An Example of Aggressive Merriment

To experience SGAD, please listen here:

08 Carol of the Bells.m4a

Seasonal Greetings Affective Disorder

Q: What is SGAD?

A: Seasonal Greetings Affective Disorder is a very real, often misdiagnosed psycho-seasonal condition, prompted by the consumer crazed red, green and sometimes blue nightmare known as the Holidays.    

Symptoms include manic merriment, Macy's induced rapid heart rate, cold sweats and dizziness in Banana Republic dressing rooms, and disassociation triggered by most commonly, any version of "Carol of the Bells".  The scent of evergreen, Yankee candles, and various other festive Christian potpourris are also common panic inducers.

No, SGAD is not actors union.

Q: Who gets SGAD?

A: Everyone.  Christians, Jews, Muslims, Atheists, Agnostics.   Even Wiccans.  Especially Wiccans.  Those living closest to departments stores or other consumer hubs with insidious holiday jingle soundtracks are most affected. 

Q: How is SGAD treated?

A: PleaseJudgme recommends picking the perfect Tonya Harding get up- from leg warmers to earmuffs to peppermint flavored lipgloss- and ice skating, followed by binge hot toddy drinking, and then a visit to the Bergdorfs window display after midnight.

SOMALI PIRATES ARE SO RETRO

A return to piracy- not the cyber type but the good old fashion high seas kind- is weirdly refreshing.  

We've become so 9/12 code orange about things on dry land, it's nice to remember that terror is waterproof.  I'm not condoning it, but I welcome the change of pace.

But since these days, barring Somali bandits, pirates are generally reserved for Halloween or hung from the perfectly chiseled cheekbones of Johnny Depp, what will the next acceptable symbol of terror to dress up as or make a kid's movie about? 

Is hope the death of comedy?

Chief Rabbi Jonathan Saks once wrote, "Humour is the first cousin of hope."  

And if the last eight years has taught America anything, it's that misery is also a close relative- maybe the pervy Uncle.

But I wonder, and I wonder if other like minded Bruce Valanches-in-training wonder, now that we begin a new era of hope- is this the death of comedy?

I think probably not.  But I admit to slightly missing the easy targets like Palin.  

And so I will take solace in the words of a great Israeli psychiatrist,

"Don't worry, Leez, you'll always be miserable."

Michelle Obama: Fashion Fantasia

There are a multitude of ways in which America has to redeem it's image, we know it.  The election proved how desperately we want a 50 state facelift.  America has spoken, we need a major fashion makeover.

There's our pesky blatant disregard for the Geneva convention that must somehow be atoned for, our negligence in New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina, and that war in Iraq, you might have heard about it.  Oh, and that guy, who did lines in the 80's, couldn't even run a baseball team, and proved even an idiot can go to Yale.

Hopefully, the next four years will take us back from tarnished to burnished.  And I think Michelle Obama is going to be just the fashion forward first lady to catwalk us back into glory.

I welcome a first lady that knows how to work it.  I need a Jackie O part two.  But secretly, I just really want someone to give Carla Bruni-Sarkozy a run for her Euro.

geek critique: correction appended

You've got to love feedback.
A gentle reader has alerted me to the fact that, in my CNN hologram posting, I used the wrong joke.  The proper one would have been, "Help me Wolf Blitzer, You're my Only Hope." This is line from Stars Wars, I guess.

The Star Trek allusion, while Baby Boomerish, I believe still works.

In any case, I've asked for it.

Please Judge Away.  

Beam me up Wolf Blitzer!

VOTING and VICTORY and VIBRATORS, Oh My!

Forget that free Starbucks coffee or Ben and Jerry's ice cream cone you got for voting, Babes in Toyland is handing out free vibrators through November 11th, to all those patriotic and randy urban ladies (and their prostrate-centric brothers) who cast a ballot.  

Here's to a sexy four years!  

Me and Paul Rudd

Last night I dreamt that I met and then promptly married Paul Rudd in Las Vegas.

This is a fantasy because:

1.  He's Paul Rudd.  Famous Hollywood actor.  Husband.  Father.

2. I never date actors.

The reasons for my no-actor policy are aplenty.

A. There aren't enough mirrors in the world for both us.

B. When said actor and I inevitably break-up, having to watch him on primetime television and then again and again in syndication, doesn't exactly promote the healing process.  I'm speaking hypothetically, of course,

C. Actors are bonkers.  I know because I am one.

 But somehow in the REM state of Nevada, I overlooked his thesbian-ness.  Please judge away, but can you blame me?

That chest, my Lord.