an apology for lsz*, and some other crap

oh, muffin. i'm a bad blogger. bad, bad blogger, leaving you out here to fend for yourself in the wilds of the internets like an infant foisted off on a band of harpies. i tricked you into counting on me, and then i pulled the rug out from under you and walloped you over the head with it. i shall die a fiery death for my sins, i assure you.

the tragic truth of it, though, is that i, too, am bereft of interesting news about pretty boys and political evils. let me see if i can dredge up a little something to rouse your curiosity, anyway.

1. i don't exactly watch dr. 90210, but i frequently pause on it when they're in the middle of actual surgical procedures, just because i'm somewhat transfixed by the ease with which a living thing can be made into listless meat, and also i'm sort of hypnotized by the shininess of it all. anyhow, on an episode that aired recently a male-to-female transsexual went in for breast implants. all during the consult and surgical prep, we were treated to uncensored full-frontal torso, but once the implants were in place (and i mean the second they were in place; the doctor hadn't even put down his forceps) the show began to pixelate her nipples. this struck me as immensely bizarre and disgustingly misogynistic. the patient wasn't more or less a woman with the implants in, she just fit the societal mold a little better. are athletic, flatter-chested genetic women less female than naturally larger-breasted girls? the patient still had a penis; technically, medically, those were male nipples on top of those synthetic fun bags. but they were on top, and so they couldn't be displayed. my vexation is tempered only by the thought that the patient may have been pleased. . . i guess i'd have to talk to her before i made a solid stand.

2. i am now only four months behind on the new yorker, and am slogging through my accumulated stack at a tortoise-steady clip that i'm certain will get me caught up in no time (in the past week i finished two and a half issues by deciding that i didn't really care about classical music or athletes; i guess this is how everyone else manages to keep from falling behind in the first place). today i finished the jan. 16 issue and can not believe the magazine ran a two-page plug for the family guy. what? what?!?! i mean, anyone who knows me knows i love lowbrowing it, but even i couldn't watch enough of this show to write an article about it. i wonder how much the author was motivated by the series' recent financial success from its dvd sales; she did mention it pretty prominently. nancy franklin, do you *heart* lucrative ventures? and why have you taken the looking-glass position that indulging in potty humor makes you a feminist? and how dare you compare harvey birdman to drawn together? harvey, like everything of its ilk williams street has blessed us with over the years (space ghost coast to coast, sealab 2021, etc.) is an inspired burst of irreverent oddness with a mind-blowingly stellar cast (gary cole, stephen colbert, peter macnicol, to name a few). drawn together is the animated equivalent of the thing the roto-rooter man pulls out of my bathroom sink every fall. maybe brian should go back to work at the new yorker, nancy. perhaps he could take your office.

3. roasted turnips are delicious, and have practically no calories. oh, what's that, nancy? you find my calorie counting a self-effacing act that sets the feminist movement back half a century and only assures the industrialized world's capitalist patriarchy that it's got me right where it wants me? well, if you eat too many of them they'll give you gas that could make a dead hyena's eyes water. how's that?


thanks for checking in on me, kids. and all the gentle nagging about my prolonged absence . . . thanks for that, too.






* what the hell . . . i'll extend the apology to all the rest of you who feel you have one coming.