All Rileyed Up

So, Pluto has been downgraded. General reaction?

Ousted from the select group of celestial beings known as ‘planets.’ Why? For having an oval shaped orbit instead of a circle? Because it fools around a little with Neptune? This really is the mother of all social circles, er, solar circles? I feel sorry for poor little Pluto, outcast, denied, dissed, disowned. Pluto is totally being bullied. Who are these 7500 give or take a million astronomers who voted Pluto out? Why the anti Pluto? Do they have nothing better to do than to pick on old third grade test questions about the solar system? And for the love of where no man has gone before, how can they seriously think they can get away with calling it a Dwarf Planet?

I’m going to let you in on a little secret, something the astronomers didn’t release to the press. One, they actually spent most of their time in Prague discussing whether or not Tori Spelling was going to pay respects to her father during the Emmy presentation on Sunday night.

“Personally, I find that the internal kinematics of a galaxy directly relate to its dynamical mass, and can help place constraints on the type of galaxy that is being observed.You?”

Two, they spent the rest of the conference devising our newest reality TV series. Survivor: The Solar System. Pluto is just the beginning. Here’s the plot: We, the human species, are not far away from destroying our planet. For further details, LOOK AROUND YOU. We need a new place to move to. Hence, we’re eliminating our options one by one. Once there’s only one planet left, its prize is we’re all going to move there and take it over and build MacDonalds and Starbucks. See this map for further details.

Clearly, Pluto would be the first to go – cold mother fucker, the butt of all jokes, once the god of the Roman Underworld, now Mickey Mouse’s dog (which I guess is arguably the same thing).

Which planet will be next?

In the spirit of TV guide, a list of the competitors in order of when I predict they will get kicked off the show (based on my readings of the stars):

Mars – the next one to be voted out because Mars is LAME. Ooh, it’s red. Whatever, we already have Sedona. Because of its publicity from being on the show, though, Mars will get tapped by Trey Anastasio for an outdoor music festival.

Mercury – Hot headed, quick tempered, needs to chill out. Next off the show because everyone will be sick of putting up with his bullshit.

Venus – The Ginger of the show. She will get kicked off/leave the show to be the next Discovery centerfold.

Saturn – check them rings out, bitch! Saturn only cares about his bling. He’s pissed that Mars got the Range Rover test drives and claims that if it had been him, he’d have demanded better rims (check ‘em out, they’re spinning!).

Neptune – the quiet one. Made it through most of the challenges, but truthfully can’t hold a candle to the Machiavelli or Strong Brute so she will be the last one voted out before the final two. She will go quietly and never be heard from again. She harbors a secret love for Pluto, but could never be with a non-planet.

Jupiter – AKA Strong Brute. Will gain immunity in every physical challenge but will lose on the final vote because the Machiavelli always wins.

Uranus – the asshole, AKA, the Machiavelli, the clear winner, because when it comes down to it, we can all move there and officially say with honest integrity, “Yeah, I’m an asshole. What are you going to do about it?” (Digression: When I was in high school, I was playing Trivial Pursuit with my friend and her mom and for the life of me, I couldn’t read this question aloud to her mother: “Does Uranus have an aurora?” Why did the Trivial Pursuit people do that to me?)

I suppose at this point, you’re wondering where the fuck I studied Astronomy? Well, like every good college student says, I always wanted to be an astronomer, it was just the math that did me in. In fact, these are the only math equations I remember from my Astronomy class:

Horoscopes + The Birthday Astrology Book ? Astronomy
Pink Floyd at the Planetarium + Grilled Cheese ? Astronomy

I may be Asian, but…

www.blacklava.net

There are scads of surveys that show 86 percent* of drivers are doing things other than paying attention to the road – playing crossword puzzles (what’s an 8 letter word for ‘oh shit’?**), reading the newspaper, fidgeting with the radio/CD player/IPOD, and the favorite of the country, though only described as being a ‘California’ thing – talking on a cell phone. I assure you, I don’t fall into any of these categories. However, I must admit, that there are some times when I am not paying attention to the road. For instance, last week, I was on the freeway, and I pulled out my camera and take a picture of this while I was driving:

Yes, it’s true. I take pictures of giant breast-like buildings when I should be paying attention to the road.

I give you the SAN ONOFRE POWER PLANT, also known as the San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station, AKA SONGS. Yeah, you read that right: nuclear power plant, down the road, looks like a bodacious pair of tatas. Like the Bionic Woman and the 50 Foot Woman were spliced together to create this Mega Woman and she had a brain defect a la Frankenstein and the military had to destroy her and she fell at San Onofre and all that was left of her was her metallic boobs (did I mention they blink red at night). WHO DESIGNED THIS MONSTROSITY? Dr. 90210? I could totally see him lamenting the fall of Mega Woman in the finale of some campy 70s movie, with helicopters whizzing around. Oh, the whore, the whore.

And what’s with the name? SONGS. Don’t you love it when acronyms masquerade as euphemisms? I can just imagine the Mr. Burns of San Onofre standing around saying “How do we make it sound wonderful and happy?” and then the Smithers guy perhaps breaks out into a song and dance number like in West Side Story when Tony starts to sing, “Could it BE? Yes it COULD! Something’s coming! Something GOOD!” and then the Mr. Burns snaps his finger and says, ‘That’s it! We’ll call it SONGS! Eeeeeexcellent.”

I, for one, am feeling a little miffed, a little shortchanged. If they’re going to call the plant SONGS, they could at least provide us with a CD—you know, of the popular songs inspired by or brought to us by the San Onofre bozangas. Some possible choices:

1. “Surfin’ USA”

Seeing as the song actually references San Onofre:

“San Onofre and Sunset,
Redondo Beach, LA
All over La Jolla
At Waimea Bay
Everybody’s gone surfin’
Surfin’ U.S.A”

Because everyone wants to go surfing there now that they can get cancer (okay, fine, I have no substantial evidence to back up that comment, but my friend’s 20 something year old cousin died of cancer and he surfed at that Old Man’s EVERY DAY, which is next to San Onofre).

Just Another Day at the Beach

2. “My Hump” Black Eyed Peas

“What you gon’ do wit all that breast?
All that breast inside that shirt?”

…Make nuclear power, of course.

3. “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”

…with nuclear power, that is.

4. “Where the Streets Have No Name”

…because they’ve been melted away by a nuclear accident.

5. “Do the Radioactive” by Radioactive Man

I assume this selection requires no further explanation?

6. “I’d Like to Buy the World a Coke”

…to give them a glimpse of how radioactive tastes.

7. “Pollution” by Tom Lehrer

Tom was so very, very funny
(Click on pollution.wav)

8. “Weird Science” by Oingo Boingo

Anything bigger than a handful, you’re risking a sprained thumb.

And the final selection–

9. “Eve of Destruction”

An oldie and a goodie:

“But you tell me
Over and over and over again, my friend
Ah, you don’t believe
We’re on the eve
of destruction.”

Sorry, no joke on that one…

For the love of bleached blonde hair, it’s a nuclear power plant and it looks like a ginormous pair of boobs!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*43 % of all statistics are made up on the spot.
**A-C-C-I-D-E-N-T

The Crazy Hip Blog Mamas writing prompt this week is a one word prompt: Home. This is very convenient, because my latest post happens to address that exact word. Home. As in, where I live. I have just now twice mistyped the word “live” as “love.” Coincidence? I hope not. After all, this is The OC, where I am exposed to this:

IH8URPL8

Sis-in-Law invited me to go to a party with her. The kind of party that has a name, a theme, and in this case, it was “White.” I was a little unsure, I mean, I didn’t know exactly how I should interpret this theme? What kind of ‘white’ are we talking about here? After all, this is The OC.

I immediately thought of a wedding I went to a few years ago, at the end of which I wound up in the back of one of those old station wagons where the backseat faces the car behind you, sitting next to a large, shirtless blond man with the word “ARYAN” tattooed across his chest, and along his back, from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, the word, “NORDIC.” It was one of those moments where I thought to myself, how do I get into these situations? That particular time actually wasn’t my fault. Friend abandoned me at the wedding to shack up with Dude, so I had to catch a ride with Total Stranger to go back to the hotel, and Total Stranger tells me I can sit in the back of the station wagon, and sitting back there is friggin Nordic Man, and I’m like, oh shit, I got in the wrong car, but what am I supposed to do, walk back to Total Stranger and say I’m not sitting next to your friend because if it weren’t for the hair, I’d call him a skinhead? So I take a deep breath and remind myself that it’s only a tattoo and maybe he’s just proud of his heritage and that’s it, and there’s nothing more to say about it, and I shouldn’t judge him on his tattoos. I’m still pondering this and they slam the door on me and Nordic Man, locking us in to our cozy compartment and then the car starts moving, and I totally feel like I’m in some weird alter reality because, as I’ve already mentioned, we’re in the backseat of an old station wagon, so the direction I’m facing is not the direction we’re moving in, and I’m watching everything just get further and further away. So I’m sitting there, moving backwards, drunk, with Nordic Man, with no idea what to say, and the only words going through my head are “Aryan – Nordic – Aryan – Nordic.” Now, it is important that you know that when I am drunk, I suffer diarrhea of the mouth. Clearly, most people in my situation might think to just play it quiet, you know, keep it cool. But not me. Oh no. I said the first thing that popped in my head, which turned out to be, “So, are you from Norway?” Yeah. It was one of those nights. Nordic Man was not from Norway (big shock to you, I’m sure), but was keen to discuss the great history of the men–not all people, just the men–and the Aryan race. As it turns out, I wasn’t the only one in the car who suffered diarrhea of the mouth while drunk. In fact, I wonder if the reason Nordic Man had been relegated to the back seat to begin with was because everyone else knew him and knew how he got when he was drunk and didn’t want to sit next to him in the car and listen to him spout about the Nordic people, and then when Random Girl (me) asked for a ride back to the hotel, they thought it would be funny to make me sit next to him. As for my part, the wedding took place just after my last semester of college, during which I had written a paper on the Eddic sagas. Nordic Man was more than marginally impressed as I regaled him with the intricate details of the life of Snorri Sturluson, and his contributions to historiography. Before we bade good bye at the end of the ride, he borrowed a piece of paper from his friend to write down a few book recommendations I gave him. I wondered if he would ever read the books. And if would mention them at his next skinhead meeting. And if he did, would he fess up that the info came from a girl of mixed ethnicity. And if in admitting that, would he suddenly realize how shameful a pursuit white supremacy is. And maybe our drunk encounter in the backwards moving station wagon changed his whole opinion on people and the world, and made him a much happier, more open minded individual. You never know. Sometimes you just gotta say, when in Rome.

So, anyways, back to the original story, Sis-in-Law invites me to this White party, and I’m thinking in my head, am I going to see Nordic Man and laugh with him about wedding memories of old? It turns out I vastly over-interpreted the situation, very similar to how I used to behave towards guys when I was in high school (“What did he mean when he said, he’d call later? Should I call him right now? I’m gonna call him right now.”). The theme of the party referred to the dress code. After all, this is The OC.

The White Party recommended attendees wear all white. Being a mother of two young children who do not follow the rules of etiquette when it comes to experiences in self-feeding, I find it’s safer for all intents and purposes to not own white clothing. This presents a problem. How do I go to the store to acquire a white outfit whilst toting the kids and making sure they aren’t wrecking the white outfits that I will not be buying, because I expect to have to try on several white outfits before finding something that looks reasonable on me, and by reasonable, I mean it makes me look like a hooker – after all, this is The OC.

I’m still trying to figure out the outfit situation and Sis-in-Law forwards me the evite. In addition to wearing white, the party is at a house overlooking the ocean where we will be able to watch the sunset while drinking cocktails, and the host and hostess have hired a professional masseuse and a tarot card reader to entertain guests, which as Sis-in-Law puts it, is a must do (the tarot card reader, that is). Wow, I thought, this is going to be some party. After all, this is The OC.

Sad to say, the party came and went without me. Sis-in-Law made a date for that same night to attend a tennis match and she thought it was going to be a daytime thing, but it turned out the tennis match was at night (which is also very bizarre. Since when are tennis matches at night?). Clearly, I couldn’t show up alone at the White party that I wasn’t invited to, so I missed out. And how sad am I to have missed out. I’ve spent most of my moping time since creating extravagant fantasies of what the tarot card reader would have said to me:

“You did in fact change the life of a skinhead and taught him that we are all one race and that women can think for themselves.”

“Your novel will be finished by the end of this year, it will get picked up immediately by an agent who worships the ground you walk on, taken to a publisher who will pronounce you brilliant, and sell to a public who will buy it like crazy because Oprah will put it on her booklist, and then bring you on her show, where she will introduce you to David Beckham while he is wearing Speedos.”

“You will never suffer any physical damage from the amount of coffee and alcohol you ingest on a consistent basis, and in fact, you will find out it has been the source of your good health and long life.”

“Your kids will always think you’re the bomb, and will grow up to become a rock star and champion swordfighter.”

In all likelihood, I suspect the tarot card reader would have said something more along the lines of, “You will get a mani and pedi next week at the spa, a boob job next year, and the newest model BMW before any of your friends, and it will have a clever vanity plate: 2BAD4U.” After all, this is The OC.

Well, I was visiting the lovely Toddled Dredge and saw a meme that I couldn’t pass up. I have never done a meme, so I have no idea if I’m following protocol, but here goes:

1. One book that changed your life: Animal Farm by Orson Welles. Because without this book, I would have had no idea that animals could so cruelly mistreat and brainwash one another to unlimited degrees. That’s exactly why we should continue to support the meat industry. Allegory? What’s that?

2. One book that you’ve read more than once: The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty. I don’t really like the movie, but the book is total horrid fascination.

3. One book you would want on a desert island: The complete comedies of William Shakespeare. Perhaps you think I should go for something more thought provoking, but frankly, if I’m all alone on a desert island, the last thing I’m going to want to ponder is life, the universe, and everything—I AM ALL ALONE ON AN ISLAND. I’m pretty sure my answer would be life sucks, the universe is rotten, and everything is against me. I’d rather have things to laugh about.

4. One book that made you laugh: Cannery Row by John Steinbeck. Those people know how to throw a mad, swingin’ party, yo.

5. One book that made you cry: A People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn. The problem is, I don’t know if I was crying at what we’ve done or what I’m not doing now.

6. One book that you wish had been written: The Greatest Novel of Our Time by Me. I’d settle for A Novel by Me.

7. One book that you wish had never been written: It’s a toss up between Scarlett, the Sequel to Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind and Babywise. Probably Babywise, because nobody ever took Scarlett seriously.

8. The book that you are currently reading: Killing Yourself to Live by Chuck Klosterman. Fooking hi-larious. Stop what you’re doing and go buy it and read it. No, I’m serious. Do it.

9. One book that you have been meaning to read: What are you doing still reading this????? I just told you to stop! Go read Killing Yourself to Live. Chuck! Chuck! Chuck!

What favorite books from your childhood do you plan to introduce to your children? I’ve been thinking of this answer since the day I found out I was pregnant for the first time. Technically, I should say since the day after I found I was pregnant, because the day I found out I was pregnant was given over to a hysterical break down of hormonal proportions, followed by a cheeseburger. But, ah, the next day, when I thought to myself, I get to have a baby—a life to nurture, to raise, to love, and *yippity-skippity* to read to!

I looked at my bookshelves of all the books I’ve read and want to read, of children’s books I’ve been carting around forever and a day–the Beatrix Potter collection, the Roald Dahl books, the Dr. Seuss books, Alice in Wonderland, Shel Silverstein, every variety of myth, legend, and fairy tale you can imagine, but oh, nothing tops how much I look forward to sharing The Chronicles of Narnia with my kids—in the order that they were written and published, I might add, not this chronological order BS that they’ve been publishing them in since the 90s. I heard C.S. Lewis himself wrote a letter wherein he stated that he didn’t intend all the books when he started them, and agreed that they should be read in chronological order. It is one of my goals in life to find this letter and DESTROY IT.

“I will break you.”

So, yes, the Chronicles of Narnia, all seven of them, starting with The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. And after we’re done reading each book, we will watch ALL the movie versions — the most recent film, the cartoon, the BBC miniseries, yeah, I’ve got them all. And while we watch these entertaining works of cinema and television, we will be eating food from the world of Narnia. How will we do this, you ask? Why, with the help of my Narnia Cookbook– 

My photo. My cookbook. Mine.

The Narnia Cookbook is a rare collector’s book, and mine is in perfect condition—perfect for my kids to wreck, that is. I bought it on eBay for a price not worth fessing up to, but let’s just say it’s way less than the amount my uncle shelled out for an original printing of Alice in Wonderland.

This fascinating cookbook has page upon page of Narnian delicacies (which are, coincidentally, very similar in style and taste to the menu at my local British pub). The cookbook includes lovely illustrations, along with quoted passages from the various Chronicles that show where and when said food is eaten. Oh, what joys I will have with my children as we make… hmm, Porridge. Huh. What’s next? Bacon, eggs, and mushrooms. Okay, sounds exotic. Anything else? Everyday White Bread. I see. Seems that the Narnians weren’t too into the breakfast meals. What do we have for lunch? Pigeon Pie. Interesting. They provide the recipe for use with Cornish game hens, but according to the commentary, wild wood pigeons are made into pies in rural England and Ireland.
From The Silver Chair, “Sir, be pleased to take another breast of pigeon, I entreat you.” More like mistreat you! EEEEEEWWWWW!!!!! While we’re at it, why don’t we add a side of sewer rat? And sugar coated bugs. 

Just a spoonful of sugar helps the mantises go down.

Moving on. A section for afternoon tea? Whatever. I don’t do that. Guess that means I’ll miss out on the hot sardines on toast. What say you for dinner? Free your adolescent mind to wander with glee at the prospective jokes of this meal’s name: Cock-a-leekie Soup. Yeah. There’s also stewed eel. Mmmm, rubbery. Another favorite, Chicken Breasts Masquerading as Snipe. I’m sure it’s every chicken’s secret desire to be a snipe: 

Pigeons want me, and chickens want to BE me.

There are plenty of dessert recipes to choose from, but I am interested in only one. Turkish Delight. When I was in college, my friend and I were very excited to discover a tin of Turkish Delight at the fabulous Mona’s in New Orleans. He too was a big Narnia fan. We always imagined it to be only the most amazing taste experience ever, and well, surprise surprise, it was bad (understatement of the year). It was sticky and tar-like and not-at-all flavorful. I’d have been willing to forsake it for some pigeon pie. Time passes on, though, and I’ve decided to give Turkish Delight a second chance. Maybe, like the difference between homemade Italian food and Chef Boyardee, it’s all about the freshness, so I plan to make my own Turkish Delight. If it’s still gross, I can always fall back on some cock-a-leekie soup (I know, I’m so immature. If only there had been a recipe for spotted dick).I love my Narnia Cookbook. At least all the food in it, though slightly boring, is edible. Could you imagine if they came out with a Middle Earth Cookbook? I suspect the menu would read ever more esoteric than the menu at The Hobbit (wonderful restaurant experience in Orange CA). Indeed, I would be most disgusted to come across a cookbook that provided me with a recipe for “horseflesh.” I would, however, be delighted with a Middle Earth Drinking Guide:

1. Orc-Liquor –
“Ugluk thrust a flask between his [Pippin’s] teeth and poured some burning liquid down his throat: he felt a hot fierce glow flow through him. The pain in his legs and ankles vanished. He could stand.”

Hmm, Red Bull and Vodka?

2. Old Winyard -
“Old Rory Brandybuck, in return for much hospitality, got a dozen bottles of Old Winyards: a strong red wine from the Southfarthing.”

So definitely not this: