( 11:07 PM )
Planet Envy and the Traveling Airplane Blues
So Pluto is no longer a planet, huh? What kind of bullshit call is that? Buncha scientists get together and vote Pluto out of the panet club is like kicking Tattoo off Fantasy Island. We always knew Pluto was small, but what’s next, Cuba’s not a country anymore because it’s not big enough? This also feels eerily akin to discovering years after high school that Christopher Columbus was really kind of a dick responsible for murdering hundreds of Native American Indians.
I don’t know why this upsets me, but I guess I always liked Pluto. It was always the coolest planet (literally) and the farthest away. Why’s that cool? Well again it’s freezing there, it was named after the Roman God Pluto, plus it has the same name as Mickey Mouse’s dog. What other planet can boast a celebrity cartoon dog name? Reminiscing, I guess the solar system was the one thing I still remember learning about in grade school.
There’s several ways to remember the order of the planets. Mine was “Many very early men ate juicy steaks using no plates.” “Ate” stood for Jupiter’s asteroid belt. Useless knowledge? Maybe. But goddamnit if Jay Leno ever stops me on the street, I refuse to make a fool out of myself not knowing Earth’s surrounding planets.
I think someone should go to bat for little ‘ol Pluto. I’m willing to bet that if the same public relations team that represents Paris Hilton took up Pluto’s cause, this ‘dwarf planet’ or as I like to call it the “little people planet,” would be back in business.
The same day Paris released her first album, a new Blender showed up in the mail with shocker—Paris Hilton on the cover. Inside she was tops in some nonsense omni-obligatory Top 100-something list and featured in her own full-page ad for a new dvd (not the porno). The ultimate irony appears a few pages later when her album garners an unceremonious two-star review.
Anyway, thank god Uranus is still a planet—the jokes alone make it an indispensable hunk of rock orbiting in space.
This in no way leads me to this--but I’m pained that liquids are banned on airplanes. What’s next, luggage?
If this ban isn’t lifted, this may virtually eliminate air travel for the one-bag weekender guy or gal. Cripes the cost of replacing special shampoos, skin lotions, hair gels, and astroglide would cost almost as much as the trip itself. When I see the pictures of garbage cans overflowing with cosmetics and toiletries at airport checkpoints, I cry like an ashamed Indian.
Good thing cars, buses, and trucks don’t have the same constant threat of blowing up. Can you imagine getting wanded every time you pulled up to a drive-through window? Or have someone paw through your purse at a parking garage? I’m starting to wonder if terrorists are behind Pluto’s removal from planetary status. Wait, it all makes sense to me now.
Song of the Day:
“In My Time of Dying” Led Zeppelin 1975
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( 12:10 AM )
The following handwritten letter was recently found crumpled on the steps of McKinley Hall:
Dear Lisa,
Well it’s set in stone-- I’m stepping down as foundation leader of the basement club. Got a smile on my face though because I’ve been brushing up on this all dentist Hall & Oates cover band called Halitosis. They were a gas at the Vegas orthodontic convention, numbing me with the toothy “Sara Smile” and drilling out a periodontal version of “Maneater.” Hey is it true that Mel Gibson’s punishment for slurry Jewish cop badgering is to record a Hanukkah album and that arthritic Floyd Landis is opening a dope candy store for diabetic leg-pullers? You know, now when I eat shark sandwiches I roll my eyes back and shake my head back and forth.
Damn, I keep forgetting to ask where have you’ve been hiding the industrial meat thermometer,
Kristin
Song of the Day:
“Method of Modern Love” Halitosis 2006
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