Inquiring minds want to know: will Randy re-post his blog for a fourth time in order to stay "on top"?
 

 

I know I said I wasn't stupid enough to watch the Forty-somethings Behaving Badly show "Private Practice." Apparently, I have no more self-control than the denizens of Oceanside.

Tonight's segment was called "In Which Sam Gets Taken For a Ride." But as usual, it's the hapless viewer who gets caught up in traffic.

No surprise here, but Dr. Addison, the neonatal surgeon who now delivers babies in swimming pools, and Dr. Violet, the neurotic shrink (shrinking Violet?!), have decided to have no-strings, sport sex with inappropriate men who also happen to be partners in their practice (Dr. Pete, crunchy granola alternative medicine man, and Dr. Cooper, whose specialty seems to be having sex with women he meets on the Internet).

The contorted logic Addison and Vi use to justify these decisions make it clear why they are in a medical show and not a legal one.

Meanwhile, other women who had sex nine months earlier are having babies.

The first, an immense fertility goddess with three hyperactive sons and a giant sloth for a husband, placidly pops out her baby with barely a grunt. So far, so good. But when it turns out that the baby is not the girl she expected but another boy, she shifts gears.

"You shove that baby right back in there and bring out a girl," she hollars. And she means it.

I half expected the accommodating doctors in this boutique practice to do as she asked. After all, she might have whole racks of babies in there from which to choose. But alas. Instead, Vi summons her psychoanalytic skills to say there must be a reason she had a boy, and that's because the world needs more good men.

Looking at Giant Sloth, Fertility Goddess sneers. Thank goodness one woman here is in touch with reality.

Actually, there seem to be plenty of good men in this segment.  In the waiting room are dozens of cops, all of whom look like male models, waiting for the wife of a fallen brother to give birth.

In the swimming pool. While having a simultaneous nervous breakdown. And screaming really a lot.

One of the cops holds some promise for Addison, who does that little thing she does with parting her lips, making a mouth, and raising an eyebrow, which was adorable the first two or three hundred times but is growing just a teensy bit old. For a moment, we think she may come to her senses and choose a man who is psychologically sound enough to be a police officer. But that would be too healthy.

Meanwhile, Dr. Sam, who doesn't know nothing about birthing babies but has a cell phone and an ex-wife (Dr. Naomi) who does, is trying to bandage a gunshot wound and deliver a baby at gunpoint. He has been lured to a convenience store, making a house call for a stripper patient with a skin rash, which doesn't sound like a medical emergency to me, but this is California.

I'm not even going to try to explain that, but suffice it to say that the woman in labor shot the man, who is her baby dady; forced the stripper to call Sam; and whapped Sam upside the head with the gun to persuade him to deliver her baby.

Sheesh. All she had to do was ask.

Her poor manners aren't really surprising, though: in another series, she was raised by Roseanne Bahr.

Sam feels the need to take off his shirt to deliver the baby, which certainly made me feel good and even fleetingly understand the rutting behavior of Addison and Violet, who are clearly hankering after the wrong men.

Blessedly, the shirt stays off for the rest of the show.

But it's not Violet and Addison who get lucky in the end. Strange twists of fate send Cooper, who can't bare his butt in front of Violet, to commiserate with Addision, and Pete to bare his soul to Violet, while Sam takes a ride for old times's sake with Naomi right there in the boardroom.

I guess there's a message there somewhere.

 

It’s really, really tiresome to create and spread the news the old-fashioned way. Find facts, check facts; conduct interviews, conduct more interviews. Analyze all that stuff to figure out what it means. Schedule meetings.

Cringe when the public decides to operationalize their right to free speech by asking annoying questions.

Fortunately, those cumbersome ways are in the past. As FEMA recently demonstrated, it’s much more efficient to do it all yourself. 

Sure, some people are criticizing the fake news briefing with fake reporters approach. FEMA Director Paulison tried to explain, saying Deputy Director Johnson, who was fielding questions,  "really didn't have an awareness" of what was taking place and did not recognize staffers asking questions.

Apparently FEMA believes people prefer to think our emergency preparedness officers are under the influence of mind-altering substances when sharing information.

But I say it’s a brilliant idea! Not the mind-altering substances. The one-on-none news briefings.

Christine: Welcome to the WauwatosaNOW Bloggerville first virtual press conference! Ask us anything as long as it’s so easy we’ll be able to answer.

Someone named "Jaime": Are you happy with Tosa’s response so far?

Christine: I am very happy with Tosa’s response so far. I think what you're really seeing here is the benefit of experience, the benefit of good leadership and the benefit of good partnership. . . Everything and everyone has been wonderful!!

Someone named "Morgen": Tom Gaertner, just how much time did you spend at the Tosa Inn?

Tom: Wonderful: I thought these were supposed to be friendly questions. I’ll answer your question indirectly: how many people here do you think have tried to buy Girlfriend a drink?

Jaime: Karen, don’t you think the Internet is wonderful?

Karen: I’ll have to get back to you after I check these last dozen Grey’s Anatomy sites. But what’s not to like? The Internet’s truly wonderful.

Christine: Randy, how many days until the World Series?

Randy (looking astounded). You need to spend more time watching TV and less time going to Halloween parties! Hey! Who’s that cute dark-haired chick at the end of the bar?

* * *

If you like fake press conferences or find fake news anchors and candidates to be truthier than the real ones, you may love the new development scheduled for today: the release of the avatar-hosted News at Seven.

As network news programs continue to struggle, the creators of one news show are trying a new strategy -- replacing the producer, the editor and even the news anchor with a computer.

The online show, called "News at Seven," uses an automated computer program to comb online news outlets for major stories of the day and to pair them with video and still photos culled from sites like Google Images and YouTube. The newscast is delivered by an avatar -- a digital representation of a person.

Just list your interests and the Avata-anchor will spiel off a custom presentation of information plucked from those reliable sources.

Who knows? Maybe the sportscastatar will even do color for your kid’s LAN games.

Meanwhile, tell us what you think about Blogger-tars. 

This correction came my way from fellow blogger Randy, who we all know is a really good counter.

Please get the facts right!! It was Tosa Wests 2nd
win of the season, they won the first game they played
against the Milwaukee Hamilton team.

Once again you have proven that you do not do your
homework and shoot from the hip. Get a clue and get
your facts straight!!!

Okay, okay. It's West's second win of the season. It's quite true, I get a little fuzzy about sports.

When it comes to Homecoming, it's all about the dresses to me.

YMMV.

This entry is not for people who get Mother’s Day right.

It’s for those, like me, who have to learn the secret, unwritten rules the hard way.

Let me explain: I’m not like my mom and my sister, people who were born knowing the rules. My mom is like the greeting card Mother’s Day moms, unless she’s experimenting with a little obsession, like California Closets or funeral planning—her own.

I’m more like a man: clueless. If you want me to know or do something, you have to hit me over the head with a 2X4 and tell me what I should know or what you want me to do. Given a week, I probably couldn’t guess right.

So here, revealed for the first time, are the rules.

1. Unless you are a mom in the oldest generation in your family, or a brand new mom (don’t get used to it), do not think that Mother’s Day is about you. It’s about your mom or her mom. Suck it up and be gracious.

2. Even if you never do it any other day of the year, put the toilet seat down, pick up your towels, put the cap on the toothpaste, and rinse your plates.

3. Don’t cheap out on Mother’s Day even if Mom tells you to. A little quid pro quo is in order here. For those of you who forgot to take high school Latin, that means remember all she's done for you and feel ashamed and/or grateful.

4. If your mother asks for a drill, get her a high quality drill—not a cheap one that won’t make a dent in the impervious plaster used on houses built in the 50s. And don’t get her a cappuccino maker instead. Both might be okay. . .

5. When the jewelers tell you all moms want jewelry, remember they have a certain vested interest. Some moms want flowers, a bit of your time, art, cookie sheets, subscriptions to the New York Times, a retreat—alone. And the ones who want jewelry probably don’t want the jewelry you’d pick. I’m sorry, but it’s true. If she wears one-of-a-kind artist-made jewelery, forget about the Journey™ of diamonds or the little grandchildren stick figures with semi-precious stones for heads.

6. Moms, don’t be Momzilla. The whole point of being a mother is getting over yourself and into someone else. So get over yourself. Be a good sport. Have actual fun. You may not sigh and look disappointed yet brave. You may not practice guilting by martyrdom. You may not insist on doing the dishes and resenting it.

7. Do not neglect your wife in favor of your mother. If you plan to be outrageously attentive to your mother, explain to your wife what you are doing and make it up to her. Quickly.

8. Children, this is a day for face time. If you don’t know what that means, ask your dad. He may remember.

If you’re not very far along the path to growing up, the main reason for not doing something others don’t like is fear of punishment.

Don Imus just learned that even if you’ve been getting away with doing something naughty for a long time, you might still get smacked.

Of course, there’s a better, more grown-up reason not to call people names. It’s because the only reason to do it is to make them feel bad—and by extension, to make yourself feel better.

Why else would a sorry-butt, has-been, craggy eyebrow, wrinkly old raisin of a man in funny clothes call a bunch of vital young women at the top of their game nappy haired “hos”?

There. I feel better.

But the conversation hasn’t gone any further, has it? We don’t know anything more about Imus or the basketball players. We only know about me and my prejudices (not to mention limited vocabulary and lack of creative imagination).

Lots of people are insisting that this is a free speech issue. They say that Imus—and the Tosa man who recently got fined for using a racial slur—have the right to say anything they want as long as it’s about people and not overthrowing the government.

But that’s not the point. Free speech is about speaking truth about important issues, not about name-calling.

"It's the truth" or "I'm just trying to help" doesn't cut it. Calling people fat or ignorant doesn't inform them or challenge them to change. It makes them hurt or angry or both.

If you think what Imus said is funny or that people are over-reacting, then you are buying into some of the notions that his loaded language carries. Nappy-headed literally may mean hair that’s naturally tightly kinked, but it implies poor, ignorant, lacking personal hygiene, low-class. And we all know what the other word implies.

It’s pretty hard for people in positions of power to be funny. As a blogger known as Guinness said, “Mockery of others, when you exercise power over them, is simply a species of cruelty. Usually of the most banal, unfunny kind. When you start being really funny, don’t worry — you’ll know. There will be a knock on your door, a double-click when you pick up the phone, and the unmistakable tatoo of steel-tipped boots clacking up your walk in the dead of night.”

Much easier for the downtrodden to poke fun of the high-and-mighty, or the outsiders of the insiders. And the best do it without calling names. Comedienne Robin Tyler tells about running into a guy who said “I think they should take all you queers and put you on an island someplace.”

“They did, darling” she replied, “and they called it Manhattan.”

Bad-da-boom.