M-I-C (See you soon!)

K-E-Y (Why? Because we LIKE you!)

M-O-U-S-EEEEEEEEE

Truth be told, I lost any semblance of false modesty when my mother married fothermucker #2 (the rocket science years - 1960 - 1968), who found it unnecessary to put a towel around himself between the bathroom and the bedroom.
My bedroom door opened onto this scenic corridor, and I watched my friend Katy attempt to say hello to him without collapsing in laughter during one such encounter. Ah, the family memories.
Understandably, I was confused by the brouhaha over Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction," having seen it with my own eyes during Super Bowl half time and taken little notice. I didn't even bother mentioning it to Paul when he returned for the third quarter. So what if the little Mickey Mouse Club guy did a stupid dance with Michael Jackson's baby sister? It was ridiculous, he knew it would be ridiculous, and that's why he left during half time. The FCC should have fined the broadcast for being the entertainment equivalent of dead air.
Why, then does this little Mickey Mouse Club alum picture seem so, I don't know, so creepy?
It's certainly not her nakedness.
Didn't her mother teach her how to exit an automobile (open door, legs together, swing legs and body facing the door, feet on ground, then stand. Fun Fact! It's also better for your back!)? Is it that she knows she's naked from the waist down and pretending that she doesn't? Is it that she doesn't know? Has multiple childbirth numbed her genitalia? Does being in the company of Paris Hilton suck your brain from your head (see picture below)?
Those are the questions. Because I LOATHE lewd, sniggering, Puritanical entertainment news coverage, I propose it be killed post haste by witty reparte or outright cattery. (For a sampling of appropriate Hollywood cattery, go to http://www.snarkywood.com/ )
Have at it.

Proof Positive

that being around Paris Hilton sucks one's brain from one's head...Nicole forgot to eat. P.S. Nicole was arrested on 12/10 for DUI. She's 5'1" and weighs 85 pounds.
Eeeeeeeeeeek!

Tiger Cub Reporter

How To Write News

Periodically, there is an ad for a reporter for The Daily Astorian that I am tempted to answer. Since I am not a big fan of either the owner or the editor, I have not. What I have done, is assemble this little sampling of my writing skills in case I ever change my mind, or they die in a newsworthy fashion.

Sample Cub Reporter News Writing Skills

What I write: What I mean

According to published reports: I got scooped by The Oregonian
Activist: Will talk to press
Allegedly: He did it but Josh can't prove it in court
Beloved: Someone who's been around so long no one can stand them anymore (e.g., Jerry Lewis)
With News Wire Services: No original writing
Celebrity: Someone that has a publicist
Choked up: Definitely could have been crying
Confirmed bachelor: See "Flamboyant"
Conflagration: A fire in the first paragraph, a blaze in the second and an inferno in the third.
Controversial: He did something bad but I'm not sure what
Couldn't be reached for comment: Didn't return call by 5 PM
Dapper: Hasn't bought new clothes in 20 years
Diminutive: Under 5 feet tall
Effervescent: Won't shut up
Elite: See "prestigious"
Embattled: He should quit
Entrepreneur: Hasn't made it yet, but I'm doing a nice story about her
Exclusive neighborhood/school/club: I can't get in
Exclusive: No one else returned my calls
Family Values: Right-wing idiot
Feisty: Short, old female
Flamboyant: Homosexual
Gentleman bandit: He wore nice shoes
Good Samaritan: Too stupid to run away
Guru: See "Self-styled"
Hero cop: Died
Hero firefighter: Put out a fire
High-brow: Boring
Highly placed source: One who would talk
Hot button issue: Only Stever Forrester cares about it
Informed source: Reads The Daily Astorian
Innocent bystander: Too slow to run away
Intensely private: Not promoting anything right now
Investigating: Waiting for someone to drop a dime
Knowledgeable observer: Me
Knowledgeable observers: Me and the person at the next desk
Legendary: About to die
Long-time companion: They had sex once
Mega-mogul: Has made it, and is in process of losing it
Moderate: Fence straddler
Modest, well-kept home: Cockroaches are all dead
Mogul: Has made it, and I'm doing a hatchet job
Never: No clips about it in Daily Astorian files
Outspoken: Rude
Petite: Emaciated
Plucky: Someone who is ambulatory AND very, very young, old, or short
Political Action Committee contribution: Bribe
Prestigious: Indoor plumbing
Progressive: Left-wing idiot
Rarely interviewed: Promoting something right now
Recently: Lost the press release
Reportedly: Stole this bit of information
Savagely murdered: Murdered
Scandal-plagued: Guilty
Scrappy: Runt
Screen Legend: I am too young to remember his/her movies
Self-styled: Phony
Shocking revelation: Leaked on a slow news day
Socialite: Woman without job who owns a home between 8th and 28th Street, on the river side with a view
Source who spoke on condition of anonymity: Publicist
Street-wise: Hasn't been hit by a bus (so far)
Strident: Rude
Stunned: Couldn't give a decent quote
Superstar: Has a publicist and an agent
Tearful: May have been crying
Teen idol: I am too old to have heard of him
Temblor: I have a thesaurus
Troubled youth: He once lit something on fire, or Mayor's son
Unclear, uncertain, unknown at press time: No one will tell us
Venerable: Should be dead but isn't
War-torn: I can't find it on a map
Weeping: Tear spotted in one eye

So, do I get the job?

Santa DOES Exist

and he drinks eggnog
and has knocked off a few elves

Tracking Santa

I accept my bunch of heathen, godless friends for their steadfast belief in no belief in an intelligence superior to theirs. Okay, fine.
But, leave Santa out of this. Even French existentialist Jean Paul Sartre allowed for both 'pour soi' and 'en soi' - what you've experienced and what you've not. If poor old God got thrown out with the empirical bathwater, at least leave Santa.
Yeah, there are problems. The chimney thing, whether to have a fire, what about the kids with no chimneys, number of children in the world, etc., etc., etc.
Well, get over yourselves. I'm busy trying to get a bunch of entertainment lawyers to play nice, investors to fork over equity and Dr. John to pick up the damn phone, to answer these time worn Scroogie questions.
Here's what I will do, though.
Get your cynical selves to http://www.noradsanta.org/en/default.php and watch NORAD track Santa.
You DO believe in NORAD, don't you?

To Be ' or Not To Be '

Apostrophe

Maybe it's because I have one in my name.
Maybe it's because I went to Catholic school and punctuation meant both an arrangement of little dots, commas and dashes AND an occasional rap on the knuckles: the former, to assure meaning in written communcation; and the latter, to drive a point home on a physical level.
But there's no doubt that I'm a punctuation Nazi. And I have a graduate degree in apostrophe.
It appears that my breed is dying, and worse, we forgot to produce progeny. We watch with despair as possessives are written as it's and it is is written as its. They're strewed about with wild abandon on billboards, placards, sineage - even magazines and newspapers. I'm either OKEEFE or O KEEFE on credit cards, bank statements and junk mail lists. I guess they ran out, with all those meaningless high falutin' commas everywhere else. There were none left for my name.
So, instead of trying to change the world, I hereby declare the apostrophe dead.
No longer will I seethe when I see one where it doesn't belong. I'll just assume it's on its way to that happy place in the sky where punctuation is respected and treated well.
That goes for you, too, James Lipton. No more gushing about Bernard Pivot and his Apostrophe. It's over babe.

His Royal Visage

Lord Buckley

It's all so very alive and jumpin' and in the pauses one can hear the atoms exploding out there in the Milky Way where the grass comes up every once in ten billion years and there are no moth balls or frigidaires, no box office receipts, no railroads,
no crucifixions rosy or otherwise ...
It is all very far out, your Lordship.
- - Henry Miller