While We're Loosening Bans and Restrictions, Allow Me to Loosen My Belt

So I may urinate on the safety of this country...

Double you tee eff, America? Like, for real?

Much to my chagrin, the USSC, in all of their supremacy, decided to vote against the 32-year old gun ban in my city. And why? Because they're a bunch of jack-offs.

People in the District of Columbia are not hunting. Those who are, are certainly on "the list", or will simply be placed in straight jackets. Those in DC with guns who are using them for self-defense are using them against other Washingtonians with guns that are using them for self-defense, oh yeah, and those thugs who got their guns illegally (and will continue to do so). I understand that weaponry is a major industry in the United States, but it really doesn't have to be that way, does it? Look at the crime rate in the U.S. and compare it with other countries. The 2nd Amendment itself is quite outdated. I mean, how often do you hear the word "militia" in your everyday life?

Look what happens when people have free reign to just go out and get a gun the legal way. Hmmm... let's see... students go ballistic on campuses across the country, geese who are just minding their business get whacked, oh yeah, and politicians "accidentally" shoot other politicians.

Can you tell that I'm mildly irritated? The DC gun-ban, though not 100% effective, was a good thing, in my ever-so-humble opinion.

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While we're on the issue of loosening things, let's talk about Bush and the DPRK. Bush will lift trade sanctions with Kim Jong-Il Na-Na but not Cuba? Perhaps Froomkin was right. Bush really is suffering from senioritis (rather than just a senior moment like his homeboy D.C.)

Blah!!!!

I realize that my posting has been quite inconsistent. I blame this mainly on laziness and on the fact that I have actually attempted to do quite a bit of researching the last few weeks.

Oh Hell No!

Wow, those Romanians have really outdone themselves this time...

While driving to work this morning, trying to conserve gas the best way I know how, I was startled to hear about this shockingly stupid story on NPR:

The residents of a Romanian village voted in a dead man as their mayor Sunday, choosing him over his living opponent. The candidate died of liver disease shortly after voting began -- but still won by a margin of 23 votes.

Courtesy The Bryant Park Project Blog

WTF, Romania??!?!!

Yes, I could think of thousands of dead people I'd elect over Dubya, but would that be wise? Well... maybe that's not such a great example, but you know what I mean.

Who's the village idiot here? The guy who LOST???!?!?!?!?!

Big Yellow Forehead (continued)

What's in a name?

The series continues...

Back in the Day...

I used to get teased quite a bit about the size of my forehead. Some of my classmates in middle school would tell me that I had a "Tyra Banks Forehead" (or fivehead, as they sometimes said). I could not tolerate Tyra Banks back in the 90s. I mean, I think she's God-awful now, but I really despised her back in the day. It was probably the result of being told that I had a massive cranium, just like her, the fact that she couldn't act her way out of a paper bag, and the horrible hair weaves she would wear (I still maintain my theory that her forehead is so ginormous because of all the weaves she's worn over the years), all wrapped up into one.

When you have a larger-than-life forehead, people always want to touch it --- at least they do that to me (is that standard? must look into this...). It's like they think that it will give them some sort of magical powers, or that they can make a wish off of your forehead, or SOMETHING. The whole thing was always bizarre to me.

You see, big foreheads run in my family. I never realized that I had a big forehead until I got teased at school. It's just like how little kids don't know anything about race until you tell them about it. I didn't know my forehead wasn't perceived as normal because nobody had ever drawn attention to it.

Needless to say, the mean kids at my middle school really let me have it, and informed me that my forehead was gargantuan on a fairly regular basis. Sometimes, they didn't even call me my full name. They just called me "Forehead." How endearing.... (enter sarcastic smiley here)...

On the outside, I appeared to be a major wimp. I had this squeaky voice, I was all scrawny, and as I explained in the last post on this topic, I had no fashion sense whatsoever --- something crucial to the middle school existence. But don't get it twisted. (And also don't ask why I keep using slang today.) My dad and brother taught me how to fight like a boy. Someone should have told Jason Brown* that when were on the bus that one day in 7th grade...

Anyone who ever rode the bus as a middle schooler knows the horrors of the afternoon bus ride. Ridiculous things happen when you put a bunch of rowdy pubescent tweens on a bus together for 15 minutes. Kids expose themselves, pick fights, moon passerby, and throw miscellaneous objects.

One day, Jason Brown decided that it was time to pick on me to show off to all of his friends his joning skills. This was not uncommon in my suburban Maryland community. Unfortunately, I was the subject of this joning exercise, and the audience was a cruel one.

Jason was seated in front of me. He turned around, kneeling on his seat, facing me, and began to crack jokes about the size of my forehead. Thanks to instigation from the peanut gallery, the harassment worsened. He began calling me "Forehead" and proceeded to smack me in the forehead. How rude!

"You'd better stop it!" I yelled at him. Of course this caused him to burst out in laughter.

"Or what?"Jason asked sardonically.

"Or else," I responded. (I don't even think that I was convinced this was a viable threat.)

Jason continued smacking me on the forehead and mocking me until we reached my bus stop. I remember feeling extremely angered -- a feeling that is rare to me even today (unless I'm watching a State of the Union Address by Dubya or listening to HRC "misremember" things). I knew that something was going to have to be done to Jason the next time he made fun of me in front of all of the kids I grew up with -- I just didn't know what I was going to do...

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The next day, on the way home, Jason and the instigators started on me again.

"Forehead! Forehead!" chuckled Jason as he repeatedly smacked me in the forehead.

"Stop it!" I yelled angrily, but he kept on. All of a sudden, I had an outer-body experience. I stood up, felt overcome with rage, looked at him, knew his mouth was moving, but heard nothing. I cocked my arm back, and socked him right in the lip. Somehow, I knew that my stop was approaching, so I grabbed my things, walked to the front of the bus, the doors opened, and I got out right at my stop. Needless to say, Jason Brown never teased me again. That day, everyone laughed at him for getting beaten up by a girl. Apparently, with that one forceful blow, I was able to maim him. I busted his lip, as well as his dignity.

***I don't want anyone to think that I'm condoning violence. But while I'm not condoning violence, I'm also not condoning the silent treatment or "pretend they're not there" BS either. Sometimes you gotta put your foot down and take names...***

Now I embrace my forehead. My big, beautiful, yellow forehead is just a small part of who I am. And that is precisely why I named my blog "Big Yellow Forehead."

If your eyes are the windows to your soul, then my forehead must be the garage.

*fictional name used to spare the dignity of this man

The Ominous Character That is Hillary Rodham Clinton

Before reading this blog entry, I suggest reading this article by Eugene Robinson of the WAPO...

This was my original reaction to the article:

"Hillary Clinton might be a flying purple people eater, but she's no idiot. She knew exactly what she said and why she said it. As someone else noted, she's just mad that she got caught and that people aren't as dumb as she thinks. I'm so tired of hearing these whining, moaning, HRC supporters crying sexism. Hillary says something stupid, rational-thinking people don't fall for it, and all of a sudden the media is sexist. Give me a break! How about the racism that the HRC campaign has perpetuated since Day 1? Let's talk about that. Bringing up RFK's assassination was calculated. She meant exactly what you think she meant. What a heinous villain."

I knew that Hillary was a low-stooper, player hater, and a habitual line-stepper, but golly... The RFK assassination? Are you really waiting for an assassination to happen before you drop out of the race, Hillary?

I know that Hillary has no problem assisting the shit in hitting the fan, but come on. Have some pride, woman! Why would you even say something so horrible? I don't believe for one second that she didn't mean to allude to some sort of assassination during this presidential campaign season. It's horrible! That's all that I can say. Stop smoking that wacky tobacky, Hilary. Stop.

Hmmm... Is He Old, Or Old As Hell?

John McCain. The man of many years. Many, many, MANY years...

Okay, so they released McCain's medical records, and I ask this: Who gives two shits? I know I don't.

The man is old as hell. Come on. "Healthy" for a 71-year old man is not the same as healthy for a 21-year old, is it? I have met plenty of 71-year olds, and read plenty of magazine articles about 80-year old marathon runners, but let's get real --this man is not one of them.

I'm not completely sold on the fact that McCain does NOT stuff his suit jackets. While watching SNL last weekend, it seemed fairly obvious to me that Old Man River had a stuffed suit jacket! Anybody want to go head-to-head with me on this one and try to argue otherwise?

You will lose! :-P

Big Yellow Forehead

What's in a name?

I've just realized that I never explained the name of this blog! Below is the beginning of a series of blogs to follow explaining the name of my blog...

Back in the Day...

When I was in elementary school, I was this sweet little thing (though mean sometimes, as all kids are). I had excellent grades, parents who were involved in everything from school to athletics to Girl Scouts. They knew my friends' parents, and got along quite well with them. My mom and dad were still married until late in my 3rd grade school year, so I always had cute little pigtails and coordinating barrettes.

Once my parents divorced, I turned into a real ragamuffin. I lived with my father, whom I love dearly, but who doesn't know very much about the hygiene of little girls. He didn't know how to do my hair correctly, so I was often left to my own devices, looking like a girl who lived with just her father and little brother (think 1990s LL Cool J commercial with his daughter). "My fingers are too big to braid your hair," my dad would say.

I had this wild hair. It was really thick, and incredibly wavy, but manageable under the right conditions. For some reason, only my mother was able to find these conditions. My father's girlfriends had no clue how to manage this wild hair. They put gel on it, the wrong barrettes in it, and called it a day. I knew that it was all wrong, but I didn't know how to fix it... but I still tried.

By middle school, I was not so sweet. I don't know too many middle schoolers who are! My grades started to slip from the straight A's of elementary school, I was lazy, and I was too wrapped up in pop culture. I was definitely boy crazy back then, and tried my darnedest to have them Alexis crazy. Unfortunately, this ploy failed on numerous occasions.

I was a big dork.

I should have been sentenced for life by the fashion police. I only got new shoes every two years, and the shoes I owned I wore EVERYWHERE. I had this pair of Adidas with the silver stripes and NO ankle support whatsoever for two years. Those were my favorite. They came with a matching key chain.

My father did not allow me to wear certain things to school. I was allowed to wear jeans (not the tight Parasuco's that were popular during that time), sneakers, and either a t-shirt or a sweatshirt/running jacket. Nothing more. Nothing less. God forbid I look like a 12-year old girl.Despite the fact that we were an athletic household, I was not allowed to wear any athletic clothes. This rule was enacted when I wore a club volleyball jersey and warm-up suit to school one day. Never again.

I recalled this story while I was working at Ann Taylor last weekend:

My grandfather bought me two sweat suits for Christmas one year. One was highlighter yellow, and the other was bright blue. They didn't have hoods. That would have been too much. I HATED hoods as a child (they're a staple of my "Day Off" wardrobe, the evolution of my "First Class of the Day After Volleyball Practice" wardrobe.

I also had this pair of Reebok Princesses (these and the Classics were the hottest shoes of 1997). My mom bought them for me for like $19.99, and I was so excited. I was going to wear these shoes into the ground, like the many pairs of shoes before them. I just knew I was so cool.

Anyway, shortly after receiving these sweat suits, I wore them to school, to show off my coordination. Matching bright yellow sweatpants and sweatshirt, I headed to school that morning, oblivious to the fashion sin I was committing. Fortunately, my lack of fashion sense was soon observed by my classmates.

This one really fat, gay, speech impeded kid jumped on the opportunity to make fun of me. "Look at you. You're bright yellow! Your skin, and your clothes!" He then proceeded to sing "Mr. Sun" (though it sounded like "Mith-ter Thun"), invoking laughter from all of my classmates. Talk about a hit to your ego! I was absolutely humiliated. He was 100% correct. I was so light-skinned during that time of the year that I looked jaundiced (as the doctors thought I was at birth--- true story). The sweat suit gave a true yellow effect, blinding the innocent passerby. Now, I don't get embarrassed very easily, but I'll tell you that I most definitely was on this occasion. Here I thought I looked so cute in an outfit that my grandfather bought for me, while my classmates thought that I looked like a royal, bright yellow anus.

The irony of it all. Me remembering my lack of fashion sense in the 90s while standing in Ann Taylor, advising people on what to wear to keep up with the times while wearing classic styles.

Help! Movies!

Okay, so, if you haven't figured it out already, I'm a big dork...

I have a friend coming to the states in just a couple of months, and I'm trying to put together some movies to watch. He's got some that I haven't seen or heard of before, and I was hoping the same for myself. Unfortunately, I'm finding this not to be the case. Any suggestions? I prefer political or controversial movies.

See, he's studying in London, but he's French, and seems to believe that when it's done in French, it's better. This is even his argument for television show theme songs. For example, Chip and Dale: Rescue Rangers. Do you know what the French call it? Tic et Tac: Ranger du Risque. It's horrible. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles theme song is the worst in French. I almost cried.

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Since I'm on a topic I don't generally discuss on this blog (old-fashioned entertainment), have you all heard of the show "The Electric Company?"



They're trying to bring it back. And yes, that is Morgan Freeman.