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Posts Tagged ‘Bright ideas’

Dear Saddle Bags:

Thank you for opening in Savannah in May. You’ve filled the country dance hall/saloon void that formed when Stetson’s on Mall Boulevard closed. (Stetson’s is now Star Castle Family Entertainment Center. Not a suitable replacement, in my opinion.)

You are now the go-to place when Eddie and I need a night out. (Don’t judge. We don’t get out much. You’ll see why we like it here.)

Where else can the young, middle-aged and old mingle so happily together — watching the band, dancing, riding a bull? You are a place where young men help older, drunk women heave themselves onto the bull’s back.

You are a place where men proudly carry purses.

You are a place where men in cowboy hats wear Mardi Gras beads in July.

You are a place where other men in hats line dance alongside their accountants while two drunk girls dance with each other.

You are a place where men are fond of dirty dancing — with each other.

In short, you are everything a people-watcher could want. Thank you for bringing so much joy into my life.

See you in a couple of weeks!
Beth

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Dear Ashley Van Sipma:

I discovered your article about World’s Fattest Woman Pauline Potter via a link to a Huffington Post version of the story a friend posted on my Facebook wall. (Thanks Julia!)

I can’t imagine what you must have thought when your Closer (UK) editor assigned the story. Or maybe you found Potter on your own.

American journalists are supposed to try to avoid inserting bias by using words such as “shockingly” and “incredibly,” but really, I think you just put into words what we all were thinking.

I admire your restraint in not editorializing more, instead choosing to let Potter and her ex-husband Alex tell the tale I’m not sure we needed to know.

While I admire Potter’s attempts to lose weight by exercising, I’m not sure I needed to know that she does it through sex with Alex the Ex up to seven times a day. And I certainly didn’t need to know that “it’s great exercise just jiggling around.” And that he came sniffing around again when she had hit her largest weight of 728 pounds. (Does he have a little fetish?)

During the interview, what did you do when Alex said the following?

It’s hard to position her and find her pleasure spots as she has a lot of fat in the pelvic area. But it turns me on knowing she’s satisfied. Although once, when she got on top, I couldn’t breathe.

Did you just look down at the notepad and keep on writing, pretending this was the most normal interview ever? Or did you look up, eyes wide, shocked at your good luck at finding someone so quotable?

I mean, this is great news for Potter as she’s lost 98 pounds already. And they both seem very happy. But I just think that the quotes are so candid — graphic even — that it forces us as readers to gawk, gape and form lasting mental images.

But perhaps this frank reporting will be inspiring to others.

Anyway, good job on the article, and congrats on Huffington Post reworking it for the U.S. audience. Because of that, you earned an increase of about 2,800 percent in Facebook, Twitter and email shares.

Maybe you’ll get a raise, or at least diversified story options (read: ones that are not tabloid fodder).

Still Cloroxing my mind,
Beth

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Warning: This post contains graphic images of medical conditions.

Dear Larry Page, Eric Schmidt and Sergey Brin and all Google employees who have anything to do with Google Images:

Thank you for creating this service. Without you, I would not have such easy access to the shocking, disturbing images I crave to fuel my ability to procrastinate. (It’s what I do when I am stalling on a project.)

Today, I have selected skin disorders as the topic of interest. I started with Stevens-Johnson Syndrome, which is a particularly nasty skin disorder resulting from an allergic reaction or infection. The person who introduced me to this disorder aptly described it as “Cronenberg-levels of horrifying.” Thanks to Google Images, I was able to find the following example. (Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

As another form of the disease is called Toxic Epidermal Necrolysis (Lyell’s Syndrome), I naturally moved on to Necrotizing Fasciitis. Otherwise known as the “flesh-eating disease,” it is all kinds of horrible. You had plenty of images to prove that point, including this one:

And that led to Fournier’s gangrene, which is also quite dreadful. Again, Google Images did not disappoint. (But there will be no sample images posted here. Even I have limits, and the results of “penile debridement” cross the line.)

I got back on the non-genital track with a search for just “gangrene.” Once again, you had plenty to share. I wonder about the following photo, though. The person clearly has a big problem, but the photo does not look like it was taken in a hospital. It’s shot like some kind of nail treatment “before” picture.

I worry about all the people in these pictures. Are they OK? Did they get reconstructive surgery? Are they alive at least? Unfortunately, even when I follow the photo to the original link, there’s rarely any “where are they now?” follow-up.

Can’t you make that happen? Isn’t Google the Information Sharing Overlord?

Anyway, thanks for providing this service. I managed to waste about an hour of my life. (And yes, I did finish the project I was putting off.)

Feeling lucky,
Beth

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Dear Mr. Garrigan:

You seem sincere in your request for feedback about my recent stay at Mainsail Suites Hotel & Conference Center in Tampa. Your title of “performance and quality assurance manager” indicates that Mainsail in general is interested in enhancing the guest experience.

I’ve taken the survey, but I want to give you more information. I realize that what I’m about to talk about is a collection of First World problems, and I’m a little embarrassed to be complaining in general.

But you asked, so here goes:

1. If the suite sleeps 10, then you should equip the kitchen with enough utensils to allow all 10 to eat at the same time. Three bowls, three small plates, four forks and one steak knife doesn’t cut it. There were seven of us. We had to feed the kids, wash the bowls, then feed ourselves, with one of us eating out of a mixing bowl.

2. Continuing with the topic of kitchen equipment, there were no spoons, potholders, dishtowels or sponges. There wasn’t a working can opener, a spatula or a ladle. How are people supposed to cook without these things?

3. If the suite sleeps 10, and you know that we have seven people in the suite, you should provide enough towels for all of these people (especially as I asked for extra towels when I made the reservation). How can you think four bath towels, two hand towels and one washcloth is enough for seven people?

4. If the guest calls and asks for more towels, you should bring them. We called twice for more towels with no response. It took a trip to the front desk and a housekeeper APB to finally get more the first day. On the second day, despite numerous phone calls, we remained towel-less and damp.

5. If you are proud enough to advertise that you have plasma TVs in the living rooms, then you should make sure they work. It shouldn’t take five phone calls to the front desk to get the TV working.

6. If you advertise that you offer free Internet, people assume it is wireless. Who uses an Ethernet cable anymore? Don’t you realize that many people use iPhones, iPads, MacBook Airs, etc., that do not have an Ethernet port?

7. Chances are good that people who are staying in a hotel are on vacation. While on vacation, people generally like to sleep in. Therefore, 6:30 a.m. is really too early to mow the lawn. Leaf blowing is certainly out of the question.

If it really is a “pleasure to serve,” then please make the guests happy by addressing the above issues.

Not likely to return to your establishment,
Beth

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Dear Aaron Sorkin:

You’ve had an impressive and envy-inspiring career so far, writing hits such as “Moneyball,” “A Few Good Men,” “The West Wing” and “Sports Night” and winning accolades and awards.

So why so angry?

At 51 years old, you are much too young to turn into an Andy Rooney-style curmudgeon. I’ve read that your new show, “The Newsroom,” is yet another opportunity you’ve seized to Set the People Straight. I apologize: I haven’t seen it yet.

I share your concern about the state of journalism today, but you and I clearly differ as to whether the Internet is a good or bad thing. Here’s what you told the Atlantic Wire last year:

The upside of web-based journalism is that everybody gets a chance. The downside is that everybody gets a chance. I can’t really get on board with the demonization of credentials with phrases like “the media elite” (just like doctors, airline pilots and presidents, I prefer reporters and commentators to be elite) and the glamorization of inexperience with phrases like ‘citizen journalist.’ …As the saying goes, the problem with free speech is that you get what you pay for.

You are aware that journalists are not technically credentialed, right? There’s no test, no overseeing board, no gated membership area. Somebody just has to be willing to give you a job.

Before the Internet, opportunities were few. Cities were lucky to have one daily paper, one weekly paper, and a couple of television stations. There wasn’t too much turnover.

But now, thanks to the Internet, there are many Web-only publishers. And the great thing is that they are not under corporate control like the “elite media” to which you refer.

I don’t know if you can handle the truth, but the truth is that more voices means that we have a better handle on truth in general — if we as consumers are willing to read and listen to a variety of voices and do some critical thinking. Yes, whiffs of Chomsky right here.

But you have a problem with that:

One of the things I find troubling about the Internet, as great a resource tool as it is, and as nice as it is that we can all communicate with each other, and that everybody has a voice – the thing is, everybody’s voice oughtn’t be equal.

Oh Aaron. Such an elitist. It is ironic that the person who won an Oscar for writing “The Social Network” and is writing a biopic of Steve Jobs could feel this way.

You reserve special hatred for bloggers, even mistaking print reporters for a bloggers.

Ugh. I’m a blogger, Aaron. I also subscribe to numerous newspapers and magazines, watch TV, go to movies, read books (both print and electronic versions)*, and I have a Ph.D. (And I’m sticking out my tongue at you in a very educated and mature way.)

Look, Aaron, the Internet is not going away. So let’s trim those eyebrows and put away the shaking fist. Don’t you have work to do?

Stop biting the hand that feeds you,
Beth

* Although I am a little embarrassed about what I read last.

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Dear EL James:

Congratulations on the success of the “Fifty Shades” trilogy! You’ve come a long way since writing fan fiction about Bella and Edward. Your meteoric rise to the top of the best sellers list is an inspiration to many writers.

With all the hoopla surrounding your work, you would think so-called “mommy porn” is something new. But romance novels have been around in some form since the 1700s. Bodice-rippers such as Fabio enjoyed a boom in the 1980s, so maybe this is just a second wave featuring short-haired, yoga-toned guys.

I know you are in the middle of a book tour, so I won’t keep you. I just want to ask a small favor: When writing your next book, please avoid overusing the following phrases that make “Fifty Shades” hard to bear:

  • “Mean machine” (a reference to the protagonist’s computer)
  • “Shades of … ” (fill in the blank)
  • “Lips quirk up”
  • “Bit her lip”
  • “Cocks his head to one side”
  • “Lips press into a line”
  • “Blazing grey eyes”
  • “Hooded eyes”
  • “Peeks up at him”
  • “Inner goddess”

Additionally, we readers are willing to suspend our disbelief, but “Fifty Shades” is really more than we can bear. (For example, after her lover buys her publishing house employer then beats and fires her boss, Ana is magically promoted — without lover’s intervention — from lowly assistant who gets coffee to the position of editor. After being on the job one week. Right.)

This is a perfect review on Amazon of the whole setup:

About half way through the book, I looked up the author to see if she was a teenager. I really did because the characters are out of a 16 year old’s fantasy. The main male character is a billionaire (not a millionaire but a billionaire) who speaks fluent French, is basically a concert level pianist, is a fully trained pilot, is athletic, drop dead gorgeous, tall, built perfectly with an enormous penis, and the best lover on the planet. In addition, he’s not only self made but is using his money to combat world hunger. Oh yeah, and all of this at the ripe old age of 26! And on top of that, he’s never working. Every second is spent having sex or texting and emailing the female character. His billions seem to have just come about by magic. It seriously feels like 2 teenage girls got together and decided to create their “dream man” and came up with Christian Grey.

It’s not a good sign when even the sex scenes get old. (An orgasm every time? Even from him just saying her name. Riiiight.)

But you know what? I forked over $29.99 for the trilogy, and I’m not alone. Clearly none of the above matters. I’m not going to be a hater — good for you! Now I know the bar is set low enough that I can write my own raunch and make some cash.

Soon-to-be sisters in spreader bar scrawls,
Beth

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Dear Girl in Micro Skirt Going Up the Stairs Ahead of Me,

What I have seen I cannot unsee. I can now definitively state that you are a girl. I did not really need to know this for sure.

I worry that you don’t have a mirror. Even if you don’t have a mirror, you should have been able to feel the gentle breeze wafting over your lady bits as you climbed the stairs.

Are you truly unaware of your exposure? Or is this a calculated attempt to get attention?

If it is the former, then I’d like to suggest that you examine your back view in a mirror (buy one if you don’t have one). Bend over. There you go.

If it is the latter, then I am, perhaps, the wrong audience. Perhaps you should wait for the right audience before you ascend the stairs.

Maybe you like having a saucy secret (“Oooh, I’m a rebel; I’m not wearing underpants!”). But it isn’t a secret anymore if everybody knows.

Maybe it is laundry day. In that case, I recommend making a load of delicates a priority.

Please consider the eyes of others.

Scarred for life,
Beth

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Dear Camera Crews Covering the Redneck Games:

Thank you for taking such an interest in the annual Redneck Games in Dublin, Ga. You represented a variety of media, including local (Macon’s WMAZ) and international (the UK’s Daily Mail).

Unfortunately for you, the organizers moved the event from the usual second weekend of July to Memorial Day Weekend. Whereas there are usually hundreds of people sweating in the Georgia heat, this time there were only a hundred. Maybe. Including the vendors and organizers.

It must have been tough for you to do your job, considering the ratio of attendees to you was about 3 to 1. You shot everything that moved and wore a Dixie flag.

If you were seeking authenticity, though, I have news for you: Most of the people who captured your lens were redneck posers.

For example, real rednecks wouldn’t wear an American flag like a cape.

Real rednecks don’t wear fake rat tails.

Real rednecks don’t have fake mullets.

Real rednecks don’t wear duct-tape bras (especially with carefully sliced cut-offs).  (She was wearing Birkenstocks, by the way.)

Real rednecks don’t wear Confederate Flag dresses. (My friend Ida looks cute, though.)

Real rednecks don’t wear boxers and jacked-up Nike socks.

Real rednecks don’t jump in the mud pit just to be on camera.

There were very few real rednecks at the redneck games. What you saw was, essentially, a Potemkin village.

If you knew Southern culture, you’d be able to spot the real deal.

For example, real rednecks drink their Bud while hanging out in a half-shirt by the trash.

Real rednecks know how to set up camp.

And rednecks-in-training enjoy their first time bobbin’ for pigs’ feet.

I hope that this field guide will help you spot the knockoffs next time.

Sweating with Southern pride,
Beth

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Dear Godless Redditors,

Thank you so much for reading my post about same-sex marriage. Before last Tuesday, I didn’t even believe you existed.

After a friend of mine submitted a link to my work to your group on Reddit, you visited the post in droves.

I posted that item Monday night. Before I went to bed, 80 people had read it. I slept the sleep of the simply dead and nothing more.

The next morning, an additional 100 or so had read the post. That afternoon when I checked the stats (I can be obsessive), I nearly soiled myself in shock when I saw the count was up to 1,300.

My best day prior to this had been 316 readers. It was the day the chicken died.

But thanks to you, Tuesday, May 15, became a hallmark day for me.

I am concerned, though, that some of you may not have gotten the joke. (BonoAnnie, I’m looking at you. Russell, we’ve already talked.)

It’s OK, though. I still enthusiastically welcome all of you as readers. I do want you to know, however, that I don’t usually mock the Bible. Instead, I assault people who mangle the English language. Or I write about rednecks. Or parasites. Or parasitic rednecks with grammar issues. (Not really, but it could happen.)

I just want you to know what you are getting. I know how you appreciate knowledge.

Also, I don’t usually write letters. But have faith, ye of no faith: Using this convention is going to help me stave off my persistent writer’s block.

I hope you will keep reading.

Yours in secularism,
Beth

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Dear Dad,

I hope you and Katherine are doing well. Eddie and I are fine, except we are going to have to move. Now that President Obama is “leading a war on traditional marriage,” we are investigating other countries to inhabit. (I am so glad Rush Limbaugh pointed out Obama’s transgressions to us. You know we look to him for advice because of his four traditional marriages’ worth of experience.)

Unfortunately, developed countries such as Belgium, Canada, Spain, Sweden and the Netherlands are out as they also support the abomination that is a union between two people who love each other. I mean two people who love each other who are also of the same gender, of course. The horror!

Like our friends in North Carolina, we certainly cannot condone that unnatural behavior. Leviticus 18:22 clearly states that someone cannot have sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman. Despite the fact that appears to be good news for lesbians, we understand the intent.

I want you to know that Eddie and I also plan to abide by other passages of Leviticus. For example, we’re going to make sure we eat the leftover sacrifices on the first or second day. We had no idea that the sacrifices became impure on Day Three (Lev. 19:27). Eddie knows he can’t eat any of the offerings until he gets rid of that nasty Athlete’s foot (Lev. 22:4).

Also, I may have taken the Lord’s name in vain, so Eddie has told Shirtless George next door that he can gather a posse of fellow Shriners and stone me to death (Lev. 24:16). No one can prove that I did it, though, so I may be OK. We do plan to have a word with Mrs. Hope on Victory Drive, however. She clearly doesn’t realize that she is flirting with a stoning of her own (Lev. 20:27).

The good news is that we are going to have help moving because we can buy some people (Lev. 25:45). We also have plenty of places to choose from for our new home. Much of Africa and the Middle East have varying penalties for homosexuality.

I hear Saudi Arabia is nice this time of year, and they have the sense to have the death penalty to punish the gays. Of course, I won’t be able to drive there. If we women could drive, of course, it would “provoke a surge in prostitution, pornography, homosexuality and divorce.” We can’t have that. (And I’m sure I’ll get used to wearing an abaya.)

We’ll miss you and Katherine, Dad, but you know we just can’t have the gays running around and being happy together, let alone paying taxes and expecting equal treatment.

I know this sounds different from what I’ve said in the past, but I’ve seen the error of my ways. Thanks to Fox Nation, Pat Buchanan and Rush, of course, Eddie and I now realize that the gays are destroying our marriage (and here I thought it was all the time I spent ignoring him when I was working on my dissertation). During this dark time for heterosexual marriage, we now know that we must look to beacons of hope such as Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries, Newt Gingrich, and, of course, Rush himself to educate us on how traditional marriage is supposed to work.

If Saudi Arabia doesn’t work out, there’s always the Moon. Newt won’t allow a bunch of gays up there, I’m sure. I know he’s out of the race for 2012, but there’s always hope for 2016.

Love always,
Beth

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