There Is Good News Amongst the Bad

Well, it appears they've finally found this fundamentalist creepy fuck hiding in Canada:

Warren Jeffs

And they've finally found this lil' guy screaming his head off somehow, somewhere:

Edvard Munch's The Scream

So, life's good sometimes.

I Hate Mel Gibson, I Like Dennis Leary, I Love Kevin Youkilis

This clip from Fenway Park is good, even if it's from two weeks ago, before the entire Red Sox team collapsed from disability.

Big Papi was released from the hospital today. Bless his big heart.

This Guy's Got Class, That Guy's an Ass

I bartended in restaurants for over three years. This guy never came in.

I did however have a regular customer (and big pain in the ass who always tipped me 8%) leave me an $86 tip on a $14 dollar tab once. It's not 10K, but I found it to be an extremely lovely gesture.

Until that is he returned days later asking for it back, explaining what he had left was his change, by accident, and it was not a tip.

"Oh, no?"
"A hundred dollar tip?"
"It was $86."
"Ok, 86. Come on, Anne, you can't possibly think I left that as a tip."
"It is out of character for you, yes."
"That's like...a 600% tip."
"I've gotten better."
-silence-
"Well, what kind of tip do you think I deserve? That is, how much of the money which I've already spent, would you like back?"
-silence-
"You come in here three times a week to eat a hamburger perfectly cooked to your liking, a nice draft beer in a chilled glass--both needs anticipated for you as I see your mug coming through the front door-- and someone to listen to you talk about stuff, mostly about what an accomplished M.D. you are with a fine practice built up in the neighborhood. Am I worth a $70 tip? $60? How about $50? What about $40? Ok, $30? Today might I qualify for a proper 20% tip of $2.8 dollars, or do you want to stick to the usual $1.12?"
"Forget it."
"Great."

Would you know that bastard kept coming in? He must have gone to the Katie Couric School of Tipping.

God, I hate cheap!

Ahh...Serenity, Without the Pads

Caspian Lake, VT, 8/06

I Can Also Be Sweet

Alright, not according to my mother, and she's right, but I thought a picture of a bunny rabbit was in order. So as to offset my the level of acrimony in which I've achieved of late.

Please enjoy the sweet bunny:




I hope you friggin' enjoyed it.

Doodle in the Backseat of a Prius

Here's what Doodle looked like outside the bag in the back of the car. My mother had just picked us up from the airport and this was taken at the gas station as my mom filled the car with gas. Not much gas, as you know, being a Prius and all it doesn't requre much. Anyway, needless to say, Doodle was in sensory overload. Spaz.

Here's Doodle catching a glimpse of a miniature pony for the first time. The expression on her face which you can't see here basically can be described as "What? The? Fuck?"

Speaking of Tennis

All I'm saying is that I never learned how to play tennis. Perhaps my life would have turned out differently. Like better differently. Or not. One wonders.

More Shots of Doodle Cat in Vermont

Doodle loves this doormat more than bums like baloney sandwiches.

A break from frolicking outside for a little already-killed lunch.


A rare indoor shot of Doodle last week. She always finds my water tastes better than hers.

Can We Airbrush Her Out of Existence?

(The Stumpy and Your Mascara's Clumpy Katie Couric pre-Photo Shop)

Ha ha! America's Perky Asshole and Cheap As Shit Bitch Katie Couric isn't perfect afterall, as she was airbrushed within an inch of her life in her CBS promotional photos. And I here thought her presence on CBS was to be all about her serious, hard-nosed, asking the tough questions, relentless reporting style?

That twat is so begging for a punch in the face.

Promise me, promise me, promise me--PROMISE ME PLEASE, PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE, that none of you, my dear, dear readers, will watch CBS News with Katie Couric. Not even the debut. Especially not the debut. We need to send the cohesive message:

SHE SUCKS.

Don't promote another millionaire who doesn't share the wealth and can't muster a proper tip for a poor slob who had to massage her and her fat boyfriend.

Please.

John Mayer's Had Another Skank Attack

lester/cohen wireimage

Somebody get this guy a tissue! He can wipe his nose with it and then perhaps his forehead. Oooooh, ooooh, gross all around. Let's picture it, ok, to get a real feel for the grossness. John Mayer's slimy white schlubby frame sliding awkwardly all over Jessica Simpson's dayglo siliconed junk...then she snips, "Get off me, I have to fart."

Do you think he'll alter the song he wrote for his former skank girlfriend Jennifer Love Hewitt so it's appropriate for Jessica?

Your Body is an Orange Wonderland

Note to celebrity couples: Either you both get the spray tan, or neither of you get the spray tan. This is disparity between his I'm Out of Heroin and Completely Nauseated color of Sheet White and her Ooompa Loompa is very tough on the eyes.

Remarkably, I was able to bring the conversation back around to myself. It's about me. Don't make things tough on me, please, and I'll do the same for you.

Good Annoying!

I had a kick-ass time performing at Chicks and Giggles last night; thanks so much to Hostess Wit Mostess Carolyn Castiglia and everyone who made it out to the show!

But the honeymoon's over already, as such as life, I've had one of the most irritating mornings I can ever remember*. To offset this irritation, I am posting a few more pictures of my vacation in paradise for my own viewing pleasure. If you guys dig it too, then great! If not, whatevs. I really can't be bothered with whether you enjoy it or not. Right now I don't have much time for anyone else but me, myself, and my complete irritation. With people. People who are irritating and annoying.

Why is everyone an a-hole? Is it so hard not to be a fuckin' tool? Apparently.

My least favorite people right now:

1. The Lazy
2. The Bullshitters
3. The Ass Kissers
4. The Religious Right
5. Time Warner Cable

*Doodle didn't have such a great morning either. She blew her ass out Number 3 style (on the john, of course ) and then disappeared in the apartment somewhere to recover. Must have been a bad mouse or something. Bleeeccchiiiiiiooooooolio. Poor thing.

Anyway.

Brandy Barber and I are going to see Joan Rivers tonight. That's excellent. Brandy and Joan make me feel understood.

Understand?

Refection, Somewhere between Barre and Greensboro, VT

Church, Somewhere between Barre and Greensboro, VT

Grilled Cabot Cheese and Tomato, Sunshine, and a Nice Tragic Story

What's Up, Sky? Caspian Lake, Vermont

Lake-o Paradiso

Same lake
On the same day
On the same boat ride.
Amazing.

Two Can Anne's Anne Altman Compared to the New York Times' Maureen Dowd

I've certainly made the Blogging B-B-B-B-Big Time, kids! I received the following anonymously sent myspace message:

"A rude Maureen Dowd wannabe. But funny in very small doses. Very small."

Do not expect me to be saying proper hellos and crap like that in the hallways or signing autographs anymore, people. I am officially in another league, a better league, and therefore will be acting as such. You know, only Evian in my hotel suites and pool-side massages for Doodle and stuff like that. So, suck it.

Big Papi's Literally Playing His Heart Out

Big Papi misses game for irregular heartbeat.

And now there's even more trouble for the Sox.

Good grief.

Injuries galore. Is this baseball or ultimate fighting?

Let's Discuss Grossness

What's slimy, greasy, steroidal, bloated, bug-eyed, has a porn mustache, and all my gay Yankee fan friends want to bang him?

Red Sox killer Jason Giambi.

Blecchio.

Just a Wild and Crazy Sky

Vermont, 8/06

Only Cats Can Drive

Doodle in Vermont, 8/06

Doodle finds this story ridiculous. I mean, please. Dogs eat cat shit for chrissakes. And dog shit, for that matter. You think you can train a dog to get behind the wheel? Doodle laughs at you, lady.

Just Wishful Thinkin', Boss!

I'm glad that you and Patti are ok, Bruce. It's just that you are one of those couples that just makes people a little bit sick to observe your level of happiness. And here they were hoping there was a fissure, a little crack in the love cement that would render women all over the world a chance. At you.

Have I told you lately how many hours I spent staring at your can on the cover of your Born in the USA album?

Several. Several fuckin' hours, Bruce.

Would you look at this can of yours?

You rock.

Does Anyone Want To Bang This Broad?

She's a 29-year old virgin who wants to "get it on" before her 30th birthday in early November. I'm just spreading the word for a fellow comedienne, another chaste young woman.

What?

Bang her already.

Doodlefest: It's Not Over Yet!

Doodle In Vermont, 8/06

Crow: It Doesn't Taste Like Chicken

Our neighbors in Vermont hail from Long Island. They are Yankee fans. 2004 was a tough year for them (you may be familiar with the Biggest PostSeason Collapse In Baseball History) mainly because we were a-holes about the Red Sox beating the Yanks. We were smug. We were all up in their grills about it. It was our turn.

But last week, when we returned from a daytrip away from the lake, we found this broom and note on our back door (pictured above). It was their turn.

Ouch.

Of course, we were laughing our asses off, but sting it did. They brainstormed as fast as they could for the perfect prank--having only a few minutes to decide considering the game had just ended and we were on our way home--and when broom/sweep was settled on (mind you, this was 5 out of ouch ouch ouch ouch 5), Grandmother was worried that they weren't going to return her broom. Hilarious.

Then I called to "thank" them. Still coming over for drinks we hope, they asked.

My mom and I kept the note, and added a white papertowel to the tape on the end of the broom, grabbed a bottle of wine, a container of homemade meatballs and marched over with our surrender flag:


"We come in peace!"

They were kind enough to say that it wasn't as bad as a their playoff collapse. Whatevs.

It was a beatiful sunset on the lake that night.

'Member When Baseball Was Fun (For Me?)

8/18/06, Fenway Park, Sox v. Yankees, Game 2 of the Boston Massacre

Boo.

Boo, I say!

It was so bad that I inhaled a sausage and peppers sandwich directly next to the concession stand, by myself, and "enjoyed" a particularly terrible inning on the closed circuit television there. In silence. Alright, not completely in silence, I was choking and swearing afterall. But I did return to my seat with mustard on my face. Honestly, who cared at that point? Friggin' Sox.

Google Failure

And you get reality.

'Tis sad.

Wear White While You Can

Ladies and Gents,

Labor Day is fast approaching (September 4), and that means: No More White til Summer. I don't care how hot it is, you ain't wearin' it. Why not? Because it's a fashion don't*. Sure, it's an old-timey rule, but if you don't follow it, people like me will raise eyebrows like, "Hmm. I wonder if she knows about the rule, or just doesn't care, or perhaps....

Now, there is a caveat, considering the threat of Global Warming and all that. Soon enough, white will be an option all year round so as to save the rays of the sun from searing our flesh as we crawl through molten lava. But we're not quite there yet, and if that's the case, fashion's out the door anyway and we're living The Day After style. Until then, rules are rules.

Now that "winter white" horseshit? That's just for the ultra rich and obnoxious. Who likes the hem of a coat splattered with NYC mud? Jerkoffs. Extend your summer wardrobe as long as you can by wearing all that white stuff this week and weekend. It's not like I have an extensive fall wardrobe, and I'm certainly not going out to get the latest "bubble skirts" and other layered crapola in the magazines. Unless of course you want to look like a load? Get yourself a bubble skirt.

*I'm completely aware that you Summertime Winter Boot Wearers Who Don't Own a Horse Or Drive a Hog or Work Construction will faux pas your way through the fall, but whatevs. You've been advised.

Tie a Few On, Piss Your Pants, Blame Your Jeans

That's what I'd do, anyway. Tara, Tara, Tara Reid. What would we do without you keepin' the bar nice and low, nice and trashy? Thanks for helping me feel pretty good about myself.

Unsolved Mysteries

I can semi-comprehend why a trip to a Port Authority rest room might be an unpleasant experience.

But a ladies room in a "reputable" and "civilized" and "white shoe" law firm?

Beware wearing your white shoes around here, folks; read what happened while I was on vacation. The following has been cut and pasted by me directly from an email I received from a colleague:


"I walked into the ladies room and I always look in that big mirror--mostly to see if anyone is in any of the stalls and I see this brown lump on the floor, not too big, but I of course think it's a roach (not the kind you smoke!) and walk past it (it was the middle stall, never use the middle stall again--there has to be residual poo still there) so I look and see it's a turd--AND it's been stepped in and there is a trail leading out of the bathroom and onto the carpet--

I left and called facilities from the phone outside the bathroom (I'm positive that is why it's there now, the phone, not the poo) and tell them they need to get a mop and get up there asap (I don't leave my name in case they think it was me!)

NASTY--who misses?"

Plenty of people, apparently. What is going on here? Big ass small can? Big can small ass? Someone in a hurry? Someone taking their time? Someone not properly trained as a toddler? Someone trying to send a message?

Sounds like we need a turd whisperer around here.

Time to break for lunch.

Miss Me Miss Me Now You Want To Kiss Me?

Ladybug on a Mint Leaf, Caspian Lake Vermont, 8/06

Ladybugs aren't as gross as other bugs because...well, they're ladies. Duh.

Doodle and I are back from Vermont and I can't say we're lovin' it. Reality bites, it bites so hard. How's about a short recap of the week up there off the top of my head:

1. The weather was stunning, rain or shine. It did everything but hail and snow. A few nights got down to 30 degrees; autumn is in the air up there, kids. A few trees are turning already.
2. The Sox suck. I haven't taken my cap off, but things have gone from bad to worse. A loss to Seattle? Geez. But, I can't say blame them for losing hope. Poor Big Papi is probably like, WTF? How can I possibly save this broken down team? All their games were at ten p.m. following the Boston Massacre the week of 8/18, Lord knows I didn't have the stamina to deal. Too bad I'm not crazy into football. The Patriots are looking pretty sweet. Again. That Tom Brady sure is cute. Of course, he's dating some Hollywood twat. But he's a class act anyway.
3. Doodle took advantage of the great outdoors finding enough to eat only to come in mornings for a few bites of pre-killed canned breakfast and then back out the door for another 24 hours. She got into a brawl with Thor, the cat from across the street who wondered again this summer who the hell was creeping around in "his" barn, and she suffered a few minor injuries. Otherwise she's fine and disappointed / resigned to be back in Manhattan. She'll sleep for 3 weeks.
4. Apparently on-time flight departures aren't meant for me. My flight out of Boston was supposed to leave at 8.45 pm. I got home at 1 am. Sure, I'll take a late departure over a nosedive, but it's lame regardless. I managed to make an "earlier" flight standby and sat next to an adorable Masshole fellow who kindly shared his car to Manhattan with me.
5. I took advantage of the lack of cellular towers and other communication devices and in addition to fresh air, fresh food and exercise, read me a good old fashioned book. In keeping with my tradition of reading macabre biographies when I'm in paradise, this time I chose Mary Todd Lincoln by Jean Baker. Review to follow.
6. Welcome back, me.

Good Mourning

The Sox suffered another painful loss last night. Sure, the Yanks have some injuries, but not like we do. That's my story and I'm sticking to it: Catcher (and captain) Jason Varitek, right fielder Trot Nixon, starting pitcher Matt Clement, closer Keith Foulke, short stop Alex Gonzalez, middle relief Manny Del Carmen, knuckle baller and Yankee killer, Tim Wakefield. I could go on. Considering these holes, we did some serious damage and Manny and Papi still walked away with some huge numbers for their stats. I do want to mention what a great job Kevin Youkilis and Mike Lowell and blah blah blah it was a great effort considering. If we played poorly, then none of the 4 games would have taken 50 hours to play. Anyone who says that is an a-hole. One more game today at 1. I'm thinking if Francona sends a private plane up to Stowe I can get there in time to start warming up in the bullpen. They need me.

Today it's 55 degrees up here in the Green Mountains. We're going to Mt. Hope in Barre to see the cemetery which is apparently a showcase of all the immigrant Italian stone carvers who came over in the 1800's. I will make sure to provide adequate photo accompaniment. A cemetery field trip just feels right today.

And Doodle? She's fine. Out and about as I type this. Yesterday I found her sleeping up in the barn on an ancient Victorian chaise lounge next to a petrified mouse she caught last summer.
Gross.

Meow for now.

Go Sox.

The Sox Lost But History Was Made!

Longest 9 Inning Game In Baseball History

@ Feway Park 8/18/2006

Red Sox v. Yankees

What an exhausting game. My ass was tired! But it was exciting to be at the park and the atmostphere was electric.

Until the pitching fell apart, that is.

But the the real terrible part other than that they lost? The T (trolley/subway) stops running at 12:30. The game went until 1 a.m. It was rumored that they were going to provide trains until the game was over, so my mother and I drove to our closest T stop and took the train into town.

There's a T campaign out there : The Red Sox Encourage You To Take Public Transportation

And sometime in the bottom half of the seventh, a message goes up on the Diamond Vision Board: The Last T Leaves Kenmore Station at 12: 35

WHAT?

ARE YOU F'IN SHITTING ME?

HORSESHIT!

Half of the park got up and left to catch the subway or be stranded. On television it must have looked like half the fans were too disgusted to stay.

Were we disgusted with the pitching? Yes. Would we have left if we had a train waiting for us at 1 am when the game was actually over? Of course not.

HORSESHIT!!!!

And, once in the station or on the train, you'd think they'd pipe in some chat about the score or whatnot. What a buzz kill. The Red Sox Encourage You To Take Public Transportation. HORSESHIT! I'm sure the Sox had nothing to do with this gross error (this time it wasn't A Rod) and it was all the MTA, but that is so friggin' lame, I still can't believe it. Plus, what subway doesn't run all night? "We don't have the business in Boston to support a train all night. " Yes, but there's no business because there's no train for people to get around to support business. Aye, the chicken and the egg thing. Stupid holdover Puritan Boston rules.

I'm exhuasted today, I can't imagine how the Sox and Yanks feel after a double header yesterday and a game at 1 pm today.

All I know for sure is that the Sox get a B- for last night's game. If we lose today, it will be tough, but it's been done before (you may be familiar with Choke: The Yankees Biggest Post Season Collapse in Baseball History 2004)

And the T gets an F.

An F-.

Go Sox.

Meow For Now

A Bientot Mes Petites Chou-Choux!

(Farewell, my tiny cabbages!)

I'm going on vacation tomorrow, and no doubt you'll be desperate for breaking news, updates on important things, photos of Western New York, random crap, and of course, Doodle.

I will leave you with a few things before I go. I don't have a computer at home now that it has imploded (erasing all my data) and I will have limited access while away, but do stop and visit, I just may suprise you.

With something like this, for example:

Waistband Stretcher
Ever wish you could fit into those tight or outgrown clothes? Now you can with this ingenious device! Simply dampen waistband of clothing, adjust the stretcher to desired size and lock in place. When clothes are dry, they'll fit like they used to! Strong steel tubing assembles easily.

And of course, la chat du mois:

;)

Doodle's Soul Sister

Doodle takes dumps on the toilet.

This cat flushes*.

These two need to take their show on the road.

Compliments of Casual Slack.

Good Grief Give Me Strength

WHAT















AN














INCREDIBLE













DICK

Weight Watchers

When my colleagues have to leave the office to go to their Weight Watcher's Weigh-Ins, I send them off with a "Good luck, fattys!"

Is that wrong?

I'm Sorry, Phil

Dear Phil Collins,

I'm sorry that I said you sucked donk since Genesis. I mean, sure, Misunderstanding is totally my favorite Genesis song and I find your One More Night really very lame in comparison.

However, Phil, I had forgotten about my affinity for Easy Lover and Against All Odds! Did I see the movie? No. Did I see the video where they're romping sexily in the surf? You bet your hairless head, Phil, and I loved it. Still do.

Love,

Anne

PS Sorry also about the hairless head comment. I know you struggled for awhile with the driving cap and stuff and you've finally just let go and let shine. That's good.

DoodleFest Is Almost Over

Watch For Ice

Cuba, New York~8/06

Don't let those fluffy white clouds and blue sky fool you, come fall you'll be up to your nuts in ice.

It Just Kind Of Happened

Britney Spears says baby # 2 with sperminator Kevin Federline was not planned. Wow. Really? Weird. I'm terrified that this just might "kind of happen" to me. Did she trip on a penis? Let this be a warning, ladies, keep your eyes peeled and your cooters shut for hidden dicks that just might sneak on up there and kind of make you pregnant. I'm surprised the press isn't more all over this discovery, this is important medical information for women out there who want to plan their pregnancies. I'm terrified.

Did Someone Say "Give Me a Shot of Downtown Buffalo, Please?"

Photo by M. McGovern

Who am I to deny?

Do You Know Why I Wear My Sunglasses At Night?

Do you?

Candy? For Dinner?

The year was 1977. Or something like that. The place? Cuba Lake, New York. The people? My aunt and my cousins and me. As I've mentioned ad nauseam before, I'd spend weeks in the summer at the lake, in the charge of my aunt Doris. She was the coolest aunt you could ask for, fun, funny, and just all-around super cool.

We'd go to outdoor flea markets and she'd buy all kinds of costume jewelry and throw it into the lake for us kids to dive for, hours on end. She'd also put each of our initials in red ink on quarters and half dollars and throw those into the lake as well. I remember it sucking so bad when I'd dig extra deep in the silt for a shiny coin only to realize they weren't my initials. I threw it back. It wasn't until years later that I understood that this was entirely an idea to keep us preoccupied and tired out, but whatevs. It worked.

One night, she rounded us up and said, "Ok, kids. What do you want for dinner?" And we all shouted, "CANDY!" To our surprise, she replied, "Candy it is. Put your shoes on. We're going to the store." Shocked and excited, we tumbled into the car. Surely she can't be serious. When we got there, we were like... kids in a candy store. Man, I was overwhelmed with the decisions! I remember exactly what I chose: Cracker Jacks and a Hershey's chocolate bar. Two food groups. My cousin got Twizzlers?

Anyway, back home we went, the station wagon abuzz with excitement and the sugar coma ahead. She put the bags in the way back, and under no circumstances were we to touch anything until we got to the cottage. When we arrived, she said, "Ok, set the table."

What?

"That's right. Set the table. This is no different from any night."

So we set the table properly with placemats, napkins and silverware and helped ourselves to our choices. I dumped out a handful of Cracker Jacks and split the candy bar in half. I couldn't even clean my plate. Would you believe that shit?

Believe it.

We recreated the scene twenty years later a few weeks ago:

My dearest cousin Chel n' me, just eatin' a few of the four food groups.


Ah, memories. Like mammaries but better. Tits are overrated.

It Ain't No Volvo S60, But It's Got Style

Cuba Lake has a significant Amish population. Here's a cat and his horse jaunting along. He waved at us earlier when we saw him up the road (if it is indeed the same cat) and he was a hip teen rockin' some cool sunglasses. Perhaps he was considering the "Fresh Air" fund thing where they leave the lifestyle awhile and see if they like the outside world before they commit to barn raisin' and stuff like that like Randy Quaid in Kingpin.

Hero Worship

David Ortiz


Manny Ramirez


Jonathan Papelbon

Can a baseball team make it with only three players? It's possible. I watched the Boston Red Sox beat the scary Detroit Tigers last night (trust me, they're a force to be reckoned with in addition to being physically frightening beasts) and I'm hoping this boost will help us (yes, "us", clearly I'm on the team in a slight capacity) spank the stupid Yankees on Friday night at Fenway. A game which I will be at, of course, because I'm on the team and whatnot.

Western New York Has the Cutest Bathing Beauties

Natalie and Rachel scoping out the scene

Natalie rockin' a slug (and freckles!) for some evening fishin'

Rachel taking her watermelon and corn on the cob quite seriously.

Western New York Has the Best Hair

Where else are you going to find a green sweeping vista of pasture flanked by a body of water, a red, white and blue 'do rag and a modified mullet pony with multiple hair bands? Nowhere.