Arafat chips. Next up: Hitler-flavored ice cream.
Chris Tucker as Inspector Clouseau. Say it ain’t so. Please.
Man shoots self in naughty bits. True Darwinism in action.
Billy the Burlap Bag Boy – my favorite anti-glurge.
Feed the Model
Things you shouldn’t do with your microwave
Anyone want to start a fund to help poor Brad Pitt buy a razor?
A horrifying and poignant look at the last minutes of those in the World Trade Center. Do not read if you’re easily upset.
I don’t know whether it’s healthy fear, paranoia, or post-partum depression but in my inner depths I’ve had a growing feeling for the past few days that something bad is going to happen. I really hope it’s not anything, since the PPD causes me to feel that way as well, but those symptoms had died down recently. It could be all the press that threats are getting lately… scuba, apartments, water, trains, small planes. What is safe these days?
We were in New York City a year to the day before the attacks happened. We bypassed a visit to the WTC because we’d been to the Sears Tower the year before and decided “seen one tall building, seen ’em all”.
Am I the only one still obsessing about this? I mean, I’m sure that the HBO documentary and the NYTimes article aren’t helping, but still – that day, to me, seems like a life landmark. On the scale of meeting someone and saying “Hi, nice to meet you, what do you do for a living and where were you on September 11?”
I’m going to take my Zoloft now like a good girl.
Hero cabdriver returns purse with $5k cash in it. Compare to our NYC cabdriver in 2000 who nodded off at the wheel in some sort of drug stupor. Discuss.
Pope carves up old popes, sends pieces around the world. Anyone else think the old guy has completely lost it?
Yet another weird disability fetish.
Missle Command!
World’s smallest website
From pink to blue! Please leave a comment telling me whether you like the new format or not.
I’m sorry, but what a dumbass.
The Pillsbury Gasboy
Beatallica, ‘specially for M.S.
Blow your mind… this is really freaking cool.
Home again, home again, jiggety jig. That’s one of the things my mother used to say, along with “Oh dad, poor Dad, Momma’s hung you in the cellar and I’m feeling so sad”. I never claimed to come from a normal family.
So I came home to a full-fledged nursing strike, and I have a desperate call into my LLL Leader. (mini-update: got her latched on, film at 11)
The votes on the pink-osity of this site are stacking up, and it’s almost a 50/50 split between too-pink and not-too-pink. I’ll probably be diddling with the template soon, as well as joining some more webrings.
I watched part of that HBO 9/11 special tonight and I simply don’t understand 1) why one would be compelled to take a picture of a person who has just leapt 100 stories to his death and 2) why one would be compelled to show same picture on TV. Really uncalled for, really disrespectful.
This is a really interesting town. Where else can you walk down a street that’s 200 years old and within a block hear blues, Dixieland jazz, Vivaldi’s Four Seasons (Winter), and a lone trumpeter playing a slow, mournful rendition of Summertime (and the Livin’ is Easy)? Despite all the city’s charms, however, I’m getting homesick. I miss the babies. I want full-body toddler cuddles and warm fuzzy babyhead kisses. My older daughter, when she was littler, always smelled like cookies. The younger smells like a furniture store… in a good way of course . My favorite is sweet vanilla baby breath. I tickle the baby until she giggles and lean over to smell her ice cream and cake breath.
Since some weenie was whining that there weren’t any links in my blog (duh, I’m on vacation, I have other stuff to do, apparently unlike said weenie who has no life), I’m staying up late just for him to find some links. I think the only thing that will help said weenie, however, was the bottled New Orleans Air for Deprived Yankees.
Charles Barkley becomes my new hero
Ann Coulter on how Democrats are never satisfied
Mainstream media finally picks up on the Ender’s Game movie. If you haven’t read this book, now is an excellent time to do so.
I can’t wait to see the kids
And speaking of adorable children…
P.S. Upperline was overrated.