Rambopus

This octopus in Santa Monica got pissed off over a fill tube someone put in her tank. So she flicked it the hell out of there. Only problem was that it flooded the building.

So, is she a liberal or a conservative? I like her. I'm sort of hoping she's on our team. She could be a liability with a temper like that, but I think the gung-ho attitude is worth it. Anybody out there have a tiny waterproof Obama tee shirt with eight armholes?

Research, vol. 3

Yes, you really can buy 10 razors for $2.

And who drinks a Berry Chai Tazo Tea Infusion? If a guy orders that, his dick actually shrinks.

Christ awmighty.

I love my job

I don't make very much money, but man the perks are great. Who else gets to do research that has them watching this classic cartoon? I love being the weird writer chick.

Wintry?

While I am writing my book (I've topped 40,000 words and 200 pages), hop over the pond and take a stroll on the beach.

That is what a damn fine piece of teaser flash looks like.

Dear RNP,

On behalf of liberals from coast to coast, thank you for Governor Jindal's smashing national debut last night.

Vulcan mind meld?

A side of Leonard Nimoy you haven't seen before.

Research, vol. 2

This is the ad copy for Glade's Clean Linen Air Infusion Spray. (click the "Sunny Memories" link to get the full text.)

The scent of Glade Clean Linen brings back memories of childhood. It evokes the song a grandparent hummed while pulling fresh sheets and towels off clotheslines on a warm afternoon. It recalls summer days spent lying on the grass watching clouds drift lazily overhead, the sound of screen doors swinging shut, the joy of teaching a dog to play catch. It reminds us of country visits, running barefoot through a sprinkler and catching fireflies. As someone once wrote, "A clothesline holds our history, our personal stories, the progression of our families, the color and texture of our lives revealed in the clothing we hang on the line."

As if anything would remind you of "the sound of screen doors swinging shut" when your spraying the bathroom full of some chemical in order to cover up the evidence of your latest activity.

But I have to wonder, what sort of hack came up with this tripe? And he got paid for it!

Oh gawd. Blow me.

IMPORTANT NEWS RELEASE

Oh Coraline!

Left to right in the above photo are Althea Crome, Lynn Bernstein and Yours Truly. The year is 1983 and the place is the fourth floor of McKinnon Hall at Ohio University (thanks to a venerable little bird for the cleaned-up pic). We were some good buddies back then. I've just recently reconnected with those two wonderful women and I'm sure glad for that.

But there is something here for you too. Althea is an expert in miniature knitting. She created some of the costumes for the new movie Coraline. She's having a bit of bandwidth trouble right now, but I urge everyone to check back and surf her knitting site when it's back up. It is incredible.

Here's Althea talking about her craft and the film:



As for the movie, I just saw the 3D version and LOVED it. I was rapt from beginning to end. And it wasn't just me. The theater was about three-fourths full of kids and there was hardly a peep for the entire show. The worn-out circus performers that serve as supporting characters and the fantastical blooming garden absolutely jazzed me, and that's just to mention a couple of things.

Coraline will make you believe in magic again.



Now how is that for some cool stuff!

The $550 billion run on the banks

At 2:08 into the video, a quote from Rep. Paul Kanjorski:

I was there when the secretary and the chairman of the Federal Reserve came those days and talked to members of Congress about what was going on... Here's the facts. We don't even talk about these things.

On Thursday, at about 11 o'clock in the morning, the Federal Reserve noticed a tremendous drawdown of money market accounts in the United States to the tune of $550 billion was being drawn out in a matter of an hour or two.

The Treasury opened up its window to help. They pumped $105 billion into the system and quickly realized that they could not stem the tide. We were having an electronic run on the banks.

They decided to close the operation, close down the money accounts, and announce a guarantee of $250,000 per account so there wouldn't be further panic out there. And that's what actually happened.

If they had not done that their estimation was that by two o'clock that afternoon, $5.5 trillion would have been drawn out of the money market system of the United States, would have collapsed the entire economy of the United States, and within 24 hours the world economy would have collapsed.

Now we talked at that time about what would have happened if that happened. It would have been the end of our economic system and our political system as we know it.

Listen to the entire 32-minute C-span interview, recorded on Jan. 27, 2009, here.

Shitty beer is shitty

Had another lake-effect blizzard last night and a water main break. Made me think about shitty beer. Not sure why, but there you go.

The Goat is holding a draft Pabst in this picture. I have a lot of respect for that.

I like bars that have Stroh's on tap. I was in one once and they had the Stroh's and they had deep fried dill pickles. The pickles were shitty, but I ate them anyway.

In college, we used to buy Old Dutch beer for $4 a case. You had to return the bottles. Schlitz is shitty beer.

Today, I'm taking all the leftovers in the fridge and putting them in one bowl and that'll be my lunch.

My dad used to drink Carling's Black Label. "Mabel? Black Label!" was the tag phrase in the commercial. Mabel was a cute barmaid chick who brought around trays of Black Label.

When I was in Jamaica, you could get Red Stripe beer for 15 cents a bottle in local joints. The same beer was $4 a bottle in the tourist resorts.

Getting your hands on a case of Coors used to be a BIG deal in places like Cleveland.

Natural Light, Milwaukee's Best, Old Milwaukee, Blatz, Hamm's, Genny Cream Ale. I know my shitty beer.

Guys who fix water mains during blizzards can drink any damn beer they want. You can only hope these guys get a lot of head, but that's just me.

Michelob used to be special occasion beer. Heineken was even better. Top shelf? Well ... Tonight, let it be Lowenbrau. Do they even brew that stuff anymore?

Erin go write book now.

A shocking admission

What irritates me most about Boehner (I pronounce it "boner") is not that he's from Ohio (although I'm way irritated by that), or that moronic look on his face, or his circle-the-wagons conservative attitude (but that is, admittedly, a biggie), but his year-round tan. How much you want to bet he's got a tanning bed at home?

Kiss my ass, Boehner. You with your big baby-blue golf pants and candy ass fake tan.

How the economy disintegrated

A brilliant one-hour program on the financial meltdown of 2008, courtesy of PBS and Frontline. Must-see.

Salad days

You were always on my mind

I was cruising some blood-red conservative blogs earlier today because I like to keep my finger on the pulse of the other side. As usual, I found we lefties have nothing to worry about.

For some reason, my surfing, reminded me of an article I wrote in August 2006 about the crossdressing community in Northeast Ohio. It is one of my most widely read and linked pieces. Although the transgender community is as diverse as its members, for the article I focused on heterosexual men who present as females with varying regularity.

There were plenty of young glam crossdressers and fetishists, but the ones that compelled me most were the middle-aged men who were quiet in their compulsion. During group picnics and get-togethers, I'd find myself talking to a regular joe, except he'd be in a polyester pant suit and espadrilles, clutching a straw purse. They always wore lipstick. As often as not, they were politically conservative and regular church goers. Some of the events were even held in church basements.

Some of the crossdressers were married, others divorced. All of them had stories about how friends and family eschewed them on account of their desire to wear feminine clothing, unless they were still in the closet. When I really garnered their trust, they would slip from their contrived female voice to their regular masculine voice.

"So now I don't see my grandchildren anymore," Geraldine would tell me in Jerry's deep voice as she worried the tendrils of an ill-fitting blond wig.

Anyhow, I thought you'd all like to know that my favorite conservatives are the ones in wrap-around dresses and size 13 slingbacks. I wonder how many of the blood-thirsty red bloggers and their followers have a secret. Although his is an entirely different issue, need I invoke the name of good Senator Craig?

Hm.

There's plenty more to read in the article. And here is the associated blog post. That is all.

We need a little more Mae West these days

West scripted parts for drag queens, championed black actors and musicians, and donated her used Cadillacs, still in pristine condition, to convents because "I just can't stand seeing a nun waiting for a bus."

--from Tricia Springstubb's review of the new West biography She Always Knew How by Charlotte Chandler.

Erin O'Brien, spring 1968

I am three in this pic. I was so tiny that if I didn't hold onto the edge of the vanity, I'd fall into the pot.

I no longer have to hold on in the literal sense, but I'm still grasping for dear life in the figurative sense.

A model citizen

For this week's Scene, I've written an honest accounting about what it's like to have a sexy boudoir photo taken at a professional studio. Now let me introduce you to a "Model Citizen."

The pictures were taken at Posh Portraits, which is here in Northeast Ohio. Owner/photographer Sarah Kraus was just terrific as were her stylists Jenna Lowe and Natalie Sanders. They were all professional and so so fun. I can't say enough about them.

Here's a bunch of pix I took during the shoot. I've also included some of the professional shots (courtesy of Posh Portraits) that did not run in Scene.

I had a blast with this assignment and I hope the essay and what I've posted here shed some light on this popular trend.

Onto the pictures. For the record, nothing in this post has been Photoshopped.

* * *

Raw Erin. On my way to Posh Portraits with no make-up and just-shampooed hair.


Jenna Lowe transformed me into a starlet! She's cool ...


... so was Natalie Sanders, who muscled my giant hair into a slick do.


Who is this chick? Oh yeah, it's me!


These eyelashes were so giant, they deserved pet names. Maybe Mash and Dash?


Somebody hand me my phone. Gotta call my homie Dorothy and tell her I found her dress.


Got bling?


No hat for me but it sure looks good on you.


Shoe-gasm! I'm all over these ruby slippers, baby.


Tons of hip places to take a pic in this snazzy studio.


Photographer and Posh Portrait studio owner Sarah Kraus. She is so down.


A runner-up photo. Are those really my legs?


The photo that ran in the Scene before any photoshop retouching.


Not the most comfortable position, but the pic came out nice.


I guess this is what it's like to have a mirrored ceiling in the bedroom. Yikes!


And despite the fact that there are many many many Photoshop opportunities in this last one, I can't resist posting it for Al the Retired Army Guy, Velociman, James Old Guy and Hoosierboy.


When I got home, my kid was fascinated with the eyelashes. Look what she did with them when I took them off. Ha! You are so crazy, kid I love it!



* * *
Thanks so much to all the crew over at Posh Portraits, to my editor for this plum assignment and perhaps most importantly to all my readers. I'm nothing without you.

Peek-a-boo

Scene Editor Frank Lewis sends me emails that would land any other boss in the unemployment line.

"I thought a first person account of a boudoir photo session would be cool for our lust issue," wrote Lewis to me a couple of months ago. "You game?"

He included a link to Posh Portraits, a studio in Strongsville, Ohio. The site featured an invitation to "enter" along with two photos, one of a beautiful nude woman kneeling, her back to the camera and another of a woman's legs as she removes a slip of lingerie.

Clearly boudoir was a polite way to say naughty, the degree of which changes considerably depending on the anonymity of the model. Case in point: although it is subject to the whims of Wikipedia editors, the entry for "vagina" often includes a photo--exactly the photo you are imagining. But no one freaks out over it. People understand why it is there and they deal with it--as long as it is anonymous. Therein lies the key. Credibly assign that image to say, Nancy Pelosi, and people will run screaming through the streets.

My naughty/nice photo wouldn't be nearly as graphic as some of the snaps found on Wiki's pages, but there would be no mistaking who it was. Plus, it would be distributed in print all over Northeast Ohio. A public nudie photo of me? It was insane.

"When do you need me to do it?" I responded to Lewis without hesitation.

The results, including the photo, will run in this week's Scene in the "Lust" issue in honor of Valentine's Day. I'll also be talking about my session at Posh Portraits, on the 98.5 WNCX Morning Show on Tuesday Feb. 10 at around 7 a.m. EST. You can listen to the show live here.

I will link the article on this site as soon as it goes live on Wednesday, Feb. 11. I'll post some other fun pix as well, so I hope you'll all stay tuned.

Revenge, Erin style

Everyone please join hands on this day, Sunday, February 8 in the year of our Lord 2009 and give thanks to our President, Barack Obama, who has kept these blessed United States of America safe from terrorist attacks for eighteen days.

Evidence that I have been stupid for a long time

While I am occupied with my otherwise glamorous life (I am cleaning after copious interior construction. Can you say drywall dust?), you may enjoy a YouTube I originally recorded in October 2006. This might be the zenith of dumbness.

A thousand words?

This was stunning to me for a dozen different reasons. Play with the controls for a minute and see how close-up you can get. Amazing and terrifying.

Writer at work

The picture doesn't accurately reflect it, but there is a lot of snow here. It's -2 degrees as I type this. That's up two. It was -4 earlier when I got up.

When I turned on the news this morning, the weather chick had a "snowfall bulls eye" diagram up, showing snowfall totals for Northeast Ohio from yesterday's surprise lake effect event. My city was at the very center. If they'd had Google Earth accuracy on the thing, I think the actual snowfall peak would have been on my street.

I'm starting to feel a bit like the Jack Nicholson character in The Shining.

The finches suck

I sit on the couch in the front window to read, edit manuscripts or sometimes I just sip a whiskey and stare like one of those statues on Easter Island.

There is a thistle feeder right outside the window. The finches feed at it constantly whether I'm sitting there or not.

I was going over an essay this morning and they were all out there, shoveling down the thistle.

"Look at those fat motherfuckers," I said to the Goat. He gazed out at them. The finches pecked at the feeder in response. "Look at that one," I said as a particularly fat finch bellied up to the trough. "That's not a bird, it's a feathered softball with a beak for chrissake."

"They do like their thistle," said the Goat.

"I'm taking a picture," I said and got up to get the camera.

But as soon as I pointed it at the little bastards, they flew away. So I waited. And waited and waited. Eventually, I put the camera down. They all flew back onto the feeder. So I picked the camera up and they all flew away. I waited. The finches waited. I put the camera down. The finches came back. Can you believe these ungrateful little shits?

So this is the best I can do. You'll just have to take my word for it and imagine the rest.

Goat archives vol. two: gentlemen's accessories

In the above photo, my husband of 16 years is donning a wide leather watch band that he recently unearthed from a box in the attic that, according to the photo and text on the lid, originally housed a set of Craftsmen screwdrivers.

"I threw everything in here when I changed dressers."

My brain, perhaps in denial, did not immediately recognize the item. With knitted brow, I took it from his hand and blinked at the curious leather strap and tarnished buckle. When I realized what it was moments later, I fell into a gut-wrenching fit of laughter. As I was dabbing at the resulting tears, the Goat explained to me that he often wore the wristband with his tan bell bottoms and a tight print Qiana disco shirt when he went to the bar at the local Holiday Inn with his associates for an evening out.

"So Starsky," I said, "Get laid alot?"

"No."

He then produced an Speidel I.D. bracelet engraved with ERIC in a triple-line engravers font. The item was slightly corroded despite Speidel's proud claim of RHODIUM ELECTROPLATE on the interior of the clasp.

"What was the purpose of this?" I said. "Have trouble remembering your name?"

"You were supposed to give it to your sweetie," he said.

"Seeing as you still have it at the ripe age of 52," I said, "I guess you didn't do so well in that department."

"I don't know about that," he said. "After all, who's got it right now?"

* * *

A polite toilet

Quick post ...

... for a busy Sunday. How would you define "quorgasm" ?