THIS IS NOT A TEST

Think of it as more of an introduction, just to prepare the more dutiful Popthomology readers among ye for the possibility that I may need to step into Marianne’s shoes while she is off on the high seas on the Bruise Cruise on a ship to the Bahamas with a bunch of unbridled indie rockers, enjoying 24-hour room service and free puppet shows. It’s all sort of up in the air for now, depending mainly on whether Jello Biafra throws Marianne into the pool and fries her cell phone, but I'm here to serve as needed. Since I will at least be filling in as a transcriptionist here for the weekend, Marianne and I thought you should know something about who I am and why I'm here. Aside from having paid a hefty fee, that is.

Marianne and Dena: The Origin Myth

You may have seen my name pop up here occasionally, mostly as a founding member of the legendary Performa-Chords. What you may not be aware of is that Marianne and I came over on the Mayflower together and have been best friends ever since. We did not have any cell phones or computers in those days, so when I wanted to share something goat-related with Marianne, I had to bring her an actual goat. Batman did not exist yet, which made life fairly meaningless. Later, some inventor guy created television from a light bulb, five electrodes, and a handful of rubber bands. This changed the world by transmitting images of Lawrence Welk and Mr. Ed, a talking chimpanzee directly into the frontal lobes of human beings. This new-ish technology enabled a stiff but highly influential man named Ed Sullivan to introduce America to four moptops who made girls cry and throw Jujubes, in the process giving birth to the British Invasion.

The Kinks: A Revisionist History

The most important thing you probably don’t know about The Kinks is that they came into existence specifically so Marianne and I could meet. There once were two brothers who lived in the Black Hills of Muswell, and one day in the sixties they received simultaneous psychic transmissions that compelled them to purchase matching riding habits and form a rock music combo. The Kinks had several chart hits, including “You Really Got Me All Day and All of the Night, But I’m Tired of Waiting for You Till the End of the Day, Lola.” This measure of success served to keep The Kinks together as a band until that portentous day when Marianne and I finally kept our appointment with destiny at a Chicago swap meet and discovered our shared fondness for the combative tea drinkers, subsequently throwing in our lot together as a touring unit and tag wrestling team. At some point some fruit rolled down the aisle of a Greyhound bus and we laughed, but we disagree as to what type of fruit it was.

Marianne and Dena: The Story Continues

You know most of what Marianne has been up to lately because she gives you the skinny right here. Mostly she takes pictures, writes blog posts, and drinks coffee, occasionally pausing to feed a child, do laundry, or swear about politics. As for me, I routinely peruse Popthomology from a near suburb of Chicago, where I’m up to my elbows in books and up to my ankles in water (at least when it rains and I go down to my basement). I do a bit of freelance editing when there is freelance editing to be done, I sell books and pop-culture artifacts on Amazon Marketplace and Etsy for a few extra dollars, and I explore and share information on the internet because that's how I get my kicks. I’m also the mom of a bright and zany 11-year-old, a member of the extended Burning Man community, and a dedicated hooper, so I never lack something to do. I wish Marianne and I could get together more often, but given that she lives in Constantinople and I live in Timbuktu, I’m grateful we can get together at all

As I write this Marianne is in Flo-da, getting ready to cover Bruise Cruise and avoid being swallowed up by the Kraken. I am excited to see what she comes up with in the way of images and written commentary from this strange and exotic voyage. I am also grateful to Marianne for the chance to introduce myself to you and share highly embroidered stories of my misspent youth, which prevented me from eating an entire 2-pound box of salted chocolate-covered caramels today. I hope we meet again here, either sooner or later. In the meantime, I will take advantage of your kind attention this one time to flog the heck out of my various internet endeavors.

Exit Through the Gift Shop

Denalynn2001 on Etsy

Denalynn2001 on Amazon Marketplace

It is Fun to Have Fun, But You Have to Know How

Herr Machine

Twitter

Quora

Pinterest

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SPAM POEMS 15: "CIALIS, GENERIQUE" & "MERMAID PIE"

(My favorite comment spambot, elegantly nonsensical, provides the content today -- two poems for the price of one!!)

Simply got was shouting between the price with a well stalling

Cialis, generique or very this blood of his what's.

And he wasn't out herself.

Not backward he struck to afford the black cialis.

Cialis, generique.

We're of the i'll

Early expression on the jazz on the list.

Of the imagination of the

Cialis, generique

Had crowded as each crushing man.

She existed and was gareth.

Him made to take the nearly confirmed cialis.

We seemed to have indeed higher of the.

Would he rescue half the to cialis.

My fingers strode indeed data on different way or other eyes,

Navigating from her act.

Becker, discussing their calm spokes branch.

The trip responded down off the Cialis, generique

Come loosely noticed.

Andrew, you have where the i'm homestead exasperation eliminates?

Cialis, generique.

He caught green from Isaac, but for the lads'

And cialis generique for the crush himself would autograph

Plumbing and treasure could forget closed. 

********************

Rear i'll chamber ablaze from their answer, mermaid pie.

Buy cialis noisy memories looked seized of a dashers

Where all zavala eyes was he with a fifth pitt metal with vessel.

They opened close and turned up of the fifth, looking no face from the salesman.

The arms was shallow for troops and prospects or past concerns that met triggered small of the back head and, so and perhaps, smart no cigarettes.

Through the food before the official buy, cialis was well usually ancient of freddy.

Dirk's five i smiled to ocean for from a short waiter sure therefore had ahead but blackmail it around.

This widest beard, and he will knock down the eyes now, could do on his to handle to oh and teach by a medley standing.

Pitt langdon fell keeping because center, them don't benign.

Off, pom were that dining as with driving the more people, dodging apparently the daughters.

Buy how he have waking it. 

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THE OBLIGATORY RAMBLING POST MADE FROM $12.95 JET WI-FI

A big travel day for yours truly, writing to you from the fabulous 10F EXIT ROW WINDOW SEAT aboard a jet going to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Flying from Seattle to SoFla -- corner to corner in these United States -- takes a LONG ASS TIME. My flight from SEA-TAC left at the ungodly hour of 7AM, which meant that the car service came to collect me at 5AM, which meant that I tried to go to bed at the (for me) early hour of 1AM, and it didn't work. I got up totally unrefreshed and woozy at 3:30AM, tried to check-in online, screwed up, swore, took a shower, finished packing, and left my home after feeding the dog and putting out the milk delivery order, with a note for Couch Young Adult to TAKE THE MILK IN. Oh, imagine me at the airport about 30 minutes later, sans sleep and sans coffee with THREE huge heavy bags like a flame-haired lumbering Punk Lovey Howell. At the counter, a handsome young thang upgraded me to First Class (because I PAID HIM TO), took two of the three burdens off my hands (no, not the kids -- I'm solo this time), and I walked over to The Fast Security Line For People Who Pay Extra Money To Get A Better Seat On An Airplane.

I don't know what it was in the airport this morning, or maybe it was because the first leg of my flight was going to Los Angeles, but there sure were a lot of nice looking dudes and dudettes in the Seattle airport this morning. How do people look so damn sharp at this hour? I don't get it. Maybe they Pay Money To Look Extra Good At An Airport In The Early Morning Hours. My seat 1A had no seatmate, always a good thing, so I scored two pillows and two blankets. What was awkward was that my seat directly faced the flight attendant jumpseat, separated by a purple-ish Plexiglass barrier, so Attendant Dude and I had to spend moments Looking Away From Each Other. All I had to look at was the not very pretty metal container crap in the galley, rattling away with every air bump.

As soon as we were in the air, I arranged my bedding gear, did FULL RECLINE, and fell into some weird sleep/half-sleep state just through sheer exhaustion. I remember thinking the whole time, "My neck hurts," and "I have to pee," hearing assorted beeps and dings over the plane PA, the light clatter of the First Class breakfast plates, and the whooshy roar of the jet engine and the air jet blasting smelly fuel wafts down on me. I thought I hadn't slept until DING! Attendant Dude announced we were coming into LAX and I must WAKE THE F UP and DISINCLINE my seat. Mrghh mmphh whaaa...why is my mouth so dry? Oh crap, I must've fallen asleep with my mouth open. I cringed slightly at the thought of Attendant Dude sitting in his jumpseat, nowhere else to go, having to stare at me in some horrific sleep state, then cringed again at my second thought, which was I didn't care as much as I normally would have because he did not seem to be the kind of guy who would date girls.

CRASH! No, not the plane, or you would not be reading this, unless I was just that badass. The crash, which definitely helped WAKE ME THE F UP, was the the First Class First Row's storage area underneath the purple Plexiglass COMPLETELY FALLING APART. Oh, dear, I thought as everything fell on my feet, this airplane is apparently held together with Band-Aids. Oh, dear. Attendant Dude came over and beat it all back into place.

We arrived at LAX and it looked like this.

Oh, L.A. you are so so L.A., and L.A. boarding a flight to SoFla is a study in Blue-Haired Women In Wheelchairs, The Platinum Blonde In The Pink Juicy Track Suit With An Ass Whose Moon-Like Topography Was Microscopically Visible To All, The Grizzled Rockstar And His Model Wife, Child, And Nanny, and Slick Guys Talking To "Howard" About " Syndication Deals." Me, I just want to get on and make sure that Heavy Bag #3 (an actual piece of luggage, NOT ME, COMEDIANS) fits completely under the seat in front of me because it's heavy as f and could kill a guy if I accidentally dropped it from the overhead bin, whose contents may shift while in flight.

It did fit under the seat, enough to pass Another Attendant Dude's muster anyway, and so then, this post to you from me, with love, from the sky.

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TEN THINGS EDGIER THAN M.I.A FLIPPING OFF THE SUPERBOWL CAMERA

Yesterday, my oldest spawn, Couch Young Adult, excitedly came over to tell me that controversial British rap person M.I.A. had gone all rogue, not "Vogue" at Madonna's Superbowl halftime show/Vegas tripe extravaganza, and wanted to get my reaction. Ms. M.I.A., by extending her middle finger towards the live TV camera in what is universally known as an obscene gesture meaning "go have sexual relations with yourself," now is reaping the PR spoils of daring to do what might land your average 3rd grader in the principal's office for a stern talking-to.

"Pfffft," I pfffft-ed at Couch Young Adult, "That's not edgy. That's lame."

"What?!!?" He glanced at me with some surprise and irritation. "Yeah, well...you would have thought it was cool if the Clash had done it."

"Nah. I didn't like the Clash. Also, Joe Strummer was no working-class dude. He was the son of a diplomat, and hid it. Pfffft."

Further annoyed by me, my son continued. "OK, whatEVER. What if the SEX PISTOLS had done it?"

"Big deal. They were as manufactured a group as the Monkees. They got famous for trolling an old man on TV so they could say 'bollocks' or something."

At this point, he gave up trying to share this Rebellion Moment with me, and went back to watching the football game. I didn't really expect him to share my feelings -- he's young and full of his own birds -- but it was fun pissing him off. HA HA, Son.

Anyway, this all got me thinking this morning about THINGS EDGIER THAN M.I.A. FLIPPING OFF THE SUPERBOWL CAMERA, and here is my list of TEN:

1. At the very last possible second, changing out Madonna's wobbily Superbowl high-spike boots for Naturalizers, forcing her into publicly-sensible shoes.

2. As Clarence Thomas appears to begin to speak his first words in years in the Supreme Court, letting a huge, multi-second fart blast rip through the room.

3. Growing a beard and putting it in cornrows. If you are a girl.

4. Playing your mashup of Creed, Shirley Temple, and Kraftwerk to Brian Eno at a party while he's in the bathroom.

5. Paying your fair share of taxes AND running for President.

6. Taking a photo of your boss, whom you hate, turning them into stickers, and plastering them on Dumpsters all over the world.

7. Seeing-Eye Vole.

8. Asking M.I.A. if she feels "cool" now.

9. Developing an app which tells people if they are "cool" or not, and making a gazillion dollars off it.

10. Losing half your hearing and hair in a spectacularly stupid way, but still finishing out your comedy bit with Tommy Smothers.

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IPHONE PHOTO ROUNDUP: THE ADULT LEGO PARTY

I think I'm a pretty creative person, but there are definitely areas where my skills show a deep, near-total lack. Anything fine motor, oh, just forget it. I can't sew, knit, crochet, craft, scrapbook, sculpt, draw, or paint. I am not very overburdened with any design talent, and I have the patience of a cranky toddler. Yet these deficits did not in any way detract from my having a delightful time at the Adult Lego Party I attended last night. 

What a clever idea for a party! We came in and were treated to Dave's delicious homemade deep-dish pizza and fresh pineapple, and a bevy of beverages. Then it was out to the garage, beautifully converted into an awesome rec room. I have never, ever seen so many bins of impeccably sorted Legos in my life. I made a decision early on in the evening not to act moose-like and accidentally knock them over or run into the massive Lego tower in the corner, and kind of stuck to a corner of the room, enjoying the conversation and watching the different styles of building. There were serious Lego people, completely absorbed in epic works, there were the Artsy Free-Forms, and the I Need Instructions, Please folks. Me? I played with the figures, was thrilled to find a single Lego chicken, and took a few photos.

Thank you hosts Shelly, Andrew (and Dave) for a fun night!

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AND NOW, THE NEWZZZ...

Passing on this delicious piece of snark from Charlie Brooker (Newswipe) showing just how amazingly similar most of the broadcast news features you see truly are. I swear, you could take this template, plug in goats, an angry senior citizen, Yankee Stadium, and a nuclear reactor and still win an Emmy. Please to enjoy!

The World's Most Generic News Report

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MORE TARGET HAIKUS

I get in my car
To drive to Target, but no!
I have ripped my pants.

Goodbye, distressed jeans!
Your Boyfriend Cut flatters me
No more, butt exposed.

Pants changed, off I go
In search of consumer goods
I will spend too much.

Indian Grandma!
No one can walk past you when
You block the doorway!

Aha! Brown metal
Wastebasket, you are now mine
Replacing puked one.

Spring now must be close
I see the Wall of Flip-Flops
I snare tall black ones.

I eye the swimsuits
With a skeptic's gaze, for none
Will ever look good.

SPF 50
Will you protect my pale skin?
If applied often?

Target Mirrors, I
Curse you with vehemence, you
Are too accurate.

I buy a dress with
Poofy sleeves and cannot help
But think of Seinfeld.

The dress calls for some
Shapewear that promises much
Displacement science.

Young girl, bra shopping
With her mother, embarrassed
I cringe; she cringes.

INDIAN GRANDMA!!!
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?
STOP BLOCKING ME, MAN!

I give up, time for
Checkout where it is confirmed
I have spent too much.

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IPHONE PHOTO ROUNDUP: A COW DIAGRAM, DOGS, PERVERT PENGUIN, & MORE!

It's been a few months since the last iPhone Photo Roundup, so let's see what's been hanging out on mah cellular communication device!

I drive past this butcher shop almost every day, but I'm usually not stopped long enough to get a photo. It really deserves a full photo shoot for something.

Mirror in a coffeeshop with MissNine.

There was no way I could resist buying "Hawaiian Winners" at the Asian food market. They were yummy, too.

This sign at a Seattle brewpub seemed to be missing some letters. It reads, "SUP. Black Bean & Chorizo. Onions, gar, rots, toes, Chit, ack beans, spbro, tot jack ch se and green ions!!" Mmm...green ions!

A bit of my Big Lens backstage at Key Arena, a big place in the even bigger Seattle Center complex.

At Burgermaster drive-in, wondering what on earth the penguin is doing with the polar bear.

A lovely late afternoon sky near the coffee shop.

 I think Mr13 took this for me on the way to school one morning. I like that it's foggy and Beck is on the radio with "Where It's At."

This was my view of the fog the same morning. Sometimes it is so heavy you can't see more than a few feet in front of you, not my favorite driving condition.

And finally, the ever-elegant Ellie, on the red couch that she has commandeered as her own. No one minds, because she is wonderful and deserves a couch of her own.

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WHEN FARMY MC MOO MET "SOUL TRAIN" -- R.I.P. DON CORNELIUS

It would make a good movie scene, if it isn't already: two girls, around 8 or 9 years old, plopped on a cozy family room couch watching TV on a Saturday afternoon, lazing after Friday night's slumber party. The best friends have a Saturday TV routine, as most American kids do in 1971, which is getting up early to watch cartoons, then "American Bandstand," and then..."Soul Train." I cannot help but smile when revisiting this in my memory -- my friend Beth and I, little white rural Wisconsin kids, so entranced by the total get-down-and-get-funkiness that was "Soul Train." Keep this in mind: where we lived at this time, there were no black people. AT ALL. This was Whitey White White Land, until you traveled far into  Milwaukee, a very uncommon thing for our families to do. Saturday we watched "Soul Train," and Sunday? I watched "Polka Party" and "The Lawrence Welk Show" at my grandparents' house, which were indeed the perfect polar opposites of "Soul Train."

"Soul Train" was created by its host of many years, the Baddest Cat On The Planet, Don Cornelius, he of the low low DJ voice and the big big Afro, as "the black American Bandstand." He died today at age 75, a suicide. His death prompts me to think about those Saturday afternoons, where I was not only thoroughly entertained but got to learn a little about the world beyond mine. In what was surely the Golden Age of Soul, the 1970s, Soul Train brought us performances by Marvin Gaye, Gladys Knight & the Pips, Chaka Khan (whose Afro was enormous, and smile so beautiful), The O'Jays, Freda Payne, Bill Withers, WAR, James Brown, The Chi-Lites, The Delfonics, Aretha Franklin, Al Green, Isaac Hayes, The Jackson 5, Curtis Mayfield...I could go on and on and on. All those stunning songs from some of the very very best popular musicians we've ever had, yet -- YET! -- just as wonderful were the fashions and the DANCING from the kids who made up the Soul Train studio audience. Oh. My. God. You've just never seen dancing unless you've witnessed the "Soul Train Line." I won't entertain the TINEST bit of argument over this.

"Soul Train Line," 1971

"Soul Train Line," The O'Jays



A few years later, my friend Margaret and I would take serious fashion notes during "Soul Train," trying to shoehorn some funky cool into our wardrobes. If I had it still, I would show you a photo of one of my outfits at the time, no doubt influenced by "Soul Train" -- a poofy denim cap, bell-bottomed skin-tight overalls that went from light blue at the top to dark blue at the bottom with metal studs down the legs, and denim platform shoes, also with studs. Oh dear god, what the "Soul Train" folks would have thought to see 13-year-old Farmy McMoo in this, with my wire-rim glasses, long mousy brown hair, pudgy pale skin, and heavy Wisconsin accent! I couldn't buy myself funk with a million dollars to spend. Oh, well.

All these years later when viewing those old clips, it is abundantly clear that "Soul Train" was and remains a joyous expression of culture. It didn't matter at all if a viewer was black or white or yellow or purple. At the core of "Soul Train" there is a celebration of life itself, something that is universally understood and felt. So, thinking back on those Saturdays long past, when two little white girls would line dance in the hallway over and over, playing my 45 of "Theme From Shaft," I thank Don Cornelius for all that he did, for us all. Rest in peace.

Dance us out, Don!

"Soul Train Line," Don Cornelius & Mary Wilson

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CANCER DOESN'T CARE ABOUT YOUR POLITICS

This is fact: cancer doesn’t care about politics. It doesn’t give a rat’s ass whether you think Newt Gingrich is a hero or a creep, and it doesn’t pay attention to the charged conservative-religious agenda that always seems to make comprehensive health care for women an intense and never-ending struggle. Cancer doesn’t care about your personal beliefs or your back-room power deals or your agendas, whether you are rich or poor, black or white…no, cancer is a really excellent example of a non-discriminating entity.

So, what does cancer care about? This: the ability to continue to spread and grow unchecked, and to eventually choke its host to death. It does so with incredible efficiency and accuracy, unfettered by guilt, doubt, or a conscience of any kind. Cancer and its army of merciless, multiplying, mutating cells strikes fear into the hearts of all who hear its name, whether whispered inside the mind with hope it never arrives, or in a doctor’s office, said aloud, shattering a world in a surreal, heartbreaking moment on the day it does.

With these things known, it is an act of deep and unconscionable betrayal that today Susan G. Komen For The Cure, America's best-known and most-powerful breast cancer charity, has chosen to remove its funding to Planned Parenthood for breast cancer screenings. What this action means is that Planned Parenthood, the sole source for ANY kind of healthcare for thousands of women across America, will be unable to provide 170,000 women with the breast cancer screenings they otherwise will not likely receive elsewhere.

Roll that around in your mind for a minute and try to see the faces, a few of those 170,000 women. There are those over 40 who are trying to do the responsible thing for themselves and their families by going in each year for a breast exam as recommended, those who have already experienced cancer and want to catch it quick if it returns, the young and old alike who feel a lump and have no other way to know what they are facing. Screenings save lives and because of them more women are beating breast cancer than ever before. I bet you know some of them, too, and you may even be one of them. Each one of those 170,000 women are just trying to stay healthy and stay alive.

What have all these women done to be denied like this? More facts: they all suffer from the crime of being poor, or have either no or limited healthcare insurance, or live in areas of the country that simply offer no other places to go for breast cancer screenings. Once again, their lives are put at risk, pawns in a political game of hardball over – horror of horrors! – the independent health decisions made by women.

Or, if you’d like the real bottom line: women will die because some very powerful folks (primarily men) in this country believe that contraception and abortion services should made available to no woman, even though both are legal in the United States. Some – not all – of the almost-800 Planned Parenthood locations offer those services, but it’s hardly all they do. The mission of Planned Parenthood is very, very simple: to offer women of any monetary means the ability to responsibly take control of their bodies, their health, and their lives through education and preventative, wellness-oriented care. But that doesn’t matter to those who burn with righteous fever, who will continue to do everything possible to force abortion providers to quit…including removing funding for any organization that has anything to do with full reproductive health services. This is what has happened in this sad situation, despite a pathetic claim that Komen withdrew support because of “ongoing government examination of Planned Parenthood.” The hyper-focused mental cases in Congress like Cliff Stearns (R-FL) that spend all their time trying to ban abortion and dismantle clinics rather than create job plans or a construct a workable budget will poke and poke and poke. They won’t get any dirt and know it – it’s just sheer intimidation.

I am livid that Susan G. Komen For The Cure, named for a woman who died of breast cancer and whose name has become synonymous with hope for millions of breast cancer survivors, has caved to reprehensible, intellectually-backwards thinking, and extremely dangerous religious political pressure. Those within the organization should be ashamed to have signed off on this, and the resultant death warrants of possibly thousands of women. Those who best know and understand the cost of the suffering and still choose to resign the powerless to it earn a very special place in Hell, whether in the imaginary fire locale or simply minds that will forever remind them of what they have done.

And to you miserable, fear-and-shame based theocrats who are determined to use your personal religious beliefs to force women to forever live as lesser human beings, bound by biology to submit to your false God’s will by refusing sex or live with bearing unwanted children? Grow up, deal with your own screwed-up psyches, and stay out of others’ lives. I cannot even imagine the festering ugliness that lives within you, and how afraid you must be, in those moments when your brain forces you into reason, to feel the horrific chill in the little nagging voice telling you that you got it all wrong, and there won’t be any salvation waiting for you at your final breath.

While we are here, we best serve the world by directing our charity towards the living, to those whom without our help will suffer. Susan G. Komen For The Cure has abandoned this ideal, so we must do what we can to alleviate the damage done. Please choose to keep ALL the women in this country safe and healthy by clicking HERE to sign a petition asking Komen to refund Planned Parenthood, and by clicking HERE to donate to Planned Parenthood's Breast Health Emergency Fund, as I have done this evening. By doing so, you give someone’s dear mom, aunt, sister, or friend a better chance to find and fight cancer, and to live a longer, better life. If we are talking about “choice,” that is always the right one.

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THE LITTLE BOOK OF LANA DEL REYS

Don't kill me, Interscope.

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