Be careful overseas, State Department warns

One imagines that "new" makes up the majority of the word "news" for a freaking reason.

He looks like he's about to pull a Fonzie. Or, worse, "Finger Guns."

My aunt Cathy e-mailed me for the first time in years. I haven't seen her since I was 15 years old. That side of the family... meh... not so fun. Anyway, Cathy is my mother's sister, and I have tried to respect that. But she's been snidely insulting since the day I was born. Granted, the e-mail she sent was mild, but I just couldn't abide it. Their smug self-importance and backwater ways have irritated me for far too long.

From: Aunt Cathy
To: the Niece Who Always Disappointed Us

PLEASE REMOVE ME AND YOUR AUNT CINDY FROM YOUR E-MAIL LIST.

From: Stacey
To: Aunt Cathy

I will be happy to remove you from the list. I accidentally merged the family and work lists together. Hello to you, too, by the way.

Love,
Stacey

From: Aunt Cathy
To: The Daughter of the Daughter Who Married That Papist From Texas of All Places

Stacey:
There is no need for sarcasm. I do not want my e-mail address broadcast on some mass mailing list. It never fails that after one of those messages arrives, I being to get smutty and unwanted trash e-mails. I am simply asking you to refrain from distributing my private e-mail address all over the internet.

I would be happy to speak to your parents about it.
Aunt Cathy

From: Enraged
To: No Relation of Mine
CC: Both Parents

Aunt Cathy -

That wasn't sarcasm. That was lighthearted ribbing. But feel free to speak to my parents about it. I'm 33 years old, not 12. Your e-mail has been removed, and I won't be using it again.

Not that I have ever had any reason to.

Stacey McGowen-Hudson

PS - Sorry, mom and dad.

From: Queen Negatron of the Planet Negator
To: Petulent Child
CC: the Parents Who Were Clearly Unable to Raise Her Right

This is an outrageous and uncalled for response to a simple request. [...] Plus, I don't care how old you are, it's never too late to learn to be more thoughtful and considerate.

Sis, please handle this.

From: Are You Freaking Kidding Me?
To: Has Never Moved Out of Her Mother's House
CC: My Beloved Parents

My mother has no need to handle anything where I am concerned. It was only an accident that my personal and work lists merged during a software upgrade. But I only hear from you when there is a complaint, so there's your lesson in thoughtful and considerate.

Let's not communicate any longer. I haven't seen you in more than a decade, and we don't really have anything in common other than my mother, who doesn't deserve this kind of stress. So don't take my behavior out on her. I make my own choices and I stand by them.

Best Regards and Goodbye,
Stacey

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She'll be happy to speak to my parents about it? Go right ahead. Maybe they'll take away my television privileges and I won't be able to go to the Homecoming dance. How will I ever get a date to the prom?!

I set the server to reject all of her e-mails. But they still keep getting through.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

OOOh, Fascinating Update!

Neither side of my family is known for letting things go. So I really didn't think that was the end...

From: The Wicked Bitch
To: the Parents Who Have Stood Behind Me Through This
No CC to me

Disrespectful and Incredible! Believe me I WILL NOT communicate with Stacey ever again. She has taken a simple request, and a reasonable one, and made it into a personal insult. I am absolutely astonished!

Bee-yotch

From: My Awesome Mom
To: Her Cold-Hearted Sister
CC: Me

[...] Stacey is a very warm, loving, talented person, is a great mother, and is never disrespectful. You sounded angry, she took it seriously. She removed you from the list, tried to be humorous about it; and it didn't work. [...] If this gets through, I will be surprised. You use to have me blocked out. I haven't even tried in a long time. I hope this is the end of this. [...] I know what happened. I have seen all of the e-mails. I don't think we need to be consulted. Stacey is an adult and can handle herself just fine.

Sis

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wow! Yay, Mom!

I think it's hilarious that she finds my behavior "outrageous," "incredible" and "astonishing." She must lead an extremely boring life. I am rarely more than "sleepy," "dopey" and "grumpy."

A.C. is a fantastic copy editor, always worried about the little things that could hurt our credibility.

"Isn't motherfucker one word?" she asks.

...

"Are you blogging that!?" she asks.
"Yeah..."
"Isn't it sad when I know your blogging face?"

I love my job.

Heh, just read the yard sale blog. Very funny! Your friend is a good writer. I actually know her husband Scott. We went to highschool together and we were drama geeks and on the dance team together. Actually we sort of founded the dance team. You will have to tease Scott next time you see him about our choreographed numbers to Posion by Alice Cooper, and I don't remember wich Duran Duran song, but if anyone has it on video it would be really funny I'm sure.

"Jason and I saw that movie in Amsterdam," A.W. says.
"Love it!" says A.C.
"We also saw 'Elizabeth' with Cate Blanchett," she says.
"Weren't there any Amsterdam-y movies playing?" I ask.
"I don't know. I don't remember," she muses. "But you know you can get a beer in the movie theaters over there. You can smoke if you want to..."
"You can get fries with mayonnaise," I say.
"Yep," she nods.
"And a Royale with Cheese."

Scott received word today that he won an AP Award for his coverage of James Brown's death. That's my husband, everyone! Witness his greatness!

"Hormone may explain teen moodiness."



We need science for that?

"So I got caught by a train this morning, and on the back of every car was a sign stamped that said, 'Do not hump,'" Amy says.
I stare at her in disbelief. "Nuh-uhhhh!"
"Yes!"
"Do not hump what?!"
"I don't know!"

UPDATE: Thanks, Jim!

Emerson is in a foul mood because "Branny" and "Dada" left. Well, sorry, but your grandparents live in Atlanta, and they need to get back. Besides, you've had enough sugar. So, anyway, they're gone and she's pissed. And hungry.

"Emmie eat?" she asks me from the doorway.
"Sure, Emmie. I made you some fish, and green beans, and sweet potatoes," I coo, as we walk into the kitchen.
"NOOOOoooo!" she half-shrieks, and throws herself against the refrigerator.
"You don't want fish?"
She shakes her head.
"Well, what would you like for dinner?"
"Um... aya keem?" she asks, hopefully. I laugh. No ice cream tonight.
"No, ma'am. You have to eat your fish first."
"NOOOooooo!"
"Well, I'm sorry. That's the way it is." I walk back into the living room.
When I turn around, she cuts her eyes at me.
"Wha-eber." she says.
"What?" I ask, not sure what she's just said.
"WHA-EBER!" she yells. And then stomps off, repeating herself. "Wha-eber. wha-eber. whaaaa-eber!


Well... at least I know that she listens to me.

What happens when you hold a yard sale to raise money for cancer and no one comes?

6:30 a.m. - Amy and Nola arrive at my house with a truckload of stuff. I am still frantically hopping around shirtless with one leg in my jeans, hair wet, as they arrive, looking fresh and rested and super freaking cute. I can't even imagine how Amy manages this every day of her life. Sometimes I want to poke her with my copy editing pen. But not hard.

6:45 a.m. - We begin setting up in the pre-dawn light.

7:30 a.m. - the clothes rack goes up. Thanks for the loaner, Tom and Maryanne.
7:31 a.m. - the clothes rack falls over. We pick it up and meticulously brush off the clothes.

7:59 a.m. - the clothes rack falls over again. We pick it up and carefully brush off the clothes.
8 a.m. - the yard sale is officially open. We survey our work. Meh. S'okay.

8:30 a.m. - we sit and listen to birds chirping. It is a beautiful morning, and Emerson and Nola and having a ball together.

8:35 a.m. - the clothes rack falls over again. We laugh and pick it up, brushing the clothes off some.
8:45 a.m. - our next-door-neighbor donates a cute leather modern chair and matching ottoman.

9 a.m. - we sit and listen to crickets chirping. My stomach starts growling.

9:15 a.m. - a tumbleweed blows through the yard.
9:16 a.m. - in its wake, the clothes rack falls over. We glare at it in disgust. Then we pick it up again.

9:30 a.m. - Lo! A customer!
9:32 a.m. - Goodbye, customer.
9:33 a.m. - The scent of desperation wafts through the air.

9:35 a.m. - A car rolls by slowly.
"You know you wanna stop, bitch," I mutter. I hear Amy snort.
"That's my mad sales skills there," I say.
"I see that."

9:45 a.m. - Amy goes for McDonalds. Probably to get away from my incessant talking.

10 a.m. - My parents arrive from Atlanta. The inevitable decline into sugar overload begins for the children.

10:30 a.m. - Amy returns from McDonalds. We all go in the house and eat breakfast, watching the yard out the front window. Like we needed to.
10:34 a.m. - The clothes rack falls over. Eh, fuck it.

11 a.m. - Lo! A customer. We rush out and pick up the clothes rack.
11:10 a.m. - Hey, $5. Rock on. Surprisingly, none of it was off the clothes rack.
11:11 a.m. - Which just fell over again.

noon - We're sitting on the porch with my husband.
"Y'all need to let me do this," he says.
"Oh, okay, genius. Go sell something." (To the masses of people NOT wandering through the yard.)
A van pulls up and three women get out.
"There's your chance, Scott," Amy says.
"Yeah, get on it, honey."
"Just wait. You have to give them a minute."
"Oh, he's got a whole philosophy of yard sale-ing."
Scott sucks on his cigarette thoughtfully, then ambles off the porch. "How you doing, ladies?" he calls as he approaches.
"Yeah, be sure to tell them all about the cancer research with the cigarette in your hand," Amy says quietly and I snort-laugh.
Scott does make a nice effort, but in the end gets called away by other things. I move in to close the deal. The haul is $50: $20 in sales, and $30 in donations. Gee, it's too bad I'm such a shitty salesperson, Scott, or they might not have been the largest sale of the day.

1 p.m. - A blond man in cargo shorts arrives outside.
"Hey, you have a customer," dad says from the couch where he and Mom are watching "Shaun of the Dead." I peer hopefully outside.
"Nope. That's just Amy's husband."

1:25 p.m. - We muse about how much longer we should make this effort. The clothes rack long ago collapsed in the gravel and no one has made even the slightest move to pick it up.
"Y'all are the only people I have ever known who held a yard sale and ended up with more stuff at the end of it," Scott laughs. Perhaps it was a mistake to solicit donations from the community.

2 p.m. - In the end, three truckloads go to the Salvation Army. Maybe they'll have better luck. The final total: $150. Among the surprising leftovers that remain to be ebay-ed: two computer printers, one with two ink cartridges included, two lawnmowers, a set of golf clubs, 250 CDs, 100 books, four huge garbage bags of clothes, a really pretty crib, a $300 jogger stroller, an unopened tabletop grill...

and one clothes rack.

But you can still help. If you read this blog (and I know that 800 of you do a month, you bunch of weirdos!) see if you can click here and find even just $5 to donate to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

Someone in your life has been affected by cancer. You know what a horrible disease it is. So do it for your grandfather, who you never got to know like you wanted. Do it for John Edwards' wife, who has two young children to raise while batting bone cancer. Do it for my husband's father, who died when Scott was just 12 years old. Do it for my grandmother, who died of breast cancer long before I was born. Do it for my aunt, who had part of her face cut away because of skin cancer. Do it for all the women who have died of cervical cancer over the years, because no one considered that a virus might be to blame. Do it for all of people who fell prey to Big Tobacco. Do it for yourself, because you never know who will get it next. And wouldn't it be nice if they found a cure?

Consider all of that, and then, again, click here and see if you can find the amount equal to these things for which you may already make room in your budget:

a soda from the vending machine: $1
a Starbucks beverage: $3.50
one movie ticket: $8
a new book: $15
a casual meal for two: $25
a detail on your car: $50
a trip to Sam's Club: $100
a weekend in Hilton Head: $500
a week in Orlando: $1,000

Those are nice things to have, but so is the ability to watch your kids grow up.

Wolfgang Puck puts mercy on menu across USA
If only we could serve some to the detainees at Gitmo.

"Wolfgang Puck’s new kindler, gentler menu."

At least the story satisfied my burning curiosity.

You don't have to be a media critic to know that FOX News utilizes every propaganda trick imaginable. Agenda Setting is a fully-owned subsidiary of FOX News, Inc. In other words, they frame their issues, choose their guests and pose their questions in such as way that, in court, a judge would hold them in contempt for "leading the witness." I already hold them in contempt. But, speaking of posing a question...

The Daily Show says: "FOX has figured out that by simply by putting a question mark at the end of something, you can say F**king anything."

You'll never view the FOX news "subheads" the same way again:

http://www.crooksandliars.com/index.php?s=tds-question

"Online anonymity lets users gets nasty" (scroll to bottom) -- and it lets their copy editors gets stupid.

My parents (Emerson calls them "Branny" and "Dadada") are coming down this weekend to see Emerson, and will take her to the park. I made some suggestions, and my dad e-mailed me about it.

Branny just told me she is bringing Easter eggs for Em to hunt and she already knows about the big slide. Don't ask me how she knows about the big slide, she just does. She said it goes with being a Branny. What do I know!

Your mom told me I wasn't funny at all, just ignorant of how to express myself. I guess she can't help herself, being from Alabama and having her family. I've worked for over thirty seven years on changing her ways, and she has fought me tooth and nail the entire time. I'm running out of tooths and she is running out of nails, so maybe she is learning something.

C.P. cracks me up. I am recreating his post on the Metro Spirit blog here. Because I can. And it's better than anything I could have come up with. Plus he has a sweet new haircut.

"Pro wrestlers linked to steroid use" That's kind of like saying: Pro actors linked to Meridia use. Not exactly shocking news.

"Fort Gordon burn creates dense smoke" Fire make smoke?! Since when?!