The Joy of Football

Ah Sunday in November, when a middle-aged woman's fancy turns to... football... and poetry.

How do I love football? Let me count the ways...
(With apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning)

How do I love football? Let me count the ways.
I love football to the first down and touch down or field goal
Each drive can reach, as the ball is passed or run down the field
From the end zone of the opposing team and the ideal runback.
I love football to the level of each Sunday's
Most heated game, by sun and stadium-light.
I love football freely, as men strive for touchdowns;
I love football purely, as they return from punts.
I love football with a passion put to use
In shouting for my teams, and with a chilled beer.
I love football with a love I seemed to lose
When my teams lost, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if the football gods so choose,
I shall but love thee better after my team wins the Super Bowl.

The Jets Fan's Prayer (Cleveland Edition)

Our Jets team, which art in Cleveland,
hallowed be thy run game.
Thy defense come.
Thy will be done on the Browns,
as it was on the Patriots and Bills.
Give us this Sunday our next big win,
and forgive us our sacks and penalties,
as we block and intercept those who seek to score against us.
Lead us not into defeat,
but deliver us to the Super Bowl.
Amen.

O Giants! My Giants! (With apologies to Walt Whitman)

O GIANTS! My Giants! your fearful rivalry is done;
The team has weather'd every sack, the prize we sought is won;
The Cowboys are here, the shouts I hear, the fans all exulting,
While Eli takes the steady snap, the offense grim and daring:
O hut! hut! hut!
Soon they'll be bleeding drops of Cowboy silver,
When on the field another Cowboy pass lies,
Fumbled yet again.

Yet another reason to love Steve Martin (especially if you are an Atheist)

Some love Steve Martin as that wild and crazy guy from Saturday Night Live.

Others love Steve Martin as the singer of "King Tut."

Still others love Steve Martin for his all-natural Penis Beauty Cream.

And there are those who love Steve Martin for his amazing bluegrass banjo playing. (Seriously, is there nothing this man cannot do?)

Now, God love him, Steve Martin is courting another group, Atheists, with the first ever gospel song created just for Atheists, called "Atheists Don't Have No Songs," performed by Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers on Austin City Limits. (Hat tip to the Huffington Post.) I swear, watching this converted me -- to a Steve Martin fan.

Who says cats aren't affectionate?

I am always perplexed when people state that cats are simply not affectionate (like dogs are). Puh-lease. If my two cats were any more affectionate, I would have to buy a lint roller company.

I'll give you that some cats are not as friendly as dogs, preferring to go about their own business without any human intervention. But not affectionate? I can't get my cats to leave me alone. Indeed, if I do not constantly pet Flora, she will take her right (or left) paw and gently tap me on the shoulder or rub up against me or sit on top of my work and block my monitor until I pet her (some more).



And I am such a softy that I don't have the heart to wake up Felix (my black cat) when he's curled up in my lap. Which, despite the title of the video, is why I often spend hours working at the computer without getting up (or eating or showering) and probably have clots in both legs that would surely kill me if I did not work out regularly.



But despite the inconvenience, I wouldn't trade my two cats for anything. They're purr-fect.

Of bras and panties and going Commando

[Alternate titles: Miracle on 64th Street or Making Mountains Out of Mole Hills]

Ever since reading this article (about the A-cup crowd) and this other article (about finding the perfect bra) in The New York Times back in September, I have been dying to go see Linda The Bra Lady, in New York City, and have her team of expert bra fitters work their magic on me (or certain parts thereof), just like she did on Live with Regis and Kelly:



So, for my birthday, I made an appointment to go to Linda The Bra Lady's store, with my friend, G. And lo and behold, right there on 64th Street and Lexington Avenue in New York City, a miracle occurred. For how else can I possibly explain my ability to suddenly wear a C-cup (without the benefit of plastic surgery or pregnancy) -- and a form fitting C-cup at that? It was a miracle, I tell you -- or else the work of some very marketing-savvy bra manufacturers. (Evil, evil bra marketers.)

Whatever the reason, being professionally fitted (i.e., smooshed, or should I say, artfully arranged?) into one gorgeous bra after another, all of which looked great on, made me feel like a true C-cup -- a really pretty, sexy C-cup. Note: Being fitted for a bra -- or being a bra fitter for that matter -- is not for the faint of heart (or breast) or the modest. Without going into too much detail, let me just say, I have a much greater appreciation for how butchers manage to squeeze sausage into a casing and get it to look so good.

Sadly, while the bra fitting -- and acquisition -- was a great success (I totally heart you, Simone Perele!), I had no such luck with panties. Sure, lacy thongs and silky boy shorts look great -- on a hanger, or a Victoria's Secret model, both of which, when last I checked, didn't have buttocks. On me? Not so much.

And there was no way I was going Commando, a product no doubt inspired by Britney Spears, which apparently is the latest rage -- with boxes of the "invisible underwear" prominently displayed in front of the register at Linda The Bra Lady's.

Note to Her Look Enterprises: If I can see them, they are not invisible. (Her Look markets the Commando simultaneously as "invisible underwear" and "better than nothing.")

Despite a momentary underwear low, though, I consider the outing a tremendous success. (Did I mention that I am now a C-cup, albeit only in some marketing bizarro world.) I only wish Linda's also sold swimsuits.

The Return of the Swedish Bikini Team

They're ba-ack. Well, sort of. Remember those Old Milwaukee beer commercials featuring the Swedish Bikini Team?



And you thought it didn't get any better than that.

Well, Columbia Sportswear has brought back the Swedish Bikini Team, the real Swedish Bikini Team, to hawk their new Omni-Heat jackets. And the gals are better and more Swedish than before!



Njuta!

Mourning in America

Yeah, yeah, I know I'm probably (definitely) not the first one to use that headline (though I haven't seen it this morning - yet). But it seemed an appropriate title for the morning after Tuesday's midterm elections, in which the Republicans regained control of the House of Representatives, though not the Senate. Not that it will make much (if any) difference.

And speaking of "the morning after," for some reason, all morning long I have had Maureen McGovern singing "The Morning After" playing in (with?) my head. Which, though very unpleasant, seems incredibly appropriate since I just discovered that "The Morning After" was the theme song for The Poseidon Adventure.



Indeed, The Poseidon Adventure could in many ways serve as a metaphor for what George W. Bush and the Republicans (and/or mortgage bankers and/or investment bankers/hedge fund managers) did to our economically healthy ship of state. I only hope President Obama can somehow manage to right it before more livelihoods are lost. Oh, and before some of you get on my ass (or blog) telling me how Obama is responsible for this mess, please to be reading this and this and definitely this (which I love).

Also, for those of you wringing your hands about yesterday's midterm elections, I highly recommend this post from Rumproast, sarcastically titled "2010 Is Nothing Like 1994, Really."

The Continuing Adventures of Felix the Cat

I realize only die-hard cat fans and/or procrastinators and/or my immediate family members will read this blog post and watch these videos. But I don't care. A cat owner's gotta do what a cat owner with a video camera and a YouTube account has got to do. (Also, it's been a really crappy day and it was either post cute Felix videos or down the bottle of Smirnoff vodka chilling in the freezer.)

Presenting "The Continuing Adventures of Felix the Cat," aka our cat, Felix.

First up, "Felix vs. the Yogurt Container," a gripping tale of one black cat's addiction to Stonyfield Farm French Vanilla Yogurt.



(I love how Felix's purr reverberates against the yogurt container.)

Next up, "Felix vs. the Flat Panel TV," the poignant tale of a black cat who dreamed of becoming a tightrope walker in the circus -- only to have his dreams (and paws) dashed by a flat panel HGTV.



And finally, "Felix Takes a Licking, and Keeps on Licking," or one black cat's eternal quest for fresh tap water. (I laughed, I cried.)



To be continued...