I want the truth! You can't HANDLE the truth...

Just when you thought her fate was sealed and no more twists were coming, domestic diva Martha Stewart got some interesting news today. It turns out the ink expert prosecutors called upon to discuss the validity of the notations on key documents may have lied on the stand. He is being charged with perjury for statements made during Martha's trial. The witness (also named Stewart, no relation) testified the ink on Peter Bancovitch's notes suggesting they had a deal to sell at $60 was different than other ink on the paper. This probably meant, according to the lying liar of a witness, that the "sell at $60" notes were added much later in an effort to deceive authorities. I'm not saying he lied, but this might be significant. I may be grasping at straws here, but it seems to me to be a complete injustice that Martha may go to jail, especially considering the kind of people who are running around free distorting corporate profits, stealing retirement funds, and running the government. With all the terrible things in the world, we need someone who will show no shame in knitting the perfect tissue box cozy.

Of gays and goats...

Let's take a minute to talk about Gov. Mitt Romney. What is wrong with this man? Doesn't he get that you can't stop these big gay weddings, that progress won't slow down for some short-sighted republican who thinks its admirable to stand in the way of civil rights? It just gets my goat. That's right, I'm so upset even the goat is feeling it.

Thursday the Massachusetts governor, who was vehemently against the legalization of same-sex marriage that began to take place in Mass. Monday, started to crack down on out-of-state gay marriages. His reasoning? A 1913 law that bans marriages to out-of state-couples if the marriage is illegal in their states. What he fails to mention is this law was put in place to stop blacks and whites from overrunning Mass. to get interracial marriages. If your argument can only be backed up by an obscure law put in place to appease "jittery parochial whites" about the terrors of "uppity black folk" it's safe to say you are on the wrong side of this issue.

Luckily there are courageous lawmakers taking a stand. The Mass. State Senate voted to repeal this arcane law. If it gets past the much more conservative House of Reps., this will force Romney to change his position and sign it, or switch from his passive "them's the laws" stance by vetoing the bill. I can't see how that will play well to anyone but the far right.

I suppose I shouldn't expect much from a man named after sporting equipment. Why does Massachusetts elect these people? They are supposed to known for their liberal-leanings. The state of the Kennedeys, John Kerry, and Conan should be able to elect liberal governors too. Are they trying to put on a nationally liberal face, while at home you seek out oppressive republicans who will rule you with an iron fist? Is this the product of that stuffy, emotionally-distant upbringing so often stereotyped? Is the whole state populated by sadomasochists? Your parking tickets and murder charges still apply to me, even though I come from distant New York. Shouldn't your freedoms? Marrying a guy is not going hurt anyone more than my marrying a black person. It won't hurt anyone. Unless maybe I try to marry my much-agitated goat. Then look out!

When Seanie met Fanny...

I spoke with my little brother, Seanie, recently and tried elicit information about the state of his still-newish romantic relationship. He is seeing a girl named Fanny, and while I only briefly saw her in the dark as I was falling asleep on a couch late one evening, I have never met her. The faint glimpse I did see seemed very pretty and if she can put up with Seanie-boy, she must be an amazing woman. But he is cagey on details. Always has been. So I made up a story about them. The story of how they met. The following is copied from the transcript of our AIM conversation:

Seanie was walking along, not minding street lights as usual, and was struck by Fanny's speeding Mini-Cooper. Like a modern day Nancy Drew, Fanny only drives a powder-blue Mini. That's just the way she is. Seanie was laying on the ground like a wounded animal and Fanny rushed to his side. "I'm so sorry, mister," she said as she called for an ambulance.

Feeling terrible, Fanny wanted to make it up to him so she came to visit him in the hospital. Seanie was at first outraged to see her and rebuked her affection. Fanny couldn't take no for an answer, partly because she didn't want to be sued and partly because he was sort of adorable. She spent the next 3 days trying to nurse Seanie back to health. Fanny wasn't a very good nurse though. She was accidentally injuring him continuously- spilling hot coffee on him, smacking him with overly-long loaves of bread, and of course using the out-of-control bed adjuster remote instead of the TV remote. It was hilarious to everyone, but like any cheesey sitcom, Seanie was unable to see the humor in it.

Finally he yelled at her "Just leave me alone, you aren't helping!" (Seanie has a temper.) Fanny ran from the room very hurt and began to cry. Seeing that he had made her so sad, and realizing that is the last thing he would ever want to do, he followed her out the door, his hospital gown flapping in the breeze.

Catching up to her, Seanie apologized for his outburst. "I only wanted help," Fanny cried. "I realize that now," he says wiping the tears from her cheek. They kissed and fell in love. The end, for now...

Now that's what I call an update on your relationship, Seanie-boy!

This has been a complete and utter falsehood. Thank you. Now back to your regularly scheduled blog.

No,no, thank YOU for being a friend...

After watching a rerun of an old "Golden Girls" episode, I decided it was high time to track down one of life's most puzzling questions. What the heck is a linai, and why are the Golden Girls the only ones who have ever had one?

I started with the dicitonary. Blanche's "linai" always looked like a patio to me. What's the difference? Problem: I don't even know how to spell "linai." I've never seen it in print before. Those four old ladies were the only ones I've ever heard even use the term. I tried a few attempts, but it didn't seem to be in my dictionary. Damn you Mrs. Merriam-Webster! Let's try the thesuaraus! Surely Mister Roget would mention it in the patio entry. No luck.

Googling "linai" and all its possible spellings results in many foreign language sites and random people named Ms. Linai Chu or Mr. Amara Linai. I supose I could always call them and ask what their names meant. But that seemed silly.

So my last resort was to go the dreaded fan-site community. These people always scare me. There are whole subcultures of people out there who are obsessed with random crap, like "Caroline in the City" and the career of Delta Burke and devote page after page of terrible websites to their random trivia. (Did the pot just call the kettle black here? Bah!) These are just the sort of freaks who would help me out!

So after a quick trip to one of these sites and I found an old episode script- the one where Dorothy's college lesbain friend comes to visit and falls in love with Rose- where they reference the linai. My spelling was correct. After quite a few google searches, I found the elusive definition.

A linai is a veranda or patio furnished and used as a living room. The term is Hawaiian in origin. It's also the name of a Hawaiian island where they grow much of the world's supply of pineapples. It is supposedly archaic at this point, so being that the ladies were horribly old, they might be the last surviving people who could comfortablely reference the word. Not anymore! That show single-handedly kept the linai-manufacturers in business and the term in circulation for a whole new generation. Cheesecake for everyone! My work here is done.

Enter Robert Stack's creepy voiceover...

A terrifying experience took place today at work involving a dead body and a haunted appliance. The following is a creepy Unsolved Mysteries-style re-enactment. This story is not for the squeamish. You've been warned.

Tricia, our box office heroine, has been complaining about the smell in The Pearl Theatre box office for a week. When were assured by various exterminators the smell was most likely coming dead things from the walls and there was nothing to be done, but this morning when we arrived the cramped room was particularly noxious. As soon as she turned on the air conditioner this morning to alleviate the terrible smell she was blasted with a concentrated whiff of death to the face.

Like some corny movie psychic, Tricia declared the smell must be coming from inside the air conditioner! We ripped the permanently affixed appliance from the hole in the wall and dragged it inside along with it came the grotesque smell of decay. On the verge of tears and vomit, we proceeded to pry open the casing of the air conditioner. Like layers of an onion, screw by screw we slowly got closer to the cause of the reek, until my boss exclaimed "I see a dead mouse!" Everyone's skin crawled at the thought. In order to keep dead mouse guts from permanently staining the carpet, we hauled the air conditioner onto the street. We spent another hour attacking the seemingly endless amount of screws; each of us would crouch down and work on a screw till the stench became too overpowering, at which we would back away a try to fill our lungs with fresh less-undead air.

When all the pieces were taken out, the grill was lifted and the culprit revealed. Laying before us was the twisted remains of what was once a mouse. Eaten from the insides out by maggots, the corpse had been jellied and turned half-liquid. If that is what we look like when we die, I see the need to bury us far beneath the grounds surface, as far away from life as possible. We hosed down away the melted mass of mouse juice into the gutter and sprayed the air conditioner with vinegar to combat the left-over stench. We then spent the next half hour reassembling the unit and putting in back into the Box Office hole in the wall. Miraculously the air conditioner still works and now there is only the faint scent of dead mouse vinegar. But we hope that will go away.

I took a shower to get some of the gross off my skin, but the creep-crawlies were not so easily washed away. The kicker? Afterwards, I had Mexican for lunch. And those nachos never tasted better. Go figure.

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a terrible job market...

For the past 6 months I have been searching for a new job in the publishing industry. I am currently a Marketing Manager for The Pearl Theatre, an off-Broadway not-for-profit theater company. I work long hard hours for no money and while I don't mind that aspect, I would much rather work long hard hours for no money in the field I want to be a part of. I've been trying to get an entry-level job at a publishing house or magazine for quite some time. And it's killing me. I am beginning to think I am simply unemployable.

A few weeks ago, I found a listing for an editorial assistant at DC Comics. Now if you know me at all, you know I have read comics, especially of the DC variety, all my life. I love the medium and know everything there is to know about it. I have some editing experience and went to school for journalism/publishing. It's more or less an entry-level job and I am perfect for it. I attacked that job listing as many different ways as I could. I was aggressive, yet respectful. I tried to get my resume into as many important hands as possible without overwhelming. I talked to as many people as possible without becoming a nuisance and felt I did all anyone possibly could do to gain attention. It came time to sit and wait for HR to recognize how perfect I am for the job. So I waited. And I waited. As of this morning the job listing has been pulled from the site and my phone hasn't rung.

Maybe I should have been a doctor.

Not so happy anniversary...

How's this for hypocrisy? The same day President Bush traveled to Topeka, Kan. to honor the anniversary of Brown v. Board of Ed., a landmark case that brought an end to segregation, he issued a statement renewing a pledge to ban gay marriage. "The sacred institution of marriage should not be redefined by a few activist judges," the statement read. Similar to the same activist judges that put him in office? Doesn't calling for marital segregation or outright opposition (Bush may attempt to fully deny gays rights by blocking civil unions) fly in the face of the intent behind the historic decision he is praising today? Can this man get any more two-faced? Couldn't he at least have waited a day before peddling this hate-speech? Did he have to spit on us today of all days? Won't anyone stand up for us in Congress and call this politically motivated spade a spade?

Muffins and mimosas...

Two exciting things happened this morning.

First, same-sex couple can now marry in the state of Massachusetts! Despite the endless barrage of attempts to stall by the religious right and their republican buddies trying to score political points, the courts have upheld their original decision at every turn and as of 12:01am this morning gays can legally wed. I woke up to images on television of same-sex couples standing in line at various city halls throughout the state. There was obvious celebration and yet the faces of most couples showed less victory and more contentment and entitlement. I was listening to talk radio on my way in to work and a gay man who was at the North Hampton city hall was on the phone with the host. His first comments were "Muffins and mimosas for everyone! We can marry!" How can anyone be threatened by that?

The second exciting thing is the opening on a new Dunkin' Donuts on First Ave. See, this new location is directly on my way from the First Ave L stop and work. Growing up in Kearny, NJ, Dunkin' Donuts coffee was the only thing getting me through high school at times. I submit to you it is the best coffee ever. More importantly they are leaders in coffee cup innovation. Their newest lids with an easy open-close strip that fastens into place is the greatest thing to happen to the coffee cup in the last 10 years. So now I can have this delicious beverage every morning on my way to work. So in honor or the gay muffin man, I got myself a blueberry muffin with my coffee. Now if only Dunkin' Donuts sold mimosas.

Hate the context, not the construction...

Courts martial.

I have a dirty little secret about the phrase. I find it to be one of the most satisfying sounds. Not because those who broke the law will be brought to justice. It's because of it's oddly proper pluralization. Like attorneys general or sisters-in-law, it's music to my ears. It's such an irregular way of pluralizing a compound noun that it does something to me when I hear it. Maybe it's because it always sounds unexpected or because it makes me feel better than other people who wouldn't have known how to say it correctly.

I've been hearing "courts martial" a lot lately because of the terrible Iraqi prisoner abuse stories. It makes me feel a little guilty that the word tickles me so. It's not everyday that people use such a phrase, though, so when once in a blue moon the strange construction gets dragged out of the grammatical closet and put on display I find pleasure in it. The dictionary will give you the option of certain compound words (cupfuls and cupsful are both acceptable), but other words have only one form (passersby, not passerbys). Courts martial is one of the latter types. Oh, but beware the cable TV pundit that says "court martials!" Wrong! When watching CNN Friday morning, I found myself yelling back at poor Soledad O'Brien, "That's not right, you ninny!" I felt robbed of my linguistic high and I yelled at a pregnant lady on television. My outburst left me shamed, but the principles of grammar were on my side. So let's all try to get it right when we speak about these events. For me, Soledad.