Random Thoughts

I'm not really like other people. When I get stressed out, I run around like a chicken with its head.

I'd stayed at the Hyatt at the Bellevue before, so I remembered. I remembered setting the air conditioning on HIGH the second I set foot in my room, and I remembered that when I returned after eight hours of sightseeing the place was still as stale and dry as day-old toast. Still, I'd made it through that last visit and I figured I'd make it through this one too.

I didn't. I woke up at 4 a.m. lightly bathed in sweat. I don't particularly mind sweating in bed, except I was alone.

Not helping matters was the bedding. It was dark and the covers were mangled and somehow the tiny top sheet had gotten swallowed up by the thick duvet. My options seemed like either arctic provisions or a naked man laying atop a mattress. While I enjoy the odd naked man, I also know that after laying prone for a period of time, his body partially liquifies and forms folds and wrinkles that rival the Grand Canyon if it had curly brown hair springing out of its chasms. Not to mention the whole Tennessee Williams stigma that comes with oppressive heat and sleeping:

STELLA: Oh, Brick. This heat is like a vice, squeezing the living daylights out of me. The dank air is settlin' in my lungs so it's like I'm a'wallowin' and a'frettin' in the soggy recesses of a swamp rather than at the luxurious Hyatt at the Bellevue.

BRICK: I can't take it, Stella! It's circling my head like a buzzard and squeezing me like a snake and I swear it's going to suck me dry. Every breath I take my mouth turns to sand, and I can't move without feeling the accursed vines of the kudzu plant creeping up my thick, tattooed legs here on the edge of the upscale Rittenhouse Square shopping district.

I'm not the kind of person who accepts something and lets it go, especially if it means paying big bucks to not sleep for eight hours. I'm definitely a "bee in my bonnet" kind of guy, except I own the Bonnet Store. I hit a button on the phone that said "GUEST REQUESTS." I wasn't sure it was appropriate: it sounded like it was for people who ran out of hair gel rather than, say, people who had reached medium-rare, or didn't like lions clawing down their doors.

I explained the situation to the woman. She offered to send up an engineer to fix the thing, but in my book putting on clothes and having company pretty much means sleep time is done. Instead I went with her helpful tips: first, set the fan on AUTO instead of HIGH. I assumed that something running constantly at top speed was more efficient than something that randomly turned on and off, but I've never been paid to think at 4 a.m. Second, set the desired temperature at 68 instead of 60. I may have missed the logic here, but apparently if the air conditioner thinks the job is too big, it won't even give it a try. When the desired temperature is close to room temperature, it feels like it's got a fighting chance.

She also offered to send up a fan. I got the idea that if she worked at Avis and my Mercedes broke down, I'd be tooling around Philly on a Big Wheel.

I decided to go with her helpful tips. Twenty minutes later, when I realized the temperature wasn't going to change and I wasn't going to sleep, I called back and asked for the engineer.

I completely banished any thoughts of a silver lining when he arrived and wasn't even remotely hunky. He confirmed that the GUEST REQUEST tips were total crap while he pulled the AC filter out. He actually thought I'd be interested to know that it was two inches thick with lint, and I waited while he fetched a new one. "It'll be okay now!" he said. Really? I thought. Is that the Hyatt motto? If I find a hair on the Grilled Skuna Bay Salmon at the XIX restaurant will the waiter pluck it off and proclaim, "Looks like it's okay now!"

Needless to say, I was a bit grumpy when I boarded the MegaBus home. The guy behind me talking nonstop on his cellphone certainly didn't help. In his fourteenth conversation his voice suspiciously lowered, clearly indicating a female on the other end.

"Nickname?" he asked in Barry White's voice. "You gave me a nickname?" He chuckled long and low and I actually started to think it was sweet. "Yeah," he said, "I like that nickname. We'll have to give you a nickname too." Another pause while my chilly heart defrosted. I felt like recommending the standards: Sweetie, Darling, Honeybunch. "Okay," he finally said. "We'll call you Downstairs Margo."

I sighed. New York City's skyline appeared in the distance and I thought, "Well, it looks like I'm okay now."

What did the zookeeper witness in the white animal section? They were all hanging around their rooms and cutting themselves.

Real answer: PANDA-MONIUM

Spent Tuesday night in Philly at the Hyatt at The Bellevue. Hoped the air conditioning would kick in eventually; it didn't. Woke up at 4 a.m. sweating. Called the front desk. "I can send up a fan," she said. I said, "I'm a goddamn business traveler, not Cho-Cho-San."

Dr. Phil Tweet Outrages People Who Misinterpret A Poll Question And Think He Found A Drunk Girl And Wanted Advice

Story.

News Roundup

Former teen heartthrob David Cassidy was pulled over in upstate New York for failing to dim his headlights and was charged with DWI.

Cassidy was stopped early Wednesday about 10 miles south of Albany. Tests showed his blood-alcohol content at 0.10.

The Albany Times Union reported that when the arresting officer, Tom Jones, told Cassidy his name, the singer said, "What's new, pussycat?"

I read so many times people saying their loved ones were taken because God needed more angels in heaven. This irks me so much. People don't become angels. They are totally separate beings. God brings people home for reasons all his own, and we might never understand it, but it's certainly not to gain new angels. He's got more than enough, so shut up, people!

I mean, come on. When a dog dies, does it become a chicken? Does a monkey become a sea cucumber? No! Christ, we're intelligent people, not Buddhists! It's scientifically impossible. One thing does not turn into another! When you die, you become invisible and your soul floats up to heaven but suddenly sprouting wings and magically learning how to play the harp is just patently ridiculous.

I realize I need to be patient. I've been asking God to grant me patience almost every time I feel like hitting one of the kids. And I know it's comforting thinking that after God takes us, we'll all be flying around heaven like Superman. But the sad fact is that's just a sad delusion, and as much as it pains me to say this, we need to face the cold, hard facts. We'll have to walk around on the clouds just like regular old dead people.

Of course, these clouds also have a silver lining. God likes us better than angels. That's why he gave us free will while making the angels his helpers, henchmen, and housekeepers. Yes, we make mistakes, but He gave us that freedom because he loves us so much. The angels are second-class, not as good, sad substitutes for the real thing -- pretty much like God's adoptive children. He can cast them out of heaven, but once we're in we're good. It's like heaven has a union.

Anyway, if you agree, please spread the word. Next time one of your relatives dies and a well-meaning "friend" says God must have needed another angel, politely inform them that you're strong and resilient enough to face facts: that your dead relative will be sitting at God's right hand for the rest of eternity as long as idiots like them don't get in the way.

Olympics Committee Says Russia Doesn't Discriminate Because Straights Will Also Be Arrested For Saying Anything Positive About Gays

Story.

Gorgeous Portraits Capture The Feminine Side of Masculinity (PHOTOS)

The Huffington Post has a lovely photo essay today. I'll let them explain.

Nir Arieli's portrait series "Men" places men in traditionally feminine spaces and postures, illuminating the human characteristics that have, over time, become decidedly feminine traits. The following male muses are making us wish men felt free to explore their feminine sides more often.

Ms. Arieli gives Hanno musically-oriented props to indicate that this classless Neanderthal may actually respond to something other than pork rinds and baseball scores. He is clearly occupying an unfamiliar space: he's thinking. And not thinking about adding a back deck to the house, but about his place in the universe, his role in society, and how many calories are in rice pudding.

Paul's little trip to Gayville comes courtesy of adding one accessory and ditching another: he's lying on an effeminate bedspread and not eating a pulled pork sandwich. This portrait isn't entirely successful because it's obvious he's faking his vulnerability to get his girlfriend to blow him. Also, Paul often finds himself on a woman's bedspread because he has eighteen roommates and hasn't done his laundry since 1982.

You'll notice a lot of these models are lying down. Men don't do that a lot, because they don't have to wait for themselves to come home from work.

Tal's posture is traditionally feminine because only women aren't smart enough to find their way out of tide pools when it gets really cold. Her family is loading the ice chest, recliners and umbrella into the station wagon and she's like, "Wait! I suddenly realized why Paul never called me back in the summer of 1983!"

Can't wait 'til Ms. Arieli captures women in traditionally masculine spaces and postures, but I guess there aren't many betting parlors left and there's like zero female models willing to kick a dog. Thanks, Huffington Post!

The tastefulness of hair rides a very thin line. It's attractive, for example, in masses on Alec Baldwin's chest. It's not so hot when there's only one and it's sticking out of your kebab.

"What Not To Wear" Puts 5,000th Woman in Cinched Blouse and Belted Jacket

Today in the New York Times: "Dark and Angry" Teenager Asks Mom To Join Him On Royal Caribbean Cruise

He wasn’t just an ordinary teenager who rolled his eyes and walked 10 paces ahead of me, either. He had grown into someone dark and angry, and when I was with him, I either felt like I was isolated in a psychological freezer or needed to hide in a bunker. He had called me unthinkable names and shattered my heart to smithereens. When he asked me to go on the cruise,

How To Tell If Someone Is Lying

They Speak Formally. Bill Clinton said "I did not have sexual relations" instead of the more familiar contraction "I didn't have...". This is typical of people who are lying; to avoid contractions and use more formal language to distance themselves from the lie.

I'd never heard of this rule until a Headline News anchor confirmed it on TV, again citing Bill Clinton as the gold standard of liars. I don't know how that man ever fooled us with his ridiculously stilted words! I feel like an idiot, being duped with so many tall tales, but with this handy rule I know it won't happen again. In the future I'll be on the lookout for truthtellers using honest words like these:

• Houston, we've a problem.
• We're the world.
• We'll fight on the beaches.
• We're not amused.
• I'll return.
• We're legion.
• I'm Spartacus.
• I've a dream.
• I'm the greatest.
• Don't judge, or you too'll be judged.
• The only thing we've to fear is fear itself.
• I'm what I'm.
• Thou shan't kill.

I don't know why nobody's thought of this before. If you want to build a massive structure, what building material makes the most sense? Wood means chopping down trees. Cement means digging up land. What we need is something that's environmentally-friendly and sustainable, with a supply will never run low.

Hey, how about human bodies?

There's certainly no shortage of human bodies, which is why the Great Cross is such a terrific idea. It'll be length of ten football fields, and eighteen stories tall. It'll be "the largest Christian monument in the world dedicated to Jesus Christ" (are there bigger Christian monuments dedicated to, say, Fozzy Bear?) and will be "easily" visible from space.

And it's going to be a stack of dead Christians.

The Great Cross Alliance is dedicated to constructing the largest, longest-lasting Christian monument in the world. It will be built of columbarium and mausoleum vaults that are available for purchase for you and your family. The Great Cross will be supported by a world-wide community who choose to become part of this beautiful vision dedicated to Jesus Christ.

Naturally the people who propose this massive project have also written the world's longest FAQ. It answers questions like:

• May I Visit? (Answer: Yes!)


• Will Participants Be Identified? (Answer: Yes! We'll glue "Hello! My Name Is" stickers to their feet. Psych! Ever hear of headstones, people?)


• Can I Donate To Help Build The Great Cross? (Answer: No, sorry. Psych! Send us a check.), and


• Where Did The Idea Come From?

The husband and father of the family that developed the concept had three similar dreams between 2007 and 2009. He saw an enormous, gleaming monument in the shape of a cross. The construction was a stack of large, clear glass blocks, each containing the perfectly preserved body of a person in peaceful repose.... [He] realized that such a monument could be a rallying symbol for worldwide Christianity, and a way to preserve the Word of God for a long time.

Got that? It was a vision. Jesus came to him and said, "Look! Stacks of dead Christians encased in glass as a monument to me!" And the guy replied, "Jesus, glass just does not make sense."

Where's the giant cross going to be? I found this map helpful:

Got that? NOWHERE NEAR CHINA. And how is construction coming? Well, see for yourself:

Wait. No, that's right. For a second I thought I got the construction photo mixed up with pictures of my third husband installing our eight-man hot tub.

Despite their divine inspiration, great ideas don't have such a great success rate. The Firearms Museum and Reflecting Pool still haven't been built at The Citadel. In fact, all they've got to show after nine months of fundraising is a wooden shed, but Porta-Potties are on the horizon. Unlike the dead folks who'll make up the Great Cross, its future isn't set in faux-stone.

IMPORTANT INFORMATION: The project must reach a critical level of funding before construction can begin. This level is set at the sale of 400 spaces.... Once the critical number of 400 is reached, construction will begin as soon as possible.

Did you see that? I just caught it out of the corner of my eye, but it looked like THE RED FLAG YOU CAN EASILY SEE FROM SPACE.

Mausoleum spaces at the Giant Cross are priced at $25,000 for a single casket. Four hundred of these would bring the builders ten million dollars. When it's finished, the cross "will enclose a volume of 8.6 million cubic meters," which is enough to "contain more than three Great Pyramids," but those first four hundred coffins will total only around 1,300 cubic feet. That's about the size of an eleven-foot cube, discounting the visitor's center or rainbow-refracting observatory dome they might prop on top. Initially, at least, that Christian monument you'll be able to see from space would fit into somebody's dorm room and there'd still be room for a dozen bongs and a "Hang In There, Baby!" poster. You'd drive out to the desert to look at it but it'd be totally be hidden by the World's Biggest Thermometer.

Will it be popular? Beats me. Maybe there are Christians who want to spend eternity piled up with other Christians eighty miles from Reno. But I definitely think it'll be a beacon of hope and source of inspiration to the entire world. I know every time I'll think of that mound of dead people who fall for crazy shit like this I'll say to myself, "Now that is a really good start."

(Via the very busy Joe.My.God)

I've never understood recipes that use pre-made sweets. I mean, do American parents have trouble getting their kids to eat enough pudding? Is it a torturous trial getting your tween to eat over a thousand M&Ms a day? Is your toddler just skin and bones because he consistently balks at Three Musketeers bars?

"Make the most of your leftover Halloween goodies with these candy dessert recipes," one helpful website says before offering tips on how to turn those discarded peanut butter cups into a pie. Yeah, because we've all seen peanut butter cups and thought, "What the fuck am I going to do with these?"

Even Better Homes & Gardens -- what is with that name? Did you ever go to somebody's garden and think, "Wow, this is definitely better."? -- gets into the "leftover Halloween candy" act. Am I totally out of it here? I trick-or-treated for probably twelve years, most of those in my thirties, and I never had "leftover" candy. It's not like a Heath bar will go bad by Friday. If mold could grow on a Hershey bar they couldn't spend six generations in the candy machine of your local hardware store.

If you've got twelve M&Ms you need to get rid of, though, BH&G's Spiced Mice recipe is perfect for you. It also requires chow mein noodles, which makes me grateful that my folks never took me trick-or-treating in Beijing.

This Witch's Hat uses all your leftover popcorn. My second husband worked at a movie theater and we never had leftover popcorn. It has sweet and salty flavors, though, which will totally win your kids over if they're having their periods.

Still, there's an exception to every rule. The small effeminate part of me that loves Easy Bake Ovens and Hello Kitty totally crapped his pants when he saw this.

Looks adorable, but c'mon: chocolate bars, M&Ms, and cookies? Really? It doesn't take a genius to come up with the treat I'm giving away on Halloween:

Is it as cute? Not quite. But is it nutritious? Does a bear shit in the woods?

Swiss Reported To Have Solved Racism Problem

"Every time I hear the name 'Whitey Bulger' in the news I don't think of a gangster: I think he's an underwear model." -- Yet Another Steve

Yes, it's a picture of steak.

Yesterday North Carolina Gov. Pat McCrory signed a law that requires voter to have photo ID. When asked why he backed this legislation despite the fact that voter fraud seems to be quite rare, he replied, "Just because you haven’t been robbed doesn’t mean you shouldn’t lock your doors at night."

I don't mind the allegory -- voter fraud equals burglary -- but guv must know there's only been one suspected fraud case in North Carolina in the last twelve years. Clearly it's more truthful to say, "Just because only one dude has been robbed in North Carolina in the last twelve years doesn't mean you shouldn't lock your doors at night." Because, you know, it kind of does.

Thanks for the suggestion, Spotify! I must have missed the part where a dark-skinned, androgynous Tormé modeled in Paris for Yves St. Laurent, played a bikini-clad warrior in Conan the Destroyer, dated bodybuilders, and sang about pulling up to the bumper and needing a man.