Effluvia

From Slate: how to buy a Christmas tree.

Also, Slate's assessment of Rosie O'Donnell is quite interesting, as are the other columns about talk show hosts - which this article links to.

The Stranger has a great series of articles about Christmas memories. I love The Stranger, though the attitude of some of the writers bothers me. They come across all, "oh, I haven't eaten meat or dairy products, watched TV or owned a car in ten years, and I am better than you because of it." This attitude makes me want to slap people. Some of the stories are really funny, though.

I am so tired of the election hoo-hah. It has become old news, and it's time to move on. As much as I like ol' Al I think he needs to give it up. It's time for President Cheney to take control.

Personally, I liked The Onion's take on the presidential aftermath much better.

November ends, and Arsenal wins a game. This is a soccer team with real problems with the eleventh month.

The Hayek Guide.

Taking a plane trip anytime soon? Don't visit this site, then.

Journals

• Bad Hair Days
• Plaintive Wail
• Humidity and Hebephrenia
• Randomly Ever After
• U9
• Fukushu
• Nature of life...
• DNA Sequencing

Okay, question: what is that draws a lot of tall, rawboned guys with big hands and feet and big huge heads towards crossdressing? Or transgenderism - I'm vague on which is what. I've seen a lot of them here in New Orleans, but I've seen them other places as well.

I mean, if you're a petite, cute guy - Brian Molko, for instance, is a perfect example - you can pull off a dress and a little make-up. But these great big guys? They're always kind of hunched over, too, like they're trying to attract as little attention as possible. However, it's hard to go unnoticed when you're obviously a 6'7" man wearing a big blonde wig and a kicky little sundress.

My brother had a friend named Dave - long tall lanky stanky Dave, they called him - and the thought of him wearing a dress is pretty funny. You know the kind of guy I'm talking about, too; normally he towers above everyone else in the room and has an adam's apple the size of an actual apple. He looks like he should be working on a farm somewhere, or maybe doing some roofing. I wonder what it is that makes guys like that want to look like girls?

Maybe they just want to feel pretty.

So apparently David Spade was attacked. By someone who works for him. In his own house. With a stun gun.

I saw David Spade do his stand up act at the University of Memphis back in 1995. It was really funny.

David Spade dressed like a woman would probably be really funny.

But he's done that, hasn't me? He was one of the girls that worked at the Gap in the old SNL skits. I knew it!

I was waiting outside the building for Sonya yesterday, and I see this girl walking towards me. She's got the Catholic school girl look goin' on: little plaid skirt, white shirt, knee socks. And I'm thinkin', hey, baby, you're really pulling that look off! It's very authentic, and...and...oh. Oh. You really are a Catholic school girl, aren't you? I suppose I'm a pedophile now.

On Thursday night I gave a homeless guy a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, two pieces of tandori chicken and a pair of socks. He specifically asked for socks. He pulled up his pants legs when he asked, too. He clearly had no socks. How could I let him go sockless? I'm hoping this will help my karma and perhaps further mollify my noise-sensitive neighbors.

After breakfast at La Peniche this morning Sonya and I did a bit of shopping, then drove to Metairie to check out a Christmas tree lot that had been recommended by Sonya's coworkers. It was very nice, and we ended up with a seven-foot fraser fir. It smells nice. My car continues to smell nice, since we put the back seat down and left the hatchback up to get it home. There's a nice little pile of needles in my trunk.

This fir tree, though...at least it doesn't have sticky needles. It has short, soft needles. Sonya's already swept most of them up.

Roxy looked up at me. "I'm not going out in that shit," she said, "my head is ticklish."

"How 'bout I carry you to the grass under the trees?" I countered, "I don't want you waking me up at seven in the morning."

"Okay, but I'm not staying out there long."

So I tucked the dog in my jacket and sprinted for the grass. It did no good. We were both immediately soaked.

Roxy attended to her business quickly.

"Now pick me back up and take me inside!" she demanded.

"Hell no! I'm not putting any wet dog in my jacket, much less carrying one around like a carry-on bag with legs. Run, you mutt!"

So we ran back inside, totally wet, both of us swearing.

Wouldn't Jack Black make a great Ignatius if they ever get around to making a movie of A Confederacy of Dunces? I think so.

Good Lord, I'm making out like Larry King, here - a bunch of totally unrelated commentary!