audioregurgitation
ericthek
lyzurgyk
Money's the Question, Not the Answer
Sex: A Great Question, A Better Answer
What's The Point Again Titles RSS
What's The Point Again Full Content RSS
I Read These Blogs
The Divided States Of bu$hmeriKa 2
Drinking Liberally in New Milford
Independent Bloggers' Alliance
Last Left Turn Before Hooterville
Making Conservatives Cringe since 1977
The Online Magazine Formerly Known As Rob's Blog
out of my mind in mechanicsburg
We took the kids to see Disney's Enchanted last night. It was okay.
As far as Disney goes, not nearly as funny or creative as Shrek, but it did give viewers that have seen many of the Disney classics the enjoyment of trying to remember which film that a piece of animation, or a character, or a scene, etc. was intended to be compared with.
And the kids liked it, so they hit their primary target.
Call me old-fashioned but I'm a little unsettled that internet entertainment has devolved down to watching people eat poo. (And watching people throw up watching people eat poo.)
I suppose there is cinematic precedent for "Two Girls, One Cup" in John Waters' 1972 guerilla gross-out flick "Pink Flamingos". Dog-poo eating, chicken-choking and various other atrocities aside that movie displayed a perverse style which Waters eventually parlayed into credibility and mainsteam success.
Maybe one day, there will be a poo-eating musical on Broadway. But I sure hope not.
They're not all martinis and bikinis.
What's in the water? Before you lower yourself into that steamy hot tub, think twice about what's living under the surface.
1. Hot tub "folliculitis" is an infection of the hair follicles that results from exposure to certain bacteria that live in warm, wet areas, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Pseudomonas appears as itchy bumps, sometimes filled with pus. It may then develop into dark red, tender nodules. The disease usually clears on its own.
2. Hot tub lung: Indoor hot tub users are vulnerable to a respiratory illness from inhaling mycobacteria, which can grow in tubs that aren't cleaned often, according to the Mayo Clinic. Symptoms include a flulike fever and chills, shortness of breath, a dry cough, night sweats and weight loss. Treatment may include antibiotics and prednisone; some sufferers have been hospitalized.
Heh, indeed.
Some nice stories to brighten an overcast day in Central Pennsylvania:
It was a nice surprise to look out my window last Saturday morning to see a large group of students in my yard and my neighbor's yard raking leaves. I want to thank the St. Clair High School and St. Clair Middle School Honor Society.
Yesterday afternoon my husband and I grimaced at our leaf-covered yard, secretly hoping the leaves would simply dance away, and went for a hike with the dogs. As we drove back up the street two hours later, a bizarre sight beckoned us. In front of our house a four-foot high pile of leaves stretched all along our terrace, towering high above any neighboring piles, and there was no one in sight. "Who done it?" Our only "witness" was a young friend who bicycled by and saw half a dozen college-aged people raking our yard. No note, no card and no one taking credit for the huge random act of kindness we had just been awarded.
A group of seventh graders at Kingsley Junior High School in Normal are spending their school day cleaning up yards in the neighborhood.This is the fifth consecutive year the seventh grade class has participated in the community service project.
Old Men Playing Basketball
The heavy bodies lunge, the broken language
of fake and drive, glamorous jump shot
slowed to a stutter. Their gestures, in love
again with the pure geometry of curves,
rise toward the ball, falter, and fall away.
On the boards their hands and fingertips
tremble in tense little prayers of reach
and balance. Then, the grind of bone
and socket, the caught breath, the sigh,
the grunt of the body laboring to give
birth to itself. In their toiling and grand
sweeps, I wonder, do they still make love
to their wives, kissing the undersides
of their wrists, dancing the old soft-shoe
of desire? And on the long walk home
from the VFW, do they still sing
to the drunken moon? Stands full, clock
moving, the one in army fatigues
and houseshoes says to himself, pick and roll,
and the phrase sounds musical as ever,
radio crooning songs of love after the game,
the girl leaning back in the Chevy’s front seat
as her raven hair flames in the shuddering
light of the outdoor movie, and now he drives,
gliding toward the net. A glass wand
of autumn light breaks over the backboard.
Boys rise up in old men, wings begin to sprout
at their backs. The ball turns in the darkening air.
