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I get it. I do.

Rush Limbaugh makes his living by making outrageous statements and polarizing people. He thrives on controversy because that drives an increase in listeners. His livelihood depends on him being a jerk.

So no one should be surprised at his latest antics, and that it took three days for him to apologize to Sandra Fluke. He had to make sure that people were good and outraged. He had to make sure people were paying attention to him.

It’s all part of his shtick. I doubt he even believes all the things he says. I worry more about the people who actually listen to him, believe him, agree with him, and use his words to get fired up in their own lives and voting booths.

But let’s look at the controversy. I don’t mean birth control pills or whether it is actually used for contraception (in many cases, it is not). I don’t mean Limbaugh’s crazy assumption that you need to have a pill each time you have sex. I mean the issue of women having sex in the first place (something that frightens Rick Santorum very much).

Limbaugh said about Fluke, “She’s having so much sex, it’s amazing she can still walk.” That wasn’t the point of her congressional committee testimony, and I have no idea whether she is getting it on regularly or not. But what if she is? So what?

Why is it still OK, in 2012, to brand a woman as a “slut” for enjoying herself? Men have been doing it for years, and earning acclaim (see Warren Beatty, Hugh Hefner, Gene Simmons, Gerard Butler, etc.). Note the difference between the terms “ladies man” and “whore.”

Why are we still rooted in the 1950s idea of what a woman should do and be? I should ask my mother-in-law. She’s still pissed that I’m not home all day with the kids. (It doesn’t impress her a bit that I have a Ph.D., great job, and I make it home in time to cook dinner for Eddie every day.)

Why aren’t there more women in positions of power in the United States? According to the 2010 Census, woman outnumber men 157 million to 151.8 million.

I’ll tell you why: Women often have a hard time getting along with other women. You need proof? Watch this season of “Survivor.” (Or don’t. It is embarrassing.) This season’s twist is that all the contestants are in the same camp, but they are on teams by gender.

Instead of using their collective skills and knowledge to work together and build a shelter, make fire, etc., they’ve been racing over to the men’s shelter to “get warm for five minutes.” (If you know you are going to be on “Survivor,” wouldn’t you practice making fire?)

They lost an easy challenge because they could not figure out how to work together.

I want these smart, strong women to start supporting and relying on each other. Men are often dismissive of women; women shouldn’t do it too.

I know, I know: Aggressive men are “go-getters” while aggressive women are “bitches.” But the fact that women outnumber men means that we can change that image, as long as we aren’t doing the name-calling also.

March is Women’s History Month. Women, now is the time to speak up, speak out, make a difference.

And if you want to get it on with hundreds of people, Sandra Fluke, do it. I won’t judge you. Limbaugh can kiss my butt as it walks away to help foster true equality.

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Warning: This post contains graphic images and text that may be disturbing to sensitive readers.

(Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

I don’t usually talk about politics in this blog, but I’m concerned about the Republican Party. They’ve had four years to get their act together and this is what they’ve come up with:

How are these guys the best the party can offer?

I can’t address all the craziness these folks have perpetrated over the past few months. Here are a few of the tastiest tidbits.

Mitt Romney

During an economic policy address at Ford Field in Detroit, he mentioned that his wife “drives a couple of Cadillacs.” Later, he explained that they were parked at their different houses. You know, for convenience. Oh. OK. Of course. He must not have learned anything from poor John McCain in 2008.

Romney is like the uptight, nerdy dad trying desperately to “get real” with the cool teenage son. Think Phil Dunphy.

Rick Santorum

At a speech at an Americans for Prosperity forum in Michigan, he derided Obama as a “snob” for suggesting that Americans should go to college. Hmmm … I guess he knows a thing or two about college. He has three degrees: a B.A., M.B.A. and J.D. I suppose he was indoctrinated by those “liberal college professors.” Quelle horreur!

And, by the way, look at the priority other countries place on higher education. The United States is slipping further behind. Do we really want to be the Patrick Star of the globe?

With his sweater vest, he reminds me of the teenaged son’s irritating, know-it-all best friend: Eddie Haskell.

Newt Gingrich

How is he a viable candidate? Let’s give credit to the flux capacitor that transported us back to the 1990s. It was a more innocent time. He was able to squall freely about Bill Clinton’s sexcapades while carrying on a hot and heavy affair with Whitehall Barbie. And he’s trying to represent a party that espouses family values such as preserving the sanctity of marriage. OK. Oh, and he wants to colonize the moon.

He’s like the drunk uncle who passes out on the couch during the family meal. Or like an older Arthur.

Ron Paul

It is amazing that he is running as a Republican in 2012, considering his Libertarianesque leaning (that is actually more like the Republican Party of old). I guess he thinks the Republicans are his best chance (according to him, “parties are pretty irrelevant”). He’s clearly not considered a contender. The debates were tough to watch. Even though the man was speaking some sense, his opponents looked at him patronizingly.

In the family dynamic, Paul is the senile grandpa allowed at the dinner table until he pinches the daughter-in-law’s backside when she goes for more rolls. Then it’s back to the nursing home for Old Man Simpson.

So this is what we’ve got:

Lest you think I’m a “liberal college professor” or part of the “left-wing media,” I’m not giving Democrats a pass. They’ve just (wisely) kept their collective mouths shut and let the crazies duke it out.

In the interest of full disclosure, I do have to unveil a skeleton in my closet. (Remember, I warned you about graphic images.) Here it is in all its tattered, bony glory:

I was Newt’s press intern during the Jim Wright scandal. So glad the days of “mindless cannibalism” are over. Oh … wait.

(Notice my hand is in my OWN pocket.)

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December is my favorite month of the year because it is my birthday month, and because it features Christmas, Hanukkah and Kwanzaa – a holidaypalooza! No one gets any work done all month, people eat their body weights in cookies and candy, and parents have the chance to threaten their young children with the phrase, “Santa sees what you are doing right now.”

Christmas Eve is my favorite holiday because of the anticipation. Christmas Day has always felt like a let-down because the wait is over. It’s 364 days for the next build-up. But maybe that’s just me.

So, Christmas Eve = good; Christmas Day = kind of bad.

Here are other pairs:

Good: Bringing home and decorating a real Christmas tree.
Bad: Real Christmas tree needles that clog the ancient vacuum cleaner.

Good: Realizing a new Dyson vacuum cleaner with Root Cyclone technology might make a great Christmas gift.
Bad: Um … asking for a vacuum cleaner for Christmas.

Good: The boys are old enough to help decorate the tree.
Bad: They haven’t figured out the art of spacing.

Good: More quality time with the kids.
Bad: More time with the kids. (You know it is too much togetherness when you hear your son say, “Gideon punched me,” and your husband responds, “Good.”)

Good: Selecting the perfect presents for friends and family.
Bad: Wrapping all those presents and the bills that follow the purchase.

Good: Seeing a person’s reaction when she loves her gift. (Hi, Trish!)
Bad: Seeing the reaction when he doesn’t. (Hello, Ed.)

Good: Taking the kids to see Santa.
Bad: Knowing that the 5-year-old is not getting the computer he requested (!).

Good: Going to your first Hanukkah party.
Bad: Fleeing the Hanukkah party because your son has a meltdown because he doesn’t like the way his shirt collar feels on his neck.

Good: Unseasonably warm weather when the central heat has been acting strangely.
Bad: The kids deciding it’s OK to take off their clothes outside to better enjoy aforementioned warm weather.

Good: Having the time and inclination to make Christmas cookies.
Bad: The extra 10-pound reminder of why you shouldn’t.

Good: Deciding (well, hoping) that friends and family will forgive you for not sending holiday cards because you’ve been out of the country for three months and didn’t get your act together.
Bad: Feeling like a schmuck each time you go to the mailbox and see greetings from others.

Good: Singing Christmas carols as loudly as possible in a closed car.
Extra Good: Torturing your kids with your holiday singing after they’ve been torturing you all day with superhero noises.
Bad: There’s nothing bad about that … for you!

Good: Stop-motion Christmas specials such as “Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer” (although I’m partial to “The Year Without a Santa Claus” because of the Miser Brothers).
Bad: Stop-motion specials such as “Rudolph’s Shiny New Year.” (It’s like the Scrappy Doo of specials.)

Good: The whole holiday season, in my opinion.
Bad: It’s almost over. Sigh.

Happy holidays to all of you!

 

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Getting out of Lacoste is a little bit of a challenge. To meet up with 36-hour Tina in Turin, Italy, this weekend, I had to fly in this from Marseille to Milan.

Only 18 seats on that puddle jumper.

A train or a car would have taken about seven hours, so I dealt with it.

And a weekend with my friend was worth it. (I should rename Tina as we spent a whole 60 hours together this visit.) It rained the entire time, but we still had fun (eating, mostly).

I also had fun watching a little Italian television in our sweet 1980s living room.

Yes, that's red velvet.

 

Here’s what I saw on Italian television:

  • A “Starsky and Hutch“-style overdubbed show from the ’80s (to match the couch)
  • An infomercial where a woman in sparkling white pumps demonstrated the cleaning power of a vacuum cleaner. Look! It sucks up cigarette butts from an ashtray! (Why couldn’t she just dump the ashtray’s contents into the trash?)
  • An infomercial for a water-purifying faucet that comes in a variety of festive colors, such as burnt plastic.
  • Three men dressed in drag seated at a desk reading something off clipboards.
  • News delivered by women wearing lingerie.
  • No fewer than four channels devoted solely to cars.
  • A close-up shot of a man using a pencil carved from a tree branch as a pointer to read through each headline in that day’s newspaper.
  • A participatory talk show featuring the host dressed in a George Washington get-up.
  • A “Welcome Back, Kotter“-style high school drama featuring a fat, pasty Johnny Depp wannabe and a kid with too many teeth in his mouth.
  • “C’è posta per Te” (loosely translated as “you’ve got mail”), a Maury/Sally Jesse/Montel type of reunion show.
  • What can only be described as the “Understanding Art Channel.”

All of the above employed the production quality/values from the ’80s and ’90s. It was like a time warp.

Outside the ’80s bubble, plenty was happening in Turin. One of the biggest things was the SilverSkiff, an annual regatta on the Po River. It’s why Tina was in Turin in the first place. Unfortunately, she and the other rowers made the pilgrimage for nothing: The organizers cancelled the race because of the effects of the torrential rain.

We still had a great time, though. Here are some photos (not postcard-perfect, as usual) from the weekend adventure.

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It’s been a busy week for me as I prepare for my Provençal adventure, and it has been a busy week for this blog’s eagle-eyed contributors.

Apparently, it has been a tough week for those who write for public view.

For example, Max found a syntax mistake made by a WTOC Web writer.

“[This] has me imagining 81 ambulances lined up in front of the McDonalds in Pooler,” Max wrote. And then do they snap the victim into nine pieces so they can each get a part?

Aileen wants to know what “homous” is. I don’t know, but I don’t think the Tea Party would approve.

Daniel wrote of this sign, “Do they want us to kill our garbage instead?” Good question. Perhaps that will make it easier to be “procesed.”

Cheryl noticed this headline:

That must be one large ensemble if they can lay off 30,000 and still have members. It gives new meaning to the term “big band” (or Band Aid, even).

Finally, Aimee spotted this sign at All-American Gymnastics:

At least someone had the decency to cross out the offending word. Adding the correct one would have been a bonus.

Thank you to this week’s contributors! (And I really hope I didn’t make any mistakes in this post … )

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Mike Judge is starting to look more and more like Nostradamus; his “Idiocracy” is akin to “The Prophecies.”

You need evidence that we live in a society that is shunning intellectual curiosity and social responsibility? You must not have watched any of the debt debates.

There are other signs all around of our declining intellectual ability. Literally.

Here’s one offered by my friend Lisa, who was mortified to find this at her son’s school:

God forbid the "parnet's" forget eggs on "Wesdnesday." That might be the day they also learn about spelling and apostrophe usage.

Royce provided this selection from the Savannah Morning News:

Maybe a "cachier" is a new term for someone who helps with a cache of coupons.

I saw this during my recent jaunt to Jacksonville:

I wonder if the new ownership will extend care to people of other faiths too.

Karla was amused by this entry in a cabin’s guest book:

It's clear they don't quite have a handle on our "human words." Ah, the intricacies of adverbs, adjectives and verbs.

And finally, from Elyse, here is evidence of a desperate attempt to sound important — an attempt office workers see on a regular basis:

Somewhere the word "use" is weeping quietly.

Sigh.

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As I mentioned in my last post, I taught a creative writing workshop at a community center in Jacksonville last week.

Ages: 9-13
Hours: 9 a.m. – 2 p.m.
Days: Monday – Friday
Me: Completely wiped out

There’s a huge difference between teaching 9 year olds and teaching 13 year olds, and there were three of the former and two of the latter in the class — all girls.

I felt like some kind of lion tamer.

The younger ones wanted to stand on chairs, draw princesses, and talk about Justin Bieber. The older ones wanted to actually work on writing (and smack the younger ones).

You might be surprised to learn that I’m glad I taught the workshop. It was truly a learning experience. You know, the whole “That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger” philosophy. (Thanks, Nietzsche!) I definitely learned some new skills, which is always good.

And the girls really were fun. A couple of them have promise as writers, and I hope to see their work again.

So, I wouldn’t mind teaching it again next year, but we’ll need to put in some different age parameters, of course.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, it will be a scene out of a “Normal Rockwell” painting. (Thanks, Chris!)

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Just when you thought it was safe to read my blog again, I bring you more photos from the Redneck Games!

(Hey, I allowed a few days for your system to get back to normal after Sunday’s post.)

Sarah shows off her "arsenal of hydration." *

Bursting with excitement, I lead the way to the festival. (Photo by Royce)

Bikinis and boots: A fashion trend sweeping Dublin. (Photo by Royce)

Muscular men and jorts go together like peas and carrots (or twigs and berries, as the case may be). And white velcro shoes too? Mmm ... tasty!

Feast upon this buffet of manflesh and be disappointed you did not get to use your own looking holes -- er, eyes -- in person.

Nothing says "redneck" like a freshly dug mudpit for bellyfloppin'.

Ol' Dixie also makes a great beach towel.

I actually wanted to compete in this event. They didn't draw my number. I wept. (Or maybe that was just sweat.)

Nothing like a "sovienor" cup to commemorate the day.

If you are thinking about attending next year’s Redneck Games, you should know this:

  • It is hotter than the surface of the sun in Dublin in July.
  • Even with a canopy, you must apply sunscreen or you will be redder than the General Lee.
  • There is no organization and no real schedule. Type As must get over it.
  • No real bathrooms either. Savor the Port-O-Let.
  • Media will nearly outnumber the participants.
  • You can make a killing selling ice. And beer. And Dixie bathing suits.

See you all next year!

* Heidi gets the credit for this term.

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Writing succinctly is an art.

It’s why I like to teach Writing and New Media. New media is all about writing many little bits.*

It’s why I’m fascinated with six-word memoirs.

It’s why I’d like to write six-word movie reviews.

“Priest”
Paul Bettany needs a better agent.

“Thor”
Please take off your shirt again.

“Mr. Popper’s Penguins”
I thought it would be worse.“Super 8”
Like “E.T.,” “Goonies?” You’ll like this.

“The Hangover Part II”
Same story. Different city. Still funny.

“Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides”
Even my boyfriend couldn’t save it.

“Bridesmaids”
Best movie out: Hollywood take note.

I think I have a future. Anyone willing to pay for it?

* That’s a fact some of the students in my class didn’t really seem to grasp when they noted there wasn’t much long-form writing in the class. Sigh.

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I apologize for my dissertation-induced hiatus. I’m back with a vengeance: a roundup of this week’s idiocy, near and far.

From Texas:

From Montana:

From around the corner:

I think I'm offended.

And from the Savannah Morning News:

I can't imagine the Muslim would want to be worn anyway.

And I’ve just discovered the apostrophe key is not working on my laptop (all of the ones here were cut and pasted). How will I survive?

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