I told you birds were evil!

But would anyone listen to me?

"According to witnesses, the swan continued to swim after Hensley as he tried to make it to shore. By the time rescue personnel arrived, Hensley was under water."

Swan kills swan caretaker in horrifically ironic accident

Evil!

I'm pretty sure Dan should be kicked out of the family for this.

Our international humiliation continues.

So, I stumbled on to this Swedish newspaper article about a phenomenon called cuddle parties. They're these hideously-conceived social events where strangers get together in their pajamas and hug each other for a couple hours. Apparently the trend started in the US (though I've never heard of them before) and now they're spreading across the globe. Most recently to Sweden, where they're described, horrifically, as "a new way to socialize American-style."

American-style? I am so mortified! What must the Swedes think of us?

I mean, I know I've said before that Ikea makes me want to find random Swedish people and kiss them, but I'm certainly not going to get into my jammies and pay 40 bucks to spend two hours hugging them. A little dignity, please.

This guy knows what I'm talking about.

Claire and Bender could be grandparents by now. Think about that.

Sure, Sloth love Chunk. TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO.

Do you subscribe to Entertainment Weekly? The "20 Years Ago This Week" column regularly horrifies me. Like, worse than the wretched and off-putting "Stephen King's Weird and Freaky Little Opinions" column. (That may not be the exact title.)

This 20 Years column is a weekly shock to my system. Really, Pretty Woman is 20 years old? That was two decades ago I wanted to dye my hair red like Julia Roberts and my mom put the kibosh on that whole scheme? Really, that was 20 long years ago that Milli Vanilli won their bogus Grammy?

I can no longer read the magazine while I'm eating, lest I choke.

My initial shock came last year, when someone mentioned that Say Anything was 20 years old and I scoffed that this must surely be a mistake. Then I realized that not only was Say Anything actually 20 years old, but even worse, it being released in 1989 meant that anything from the 80s was at least twenty years old. Twenty years was the SMALLEST amount of old that 80s stuff could be.

The horror.

And then I turned on some Peter Gabriel and tried not the think about it.

Why does Hollywood insist on bastardizing my childhood?

As I sit here, there are wicked plans brewing in Los Angeles. Plans to attack and destroy the memories that we children of the 80s hold dear. Plans to do something so heinous, so vile... Well, let’s just say it: plans to remake Footloose.

I know!

Sacrilege!

I first heard about it several weeks ago, when Zac Efron apparently came to his senses and decided to drop out of the project. I was horrified by the news of a Footloose remake, but I was content (or willfully blind enough) to believe it was an isolated incident. Perhaps an outgrowth of that wretched new 90210 the CW is torturing us with. Turns out no, the insidiousness doesn’t stop there.

A few days ago, I stumbled upon this! An untitled Big Chill remake! You need a title? How about "We’re Out Of Fresh Ideas So We Decided To Decimate Your Most Cherished Memories"? Too wordy? How about this: "Utter Crap!"

Clearly things were getting out of hand, but it all came to a head this morning, when I read a blurb in Entertainment Weekly about the upcoming Red Dawn remake. Oh my stars, you guys, this could not be a worse idea. You can't make that movie now. You need the presence of Cold-War-nuclear-holocaust fear to make this idea work. You can't set it in the 80s and just have the Russians attack. No one is afraid of the Russians anymore. Except maybe the Chechens. So, you're forced to set it in the present day and change the villain to the Chinese or the North Koreans or something. Oh, that’s going to go over well internationally. The British are still angry about The Patriot. (Actually, I’m still angry about The Patriot, but only from a movie critic standpoint.) Also, no one is afraid of the Chinese or the North Koreans. Except maybe the South Koreans. So what else is there? The Pakistanis? Yeah, like they could get it together to hunt down a band of high school students turned guerilla freedom fighters in the Michigan wilderness. And all of this is just politics when what I really want to know is why does Hollywood insist on bastardizing my childhood!

What’s next? I don’t know, but I’ll tell you what: they touch The Goonies, they are DEAD to me. No one touches The Goonies. It’s like putting Baby in a corner.

ABC is clearly wicked and evil.

The ABC network, which I am certain stands for Absolutely Beastly and Cruel, has canceled what is easily the most clever and original show on television: Pushing Daisies. I feel betrayed, bewildered, and bereft. It's like Arrested Development all over again. Can no one recognize genius anymore? I'm SO glad ABC will have more room in its lineup for those scintillating episodes of Wife Swap!

Ridiculous!

Martha wants to eat your baby!

I have this love/fear relationship with Martha Stewart. For example, I love her magazine, but I would be terrified to have dinner with her. (I’m certain she’d yell at me for my salt intake or my Sally Albright-like requests for extra ice in my Coke.) A recent article on her website about costume ideas for babies is a perfect example of my joy tempered with terror in all things Martha. There are some lovely photos with sweet lambs:


...and adorable chickens:


But eventually it all devolves into cannibalism:


That? Is horrifying! Martha wants to eat your baby like a turkey! Or bake him into a pie:


And let’s not forget succulent baby lobster:


At one point, didn’t the photographer have to ask himself, "Why am I putting so many babies on plates today?" And I imagine Martha saw his look of uncertainty, and pulled out her whip. An exquisite, hand-woven whip made of stingray leather and trimmed in ostrich feathers to be sure, but a whip nonetheless. Terrifying!

Now I had this post all typed up and ready to go, and then this evening at dinner two of my closest friends informed me that they bought a lobster costume for their infant son and were planning to take his photo as he sat in a stock pot. Hopefully, they will not read this blog and hopefully no one (I’m not naming any names, Chris) will tell them about it. I adore them and their son, but that photo is going to Wig. Me. Out.

Right now, my Olympic spirit is about as existent as Australia's ability to judge gymnastics.

So, I have just about had it with Olympic gymnastics. Someone call the police because Nastia Liukin was robbed.

Could someone explain to me how the Australian judge scored He Kexin three tenths of a point higher than Nastia? Three tenths! Ladies and gentlemen, in a sport where the winners are decided by hundredths of a point, a three tenth difference is the Australian judge effectively saying, “You and your routine can head straight to the ninth circle of Hades, mate!” Between this and the improperly lowered height of the vault table at the Sydney Olympics, hasn’t Australia done enough to screw up gymnastics? Is it wrong to think that perhaps they shouldn’t be allowed near the sport?

Oh, and! And! This crap tie-breaking system! The whole point of gymnastics scoring is that the results are not determined by a single judge (who may or may not be incompetent--I'm looking right at you, Australia), but by a whole panel. So why would you take two performances so comparable in their execution, and apply to them a tie-breaking rule that does rely on only a single score, on a single judge’s opinion? That makes the opposite of sense.

Please tell me why two gold-medal-worthy performances can’t just be rewarded as such? Is it so necessary to crush the hopes of a young athlete like that? Boo, gymnastics! Boo!

And I still think you shouldn't get a medal when you fall on your face.

No, that's no problem if you fall on your face. We'll still give you a medal. Because you're Chinese.

Oh honestly, what is going on here, people? I know it's really important to stick your landing when vaulting in gymnastics, but I was under the impression that it was even more important to actually land your landing.

I'm just going to have a Bela Karolyi-type outburst here and say that I'm about sick of the favoritism being shown to the young ladies and pre-pubescent 12 year-olds that make up the Chinese gymnastics team. You can talk about start values all you want. The girl FELL ON HER FACE.

Whatever!

Sell crazy someplace else. We're all stocked up here.

Admit it. When you read the story of this crazy insane dude keeping his daughter locked on the basement for 24 years and fathering seven children by her all while his wife was clueless to the whole situation, your first thought was, “Oh, thank goodness they’re Austrian.”

It was, wasn’t it?

Well, it was for me, and I’m not ashamed to admit it!

But then I remembered those crazy rogue Mormons in Texas. There’s no chance they’re not actually American, is there? Those prairie dresses could be Austrian, right? I mean, they're probably made out of curtains.

Oh, that is not right.

Is anyone else deeply disturbed by that Career Builders commercial where the copy shop guy’s doppelganger walks in, reaches out, and strokes his double’s face before slinging him over a shoulder and carrying him away, ostensibly to a better career?

It is disturbing. Deeply disturbing.

Is that one of the horsemen?

So, the Session ordained a new deacon today in church. Our new deacon is a very nice, Godly man. But here's the thing: he's younger than me. This has never happened before. The deacons, the elders, they were always people my dad's age or older. I only got used to the idea of Brian being a deacon. It just makes me realize that one day the Pastor will be younger than me. And the President. And the lead anchor on 60 Minutes. What!

I suppose I should have seen this coming when Josh got married and had a child, but still, it's unsettling. Not because I'm all worried about being old, but because it won't be long till people my age and younger are, like, running things. And we're not ready. I'm not ready, so how can people younger than me be ready? This world is never going to survive my generation. Enjoy it now, folks, because it's all about to come tumbling down.

"Edible"? Are you sure about that?

Have you ever been eating honey and thought to yourself, “You know, what’s really missing from this is a big old crunchy hornet”? If so, have I got the website for you!

Edible.com

I discovered this website a couple days ago, and ever since I keep going back to it to gape in horror at the offerings. Aside from giant hornet honey, you can also feast on Mopani worms (salted and ready to eat!), giant toasted leafcutter ants (a perfect party snack alternative to nuts or olives!), and chocolate covered scorpions (detoxified, of course). The website assures you that the scorpion is similar in texture to a Kit Kat, to which I say, “Why not just get a Kit Kat?”

I love how the reindeer pate is promoted as a “farm raised relative of Rudolph,” and that purchasing and consuming curried crocodile meat actually helps save the endangered Wild Siamese crocodiles.

Hungry for more? Check out the description of Weasel Coffee.

Ack!

Oh, Eliot.

Dude. Dude.

I guess, "Oh, by the way, I'm the governor." just isn't the pick-up line it used to be.

I am telling you, grown men would have wept. Because of that baby.

My saga of getting Oscar ready continues. Jen, Mom, and I watched A Mighty Heart, the story of the abduction and murder of American journalist Daniel Pearl by terrorists in Pakistan. This was all in anticipation of Angelina Jolie getting a Best Actress nomination, as she’s already gotten one for the Golden Globes and the SAG awards. First of all, Will Patton was in the movie, and seeing Will Patton’s name in the credits always makes me very happy. I don’t know why. I cannot explain myself. It just does. As the credits rolled past, I gave my patented, “Will Patton! Woohoo!” exclamation. I cannot explain myself.

The movie was quite good. Angelina Jolie was very good in the role, which means a lot coming from me, as I simply cannot bear that woman. I was really feeling the tragedy, the loss, the hope rising from the ashes… when it all came tumbling down.

Warning! Small spoiler ahead for the film A Mighty Heart: Near the end of the film, they show Mariane Pearl (Jolie) holding her son Adam in the Paris hospital where she has just given birth. It’s supposed to be this great moment of joy, showing how this woman is strong and forging ahead to make a wonderful life for her son, Daniel’s legacy. However, it’s impossible to feel all those emotions when the casting director chose the freakiest looking baby in the northern hemisphere and plopped him into Jolie’s arms. My estimation of Ms. Jolie’s acting abilities increased threefold as she was able to convincingly look with affection upon that tiny, disturbing face. And it was all about the face. The baby looked like they had taken the face of a 55 year-old--and not particularly attractive--man, shrunk it, and pasted it onto a baby’s head. My mother audibly gasped. Jen tried to squeak out some sort of dialogue conveying her horror, but she was struck dumb. I, on the other hand, shrieked, “What is wrong with that baby!” Jen, having recovered her powers of speech, croaked, “It… looks like… a middle-aged… man.” She clutched little Julia a bit closer to her.

I am telling you people, this was frightening. It was like all of a sudden I was watching the opening scene of The Omen III: Damien Takes Paris. In a film about the abduction, torture, and horrible murder of an American civilian, this was the most disturbing scene of the movie. Forget Javier Bardem. I’m going to be having nightmares about this baby.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that annoying dead people should stay dead.

Okay, Heroes people. This is simply not fair. For so long I've been waiting for a certain annoying someone to finally bite it, and just when it looked as though that someone was gone from my TV forever, you had to revive that certain someone with some magic blood. (I promise, potential viewers, the storylines on this show are actually better than I'm making them sound.) That is not fair! You can't kill someone and make me do the happy dance and then just undo it all. It's just not right.

Oh, I’m sorry; did I wander onto the set of the Jerry Springer show?

The weekend before last Amanda’s sister got married and Amanda came home to be in the wedding. The wedding was a really lovely affair, despite the fact that the hardwood floor, when wet, became very slippery and I fell. Twice. It was like karma biting me in the butt, since I fell right in front of Chris and if you know me at all, you know one of my chief entertainments in life has been to laugh hysterically when Chris trips, shrieks like a little girl, and hits the ground while his shoes fly in two different directions. However, I was not the only one to fall at the wedding. Chris himself fell twice, one other reveler spent more time on the floor than on his feet (though that had more to do with the beer in his system than the beer on the floor), and at the end of the night you could watch the dance floor and see a person drop out of sight approximately every nine seconds. Good times.

The next evening Amanda came over to watch the long-awaited Rock of Love reunion show. I eagerly anticipated all sorts of cat fighting and hair pulling, but I was bitterly disappointed by a shocking lack of such antics. Even Heather and Lacey were polite and conciliatory toward each other. Heather even apologized for calling Lacey a prostitute in front of her parents. How boring. Boo! But, it is a truth universally acknowledged that whenever one would-be shockfest lets you down, another springs up from out of nowhere to take its place.

The facts are these: For the past two months Amanda has been dating this guy, David, and she’s been really happy about her relationship. They got along really well, he was very kind and considerate, and she was even thinking about asking him to come home to PA to spend New Year’s with her. When she flew back to Houston after the wedding weekend, David picked her up from the airport. She thought he was behaving a bit strangely, but she was exhausted from her trip and put it out of her mind. The next day things seemed normal. She and David were back to texting each other throughout the day and they’d made plans to get dinner and see a movie that Friday. All day and evening on Thursday he was MIA. She heard nothing from him on Friday, and he stood her up for their date. On Saturday she went to dinner with her girlfriends, where “trashing David” was the most popular item on the menu, but on Sunday when she still hadn’t heard anything from him, she decided to take action. She got onto his MySpace page and emailed the young lady who was at the top of his friends list. She told the girl (who I’ll call Doris, since I didn’t ask Amanda what her name was) that she was a friend of David’s and asked if she knew if he was okay. Doris wrote back immediately saying David was at the gym and asking Amanda how she knew him. When Amanda wrote back that she had been seeing David for two months, Doris wrote back to say they needed to talk.

For the next two hours Amanda and Doris talked on the phone, comparing schedules and trading stories about David that sounded remarkably similar. He’d been dating Doris since May, living with her since July, and lying like a pathological lying liar since the day he emerged from his mother’s womb. When he got back from the gym Doris asked, “David, who’s Amanda?” David claimed he didn’t know anyone named Amanda. From the speakerphone Amanda shouted, “You have GOT to be kidding me!” He proceeded to deny everything, claiming that his ex-wife put somebody up to this. And the saddest, most pathetic part? Despite enough proof to convict OJ, Doris still wasn’t sure who to believe. Oh, Doris, Doris, Doris. Please, love yourself more than that.

After all these shenanigans, Amanda went to the gym and did some boxing. Hopefully Doris learned that she’s better off alone than badly accompanied. And ladies, I advise you to steer clear of all men named David in the greater Houston area, just to be safe.