Other things Toni Braxton wishes could be reversed, but hasn't immortalized in song

- Unrip My Jeans

- Unburn My Toast

- Untrip My Fuse

- Unsteal My PIN

- Unspill My Drink

- Unlose My Phone

- Unbounce My Check

- Unshave My Head

- Uncrash My Car

Enjoy the hold music

Thank you for calling The Afterlife.

If you know your party's extension, please dial it now.

For heaven, press 1.

For hell, dial extension 666.

For purgatory, please stay on the line and someone will be with you as soon as possible.

Help wanted

Helping Our Lovely Individuals Eliminate Risk by Teaching Healthier Alternatives Naturally and Touting Happy Opportunities Universally (HOLIERTHANTHOU) is seeking an
ALL-AROUND ROCKSTAR PART-TIME COUNSELOR/ROLE MODEL/EDUCATOR/ADVOCATE/MANAGER/YOUTH OUTREACH SPECIALIST!

Job Description:
The Counselor/Role Model/Educator/Advocate/Manager/Youth Outreach Specialist (CREAMY) is responsible for the design, delivery, and evaluation of HOLIERTHANTHOU's social services program. We offer a wide variety of activities and support to the individuals who need them. The CREAMY is involved in all facets of HOLIERTHANTHOU's work. The CREAMY also provides administrative support to the Executive Director, including (but not limited to) stocking and ordering supplies, photocopying library books, filling lunch and Starbucks orders, and providing childcare for two-year-old triplets.

Compensation:
The position of CREAMY is budgeted for 20 hours per week (FTE $20,000). However, you should expect to work at least 35 hours per week, with anything over 20 hours unpaid. Evenings, weekends, and holidays are required, as is occasional overtime (up to 15 hours per week) and work from your deathbed. Please note that this is an exempt position. Travel (30% of time) is required. We do not reimburse for mileage or parking. The ideal candidate would be just as happy doing this work for free.

Qualifications:
1. Quadri-lingual in English, Spanish, and two of the following languages: Cantonese, Mandarin, Tagalog, American Sign Language, Russian, Vietnamese, Klingon.
2. Master's degree or higher in something vaguely related to social services. Life experience may be substituted for all or part of the education requirement.
3. Valid driver's license, clean DMV record, and reliable hybrid vehicle (preferably blue in color). You must provide a copy of your title and registration with your application. Applicants with Hummers will not be considered.
3. A commitment to HOLIERTHANTHOU's vision of diversity, cultural competency, and respect for everyone who agrees with us. Jaundiced lesbian women with three nipples and a pet iguana are strongly encouraged to apply.
4. A commitment to HOLIERTHANTHOU's commitment to provide quality social services in a committed fashion.

Benefits:
Knowing that you work for the best social service agency in the universe.

Please submit cover letter, resume, transcripts, K-12 report cards, photocopies of vehicle title and registration, photocopy of Red Cross blood donor card (including blood type), and five letters of reference (one of which must be from a previous babysitter) to the Executive Director by 1/31/07.

I saw the sign

I feel a lot better now that Christmas is over, thanks. Now I just have to get through my birthday (which is this Thursday, hint hint) and then everything should be peachy-keen.

Last week Mrs. Gerbil and I went to Seattle for six days to visit the in-laws. I definitely needed the vacation. Relaxation was just what my mind, body, and snarky soul needed. One day we took the Edmonds-Kingston Ferry, which was great fun until I decided to take a little walk from bow to stern. I felt a little funny while we were still on the water, but I felt a lot funnier once we disembarked. Add this slight seasickness to a fantastic sinus infection, and you get great potential for snark.

I noticed a sign on the ferry which read PLEASE, KEEP OFF LADDER. Mrs. Gerbil and I were impressed by its grammatical correctness--signs don't usually sport commas!--but we were perplexed about the profound lack of ladders in its vicinity.

"It would be even funnier if it ended with 'FOOL,'" I said.

Mrs. Gerbil agreed.

Imagine if "FOOL" was a standard component of signage:

Such blunt advice might help California drivers, at least, behave a little more normally.

Random hookups

When I was in high school, I had a long-distance boyfriend.

(Yes, I have had boyfriends.)

We met at geek camp. We were together for about a year, during which time we were in the same place (i.e., geek camp) for a grand total of six weeks--three at the beginning, and three toward the end. We wrote each other lots of letters, talked on the phone a few times a week, and chatted online. My pediatrician (of all people) found this all very sweet, because she and her husband met at a geek camp.

Obviously, things did not go the same for me.

My mom thought this was all very sweet as well. But she wanted to know: How could I be going out with this boy when we never actually, you know, went anywhere? Eventually one of us realized that "going out" was exactly the same as "going steady." By that point our conversations about the definition of "going out" became more about teasing than semantics. (Now I hear kids say they are "talking to" someone. It took me a while to figure out that this is the same concept too.)

Then off I went to The Fairest College. I learned pretty quickly that there was this elusive thing called the Hookup, which no one could really define but everyone knew was An Essential Part of the Amherst Experience. Contrary to what my friends elsewhere had heard, "hookup" was not synonymous with "sex." The set of hookups included sex, but it also included many things that were not sex. The only criteria seemed to be that hookups had to be intimate and had to occur in private. "In private," however, could mean "my roommate is a very sound sleeper and besides is quite drunk."

I don't like loose definitions, and I certainly don't like having to explain some ill-defined meme like the Hookup to someone else. So I decided to do something about it:

Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of College Disorders

312.34 Intermittent Hook-Up Disorder

A disorder characterized by several discrete episodes of failure to resist hormonal impulses in which the degree of physical intimacy attained is largely proportionate to the amount of alcohol consumed. May only be diagnosed in college students but is not limited to either males or females.

Diagnostic criteria for 312.34 Intermittent Hookup Disorder:

* At least one "hookup" per month, for a period of at least two semesters. "Hookup" is defined as consisting of kissing ("first base," "tonsil hockey") and at least one of the following:
-- groping;
-- oral gratification;
-- intercourse;
* Embarrassment upon seeing one's hookup of the previous night at the dining hall.
* If one partner in the dyad stays overnight, this person must participate in the “Walk of Shame.” The “Walk of Shame” is characterized by a trek across campus in EITHER the same clothing worn the previous night or clothing owned by the other party. Clothing MUST be rumpled. Also necessary for the “Walk of Shame” in diagnosis of 312.34 Intermittent Hookup Disorder is an embarrassed, downcast glance for at least 60% of the trip. Three episodes of the "Walk of Shame" per month UNACCOMPANIED by embarrassment is sufficient for diagnosis of 296.30 Major Hookup Disorder, Recurrent.

296.30 Major Hookup Disorder, Recurrent
See 312.34 Intermittent Hookup Disorder for general description.

Diagnostic criteria for 296.30 Major Hookup Disorder, Recurrent:
* At least one “hookup” per week, for a period of at least two months. See criteria for 312.34 Intermittent Hookup Disorder for criteria for identification of the “hookup.”
* If hookups occur with the same person more than twice a month, NO embarrassment upon seeing the other party in the dining hall. If hookups are “random” (occurring not more than once per semester with the same person), parties MUST be embarrassed in the dining hall.
* Three episodes of the "Walk of Shame" per month UNACCOMPANIED by embarrassment constitute sufficient criteria for diagnosis of 296.30 Major Hookup Disorder, Recurrent. See criteria for 312.34 Intermittent Hook-Up Disorder for description of the “Walk of Shame.” If the first two criteria for 296.30 Major Hookup Disorder, Recurrent, are met, the “Walk of Shame” is required for diagnosis but does not necessarily have to be accompanied by embarrassment.

Then again, maybe this is just all very silly.

Cookies

Windows Update is seriously a sentient being. My wife installed some Windows update kit thingie the other day because we thought it would help us get to The Book of Daniel. Alas, the show (this makes me want to vomit) seems to have been taken away from viewers completely at this point. And Windows, no matter how many times I command it not to do anything without my permission, keeps screwing around with all my custom settings and downloading random crap and attempting to crash my computer.

Unbeknownst to me, it undid all of my Internet Explorer settings. Among these were my cookie settings. I have no problem with first-party cookies. It is third-party cookies that I do not like. Windows seemed to think I should not accept any cookies at all. But it didn't think to ask me. Why should I know what I want? Really. I'm just a poor, defenseless, uninformed user.

I found out about this cookie thing while trying to log into Blogger. Quoth Blogger, "No cookies? No admittance!" (Well, that was at least the gist of the error message.) Easily fixed, yo. But the irony is that I was logging in to post a song about...

BAKING.

Without further ado, I present an anthem about my preferred method of stress relief.

I got pissed off; now I'm baking pie
You Betty Crockers can't deny
That when your spoon goes in for an itty-bitty taste
It puts a smile upon your face
I like peach. My neighbor is a leech
She don't care that my curtains are drawn
She comes over every mornin'
Says her man ain't never reformin'
Oh sister, you ought stop huffin'
And make some muffins!
Some relationships are born dead
And that man she got makes me think of cornbread
Now my phone is ringin'
Like hell you're not selling things!
So 'scuse me, 'scuse me
'Cause you're interrupting mousse, see?
I went to Wa-Wa
The cashier, he was la-la
He was strange, deranged
Too high to figure out my change
I'm tired of guys with guts
Whistling 'cause they like my butt
Take my springform pan and a dozen eggs
Instead of breaking legs
Some flour! (yeah!) Sugar! (yeah!)
And vanilla bean extract! (yeah!)
Then whip it! (Whip it!) Whip it! (Whip it!)
Whip that angel food cake!
Baby must bake!

You should come over for tea sometime.

Harry Plotzer and the Half-Good Rhymes

Now that the Season of Capitalism is upon us, I know I'm going to be bombarded with happy little Christmas carol arrangements every time I leave the house, not to mention also every time I turn on the TV or the radio. Sometimes I just want to POKE MY EYES OUT. Oedipus is so inspiring, fa la la la la, la la la la.

People parody Christmas carols all the time: Jingle bells, Batman smells. Deck the halls with gasoline. Joy to the world, [fill in the blank] is dead. We fish ewe a mare egrets moose. But really, what could be funnier sillier than parodying in English a song that was written in Hebrew?

(Well, okay, perhaps being attacked by vampiric squid wearing polka-dotted lederhosen and Santa hats is sillier. But not by much.)

There are a few full-length parodies of "Hava Nagila" out there, including one about a mystery food and one of many about tequila. During the vaguely sleep-deprived haze that was my Thanksgiving travel, I didn't have the patience for a whole song while. So I just came up with some lines that sound almost like "Hava Nagila." Of course, one must often force the rhyme.

* Have a sarspreelah
* My name's Bob Vila
* Root for the Steelahs!
* Drive a four-wheelah
* Mint or vaneela?
* Charles and Cameela
* Shaquille O'Neal, ah
* Giant goreela
* Hun named Atteela
* Used Pinto deelah
* Crappy tequila
* Kneecap: pateella
* Potato peelah
* Sink their floteella!
* Made of maneela
* Put out some feelahs

From my cage to yours, Happy It's Not Even December Yet and They're Already Selling Live Christmas Trees at the Grocery Store!

Obsessions change, man.

When I was ten years old, I decided I wanted to be a clinical psychologist when I grew up. I made this decision initially because I wanted to be Deanna Troi and it was just so cool that her job was not, in and of itself, science fiction. By the time I was about 13 I had read about 80% of the psychology collection at Bucks County Community College, and it still seemed like a good idea.

When The Next Generation ended, I got into The X-Files. Scully rocked my world so much that I considered changing course. I didn't want to be a forensic pathologist--dissecting a fetal pig in ninth-grade biology was kinda gross--but I thought being a federal agent would be awesome. Mulder was pretty cool, too, and he was a psychologist. (The writers had apparently forgotten this by the third or fourth season, but whatever.) Forensic psychology was neat, in a creepy sort of way.

(Um, when Star Wars was re-released, I had some half-serious intentions of becoming a Jedi knight. But we won't talk about that one.)

Now the only show I watch is Law and Order: SVU. I am nearly done with my psychology degree, so it's a good thing I'm not yearning now to be a detective, a forensic psychiatrist, or a district attorney. Okay, maybe I do want to go to law school, but one degree at a time. But anyway, Detective Benson is hot. My wife and I enjoy Detective Benson immensely. For a while we thought maybe this character was gay. We really hoped she was. I mean we really hoped she was. When we finally finished watching the first season DVDs this summer, we were crestfallen.

About a year ago I'd written an ode to Detective Benson's sexual ambiguity. I used Bree Sharp's very clever song "David Duchovny" as its basis. Bree, my apologies; but you know, "David Duchovny" came out around the time I was thinking about coming out myself. But this is my song, here.

It's Tuesday night
And it's fast approaching ten
My eyes are bright
Time for SVU again
I know I always think too much
But I can't help thinking it'd be such
A pleasure to know the object
Of that hot detective's touch

And I can't wait any more to know her intentions
I've always wondered about Olivia Benson
Olivia Benson, are you a lesbian?

My friends all tell me,
"Girl, you know that she's made up"
But deep within my heart
I harbor feelings for this cop
Watching her words for a sign
I've learned to read between the lines
I'm waiting for the script that
Just confirms what I opine

In the form of Olivia Benson's sexual tension
Not for Eliot Stabler, but here's what I'm sensing:
Olivia Benson lets down her defense and is
Getting it on with some dyke bar denizen
Olivia Benson, what's your intention?

She runs really fast and
She's learned to kick ass
And I know this is crass
But I know I'll just pout
If she dances about
I'll scream and I'll shout but
I don't understand why she's not out

My bags are packed
I am ready to appear
Down at the station
And find out if she's really queer
I'm just envisioning her chest
As she makes her next arrest
Reading me my rights
Please don't say that I'm obsessed

And I would say, "Olivia Benson, why won't you mention
If you're attracted to women
Or attracted to men, hon?
Olivia Benson, who gets your attention?
Olivia Benson, I hope you're a lesbian
I've got apprehension this'll end in rejection, but
Olivia Benson, I'm good at prevention
My love is immense and
I'm moving to Brooklyn
Olivia Benson, I hope you're a lesbian..."

I admit that at the grocery store the other day, I bought the December issue of Redbook for its (lamentably short) interview with Mariska Hargitay.

You Won't See Me, but You'll Read This Post

Imitation, they say, is the most sincere form of flattery. If my experience is any indication, this holds about as much truth for 9- to 13-year-old girls as "oh, the boys only give you a hard time because they like you." In sixth grade, an apparently libidinous boy knocked me off the parallel bars so hard that I got a goose-egg on the way down. I hope he learned how to pick up girls sometime in the past 15 years.

But I shall spare you the gory details of my former life as a 9- to 13-year-old girl.

I present, instead, a song parody. I've got a backlog of these, all psychology-related, and hopefully I'll get them all up in a reasonable amount of time. I wrote this one about a year ago, when I discovered that The X-Files wasn't the only thing I could write parodies about. And parodies of the early Beatles--especially "Rubber Soul"--practically write themselves.

Without further ado, here is my rendition of "You Won't See Me."

I have called you up
And sent a page
I have had enough
And I'm enraged
I have lost some time
And several jugs of wine
And I have lost my mind
And you won't see me
(You won't see me)

I don't know why you
Went to the coast
If I can't get through
I'll overdose
I can't find the grey
(I know that's what you'll say)
But you have gone away
And you won't see me
(You won't see me)

Week after week
You assure me I can page you
Guess I'm a freak
I loved you; now I hate you!

Though the days are few
They're filled with tears
And since I've seen you
It feels like years
Yes, it seems so long
Doc, since you've been gone
And I just can't go on
If you won't see me