Further Signs of the Apocolypse

  

These are the things that the Mayans were trying to warn us about... the end of mankind as we know it. With 2012 right around the corner and conspiracy theorists going bonkers over everything from Solar Storm Warnings that are set to hit Earth this year to the ever-present popularity of Rick Ross surely signaling the return of a Tupacolypse. Here we mark the signs of disastrous things to come. Still not convinced? We don't blame you. But if the end of the world is not near then just how do you explain things like...

Ramblings on the 63rd Annual Primetime Emmy Awards (the Sake and Tempura Edition)...

   So the 63rd Annual Prime time Emmys were this evening and they were surprisingly succinct. Thanks in part to first-time hostess, Jane Lynch.  I haven't sat down to watch the Emmys in quite some time so, deciding to make a night of it, I invited some friends over, ordered some sushi, cracked open a couple of bottles of rice wine and cranked up the Jock Jams (well, not that last part.) Here is our VIP take on the night:

Getty Images.

• The hostess with the mostest. 

   The room was split on what kind of a job Lynch did hosting the event. I happen to think she was pretty awesome. Which is good because she is one of my favorite female comedic actresses and when she started the show with that cheesy (on purpose?) singing, dancing opening tribute to the tiny screen the entire room rolled their eyes and asked what the score of the Eagles/Falcons game was. But Lynch quickly redeemed herself when she walked onto the set of AMC's popular Mad Men. Each joke between her and the cast was perfectly timed and so on target funny. We all relaxed after that. She did an excellent job and my favorite joke was a throwaway made towards the end of the broadcast about any distracted and bored attendees who may have been playing Angry Birds on their iPhones during the telecast looking back regretfully at their lives on their deathbeds and bursting into tears. Just the type of dry yet hyperbolic humor i expect from Sue Sylvester.

Grade: A-

I Do This For My Culture... (and other lies Jigga told.)

Out of the mouths of douchebags, even.

Holla at me...
I do this for my culture/To let 'em know what a n***a look like... when a n***a in a roaster/Show 'em how to move in a room full o' vultures/Industry shady it need to be taken over/Label owners hate me I'm raisin' the status quo up/I'm overchargin' n***as for what they did to the Cold Crush/Pay us like you owe us for all the years that you hold us/We can talk, but money talks so talk mo' bucks.

                                                      ---- Jay-Z
       
*double eye blink*

   Really, Jigga man? Really? Please shuddup your face right now and throw away the key. And I say this as an avid Stan of all things Jay-Z related (with the exception of course being most of Beyonce's catalog.) I do not want to hear another rap lyric claiming to speak for "our culture" when the actions of the party say otherwise. You speak for yourself, eh? If you want to help out, let your bank account speak for my rent check. Otherwise, shuttie. Granted, this song is from a couple of years ago and as the facially irresponsible half of Jayonce's phoenix continues to rise, he very well may have meant every single word in that verse at the time. But that's not really my point. What was my point again? O yeah, this guy...

Check out my choppas!

  

Confessions of a Mental Hoarder...

  

    I had a dream the other night. Or more specifically,  a nightmare. In the nightmare I was an old woman. Not, I just got my AARP membership card in the mail, old. I mean OLD old, where your body and mind betray you in some very cruel and sometimes odd ways.  I was a very elderly woman riding around in a car full of younger adults. In the dream I recognize the neighborhood as a community that I grew up in as a teenage girl (or so I think) and I am trying to direct my younger ,and for some reason, GPS-less car mates to some of my old high school hang-out spots. Problem is, as I direct them... left turn at the light, right turn at the STOP sign… I start to get the way scrambled and sooner or later, we’re lost.  The moment I realize that those memories of the directions are gone for good and by proxy all remaining evidence of my youth, I become inconsolable. End of dream. Truth serum time: I spent the better part of the rest of my day fretting over the dream. What did it mean? Was I predicting my own future fight with Alzheimer’s? Was I reading too much into a silly dream and being my usual hyper-critical self? Not really. My fear of old age is not a fear of wrinkles, being out of touch or even a fear that I'll trip over my own sagging boobies and break my neck walking down the driveway for the Sunday edition of the New York Times. No, I have a sometimes all-encompassing fear of losing my memory with old age. Our memories are such an important part of what makes us who we are. Our experiences, good and bad, help to create our character and as we age we are allowed to carry these mementos along with us as constant reminders of how good we are at the game of life.  Based upon things like; how many times we laughed, the times we took a risk in life and ended up reaping great rewards (or conversely, taught a lesson as we fall flat on our fannies) and all the other circumstances and interactions with others that make life so rich, one could say that our memories are the prize at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box. Which is why it sucks so bad to think you could possibly be rewarded for a life well lived with a big ol bag of Nuttin' Honey.

I'm pretty sure I was on some boat with that guy from Inception but beyond that
I'm really drawing a blank, folks.