Happy 2-hour delay, fiends. I’m beginning to hate them, however. It’s like having your mother-in-law come stay for the weekend. It’s nice the first few times, but by the twentieth, well…
So I was going to do a post I’d promised to do awhile ago on women who were “still fabulous after 40,” in answer to the one I did about menback in November. I got sidetracked.
In my searches, I found a hilarious condition identified as Madamism. You remember Madame, the sassy, snarky puppet operated by Wayland Flowers back in the 70s and 80s? I thought the whole act was hilarious.
Anyway, it seems that some Hollyweird actresses have had so much plastic surgery that their faces, over time, begin to resemble our lovely Madame.
Case in point from Dr. Tony Youn’s celebrity plastic surgery site:
All right, now you have to admit it: it’s funny. Maybe I won’t think it’s so funny ten years from now, but for today, ha-ha.
I hate to give this guy a Boot to the Head, but geez, people. If you’re going to publish a book or blog or memoirs or personal account or ANYTHING, you need to check your sources, frontways, backways, sideways and allways. And don’t think for a minute that if you publish something to the web, it will go unnoticed by all and sundry, save the people you choose.
So it was for author Neale Donald Walsch, who played the plagiarism card and got caught. Worse, he played it, got caught, and gave a slightly suspicious explanation for it. Worst, he played it, got caught, and gave a slightly suspicious explanation for it — and his book is called Conversations With God. Yikes. That don’t look good for the home team.
What’s Walsch’s excuse for using a Christmas “memory” that belongs to someone else? From the article:
Walsch wrote on his blog Tuesday he was “truly mystified” about what happened and apologized. He said he had been telling the story for years in public talks and “somewhere along the way, internalized it as my own experience.”
Now, I’m willing to give folks the benefit of the doubt. And the article does state that the story circulated uncredited for several years. But honestly now…is Neale saying he’s never in all this time come across another version of that Christmas story? Never? Even though it was widely circulated since 1999?
Hmmm. So he “internalized it” as his own memory. I guess that works, and it can happen to anyone. But it kind of reminds me of this.
I’d like to meet the “neurosurgeons” who apparently allowed the Travoltas to think it was OK to take Jett off his seizure meds. I don’t know…maybe sometimes, doing nothing is better than continuing the fight to find something.
Last night, I transcribed an arrangement for a Dinner Theatre tune using a YouTube video. I’d been working about 30 minutes on it, and paused it so I could write down more notes. When I released the “pause,” I got the message: This video is no longer available. Now that’s kinda weird, ain’t it? Talk about timing. Out of 30 bazillion videos on YouTube, mine gets the ax while I’m working on it. Terrific. Is this how my week is going to go??
Girlz: what do you do when you absolutely must rock? (Hilarious — thanks, PK — I’m still trying to figure out whether or not it’s a joke!)
There really is an animal that can break its own bones in order to grow claws. Would I lie?
Of course, by now you’ve heard of the tragic death of Jett Travolta, 16-year-old son of actors John Travolta and Kelly Preston.
While doing some research on the boy this morning (I knew nothing about him), I was startled to find significant press about his affliction, which the Travoltas maintained was Kawasaki disease, brought on by fumes from carpet cleaner (how they arrived at this conclusion, or who exactly made the diagnosis remains a mystery, at least with regard to the research I’ve done thus far).
My absolute worst nightmare is losing one of my children. I cannot imagine the horror, the grief, the endless tears (and, as would be in my case, temporary assignment to the psych ward), the feelings of guilt and “If only I’d…” It’s all so ghastly to me, I have trouble even thinking about it. I have only sympathy for Jett’s parents and extended family. I can imagine no greater tragedy.
But, even in the wake of this horrible accident, the Scientology correlations are inevitable — especially the ones that draw attention to Jett’s autistic characteristics, and the fact that Scientology does not recognize autism as a “real” disorder. You cannot Google “Jett Travolta” without seeing them. I have to confess, it does make me wonder.
I’ll come right out and say that I believe Scientology — like many other religions, including some groups calling themselves “Christian” — is a cult. My family and a few close friends know my struggles with the organized church, and how I believe that some radical offshoots of fundamentalist Christianity can brainwash their followers, just like the occasional nutters in Islam, Judaism, Catholicism and other religions (and if you believe otherwise, you’re probably brainwashed yourself).
But Scientology pretty much takes the wackjob cake for me, as revealed in my postabout it several weeks ago. The more I read about it, the more weirded out I became. And friend, you can read dirt about Scientology for a long, long, long time. And honestly — can you make out what this guy is saying?
I won’t provide any direct links here, but doing a search on the boy’s name with the added term “autism” or “Scientology” will reveal some provocative — and troubling — reading.
Crap. I hate it when kids die. My heart goes out to Jett’s parents, regardless of whatever else is said.
In my searches, I found a hilarious condition identified as Madamism. You remember Madame, the sassy, snarky puppet operated by Wayland Flowers back in the 70s and 80s? I thought the whole act was hilarious.
So it was for author 
Yeah, it’s been a fun vacation, but now it’s here — the day I’ve been both anticipating and dreading.