Sign the Petition

Ok, I'm not too crazy about the copy on this petition, but seeing as how there's over 7000 signatures, why reinvent the wheel.

http://www.petitiononline.com/Tomkat/

It's a petition to boycott War of the Worlds. Now, the petition itself does a lot of namecalling as well, and so kind of invalidates itself. I would have preferred a more objective, business-like approach, however, people lke to get behind raw anger and ire. Probably why most of you come here... so...go sign it. I'll ahve it linked on the sidebar over there as long as it's active.

My War Against Tom "Aliens Control My Body But Vitamins Will Cure Me" Cruise Continues

This Motherfucker has to be stopped.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/8343367/

Not once in that whole goddamned interview does he explain or back up any of his "extensive reseach" into the science of Psychiatry. Also. Anti-psychotic drugs treat Schitzophrenia and Dimensia. Psychotropic Drugs treat things like ADHD and Depression. Ritalin is NOT AN ANTIPSYCHOTIC DRUG!

Now, while I agree that the use of Ritalin has been an over-prescribed practice, it has saved many children from YEARS of suffering and wondering what the hell is wrong with them that they can't concentrate or get good grades or finish what they start. Not to mention, the millions of people, including myself, who have been saved with the aid of medication.

Here's my story.

About 3 years ago I was depressed and in therapy. For years I had been battling feeling sad about 80% of the time. I felt hopeless. I had no direction and as a result was in a constant panic about where my life was going to go. And the worst part was, no matter what I did, it wouldn't go away. However, I figured that I didn't need medication. The need for medication would mean that there was something REALLY wrong with me. So, I avoided it. Kept a stiff upper lift and endured.

One day, I was walking home from the El. I was thinking about my life, therapy, my childhood and suddenly I was punched in the face with a full blown anxiety attack. I made it home and stood in my kitchen crying and gasping for air thinking I was absolutely losing my mind...and that I needed to get it back in the next 5 minutes because I had rehearsal in a half hour. Yeah, that's how hard I was on myself. I'm having a meltdown, but yelling at myself because there was rehearsal to think about. It was horrifying.

That night I made a decision. I was going to ask about getting on medication.
My doctor talked to me, asked me how long I had been feeling like this, what my feelings were about medication. I told her:
"I feel really ashamed because I feel like I should be able to handle this myself."
Her response was:
"Well, that is the response of someone who suffers from Depression. You feel like you should be handling everything yourself and you are overwhelmed. If you were a diabetic you'd take medicine, right? This is really no different."

So, I started Zoloft. And the results were remarkable. I felt lighter. The fog I had been wandering around in was lifted. I followed through with things. I was punctual. But most of all, I wasn't obsessing over things anymore, and I wasn't blaming myself everytime something went wrong. I started to feel like a normal person.

Now, I take Welbutrin (no sexual side affects and the added bonus of a marked decrease in smoking), and yes, I take Xanax for my anxiety. My life is much different. I find moments of peace I never had growing up. I don't feel like I'm in trouble all the time.

Imagine 26 years of unexplained sadness and the feeling that I was somehow defective taken away.

And Tom, I tried excercise. I tried Vitamins. Hell, I even tried seminars very similar to Scientology minus the belief that there's a big Alien stuffed in a fucking volcano somewhere, you freak.

So, I have no shame around what I did to make myself well. Hell, I told my boyfriend on Day 3 that I was on meds. And Hats Off to Brooke Shields who went through hell just to get pregnant with that baby. And then to have to suffer through depression when all the while thinking she should be happy she even HAD a child??? I can't even begin to imagine how her much brain was beating the crap out of her on a daily basis.

Depression and Anxiety are REAL. They are caused by chemical imbalances. NOT BY THE SPIRITS OF EXTRA TERRESTRIALS KILLED IN A WAR 75 MILLION YEARS AGO! My father suffers from it, as do most of his side of the family. It's genetic and hereditary.

And how people choose to treat it is their goddamned business.

Tom Cruise is an evil, evil man. Him saying there is no such thing as a chemical imbalance is tantamount to saying that Gay people have a choice.

He is a bigot. Plain and simple.
Boycott his films.

I Caught one THIS Big!

Fishing shows are addictive. Surfing through the digital cable guide at mom's and seeing anything fishing/bass/In-Fisherman/or Bill Dance related brings excitement not seen since waking up on Saturday mornings knowing that cereal and Superfriends were first on the "to-do" list.

For many years, my family traveled to Florida to be pampered by my Grandparents. Among the activities to look forward to was flat-bottom boat fishing and shelling trips. The last time I went was with my younger brother. Bleary eyed and hating alcohol, we still managed to have one of the best times ever that morning. It then became "My favorite thing to do while in Florida."

A little while back I was visiting my Dad in Los Angeles. He had charged me with the task of "thinking of stuff I wanted to do." At this point, I had seen all the requisite LA "places where only tourists go", and Venice Beach is only charming for the first 20 visits. Laying on the couch, getting right on that Dad, BAM. In-Fisherman. Immediately, heart rate lowered, I was fully engaged in the pros and cons of live vs. artificial bait. My dad walked in the room, recognized the angler accents and the unmistakable ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzz of the cast and stopped dead in his tracks.
"Laura, are you watching fishing?"
"Totally. I love fishing shows."
"You do??"
"Yes." I was gearing up to school Dad on the finer points of Angling and the soothing nature of its programs. He beat me to it.
"Actually, so do I. I find them very soothing. Like golf."

Ah, a father-daughter bonding moment the likes of which...yeah, it's pretty weird.

Anyway, suddenly it hits me. FISHING! There's an ocean around here right? And boats? And fish? There has GOT to be a charter service like Florida right?
Dad was hesitant, but my exuberance was catching and he went off in search of a boat and a captain while I discovered the cleverness of a remarkable me.

We pulled into the harbor the next day. Expecting the pristine "Boating/Fishing/Shelling" signage I was used to seeing in Florida, imagine my shock when we arrived at what looked like a scene out of a Merchant Marine movie. We wandered around for a while until we spotted a small, badly in need of a repaint, sign the read simply "Charters". The girl in me started piping "ew!" and "this is NOT like Florida at all!" And where the hell were the rest of the families?

So, we find our boat, read: The Orca, as featured in the Spielberg classic "Jaws", and board. The Fishing Party: Six men. 3 Grizzled, hip boot wearing essentially pirate type guys, two younger semi (thank goodness) normal looking guys, the Captain-who could have definitely stood to have a shower...and us. Dad, having just taken some Dramamine clad in a BRIGHT WHITE T-shirt and work out shorts, and a red ball cap, and me in my cute shorts, tank-top, and bathing suit. I looked around at the company and realized they all had something we didn't. Fishing Tackle. Um, hello??? Where were the poles that the company rents to the tourists? Anyone? Anyone??
"Here, you can use this." a large fishing rod unceremoniously thrust into my hand.
"You ever been fishing?" This captain was really beginning to get on my damn nerves.
"Yes, I have, thank you. In Florida. On the Gulf of Mexico." Pssh. Have I ever been fishing before. Christ. Of Course. Aaaand then I looked at my reel.

Ok, a little fishing lesson.
There are a few different types of reels out there, but the most commonly used reels are your Spinning Reels and your Conventional Open Face Reel. The Spinning reel is often called a "Coffee Grinder" due to it's resemblance to the old fashioned coffee grinders...like the one in Dances with Wolves...only cylindrical. These reels are cool because they employ automatic tension during your cast. Which is good. No tangling or "Bird's Nests" as they're sometimes called. Now, the Open Face reel is different. That's the one that looks like a big spool with a crank. These do not employ automatic tension on the line. Therefore, when you cast, you have to keep your thumb on the spool to keep the spinning line that moves back and forth across the spool as you're throwing (casting) the line out, to keep it under control, other wise, bam. Bird's nest, and about 10 minutes of untangling before you're ready to cast again.

I had never used an Open Face Reel before.

"Um, you don't have a Spinner?" Almost came out of my face, but the Captain was busy preparing the "Breakfast" portion of the Chartered Fishing, Breakfast provided portion of the day's bounty. "Breakfast" turned out to be a fried-egg sandwich wrapped in a dirty paper towel.

We pulled away from the harbor and immediately the doubts I had about the day began to melt away as I took in the sea air...realizing that I had never in fact been on a boat in the Pacific Ocean. So, that in itself was a special treat.

Arriving at what the Captain deemed "a good spot", we Anglers readied our poles and cast. Or rather, everyone else cast and Dad and I ended up with the first of about 50 bird's nests that day. It got so bad that after a while I just gave the fuck up and decided to enjoy the day on the boat. This decision was not well received by the older, grizzlier passengers, but whatever. I had a tan to work on.

Suddenly, I hear:
"Sea Lions!"

Ok, another fishing lesson.
On the Gulf, Pelicans are a menace to anyone trying to get any fishing done. They steal your bait, steal your catch, and one always runs the risk of hooking one of the bastards. That means a cut line, not mention a big, mean old hook in the poor Pelican.
On the Pacific, however, Sea Lions are the fisherman's nemesis for the exact same reason. But I didn't know that.

"What?? Sea Lions? REAL LIVE SEA LIONS?"

I was up and leaning over the side of the boat gazing down at two of the cutest little faces I had ever seen. And said as much. They were frolicking around, splashing, and just generally having a good time, and, thus, was I. I lurched backwards as the boat accelerated AWAY from my National Geographic moment.

"Why are we moving?" I asked. Ooh. That sounded sooo girly.
"Because. Unless you want 'em to eat your fish, we have to move."
"Oh." I had so much to learn about this new world of Pacific Ocean fishing.

One of the old coots kinda warmed to me at one point. More likely it was the bikini, but regardless...
"Hey, you... I got a good size fish on this rod. You wanna reel her in?"
Ok, I just now realized there is no way of saying anything regarding fishing without it being a double entendre. Gross.
"Yeah! I'd love to." REEL IN THE FISH! THE FISH!!!!

God help me, it was a barracuda.

I'll pause here so you can all make your requisite "She said: rod, pole, reel, barracuda, good size" jokes here.

Finished?
Good.

Anyway, the rest of the day went pretty much the same. Me lolling around the boat, getting dirty looks from all the guys on the boat, and more than a few
"God Damnits"
From my dad every time he birdnested his reel.
We were exhausted by the end of it all.
But it was a good time.

And I can say my dad took me fishing.

Today

Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose.

The fear of loss is a path to the Dark Side.

Billy, Please Grow Your Fucking Hair Back.

http://www.chicagotribune.com/media/acrobat/2005-06/18118271.pdf

Aside from being one of the most UN-fucking-flattering photos of any human being, what follows in this full page monstrosity is some of the most egomaniacal crap this side of Tom Cruise's taint.

I must tell you a story.

Back in 1994, I was a Freshman at Michigan State University, and the Smashing Pumpkins started touring Siamese Dream-their follow-up to the then lesser known Gish album. It came to pass that MSU was going to be one of the stops on this much anticipated tour and the entire campus was positively a-buzz with excitement.

The big night came. I, as yet, had not gotten my hands on any tickets. Then a knock at my "keep your door open so people know you're friendly!"
Doug from the guys' side. A tall, lanky, latent homosexual who probably wouldn't come out for another year or so.
"Laura, I have bleacher seats to Smashing Pumpkins! You wanna go?"
Heck yes I did, so I threw on my china-flat mary janes to go with my daisy dukes and hippie shirt ensemble, and off to the Breslin Center we went.

Our seats were indeed in the bleachers..center section...sixteenth row. We were pretty happy and self satisfied until our attention slowly turned to the "General Admission" section down on the stadium floor. We couldn't help but notice how few people were down there! There was so much room! Murmurs of "Supposedly they only sold 50 GA's" and "That's bullshit" and "These seats suck" started to invade our consciousness. Doug turned to me:
"Hey, what do you think, after the second song starts, we try and make our way down there? It shouldn't be too hard to get past the ushers, and besides, look at all that room!!"
"Totally dude. I'm down. As soon as that second song starts, we make a break for it."
It was a plan. We smirked at eachother's brilliance.
I'd like to tell you what they opened with, but honestly the second song is the only song I remember.
As soon as that unmistakable strumming and churchbell sounded, Doug and I were off. I noticed some pushing behind me and glanced back. Apparently, we weren't the only ones who had executed Directive 66. Adrenaline blasted through me as I saw a wave of about 2000 other brilliant concert goers moving towards us at an alarming rate. Moving downward. Aided by gravity.

Then my bad choice of shoes and pants manifested itself for the first of more than a few times that evening. I slipped and fell. Hard. On the edge of a bleacher. And felt my bare upper thigh hit and then scrape on the corrugated metal...the ass clenching stomach heaving pain...and then Doug grabbing my arm to pull me to my feet and towards the pit. In a cacophonous blur we were down.
"We made it!!" Doug was ecstatic. I was holding my still-throbbing leg managing a feeble "Disarm you with a smile". I was hurt. More and more people poured onto the floor. Steel-toed Boots were crushing my canvass clad feet. I had to get out of there. I wasn't safe. I was in real danger of getting seriously injured. So I backtracked.
And then LC falls the second time.
Upright bodies quickly tried to move into the space previously occupied by mine, confused by the resistance at their feet. I tried to get up, but I had no room to put my hands underneath me for leverage and hoisting. I was stuck. And what air there was hot and sick and I was in very big trouble. I started to scream. Suddenly I understood how a trampling is possible. I felt someone's hands grab my by my armpits and lift me off the ground. I struggled to keep my shoes on that had been half removed from me feet...And then I was unceremoniously deposited on higher ground. I turned around to see who had saved me. A big burly scary mosh pit type guy.
"Stay here. You can't be out there." and then he was gone.
I quickly scaled the barricades again to even higher ground and took in what had just happened.
50 people expontentialized to close to 1500. It was a sea of people. It was chaos. And all the while... "Disarm you with a smile..."

Finally, the song was over. Over the roar of the completely overstimulated crowd was Billy's voice,
"You're all very naughty naughty children."
God, he was sexy.
We all cheered, celebrated our little bit of anti-establishment and devoured the next song.
Billy's voice again:
(Chuckle) "On behalf of the Breslin Center and Michigan State University, I'm supposed to tell you if you do not have tickets for the General Admission area to kindly return to the seats for which your tickets were issued...Buuuuuuut, since that's not gonna happen any time soon, do me a favor. Take care of eachother. If you see someone fall down, pick them up, kick em in the ass and tell them not to do that again. Enjoy the rest of the show."
And enjoy it we did.

I awoke aching the next morning. I moved slowly, assessing any long term damage. My feet were trashed. Bruised and cut to hell. But my leg. Oh my god my leg. I turned my ass towards the mirror and with ginger fingers poked at the 16 inch softball sized bruise that was rearing it's ugly red, purple, yellow and green head all over the back of my leg. It was so big that days later I was laying out in the sun in the quad, when my RA came running out and demanding to know what had happened to my leg.

"I was on the OTHER SIDE of the quad, and I could see that thing from there!"

I wore my trophy proudly for about 4 weeks. Always with short shorts. (Largely die to the fact that long pants rubbing against it was excruciating.) But, it made me feel frickin' tough when I regaled my horrific tale of near death at the hands of a Smashing Pumpkins Mosh Pit.

And now today, Bald, Bloated, Billy Corgan. I can't even reconcile what he's become with what he was the night I almost bit it. It's heartbreaking really.

So, he's another in a long line of celebrities who can fuck right the fuck off.

Oh my I've been Remiss!

Oh Blog Readers.... I apologize for the lack of entries of late. I must confess that I have been focusing my writings elsewhere in an effort to improve and therefore maybe DO something with my damn life.

So, fear not... I will post a story I've been working on.
Til then, sleep tight.

THIS JUST IN...

Shields firing back at Cruise

Published June 2, 2005

Brooke Shields is lashing out at Tom Cruise, who recently criticized the actress for using antidepressants and called her actions "irresponsible."

Shields, whose book "Down Came the Rain" chronicles her battle with postpartum depression, says Cruise should mind his own business.

"Tom should stick to saving the world from aliens and let women who are experiencing postpartum depression decide what treatment options are best for them," she tells People magazine.
Cruise, who stars in the upcoming "War of the Worlds," told Access Hollywood recently that it is "irresponsible" for Shields to say that antidepressants helped her. Cruise, a follower of Scientology, suggests women try vitamins and exercise.

"When someone says [medication] has helped them, it is to cope. It didn't cure anything. There is no science. There is nothing that can cure them whatsoever," he said.


GO BROOKE GO!!!!

It's a Wonder I never Killed Anybody...

Years ago, my brother and I were playing with the Legos. I had a straight pin from a little sewing box full of sequins and other notions I swiped from my mom's sewing table. I remembered an episode of Tom and Jerry where some hijink casues Tom to launch into the air. As Tom is in free-fall, Jerry pulls out an enormous hat pin and places it directly under the spot Tom's ass will hit upon his return to Earth. Tom lands on it...there's a little viloin "mew" noise as the pin penetrates, Tom screams, launches once again into the air and everyone laughs.... HAAAHAAHAHAHAHAHA I'm thinking as my brother leans over from his indian style position to reach an errant Lego, his butt lifting off the carpet and I place my hand full of straight pin in the spot where he's gonna come back down...

There was no cute little "mew" noise.

Yeah, that wasn't funny at all.

What the fuck was wrong with me??