Deliverance

I don't know which part of the story that I am about to tell you is weirder: that I actually did, in fact, attend a family picnic that included a pig head and wrestling, as I informed the whole of the Intertubes via Twitter yesterday -- or the fact that I stood there and took 100-plus pictures of it. But I swear to God, it's all true, even the part about kicking the keg. There were other people there. I have witnesses.

In our defense, it was hot yesterday. Not quite as hot it has been, but still: hot hot hot. And as everybody knows, {heat} + {alcohol} + {my enormous bananapants crazy family} = EPIC SHENANIGANS.

I mean, COME ON. These guys are (1) completely not gay, (2) related to each other, and (3) in their 30's. And yet, there they are. Wrestling. In my aunt and uncle's backyard. On purpose. For fun. At a party with a pig head. For serious. And yet I'm considered crazy. Mm-hmm.

For God's sake, there was BLEEDING. What the hell kind of people am I related to, anyway? (Answer: not-so-secretly awesome people, if possibly inbred, just a little. There ARE quite a lot of us, so no one is sure how we're all related, exactly.)

All wrestling referees should be so handsome, no?

And at least I wasn't the only one taking pictures. Although I was one of the first ... and I admit to totally being the loonball who moved around to get a better angle.

Even the kids were getting in on the action. It was surreal. And ...

(I put this jump here for the squeamish. I took a picture of the roasted pig head. I don't know why. It's strangely fascinating to me. Like, I know where my food comes from and stuff, but I don't usually get to see my bacon's face. I certainly don't get to see its teeth. So don't click if you don't want to, I won't be offended.)

Wristery Mystery

This is a terrible picture and not at all what I expected to be writing about today, but this photo intrigues me because I just don't understand it, and I took the damn thing. Why? Of all the toys and clothes and whatevers in the entire house, why did she choose this hideous, ridiculous wristband that was part of my 2007 Aaron Rowand Halloween costume? Why? She wouldn't let us take it or even touch it -- she just put it on and wandered all over the house fiddling with it. Like it was her Precious, and she was Smeagol.

Honest to God, if I didn't know this was just Cupcake being Cupcake, I would have sworn she was getting one of those wackadoodle Nomar Garciaparra superstitious batter's box tics or something. It was truly bizarre.

Any suggestions as to what, exactly, was going on here?

Absentee Parenting

We need to have a talk about Dora the Explorer and what, exactly, is going on with those parents of hers.

Cupcake loves Dora the Explorer, and it's one of the shows we keep a constant stash of on the TiVo. "Doree!" gets played in pretty heavy rotation, along with Pinky Dinky Doo, Blue's Clues, and when I am in charge of the remote, Yo Gabba Gabba!

(Before you say a word: Yes, I know we watch a lot of TV in our house. But at least we are watch mostly age-appropriate, educational television. It's not like we watch CSI: or Dirty Sexy Money or Two and a Half Men with her. Not often, anyway. And anyway, Pinky kicks ass. Don't you judge me.)

I'm not 100% sure, but I think Dora is Cupcake's favorite show. There's always singing and music and exciting adventures and monkeys who wear boots but not pants -- which, actually, is a large part of the problem.

Dora is always off solving things by herself. I mean, I understand that toddlers can be fiercely independent, but ... helping baby fish trapped in tide pools? Searching for toy fire trucks on the tops of mountains? Delivering presents to Santa at the North Pole? The hell? Who lets toddlers do that by themselves?

"But she isn't by herself," you're saying. You're right, of course: she is getting help from an obnoxious singing map, some kind of creepy magical backpack that can hold entire frickin' space suits, and the pervert monkey. Plus whoever Dora meets along the way, like crabs, bears, lions, dinosaurs, most species in the weasel family, and a Big Red Chicken.

Know what's missing in all of Dora's adventures? COMPETENT ADULT SUPERVISION. I hate to be so literal about a children's show -- especially when Yo Gabba Gabba! doesn't bother me at all, and it totally should -- but WHERE IN THE HELL ARE DORA'S PARENTS? Why is this poor cute little girl wearing a mismatched outfit and an ill-fitting shirt, and tramping all over land, sea, and space without any adults to keep an eye on her?

And why the hell doesn't she have a GPS in her backpack? She's got every damn thing else.

Punk Rock Girl

Punk Rock Girl
Originally uploaded by r_ockle

Punk rock girl
Please look at me
Punk rock girl
What do you see?
Let's travel round the world
Just you and me punk rock girl

Um ... Double-You Tee Eff?

This is one of the weirdest and most awesome things that I have ever seen. I'm not entirely sure I get it, but I kind of love it. Enjoy!

One of my super-secret mental illnesses, one of the so very many I have but definitely one of the less visible, is my absolute love -- LOVE! -- for wrapping presents.

Yes, really.

No, I am not making this up.

Although I've never talked to a therapist about it (because, let's face it, the fact that I am a Type-A paranoid borderline schizophrenic with half an Electra complex, inappropriate rage issues and an obsession with LOLspeek tends to take up a lot of lot of time on the couch), I believe this is part of the reason why I start shopping for Christmas presents so early, and why I buy so many.

It might be part of the reason why I became a retail terrorist, hunting high and low for the absolute best bargains anywhere, so I can get the most things for the least amount of money, so there are more things to adorn with shiny paper, curling ribbon, gift tags, and 47 metric tons of Scotch tape. (When the Grinch looks down on Who-ville and notices that Christmas "came without packages, boxes, and bags?" I always think, deep down in my heart, that this is bullshit, because while I believe that World Peace is a beautiful thing, I am also smart enough to know that it's even more beautiful with a little bit of sequins and a gift tag.)

And if you know me even in passing, you're probably vaguely aware that I am something of a grown-up Garanimal: everything must match. So it will come as a surprise to approximately no one that I spent more than a hour in a T.J. Maxx store back in October, trying to find three rolls of gift wrap that matched this year's wrapping theme. (Note also that I was doing this in a store where I wouldn't have to pay full retail.)

When I'm shopping, I am often drawn to gifts that come in weird, strange, odd, or oversize packages, so that I can challenge myself when I wrap them. Wrapping is not an obligation to me, a traditional formality; I believe that it is the thought that counts, and I want the thought to be: "I care enough about you to fold this paper with hospital corners and match the patterns and tape every single seam and make you earn this present, dammit."

Of course, the problem with this is that I go through something that is maybe like postpartum depression when people open their stuff. I watch them tear into everything that I took such time and care to prepare. Not because I am afraid that they won't like their gifts -- sometimes I honestly believe I might not even care about that. But because I put a lot of work into wrapping those things, and I want my family and friends to stop for a second and say, "Hey, wow, this really looks too pretty to open." Admire my craftsmanship. Call me an artist.

And then: gimme gimme gimme. Pass the loot. Because even crazy people like presents, you know?

Things I Have Been For Halloween In The Last 10 Years (that I can remember):

• Red Crayon
• Aaron Rowand
• Space Alien
• Lobster
• 50's girl
• "Ghetto-ass dollar store Christmas tree"

What I Am For Halloween This Year:

• Overworked
• Underpaid
• Overstressed
• Underappreciated

How I Am Celebrating Halloween At Work:

• Bagels
• Swedish Fish
• Pop Tarts
• Saddles shoes and socks with candy corn on them

(UPDATE!!) Halloween iPod Playlist:

• "Werewolves of London" -- Warren Zevon
• "Sympathy for the Devil" -- Rolling Stones
• "Monster Mash" -- Bobby "Boris" Pickett
• "Thriller" -- Michael Jackson
• "Bloodletting (The Vampire Song)" -- Concrete Blonde
• "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" -- Charlie Daniels Band
• "King Tut" -- Steve Martin
• "Witchy Woman" -- Eagles
• "Ghostbusters" -- Ray Parker, Jr.
• "Voodoo Child (Slight Return)" -- Jimi Hendrix
• "Rock Lobster" -- B-52's
• "Zombie" -- The Cranberries
• "The Time Warp" -- from Rocky Horror Picture Show
• "I Want Candy" -- Bow Wow Wow
• "Nightmare on My Street" -- DJ Jazzy Jeff & Fresh Prince
• "Don't Fear the Reaper" -- Blue Öyster Cult
• "Bark at the Moon" -- Ozzy Osbourne
• Zombified (entire album) -- Southern Culture on the Skids

Happy Halloween, Boils & Ghouls!

Not sure whether you noticed or not, what with the Earth continuing to revolve around the sun every day according to its usual schedule, but this week marks the publication of the final print edition of the self-proclaimed “world's only reliable newspaper,” Weekly World News.

WWN, the sister publication of that other giant in the world of hard news, National Enquirer, was nothing short of genius in the 28 years it was around. Don't believe me? When the shutdown of the paper was announced, every major U.S. News outlet – and I do mean every – covered the rag's demise. Perhaps the best tribute appeared in the Washington Post. Yes, that WaPo, home of Woodward and Bernstein and my secret alien lover, Gene Weingarten.

Of course, everybody covered Elvis's funeral, too, and we know what a scam that turned out to be. Everyone knows that The King didn't really die 30 years ago; he's been living in Kalamazoo. Or he was until 1993 anyway, when WWN reported that Elvis actually did finally die, and then later disclosed in a series of follow-up stories that prior reports were yet another elaborate hoax.

So who knows what the real deal is with Elvis these days – my guess is, he's living it up, smoking Cuban cigars and drinking mojitos and playing pinochle with Amelia Earhart and Eddie Clontz and P'lod, the alien with the Gene-Simmons-esque tongue that Hilary Clinton was having an affair with a few years back.

What will I do without WWN? Where will I get all my news about “the exploits of alien babies, animal-human hybrids and dead celebrities”? Wherever will I learn about the “shocking and almost always exclusive reports about extra-terrestrials, ghosts, scoundrels and scientific discoveries, such as the cure for lovesickness found on the walls of an ancient Mexican monument”? [cite] You just can't trust the pinko neo-con libertarian mainstream media to report these things accurately, without bias or baseless accusations!

I was wondering about this when I happened upon the truly uplifting story of Jonathan Lee Riches, distinguished resident Williamsburg Federal Correctional Facility in the great state of South Carolina. It is a true tale of passion, conviction, and mind over matter. It's about grit, and determination, and how Michael Vick owes him $63,000,000,000,000,000,000 [sic] – sixty-three (!) quintillion (!!) dollars, payable in gold and silver (!!!) – for “physically hurting [his] feelings and dashing [his] hopes.”

And as I read this story, I thought: Who needs to make shit up, when reality is weird enough to begin with?

I'll miss the adventures of BatBoy, though. And I do hope that someday he finds Osama bin Laden. Tell Eddie I said hi, won't you?