetated fur? Just typing about these things gives me the heebie jeebies.
I’m going to leave you with this televised hair related observation. Every CSI show(from New York to Duluth) seems to cast a very long lush haired woman as the lab researcher looking for the tiniest fibers and particles to identify the “perp.” Not once have I seen her beauty pageant mane pulled back or capped off with a hairnet. When I am hired to write for the show, be prepared to find this is the script.“Well, what do you know, this is my hair. I guess I killed the manager at the Dairy Queen.”
I had a very brief stint of guitar playing in college. Yeah, I had some rock star fantasies. Like you didn’t? It’s a shame that I didn’t stick with the instrument because I have pretty good female singer/songwriter hair. Depending on the day and the weather, I tend to exhibit two looks. Marcia Brady or Bon Jovi circa ’86. Hair(or lack thereof) has proven to be a barometer that we use while attempting to navigate and judge our way through the human experience. Hair even found itself to be the title of the legendary musical. Clearly the protein filament that grows through the epidermis would inspire groups of political hippies of the "Age of Aquarius" to fight against conscription into the Vietnam War.
It’s important to note that hair assists in the deciphering of our own “sexibility” and that of others. It’s my understanding that men with receding hairlines interpret their growing forehead with a lessening of getting laid. I do give a lot of credit to bald men who own their lack of head coverage. Mr. Clean found a respectable niche. So skinheads, you had the option of becoming a spokes model for a multi-surface liquid cleaner. Shame on you for taking the hate crime route. You know, there are different organized social clubs out there for your kind. Um, Hair Club for Men. Instead of burning crosses, you can burn the illusion that you need to ignite crosses in lawns forever. There’s really no future in that.
As far as the female persuasion, word on the street is that blonds have more fun. Also, ladies with over teased mall hair imply that they are willing to offer up the goods pretty easily. Therefore, blonds with hairspray collections are the top contenders for the “Living a Happy and Productive Life with STD’s” public service announcement. It would be unruly for me not to mention my thoughts on waxing. My thorough analysis can be perused at Day 12 - Wax-achment. http://jacquelinekabat.blogspot.com/2009/08/day-12-this-entry-is-rated-r-youve-been.html
Last night, I found one of my long blond hairs in my dinner. I should really wear a hair net when I cook. Just run with that visual. I would put my brother and sister-in-law under the neat freak umbrella. When my nephew was born last year, I thought it would be helpful if I bought him a baby hair net or a baby doo-rag(just in case he were to join a baby gang.) I decided against it and went with a bib with a picture of the band Kiss. Is there a hair double standard? It’s good to have hair on our head, yet viewed as despicable when it resides in our food. Let’s talk eyebrows. Shouldn’t we raise one of these for easily accepting the normality of having two random patches of hair above our eyes? However, those who don’t have them look bizarre(to the delight of the folks in the eyebrow liner pencil industry.)
Hair affects the day to day of animals as well. How come humans don’t get hairballs? If you’re reading my blog..I know that you’ve indulged in a “self licking bath” at some point. It's really quite refreshing. Watching a cat about to vomit a tight elongated pack of fur is a disturbing sight to see. Imagine Garfield having a violent seizure. Poor standard poodles and those emasculating haircuts. I was at the dog park and saw one of these ridiculously coiffed creatures being made fun of by the other dogs. It broke my heart. I guess it’s worth mentioning Chia Pets in our animal portion of this blog. Have you ever met anyone in the market for animal-shaped figurines that sprout vegetated fur? Just typing about these things gives me the heebie jeebies.
I’m going to leave you with this televised hair related observation. Every CSI show(from New York to Duluth) seems to cast a very long lush haired woman as the lab researcher looking for the tiniest fibers and particles to identify the “perp.” Not once have I seen her beauty pageant mane pulled back or capped off with a hairnet. When I am hired to write for the show, be prepared to find this is the script.“Well, what do you know, this is my hair. I guess I killed the manager at the Dairy Queen.”
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Day 52 - My Bad
September 29th, 2009
Yesterday at the Yom Kippur service, the rabbi informed the famished congregation that the word “sin” isn’t as cryptic as we generally interpret it to be. It translates to Hamartia, a Classical Greek term that means "to miss the mark" or "to miss the target”. Oh you Greeks and your tragedy. I have to admit that your literature ‘s staple is consistent with having our hero take actions that generally involve some significant errors in judgment. Yeah, i’m talking to you Oedipus. But this confused boy’s actions weren’t inherently evil. Although, the ultimate mama’s boy scandal would have made for a gripping and highly rated Oprah episode.
I’m not suggesting that we strive to make unwitting mistakes but good parenting 101 tells our children that it is that very thing that we grow from. This is good news for Dick Cheney when he shot Harry Whittington, the 78-year-old Texas attorney, while participating in a quail hunt. On the topic of “gunning”, one of the only times I consistently made the target was 25 years ago in the skeet shooting competition on the Commodore 64 Summer Olympics Games. I have to admit, I was a bit of a savant. If only life was an outdated 8-bit home computer.
If we’re consistently hitting the mark every time it seems that we’re blessed with a certain amount of luck and will eventually suffer some hard to process disappointments when life serves up some reality. Perfectionists scare me. The twist seems to be that expecting nothing less than perfectionism every time is, in itself, missing the mark. Perhaps if we were gentler with ourselves we could look at our mistakes through a kinder filter. I know that I could benefit through the practice of self forgiveness. I will go as far as to say that most of us would never talk to anyone the way we can talk to ourselves.
If we are certain that we’re always going to make our target, then we’re not participating in situations and endeavors that stretch us, force us to step out of our comfort zones and ultimately result with experiencing growth.
Yesterday, I went ahead and pre-atoned for next year's sins because I’m certain there will be some really good ones.
Yesterday at the Yom Kippur service, the rabbi informed the famished congregation that the word “sin” isn’t as cryptic as we generally interpret it to be. It translates to Hamartia, a Classical Greek term that means "to miss the mark" or "to miss the target”. Oh you Greeks and your tragedy. I have to admit that your literature ‘s staple is consistent with having our hero take actions that generally involve some significant errors in judgment. Yeah, i’m talking to you Oedipus. But this confused boy’s actions weren’t inherently evil. Although, the ultimate mama’s boy scandal would have made for a gripping and highly rated Oprah episode.
I’m not suggesting that we strive to make unwitting mistakes but good parenting 101 tells our children that it is that very thing that we grow from. This is good news for Dick Cheney when he shot Harry Whittington, the 78-year-old Texas attorney, while participating in a quail hunt. On the topic of “gunning”, one of the only times I consistently made the target was 25 years ago in the skeet shooting competition on the Commodore 64 Summer Olympics Games. I have to admit, I was a bit of a savant. If only life was an outdated 8-bit home computer.
If we’re consistently hitting the mark every time it seems that we’re blessed with a certain amount of luck and will eventually suffer some hard to process disappointments when life serves up some reality. Perfectionists scare me. The twist seems to be that expecting nothing less than perfectionism every time is, in itself, missing the mark. Perhaps if we were gentler with ourselves we could look at our mistakes through a kinder filter. I know that I could benefit through the practice of self forgiveness. I will go as far as to say that most of us would never talk to anyone the way we can talk to ourselves.
If we are certain that we’re always going to make our target, then we’re not participating in situations and endeavors that stretch us, force us to step out of our comfort zones and ultimately result with experiencing growth.
Yesterday, I went ahead and pre-atoned for next year's sins because I’m certain there will be some really good ones.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Day 51 - Ask Jax - Part 2
September 28th, 2009
Question - What's the best TP tactic - fold or crumple?
Brian Levy Dallas, Texas
Jax’s Answer – Brian, I consider myself a bit of a toilet paper connoisseur. When participating in the sacred art of wipage, I feel the wiper should put great thought and care into the shape of their TP to create an experience that is memorable on a regular(hopefully if you’re healthy)basis. It should not be a decision made in haste. Remember, you’re sending a message to your derriere that says “Hey, I care about you. We’re in this together.” I highly suggest using the Japanese art form of origami when choosing your tactic. Luckily I befriended a very delightful Benihana chef who was more than happy to teach me how to make a delicate toilet paper swan. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to get you in touch with Yasashiku. Your steak chicken combo will be discounted if you tell him that you’re impressed with the size of his Hibachi.
Question - Dear Jax...You watch commercials, right? I'm assuming so.... and so you've seen the Cialis commercial with 2 middle-aged persons on the top of the hill in separate bath tubs. Well, Cialis is for Erectile Dysfunction (or "penis problems")....so if the medicine was working properly, wouldn't the 2 people need to SHARE the tub? This has me in a quandary....
Sincerely~
Claire Evans Adams, Raleigh, NC
Jax’s Answer – I know someone who is the sister of the roommate of the exchange student of the key grip who worked on that commercial. Here’s what I found out for you: There is actually a "third party” underwater in the man’s bath (well hidden by the bubbles.) If you look closely, you can see the snorkel. Cialis is also effective if you ever have the urge to drag your bathtub up a hill.
- Question - How on earth do you get the guts, courage, chutzpah to stand up and be funny in front of crowds of often inebriated and sometimes rather impolite strangers?
Melissa J Peltier , Nyack, NY
Jax’s Answer – My goal has always been to connect with the audience. If I come from that place, I don’t find that I get unwelcomed disturbances from the crowd. Audiences are generally on the side of the comedian. A few weeks ago I was doing a set at a show where another comedian was getting heckled. The performer gave the annoying audience member too much power by engaging him for too long. The next comedian asked the guy (who was below par on the looks scale) if he had a girlfriend. It was rather mean spirited and he continued to get heckled. I was next and was prepared for the same scenario. I decided to go in a totally different direction and began just praising the guy. He was caught off guard and remained quiet for my entire set. Granted, when I walked off the stage he told me, “I like you. You look like Vanna White.” Regardless, the most important comedy improvisational rule (and in my opinion, life rule) held true: If you make someone look good, you look good.
Question –Are ghosts real? If so, do they watch us shower? When we sex? Are they just pervs? Answer - Should I (stop teasing them when i get nekkid?)
Zachary B Atkinson – Wilmington, North Carolina
Jax’s Answer – It’s really just a matter of perspective when dealing with disembodied spirits or souls. Generally they don’t cross over until they complete some unfinished business. It seems as if you might sense apparitions when you’re in very exposed and vulnerable situations. I am not able to speak to ghosts but I did some research since you’re a loyal reader. I contacted Maria, a reputable psychic that I learned about on television in the middle of the night. I called her 1-900 number and asked her about your inquiry. She explained (in broken English) that some recently deceased perverted hottie wanted to shower and have sex with you. Sadly, she never had the chance. There’s good news because Maria provides a variety of services. Once you give her your credit card number, she’d be more than happy to send over one of her employees named Amber. This retired stripper will act as a “vessel” for the ghost and you could help the naughty hot girl fulfill her Zach fanatasies so she can venture to the other side. It would truly be a “paranormal mitzvah.”
Question - Want to hang out sometime?
Scott Garrison New York, NY
Jax’s answer - I assume you mean celebrate New Kids on the Block’s 1988 album “Hangin' Tough”. Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!
Question - What's the best TP tactic - fold or crumple?
Brian Levy Dallas, Texas
Jax’s Answer – Brian, I consider myself a bit of a toilet paper connoisseur. When participating in the sacred art of wipage, I feel the wiper should put great thought and care into the shape of their TP to create an experience that is memorable on a regular(hopefully if you’re healthy)basis. It should not be a decision made in haste. Remember, you’re sending a message to your derriere that says “Hey, I care about you. We’re in this together.” I highly suggest using the Japanese art form of origami when choosing your tactic. Luckily I befriended a very delightful Benihana chef who was more than happy to teach me how to make a delicate toilet paper swan. If you’re interested, I’d be happy to get you in touch with Yasashiku. Your steak chicken combo will be discounted if you tell him that you’re impressed with the size of his Hibachi.
Question - Dear Jax...You watch commercials, right? I'm assuming so.... and so you've seen the Cialis commercial with 2 middle-aged persons on the top of the hill in separate bath tubs. Well, Cialis is for Erectile Dysfunction (or "penis problems")....so if the medicine was working properly, wouldn't the 2 people need to SHARE the tub? This has me in a quandary....
Sincerely~
Claire Evans Adams, Raleigh, NC
Jax’s Answer – I know someone who is the sister of the roommate of the exchange student of the key grip who worked on that commercial. Here’s what I found out for you: There is actually a "third party” underwater in the man’s bath (well hidden by the bubbles.) If you look closely, you can see the snorkel. Cialis is also effective if you ever have the urge to drag your bathtub up a hill.
- Question - How on earth do you get the guts, courage, chutzpah to stand up and be funny in front of crowds of often inebriated and sometimes rather impolite strangers?
Melissa J Peltier , Nyack, NY
Jax’s Answer – My goal has always been to connect with the audience. If I come from that place, I don’t find that I get unwelcomed disturbances from the crowd. Audiences are generally on the side of the comedian. A few weeks ago I was doing a set at a show where another comedian was getting heckled. The performer gave the annoying audience member too much power by engaging him for too long. The next comedian asked the guy (who was below par on the looks scale) if he had a girlfriend. It was rather mean spirited and he continued to get heckled. I was next and was prepared for the same scenario. I decided to go in a totally different direction and began just praising the guy. He was caught off guard and remained quiet for my entire set. Granted, when I walked off the stage he told me, “I like you. You look like Vanna White.” Regardless, the most important comedy improvisational rule (and in my opinion, life rule) held true: If you make someone look good, you look good.
Question –Are ghosts real? If so, do they watch us shower? When we sex? Are they just pervs? Answer - Should I (stop teasing them when i get nekkid?)
Zachary B Atkinson – Wilmington, North Carolina
Jax’s Answer – It’s really just a matter of perspective when dealing with disembodied spirits or souls. Generally they don’t cross over until they complete some unfinished business. It seems as if you might sense apparitions when you’re in very exposed and vulnerable situations. I am not able to speak to ghosts but I did some research since you’re a loyal reader. I contacted Maria, a reputable psychic that I learned about on television in the middle of the night. I called her 1-900 number and asked her about your inquiry. She explained (in broken English) that some recently deceased perverted hottie wanted to shower and have sex with you. Sadly, she never had the chance. There’s good news because Maria provides a variety of services. Once you give her your credit card number, she’d be more than happy to send over one of her employees named Amber. This retired stripper will act as a “vessel” for the ghost and you could help the naughty hot girl fulfill her Zach fanatasies so she can venture to the other side. It would truly be a “paranormal mitzvah.”
Question - Want to hang out sometime?
Scott Garrison New York, NY
Jax’s answer - I assume you mean celebrate New Kids on the Block’s 1988 album “Hangin' Tough”. Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!
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