Tuesday, May 13th, 2008

Miss Surrey with a fringe on top

England is FULL on! And I mean FULL- figure. Chloe Marshall is the first plus size beauty pageant winner in national qualifying history. Chloe, a size 16, is the winner of the title of Miss Surrey. She beat out 7 extra thin girls to win her crown and she goes on to try to win the title of Miss England. Chloe said to the The Sun: “I wanted to make a bit of a statement. When I studied the other entrants for the competition I concluded that, pretty as they were, they were all uniformly blonde and Barbie doll-like.” Take that! She is not a Barbie girl and it is apparently no longer a Barbie world (at least not in Surrey).

Chloe is a beauty therapy student. I am not sure what “beauty therapy” means but seeing her win has made me loads happier! When Brazilian model, Ana Carolina Reston, died from anorexia in a desperate bid to be a size zero, it prompted organizers of Madrid Fashion Week to ban underweight models, then Milan followed by putting a stop to “too thin” models being used on catwalks. The British Fashion Council, however, refused to ban size zero women from taking part in London Fashion Week. Chloe’s size is the national average; her win is a win for all women and especially the women of England.

A Size 12 is not fat, and a size 16 isn’t either. In fact, in England, you might be considered a beauty queen!

Chloe Marshall wobbles her wobbly bits as the “ambassador of curves”

See ya… I think I will go flaunt my wobbly bits at people :)

~taste the rainbow~

Saturday, April 19th, 2008

Letter to My Younger Self

Dear Loser:

Every day you’re called a loser and every day you go to high school you want to die. The popular girls bully you and make your life miserable. You’re about to do something you will REALLY regret later… you’re going to try to fit in. I know every day you feel like dying, but if you do this, you could die for real. You’re Irish with fair skin and red tones in your blonde hair, the exact opposite of the Malibu Barbie types that torture you in this beach resort town you grew up in. They call you "albino" so you’ll join a tanning salon. After a year, you’ll discover that you’re incapable of getting a lasting tan and later at the young age of 24 you’ll discover the beginning stages of melanoma on your legs. Fortunately, this will be discovered in time, but nearly too late. You’ll bleach your hair to emulate the wheat blondes who are held up as the beauty standard. On your great grandmother's death bed she’ll tell you she misses how you two used to have the same exact color hair. Five hairdressers later you won’t be able to get your natural color back. They just don't make that strawberry blonde shade in a bottle. The mean girls will then call you "fat". You’re not by ANY stretch of the imagination, fat, but mean girls will find things wrong with you. Its then that the most dangerous event will happen, you’ll stop eating. You’ll stop eating for a long time and even as you dwindle to 97 pounds, these girls will be merciless. Nothing you do is good enough. All attempts at changing won't work because it's not you. Finally, in an emergency session with a doctor and your grandmother, you’ll understand that Irish girls aren't meant to be extra thin. Genetically it won't happen and you will die. You will have killed yourself in spite of your whole family for girls who will NEVER accept you. High school ends, I know it feels like it won't, but it does. You then go to a prestigious university 3,000 miles away and never meet any of these queen bees again.

You will one day embrace your Irish fiery strength and looks because you are different than everyone else. You will be glad you’re a "loser", because after losing your record contract, you start making your own CDs. You’re an independent thinker. You would have never been able to "think outside the box" if it hadn't been for those mean girls. Having to do things without support from society is par for the course for you. As an indie musician, you will be able to write songs about your horrid experiences and pre-teen girls from all over the world will e-mail you to say that you speak for them and their similar experiences. You survive and you’re a loser. You lose forever the sheep mentality. Long live the loser!

With love,
The Loser

~taste the rainbow~

Sunday, March 9th, 2008

Luck of the Irecan!

St. Patrick’s Day is a fun day to be an Irish lass. No one embraces the Irish like Americans. In America, March 17 is the day of green and cheek. On St. Patty’s I wake up to a cup of Irish Crème coffee, shower with Irish Spring soap (which makes you smell like an Irish lass), and dress in all green (if you don’t wear green you get pinched). Later, I don my light-up shamrock bobble hairband and go to the local McDonald’s for a Shamrock Shake (or Hagen Daz’ for a Bailey’s Shake). For lunch I eat corned beef and cabbage (because this is considered an Irish dish), while watching the history channel documentary on St. Padrig or the Darby O’Gil movie. In the evening I meet my mates for green beer at the pub (or in my case, green diet soda) to sing olde Irish songs till the wee hours of the mornin’. This is also the time I try to remember how to sing the Irish national anthem in Irish, fail miserably, so it ends up sung in an Irish-American-English hybrid language my friends like to call, Irecan. Yes I am Irish and American hence I am an Irecan. The largest number of people of Irish descent live in the United States, about ten times more than in Ireland itself, I am not a lone Irecan, oh no.

During the St. Padrig’s day festivities Irecans sometimes exchange gifts. Usually I am the only Irish person anyone knows in Los Angeles, so I get lots of green things. Surprisingly this year I DID NOT receive 25 copies of Frank McCourt’s latest book. But I did receive a frog that sings “When Irish Eyes Are Smilin” when you press down on its lily pad. In the States everyone celebrates St. Patty’s so I also get gifts for my mates who are only part Irish (in America ¼ counts!). So for my half breed sister I got a shamrock tote bag, for my trusty assistant Ben9000, I got a key ring with a real four leaf clover, for the wizardrockumentary twins II got 2 shamrock plectrum necklaces, for my cousin I wrote a theme song for her tele show (although her show is not specifically about clover it is about plants, you can see her show here: http://windycitygreenscene.com) and for my doctor I got a ceramic leprechaun music box (ok…my doctor is Chinese but he REALLY loves St. Patrick’s Day so I made him an honorary Irecan). And for you the fans, my favouritest of all, Switchblade Kittens has re-imagined the classic Irecan song, “Danny Boy” and made “Danny Girl.” So click here and listen to our St. Padrig’s Day present to you.

If you are an American over the age of 21, please sign this petition to make Saint Patrick's Day a national holiday. Go here: http://www.proposition317.com

So Happy St. Patty to all and to all a green beverage!

Lá Fhéile Pádraig, Whoot!!!

~taste the rainbow~

Monday, February 18th, 2008

George Washington is # 1!

Today is Presidents Day in the United States; this is the common name for the federal bank holiday officially designated as George Washington's Birthday. George’s actual birthday is February 22, 1732 but Presidents Day is the Third Monday in February. I like Presidents Day not because everyone gets a day off (although that is part of its allure) but because I just really like George Washington. Seriously! I have photographic evidence. I have George’s framed pic and autograph in my hallway so I can see him everyday.

When the new George Washington gold dollar coin came out, I was so excited I turned it into a necklace, so I could wear it everywhere.

This is the mug I am drinking Earl Grey tea out of right now (oh the irony).

I like George so much I even have the George Washington Barbie.

Yes, Drama and George sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G (hopefully not a cherry tree). George is fab because he led the Revolutionary Army against Britain and created America, he was the first president of the new United States, and he created the national bank. So thanks George!

As if making a country wasn’t cool enough, I’ve created a top three list of why we should all LOVE George Washington!

-he was the first famous blogger (eat your heart out Perez Hilton). When George was 21 and first started in the army he was sent 500 miles to carry a British ultimatum to the French to vacate the Ohio frontier. The ultimatum went unheeded, but Washington’s account of being shot at by Native Americans and walking 100 miles on foot in the rain caused him to become the first pre-American popular journal writer (blog writer). Sure they didn’t have the internet back then, so it wasn’t REALLY blogging, but his journal was published and widely read all over the world.

-George was a feminist. Back in his day they didn’t have the word feminist, but George was down with the ladies. He called his wife Martha his “partner” in running Mount Vernon, his enormous plantation. When his wife was criticized for not bearing him children, back then blaming the woman for infertility was the norm, he calmly explained that it was his fault because he was sterile and pointed out the two children Martha bore from her first dead husband. He also claimed openly that his favourite child was his adopted daughter “patsy” instead of his adopted son. When she died at age 16, he said it was the worse thing that ever happened to him (this coming from a man who fought in 3 wars).

- George was an all around good guy and pretty darn forward-thinking for his time. He was the only slaveholding Founding Father to emancipate his slaves in his will (this is WAY before the American civil war over slavery). He was also an early supporter of religious toleration in the United States. Even though the state religion was Church of England, he ordered that his troops not show anti-Catholic sentiments by burning the pope in effigy on Guy Fawkes Night. When hiring workmen for Mount Vernon, he wrote, "If they be good workmen, they may be from Asia, Africa, or Europe; they may be Mohammedans, Jews, or Christians of any sect, or they may be Atheists." In 1790, he wrote a response to a letter from the Touro Synagogue, in which he said that as long as people remain good citizens, their faith does not matter.

So happy President’s Day everyone! As you have a lie-in today, remember that you owe it all to George Washington, First in War, First in Peace, and First in the Hearts of His Countrymen…The only dude that could create a country and be humorously self-deprecating while blogging it.

Go Georgie it’s your birthday…

~taste the rainbow~

Thursday, February 14th, 2008

Happy V-Day!

Happy Valentine’s Day or not, however you take your cupid arrow…with or without poison. I actually like Valentine’s Day because I get chocolate whether I am single or not. For this Valentine’s Day here is the other stuff I got besides chocolate: I received fab pink roses from my man muse Martin (say that 3 times fast), fuchsia Betsey Johnson heart shoes, a Gryffindor t-shirt (which I promptly dyed pink) and 2 bottles of pink sugar perfume (I’m smelly OK, I need BOTH bottles) Most of these Valentine’s Gifts were given to me by my mum and my band, sad, but at least my band loves me. My band loves you too so to celebrate the Valentine’s Day we gave you a song for V-day, “Valentine’s Day Massacre.” You can hear it by logging on to our website www.switchbladekittens.com or our myspace at www.myspace.com/switchbladekittens.

The non-ancient Roman version of Valentine's Day is a saint’s day commemorating Saint Valentine on February 14. It is the traditional day on which lovers express their fondness for one another by sending Valentine's cards, gifting, and going out to eat at romantic restaurant. Our song “Valentine’s Day Massacre” is about both Harry Potter’s disastrous Valentine’s Day date with Cho Chang AND the actual Valentine’s Day Massacre. On February 14, 1929 St. Valentine's Day, in Chicago, six members of 'Bugs' Moran's Irish gang were lined up against the wall of a garage and shot execution style by order of the Italian crime lord, Al Capone. This was called the Valentine’s Day Massacre. This was a turning point in history because this kind of cold blooded killing had never happened in an American neighborhood. This incident left Chicagoans with a feeling of insecurity and bewilderment.

On August 6th we are playing at Terminus in Chicago, the 3 stage all day music festival of Wizard Rock. At Terminus, there will be a meeting of Harry Potter and Chicago so this song takes on extra significance for Switchblade Kittens. In the song the beat is accented with kisses and gunshots, kisses for Harry and gunshots for the actual Massacre. As many would agree, kisses and gunshots can cause the same amount of pain and death. In the 2nd verse one lyric line is “Bloody pink confetti rain.” For Harry it was the actual pink confetti raining on him from the golden cherubs at Madame Puddifoot’s Tea Shoppe, every hit reminding him that he was there to be romantic, yet only emphasizing the point that he had no idea how to accomplish this. I believe he would have described it as “bloody” (bloody being a Scottish curse word meaning “annoying”). This can also refer to the rain of bullets in the massacre, so many that the blood spilt was gratuitous like confetti.

Another lyric line is “Betrayed with the tip of your hand.” In an attempt to show his feelings for Cho, Harry tried to hold her hand, but due to the mixings and accruement of drinking coffee he only managed to graze the tip of her hand. A popular poker expression for when one shows their winning cards is, “tip your hand.” In the territorial battle between the Italian crime syndicate and the Irish crime syndicate, Al Capone tipped his hand by shooting Bugs Moran’s entire gang. Capone showed that he would do the unthinkable to win the territorial scuffle.

After Valentine’s Day neither Harry nor America would ever be the same. For both, it was a Valentine’s Day Massacre. So enjoy the song and come to Terminus to hear the Valentine’s Day Massacre played live in Chicago. It will be fun AND ironical. See ya there and Happy Valentine’s Day!

I hope your Valentine’s Day is NOT a massacre!

~taste the rainbow~

Thursday, January 24th, 2008

Happy New Year and Many Happy Returns

First I must tell you the highlights of my holiday season, because I know you all want to know what’s in my tucker bag. True, tis better to give than to receive, but for sake of blogging this is what I received:
- Spice Girls concert tickets (whoot!)
- Betsey Johnson payjamas (so comfy)
- A Hello Kitty mini-oven (I know it is female because it has a pink bow),
- “X” by Kylie Minogue (came in handy on New Year’s, more on that later),
- Barnes and Noble gift card (totally spent in 2 days)
- Starbucks gift card
- Tudors season one (because I have a monarchy problem)
- Pink diamond earrings (so bling)
- A pink jogging kit with the United States presidential seal on it (so I can pretend I am jogging for the people and by the people???)
- Annnd last but not least a cupcake watch, a totally kool pink bracelet that looks like a bullet chain, pink dice, a pink handbag with a kitty wearing a tiara on it (way cute)….oh and lots of pink clothes.

As for our fans,
From Funny Girl we got a promise of girl scout cookies (still waiting…may cry…forming pouty lip…ok starting to cry now…totally depressed from lack of cookie…some people are cruel, really cruel)

And on a lighter note, from Claire Hostage we received a polar bear from her native country, Iceland. It is really cute and is tremendously kool of her, BUT Pep unknowingly went to pick it up at the airport and was promptly arrested for transporting an endangered animal and is currently in federal prison. But you know it’s the thought that counts…Ok I am taking the mickey, it was a stuffed ragdoll. So Glegileg Jol to Claire!

Moving on, here are my VERY LATE New Year’s Resolutions (they are late because I feel I don’t actually have to start adhering to them until they are written down, which they are now…so I am buggered)

New Years Resolutions:

1. Will lose 1,000,000 pounds this year, millions and millions! *Puts finger to lips like Dr. Evil* …but am willing to break resolution if the Girl Scout cookies arrive.
2. Will not argue with mother even though she started it!
3. Will not party all night on New Year’s Eve with strange British people pulling Christmas crackers, and singing Spice Girls karaoke again. (Funny story here: I ended up trying to sing a duet of “Kids” with a fit bloke from Manchester that looked exactly like Robbie Williams. But when I asked after him later NO ONE at the party knew who he was….odd).
4. Will practice playing bass more instead of playing on myspace.com (oh this one sounds familiar…yep, same as last year).
5. Will be nicer to Pep so people stop saying “awww poor Pep” every time they meet him.
6. Will finish Rebel Princess CD about Meg Cabot books (drat! I said that last year too)
7. Will get my to-do list done and will stop watching the television even though there are thousands of channels (but specifically will NOT watch the history channel until 3 am…I already KNOW how world war II ends)
8. Will buy a house, because it is time to be a grown-up homeowner type. (Also neighbors keep complaining about noise from band rehearsals)
9. Will not spend all my disposable income at Starbucks. Some say I should quit drinking coffee but why should I when there are so many enablers around…you know who you are :)
10. Organize pink bracelets, necklaces, and rings into pink drawers and hooks and such. So I am not frantically strangling myself while attempting to appear as if I have bling.

'Athbhliain faoi mhaise duit!'

Happy New Year and I hope you got everything you wanted for the holiday and to all a good night!

~taste the rainbow~

Thursday, November 22nd, 2007

Thanks a lot…

So in the spirit of the Thanksgiving holiday these are the things in my life that I am thankful for…

PEP- (he is the blue guy in the band) Pep has been my partner in crime for the 7 years Switchblade Kittens has been in existence. He is a technical genius, so he does insanely advanced things like editing the podcasts, to simple life saving techniques like coding the website. I come up with the schemes and he gets roped into them. Every time he walks into the band house he asks me "What are we going to do today, Brain" and I say "Same thing we do every night." Thanks Pep you are the best sidekick a heroine could ask for.
Although loyal most of the time, he doesn't always agree with my tactics. Pep loves the movie "Toy Story". It is about toys that come to life when the humans are out of the room and one of the main toys is named Buzz Lightyear. I bought Pep a "Talking" Buzz Lightyear Ornament for Christmas. When I took it out of the box it wasn't talking when I pressed the button. So I figured, if I hit it then it might move the electronics inside so it would work. Logically, I hit the ornament against the table (I put towels down to keep it from breaking). After a few tries it still was not working so I started screaming "Talk! Talk! You better TALK Buzz Lightyear!" Just then Pep came in an accused me of "shaking down" Buzz Lightyear. He pulled Buzz away and said "Stop! Just stop! He doesn't know anything!" To which I responded "I paid 10 bucks so he better start talking!" Pep called me a "monster" and ushered Buzz into the protection of his room before I figured out what happened. Pep has a sensitive soul.

BEN9000- (otherwise known as Grouch on the Couch) Ben is the only personal assistant in the world that COMPLAINS about everything you ask him to do. Ben does not go quietly into the good night to pick up the mail. Yet for some reason this makes me laugh. He is like the disgruntled little brother I never wanted, but he never misses a deadline and is a workaholic. Plus he wrote podcasts 6-12 in impossible time. It is like fast service with a grimace. Deep down I like him madly. When he is gone the band house is too quiet… I have grown accustomed to his frowny face.

TABBIE- (she is the green girl in the band) Not everyone likes their sister but I like mine most of the time. This year Tabbie has decided to turn over a new leaf and it's… green. She has been turning up to rehearsals on time and is not such a sourpuss when she is there. She is also an edgy Martha Stewart. She mends my clothes when I wear them out and is highly skilled with a glue gun. She can embellish like no one's business. My sister is an edgy Martha Stewart (without the jail time!)

SOLDIERS- I think about those American women and men out there burning up in the Iraqi dessert during Thanksgiving. I am thankful they exist and are trying to make sure September 11th never happens again. No matter where you stand politically these soldiers are far away from home this holiday and they are doing it for us, so I thank them. If you want to thank a soldier please go to http://www.anysoldier.com/ and help a soldier get necessities or holiday cheer.

COLD WEATHER PAYJAMAS- I received gingerbread man payjamas as an early holiday present and I just love them. They even have matching slippers! They are flannel and comfy that I decided to start wearing them during the day. The funny part is most people just assume that I have a bit of a festive spirit and that the payjamas are actual holiday kit! So I am thankful for the cold weather so I can run about town in my gingerbread man payjamas (with matching sunglasses!).

FANS- Last but not least our fans. Some days I don't want to go on, I think that my life is completely futile, and that I suck… a lot. But all that changes when I get an e-mail or wee animation from one of you guys. One e-mail can change my mood for a week and then all the hard stuff involved in having a band is then worth it. Two of the fab fans that have made my month are Claire Hostage from Iceland who made her own animated version of a music video for our song, Magic Cat. Thanks Claire

And a big thanks to Brittany who made this Kitty Turkey for thanksgiving.

Happy oppression of Native Americans Day or as the locals say, Happy Thanksgiving!

~taste the rainbow~

Friday, November 2nd, 2007

Tomatoes ruined my life and other blood red tales that look like ketchup…

Tomatoes ruined my academic life… this is a true statement.

Having attended primary school in America, I must first explain something called “field trips.” Field trips are when an entire grade of students (in the U.S. can mean up to 3,000 students) is corralled onto buses and let lose on some poor unsuspecting small museum or historically significant clump of trees. Field Trips are a god send as the tend to alleviate the boredom of learning fractions for the 800th time.

The first field trip in question was to an aquarium; which in american means “an endless seafood buffet that you are encouraged to pet.” Weird, but anyway…I came home and my skin felt like it was on fire…I was covered in hives. My father immediately asked me if I rolled in the dirt. Rolled in the dirt? What am I the dog? Ewww no I did not make a habit of rolling in anything icky and nature-esque, plus I informed him I had been fondling my new aquatic friends all day. So my father just shrugged at me..”kids what can you do?”

Next fieldtrip was about architecture. Not surprisingly, I have an architect relative (seriously, I am Irish, I have thousands of relatives that cause all sorts of bother) so we were actually going to tour his old mansion (he built entirely himself) that had been turned into a museum. Lucky historians got to sort through pictures of my great aunt in a bathing suit (unfortunately NOT the side of the family with the aunt that was Miss Universe). So the day boiled down to a series of very traumatizing nearly naked pictures of my relatives adorning the walls IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE SCHOOL and in the end I came home from the trip with hives…again. This time with a note from my head mistress that said I could NO LONGER go on field trips!!! I screamed and cried. My father puzzled over the causes of the red spots on my arms and face. A rare disease? Rolling in dirt (again)? Great Aunt in scandalous pin-up pose? Then he decided it was Poison Ivy. I screamed, “I am a pretty, pretty princess, I am not frolicking in the trees!” So he searched the museum grounds, finding no offensive plants he decided that obviously the school was doing something bizarre to me that had to be stopped immediately. The next day he marched over to my school to look in on our class to see for himself what exactly was going on.

The headmistress of the school stood in front of the classroom door blocking the way of my father. She proceeded to tell my father that the cause of my hives was that I was obviously extremely nervous around large groups of people and that is why I can no longer attend field trips, Instead she felt I needed a psychiatrist. My father glanced at me in the classroom. I had moved all the chairs to face me to create and audience out of the whole class including the teacher and was standing on my desk belting out all the songs sung by Olivia Newton-John in the movie Grease. My dad turned to the headmistress and shouted, “My daughter is not scared to be in large groups of people, she sees them as musical victims! And you are a fascist pig!” Obviously THAT went well.

I spent a whole year unable to attend any out of school fun. So after being convinced for months that I was so intelligent I had begun making a sociological statement by being allergic to tourist traps my father began a series of sleuthing attempts. After his studies ceased, my father discovered I was allergic to tomatoes. This pertains because EVERYTIME the school went on a field trip they fed us pizza, therefore causing me to have an allergic reaction…hives. So thanks a lot tomatoes for ruining my life, tomatoes are just a fruit masquerading as a vegetable, obviously they cannot be trusted.

There are two high profile media types that are on my side on this tomato issue. Esteemed author and lover of cupcakes, Meg Cabot for one. Meg herself claims to be allergic to tomatoes, sources close to her claim that this is not the case, that she just claims that because she thinks tomatoes are icky. Word Homie! Meg has brought “tomato allergy” to the level of “literary reference” in her Queen of Babble book series. In the books, main character Lizzie Nichols is allergic to tomatoes. An incident in the first book clearly draws the line in the tomato sauce when poor Lizzie has to try not to vomit when faced with an English breakfast consisting of all tomato dishes. This anti-tomato series is on the New York Times best seller list by the way.

Then there is John Debello the director and creator of the Attack of the Killer Tomatoes movies. John has been known to say that he finds the inside squishy parts of tomatoes repulsive and when they start to rot they look like they have “evil faces.” Right on, John! The movie series revolves around a group of mutant tomatoes that attack and kill humans. There are four movies and an animated series. My favorite of these movies is Killer Tomatoes Eat France! I think it is because it involves two of my biggest fears….rebellious tomatoes, and dying in France (because I can’t say "take me to a hospital" in French) Anyway, Mr. Debello has shown the world the villainous tomatoes through the villainous art of cinema.

These two media greats have shown me that when tomatoes get you down you just turn it around on them. I can’t let tomatoes win! But a life without tomatoes means a life sans pizza. At many a pizza party friends have exclaimed “Poor Drama she can’t abide tomatoes!” Well I have three words for them, Pappa Johns Pizza. That’s right Alfredo Pizza delivered to your door. There is life after tomatoes.

~taste the rainbow~

Friday, October 12th, 2007

Family Matters

Today we are going to talk about dysfunction junction, my family. I think everyone secretly has a family that is completely insane and we all just try really hard not to talk about them but sometimes things come up like…well…fame. Suddenly your crazy brother is selling stories to the National Enquirer (a la President Clinton). Or worse you are only semi-famous and your doctor/lawyer parents are looking down at your career and asking, “What didn’t we do for you?” the subtext being, her rainbowed hair really clashes with our white perfect life. The latter is my life. I dropped out of an Ivy League-like college and informed my stunned parents that I was starting a punk band. After explaining the political and feminist reasons why this was the right thing to do, my parents both started screaming that I was adopted. But I have seen my birth certificate…and I know I wasn’t adopted, ‘cause that would make SENSE!

So let’s start with my mum, the passive aggressive Irish homemaker-type. She called me up after seeing my picture in a magazine, demanding to know if “that minuscule dot” on my face was a nose ring. Few know this, but all mothers are specially equipped with high powered nose ring radars.

“As of today you are disowned!” click.

My mum hung up on me! Granted, I have been disowned twice before but last time she asked for an explanation.

There are only two reasons for a nose ring, you have either gone punk or gone Indian (and Indians laugh at my safety pin nose rings, and tell me I pierced the wrong side).

So after she didn’t call me for 2 months, I called and said “Hey I am over 21, aren’t I old enough to get a nose ring?”

“No.”

 “So when am I old enough?”

“When you are dead.”

Click.

Great, so I wonder how much the mortician will charge for my casket, the make-up job, and the extra nose piercing. When Switchblade Kittens, first CD came out I flew over to my parent’s house and gave them a first listen. My mother heard the song I wrote about my father and responded “If you write a song about me I will kill you” then she left the room. Well, at least THEN I could get a nose ring.

My mum has since come around, sort of. Whenever I am in a magazine she buys 15 copies. I asked her what she does with so many copies, but she said it was none of my business. No doubt she has made a dartboard out of my band and is throwing those innocent Velcro balls at me and trying to stick them to my nose ring. She has even victimized my snoring father! One morning he woke up with my ARIA ad taped to his forehead. He woke up starring straight into my eyes (and nose ring).

My dad takes all of this pretty well. “If you can’t beat ‘em, torture ‘em,” is my dad’s philosophy. My father has a business in a conservative area. He works for himself so when his clients don’t pay him he has to go over to their house and harass them for the money. This is the part of his job my father really hates, so I am glad my wayward existence can help him out. One day he explained that he just got back from a client’s house that was a month overdue for paying him. He participated in small talk with her and encouraged her to go to our website and download our songs claiming how proud he was of his daughter. My dad then turned up the volume on our Indie pop rock songs and continued to play all 5 of our songs over and over. Remember this is a conservative town, his poor client was holding her ears from the noise and then my dad asks for his money. So I said, “Let me get this straight, you are hard balling little old ladies with my songs.”

“Yep,” he replied.

 “Did it work?” I asked.

“Aye, I got everything I was owed” he said.

I think the Americans used a similar tactic on the Arabs during Desert Storm.

Out of all my family members the worst reaction to my chosen career was my sister’s. A reporter working on a story about me, called back teed off because, according to her, I wasn't "leveling with her." Flabbergasted and fuming cause she practically called me a liar, I figured out the reason for the mistrust. The reporter wanted to interview my sister and my sister flat out denied that she was related to me, AND she told all of her friends that she was an only child!

If that wasn't enough I got a call after one year of not speaking to my sister with a real shocker, she wanted me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding. Apparently, my passive aggressive mum had forced her into the decision…uggh just fab. This story gets worse, first she had to tell all her friends she had a sister (so I am a bad plotline from Days of Our Lives appearing as the long lost sister) and she, of course, wanted me to take out my nose ring and hide my hair. She claimed I would attract too much attention at HER wedding. I understand her point, but I play music for a living and I have looked like this forever! I didn't run right out and dye my hair just to ruin her wedding. At the rehearsal dinner I really got in trouble because apparently a radio station near her house was playing our "Titanic" song pretty regularly and members of the wedding party started asking me for autographs. I quietly signed napkins at the table and placed them in the centerpieces for the members to pick up and hoped she wouldn't notice. Then the day of the wedding arrived and I was trying to get my nose ring out and I couldn't. Goddess help me! Two years before, I had jammed a backing onto the backside of my nose ring to make sure it wouldn’t fall out if I got hit in the nose in the mosh pit. This cubic zirconia was never leaving my nose. So I did the only thing a sister could do, I ripped it out of my nose, and well…I started to bleed…a lot. So I was trying not to bleed allover my flamingo vomit colored dress and I get the kicker, my hair couldn't be hidden by the flower headdress. So now I have to wear a Dolly Parton wig! My hair is frizzy as it is, but when they put a wig on top of my hair, the wedding cake and I began to look like twin sisters!

In my long tight dress, pointy purple shoes, and the biggest hair this side of the Mississippi I was definitely doing a good Dolly imitation (or a bad Marie Antoinette). Somehow my sister thought that looking like this would attract less "attention." At the reception someone asked me if I was with the bride or the groom and I responded, "I came as a guest of the cake."

In spite of my sister, I have some family members who get a kick out of having a musician relative. My little cousins write me e-mails telling me that it is cool that their cousin Drama is a "indie rocker." My aunt Penny teaches a jr. high class and tells them about me and shows them every time I am in a magazine. My favourite cousin, Jennifer, has her own cable access botany show where she tells the viewers what her crazy cousin “the rocker grrl” is up to on a monthly basis. It cracks me up that all these Martha Stewart types have to listen to the story of my naked ARIA ad while concentrating on planting chrysanthemums.

~taste the rainbow~

Sunday, May 13th, 2007

Stuff… sometimes your stuff is an extension of you as well as the things you are into. There are some things in your life, that if you didn’t have them, somehow you would not be you. This is a list of props to occupy my time. These are a few of my favourite things without the bee stinging or dog bites.

10 Things I Like About You…

1. Senseo: One of the advantages of being semi-famous is the free stuff that gets sent to you. I admit it… I will promote, eat, wear, talk about anything if you send it to me for free. I am just that kinda girl :) cause I love stuff! So one day in the post I received a Senseo coffee/tea machine. It was manna from heaven people, and that is no lie. I LOVE it. I have a 10 cup a day coffee habit and I was looking to turn a few of them into tea so this was the answer. It uses coffee or tea pods so you can make one cup at a time. This rocks so hard because I can have a different flavour every cup instead of wasting a whole pot on one kind of coffee or tea. Whoot! This works out the best when the band and podcast actors all convene at the apartment. Then I can make each person a separate flavour of coffee and no one complains (as you know Tabbie and I can never agree on anything much less coffee). Goddess bless the Senseo. Now when we crack-up, we can shoot different flavours of coffee through our noses! www.senseo.com
   
   
2. Aria Bass: My fab pink bass is named Granuaile after my ancestor Grace O’Malley the pirate queen. I endorse Aria basses and with good reason. I love it soooo much I wanna marry it! My Pepto-Bismol coloured bass is really lightweight. I used to have a jazz bass and I had back pain from it (I swear you can get back problems this young!) Plus Aria was very cool about my left-handedness (one company told me to learn to play the RIGHT way! Bastards!) www.ariausa.com
   
   
3. Meg Cabot’s Blog: Meg Cabot is the author of a gazillion books, but is most famous for The Princess Diaries Series. She is a pink lovin, book writin, madwoman with a one-eyed cat and a lot of style. I love her blog because she talks about her zany adventures on a weekly basis and gives sneak previews of her books. I am so addicted I look at it everyday. Sometimes she mentions me in it and that makes me feel all warm inside ;) www.MegCabot.com
   
   
4. Groupies (Musical Man Muses): Groupies are underestimated on how much they influence us as artists. For me when I say Groupies I mean Martin and Pleather. I value their opinions above all others. They are the two greatest guys a girl could ever have the privilege to know. I inherited Martin from Terri Nunn (Berlin) and I gotta tell you he is the best present she ever gave me. Martin is an older gentleman who is wise and discerning. He always tells it to me straight and whenever I want an opinion from a grown-up he is always there. The only drawback is I have to fight with Deborah Harry for him and she usually wins :)
   Pleather, is my main groupie man. We hang nearly every day and I live for his encouragement. Pleather is the most famous male groupie and it is beyond an honour that he chose to be my muse. Pleather is the reason we have a monthly podcast www.myspace.com/switchbladekitten Pleather is so fab in fact, Pamela Des Barres (the most famous groupie of all time) wrote about him in her new book, Let's Spend the Night Together: Backstage Secrets of Rock Muses and Supergroupies. www.pameladesbarres.com
   
   
5. Suave Cocoa Butter with Shea moisturizing lotion: I buy this by the case. I love the way it smells. I have tried other expensive shea lotions and this is better and cheaper. One day I was at the computer and Pep came into the room and asked if I had cupcakes. I soon realized he was smelling the lotion on my skin and told him so. He promptly took a bite out of my arm! “Owww! Pep that hurt, what are you doing?” he looks non-plussed and says, “Dude, I was just checking!” So let this be a lesson to you… never get on a plane with Pep. If you get stranded after a plane accident in the snow with no food, Pep WILL eat you!
   
   
6. Spice Girls: Seriously. I started to get into them when I was repeatedly mistaken for Emma Bunton (Baby Spice). In honour of her, I named my trusty GPS Emma, because of her cheerful English accent. I love to repeatedly watch their movie Spice World. It is filled with music industry jokes and female humour. They are the girls who were always keeping it happy and popularized feminism into the catch phrase, “Girl Power!” *holds up two fingers*. My favourite Spice Girl is Geri Halliwell (Ginger). Even today, The Spice Girls are the gift that keeps on giving. Between reality shows, spaghetti sauce commercials, and some baby’s mamma drama involving the guy who played Pluto Nash, there’s spicy stuff happening all the time! People of the world, Spice Up Your Life! www.geri-halliwell.com
   
   
7. Girl Scout Cookies: These cookies are NOT made with actual Girl Scouts! It’s Girl Scout Cookie Time! Once a year little green girls stand outside the grocery store hawking their baked goods. These cookies are nearly guilt free because the money goes to a good cause and you get to eat a box of biscuits. It’s a win, win situation! My favourite are “Tagalongs.” They have a myspace page where you can look at their retro commercials as well as tantalizing pictures of each type of cookie. It’ll make you fat just by looking at them! www.myspace.com/girlscoutcookiesale Our love of Girl Scout Cookies prompted us to record a cover of the Brownie Smile song (their youngest groups campfire song) you can hear it at www.myspace.com/switchbladekittens
   
   
8. Barnes and Noble Sale Annex/ Bargain-Priced Books: I have a BN membership card that entitles me to 10 percent off at anytime. It’s worth it for me because I have a SERIOUS book problem. Try to make me go to Rehab I say no, no, no! BN has literally (pun intended) multiple groupings of shelves at their store that contain bargain priced books. Most of them are former bestsellers at nearly 70 percent off the original price. I LIVE there, so if you are looking for me just look under bargain books. An added bonus is that the BN Café sells Starbucks coffee and is the only retailer of Godiva hot chocolate by the cup. Godiva and books… Valhalla! If you are an online gal go to www.bn.com Sometimes they have sales on bargain books where you can buy 2 and get 1 free. One time I bought Meg Cabot, Alice Hoffman, and Virginia Woolf (all in hardcover) for a grand total of $8.00. I kid you not!
   
   
9. Rit Clothing Dye: I only wear pink and everything I own is pink. If I want a particular t-shirt (No Boundaries Organic t-shirts are fab) or a tote bag and it comes in white or natural, I have to dye it pink, well Rose Pink or Fuchsia usually. I have become and expert at it, and can pretty much get anything to dye, except maybe 100% polyester. One time Pep annoyed me so I took all his clothes and used royal blue Rit Dye and dyed them all the exact same colour. Seriously, don’t mess with me or you’ll dye!
   
   
10. The Irish Spring Soap website: My relatives and friends from across the pond could not BELIEVE that there was soap in America that claims you can be fresh and clean like an Irish person! I had to send the soap to them before they were convinced I was not just taking the mickey. Now they tease me saying “Do you smell like an Irish Lass today?” Clearly they are convinced that all Irish-Americans are out of their gourde. Anyway, This site makes me roll with laughter. An Irish lad goes on a diatribe in the middle of an Irish paddock, with a creek and sheep. This site is hilarious! If you keep watching it eventually the lad will dance and goof about between the sheep. Which if you ask me, is more like the Irish I know. Added bonus: If you watch carefully a leprechaun appears briefly. http://www.colgate.com/app/IrishSpring/US/EN/Bodywash/
    GetIrishNow/Microsite.cvsp#page=0

~taste the rainbow~

Wednesday, January 17th, 2007

A Dragon to Call My Own

I know it is very un-rock 'n roll of me, but I have to admit that I love the holiday season. Like every other princess, I love presents. Tis near the end of January and I'm still rolling around in my gifts like a puppy in a new pile of smelly squishy stuff. This holiday season was chock-full of holiday cheer, bookstore gift cards, and frolic. This is the list of bounty from my Tucker bag:

From Coffie -- pink kitty pajamas, warm pink footie socks, and a door knob exerciser (I think Coffie thinks my door nob is fat).

From Tabbie -- bubblegum flavored candy canes and a doll that is a mini me (Tabbie is going through this strange phase right now where she is modifying dolls, not to make them prettier I might add, but the doll of me has perfect rainbow to hair and the exact face I make when I am angry).

Like any good band leader I love all my band members, but my favorite gift this year was given to me by the bluest of them all, Pep. From Pep I was given my very own Dragon.

Dragon is speech recognition software (hypothetically). The directions are simple. First, you put on a headset with a microphone. The headset makes you feel like you should be directing plane traffic without the big orange batons or like concert Britney Spears circa 1997 without the big fake bosoms. In theory, the headset makes it easier for you to speak clearly into the microphone. Whatever you say into the mic is interpreted by the software and typed onto the page, so the microphone has to be adjusted to just the right place near your mouth or the Dragon cannot hear you clearly and your paragraphs begin to resemble Madlibs. Unfortunately for me, I have found that even when the microphone is adjusted to the correct spot, your documents STILL resemble Madlibs. I got the program because I can't type... apparently it can't either. Supposedly,Dragon has to be trained to interpret your voice. So currently the majority of my time is spent doing just that... training my Dragon. Right now I am the one breathing fire.

I just want to state for the record, that if my blogs start to read like I an smoking crack it is not my fault; it is the Dragons'. Here is an example of some fun with Dragon:

The correct sentence: My band and I are planning a trip to the sweet shop, because Godiva boxes are on sale.

The correct sentence on Dragon: My band deny planning to strip at the sweet shop, because our nine boxes are on sale.

Clearly having a Dragon can get you into a bit of trouble. In the wizarding world (land of Harry Potter) owning a Dragon is illegal. Clever wizards. But this is the Muggle (real) world, so what I'm doing is, unfortunately, perfectly legal. In honor of this utopian society, I've decided to name my mischievous Dragon, Norbert, after Hagrid's Dragon. Now I am off to tame the beast...

Farewell till later from Drama.

Caramel filled lather from Norbert.

Slán leat (this is not a Dragon issue it is just Irish)

~taste the rainbow~

Monday, January 8th, 2007

Happy New Year

This year I had to work on New Year’s Eve. This is probably the case with most of you so I will not complain that much. So NO Hollywood C-list parties for me this year, I have a band to tend to. After having been the skype guest on everyone else’s podcast I decided to make a podcast series myself. I ended up with a podcast sitcom about my life, called Switchblade Kitten.

I hung out with Ian Wagner (foremost music writer guy) and he generously wrote my life story into a series of podcasts. This will enable you guys to know things that are going on with me and the band and some things that have happened in the past. So Pleather did some helping, Tabbie did some editing, Coffie did some translating, and then Pep and I stayed awake for 3 days straight working our bums off, the last night being New Year’s Eve. But the work paid off, I hope, and Podcats number 1 is finished. Go to www.switchbladekitten.com to download it.

I did take a break at midnight to watch the ball drop, sip some sparkling apple juice, and eat some grapes and gold coins (really Godiva chocolate) for prosperity in the new year. And as the clock struck 12, I kissed a frog. Some princesses never change :)

New Year Resolutions

1. Will write and complete 12 podcats (to make a season)

2. Will finish the CD about Meg Cabot books called, Rebel Princess

3. Will get on better with my mother

4. Will get a full 7 hours of sleep a night (blast! Broke that one already)

5. Will get out of debt (Ok that will not happen now that I have taken on resolution number 1 and 2)

6. Will not shout at band members.

7. Will not shout at band members unless life or death situation.( ie I could kill them at any moment)

8. Will not spend hours in front of the tele watching episodes of “Charmed”. (Same for “The Nanny”)

9. Will organize my bedroom and desk (once I have found said desk, after organizing bedroom)

10. Will stop eating Godiva chocolate

11. Will stop eating Godiva chocolate 4 times a day and cut down to 2.

12. Will practice playing bass more instead of playing on myspace.

13. Will find nice sensible friend with benefits leading to possible boyfriend role and stop forming romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, sexaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional f***wits, or perverts. (whoops! That ‘s not mine that’s Bridget Jones’ resolution)

14. Will lose extra pounds brought on by too much holiday cheer. (see number 10)

15. Will stop biting nails (uiwu4709fu sorry... couldn’t type with hand in my mouthhhh kuo oioiy)

16. Will write a new blog every week instead of every month (Blast! It is already January 8, 2007. I am a week late with resolutions already!)

Happy New Year!

'Athbhliain faoi mhaise duit!'

~taste the rainbow~

Sunday, January 7th, 2007

Epcot Christmas

So many of you have asked me how I spent my Christmas, so I am going to just tell the whole story and hopefully that will make those of you that badger a person until they have to spill the intimate secrets of their sort of joyous holiday happy. You know who you are:

I spent my Christmas in Germany, well I went to France, Italy, England, Mexico, Japan and Canada also, but I ate lunch in Germany, so I spent hours there.

Here is what happened: My father had a heart attack, actually his aorta exploded. Because my dad is like that, he cannot just have a normal heart attack like everyone else...oh no. He has to burst a major artery AND be sent to hospital which says he is so bad off they medivac him to another hospital AND they have to get one of 3 surgeons in the US that can do the special surgery to try to save him, a surgeon who tells me by the way, that is does not look good and I should make preparations for his death AND then he lives. A doctor friend of Pep’s told me that only 2 percent of people who explode their aorta at home survive. So ummm… don’t try this at home.

Anyway, so after flying over 14 hours to get to him I ask him when he was lying there in the hospital bed:

Drama: “Da, is this about me saying I wasn’t going to visit you this year for the holidays?”

Drama’s father: Yes, of course, now shut up Star Trek is on. (Watches hospital TV above his bed)

(Flash Forward) My father is released from the hospital but he can not walk and he can not talk, well it is basically a whisper. I know we all want to spend the Holidays in Europe so I decide to do the next best thing, spend the day seeing “Christmas Around the World” at Disney World Showcase. Close enough, right? So anyway, later, as my father is recovering, I get this brilliant idea to take him to EPCOT, the futuristic adult oriented park in Disneyland. Mainly because I believe that the rides will not bump him around too much and I wanted him to have a happy Noel. So I check the weather forecast for that day we are going to go and it says there is an 80 percent chance of rain. Oh Joy!

Before we are set to drive I look at the weather forecast and it says 100 percent chance of rain. I have never seen a 100 percent chance of rain before so I ask if it is a Christmas joke or something. But apparently it happens in Florida all the time. The park is hours away from where my dad lives so with my complaining father strapped in the seat we take the 4 hour journey to futuristic plastic land. My mother wants to drive so I decide to zone out and read The Stupidest Angel by Christopher Moore. My dad tries to complain some more but I can not hear his whisper over the 55mph wind hitting his SUV. So I tell him ”I can not hear you, now shut up Star Trek is on.”

It, of course, starts to rain and I wait for everyone to slam on the brakes and then go 5 mph but it does not happen. I realize that I am in Florida not Los Angeles, and people actually can drive in the rain …weird. Later with clear skies the traffic slows down to a near stop. I look around to discover construction closing two lanes. Wot?? Construction during the holidays! Nobody is going to work during the holidays! The flashing orange cones will just sit there for a week! Ughhh, City planning hadn’t planned much! Especially at the busiest time of the year at the busiest tourist attraction in the United States. So we scooted a whopping 7 mph the rest of the way to Epcot Park. Meanwhile, in the book, The Stupidest Angel by Christopher Moore, zombies attacked the fictitious town. Suddenly the cones didn’t seem that bad in comparison.

We finally arrive at Epcot and my dad waddles to a wheel chair, and then he is transferred to a motorized chair…big mistake! Oddly enough he had a hard time motoring because people at the park did not look where they were walking and ran right into him, ¦literally hundreds of times. This made my father a bit angry so he started mowing down pedestrians. My dad runs his motorized chair like he drives is car. His motto is, “if you don’t like my driving then get off the sidewalk.” When I complained he said, “They started it!...Ya dad, real mature.

It begins to rain cats and dogs and pretty much does not stop the entire day. That is when we head to along with the mad rush to the nearest Disney store to buy the obligatory overpriced official Mickey Mouse mac. We purchased two for my father because the rain was creating a pool in his lap as time went on, so the second raincoat served as a pool liner.

In a matter of hours my mum’s raincoat split up the back. Some of the Epcot rides require your raincoats to come off before you ride so we were taking them off and on often. The combination of her being a bit on the chubby side and the pulling off and on of the mac proved fatal to the poor piece of blinding yellow PVC. As a result my mum walked around with a long wet stripe down her back all day.

It all happened while boarding a ride called “Journey into Imagination.” The ride, a journey through the senses, encourages you to use your sense of smell, taste, etc and is guided by a purple dragon type thing named, Figment. When we got to the “hearing” part of the ride, the ride came to a halt and the precocious fellow stopped talking. Figments lips were moving but no sound was coming out. There was a murmur of complaint that the ride was broken, I exclaimed that I guess we all needed to use our IMAGINATION to hear! So as Figment’s lips moved I shouted things like “Frankly my dear Scarlett I don’t give a damn and “I am a dragon type thingy. Where do you suppose I pee from?”

All in all I enjoyed the rides at Epcot, they were full of history and intelligence, not mindless romps like those other park rides. Later, we headed to the World Showcase side of the park. Seriously, no one does Christmas like Disney. The lights and decorations were lovely. This, I liked the most a Holidays from around the world tree. It reminded me of family. When you are Irish you have loads of cousins and they get exported from Ireland to all over Europe and America, in fact some are even in Hong Kong… poor Hong Kong. So ironically as we walked through the world, I saw one of my cousins. She was surrounded by about 50 other people dressed in velvet Victorian “costume” singing 12 days of Christmas. She was one of the "6 geese a-laying"(don’t ask). I have soooo many cousins and they all sing or play music for a living so finding her “a-laying” was totally normal. Like the classy family we are we shouted her name during the performance and she pretended she did not know us…understandable.

Realizing we were going to be late for lunch we hightailed it towards Germany. I had to stop at France though, because even though I consider myself a sometimes staunch American, I love Paris. The French village was decked out with lights and accoutrement. I had to stop at the pastry shoppe to get an éclair because I had one in Belgium once (the real Belgium) and I have been addicted ever since. It is like those drug stories you hear about when someone tries crack once and they get such a great high they keep smoking crack for years to try to get that high of when they had the first one. It is the same for me, only pastries. I am essentially addicted to éclair crack. So I waited in the enormous queue for crack and then ate my tasty pastry next to Pierre Noel (the French version of Santa Claus) there was a Santa equivalent stationed in every country, except Morocco and China of course.

From there we went to Great Britain. There was a Beatles cover band with a right handed Paul McCartney next to a Father Christmas that left to go “on break” as soon as I asked to take a picture with him…nice. Immediately we ran into the classic UK red telephone box. I jumped into the phone booth, dialed a few numbers and complained when I wasn’t taken to the Ministry of Magic a la Harry Potter. Then I jumped in and said “Dude, everyone get in so we can visit So-crates.” My mum got in but was not amused. She told me to stop messing around. Oy the ONE time you need Pep he isn’t there. So I kicked out my mum, spun around three times in the telephone box and said, “So did I change?” “No.”my dad said. Then realization hit him and my dad shouted, “Oh Superman!” like he was on a quiz show.

“Correct!” I beamed. My mum told him not to encourage me, and gave me a dirty look. She was just upset because she sucks at the game of guess the pop culture reference as your daughter jumps like a baboon in a phone booth. Still cape-less, I realized the telephone box was obviously broken, and moved on.

Germany was fab; the restaurant was a dinning hall nestled in the middle of a Bavarian village. We dragged my waddling father from his motorized vehicle to the dinning table and told him to sit down and be good. He liked that. Grumble, grumble. All the nice young Germans working there said “Frohe Weihnachten!” repeatedly and the whole shebang was rather pleasant. My mum and I tucked in to a German Buffet. The issue was that half of the items in the buffet were not marked as to what they were. Germans eat a lot of meat so really it was a series of plates of mystery meat, mystery meat with spice, mystery meat with crème, mystery meat with mustard etc. As I piled on the mystery meat, I could see out of the corner of my eye the young Germans taking turns riding my father’s motorized assistance vehicle around the dessert cart. You would think it was a scooter and this was Italy. Mmm…Italian food.

I brought a plate back to my father and he exclaimed “What is all that?” To which I responded, “Really you don’t want to know.”

Anyway, the mystery meat was good and we were just about to leave when another young German announced the show was about to start. A very colourful band in lederhosen played traditional German folk songs. After dancing around to German polkas like Annaleise, everyone sat down for the lighting of the Christmas tree and a joyous chorus of “O Tannenbaum” The tree was as tall as the ceiling and had twinkling lights with gorgeous Victorian era ornaments. It was lovely and I felt the Christmas spirit surround my grumpy father. He actually smiled. A man dressed as a nutcracker (I swear I did not make one comment but it was hard) gave all the children gold coins. I took a few, and felt better about the fact that I was not going to be able to celebrate Channakah this year, as I am bi-spiritual. Then the evening wound down as the German folk band played Christmas Carols. We retrieved the electric wheelchair from the slightly put out young Germans and headed out of Deutschland. As we left Germany, I heard “Silent Night” being played on Tuba. Wot??!!

My feet were so blistered my dad and I had matching waddles as we walked from the wheelchair depot to the car.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night

Nollaig Shona Dhuit,

~taste the rainbow~

Friday, December 22nd, 2006

Celtic Survivor

Although a winner for this has already been chosen, I can hold it in no longer and I must say something about the new show, “Racial Profiling Island.” Due to complaints about a lack of diversity in the tele show, CBS's Survivor has decided to group their teams by race. Survivor: Cook Islands had 20 castaways divided into four tribes: black, white, Asian and Latino. So ummm…is that supposed to represent all of us? I think not!

What about those of us that ask our magic looking glass... “mirror mirror on the wall who is the pasty-est of all?” That’s right, who will represent the largest genetic make-up in the United States. I am talking about the Celtic contingency. So I ask you where is Team Celtic on Survivor? That’s right, Scotland, Wales, Isle of Man, and Ireland represent!

The disadvantage of the Celtic team will be the sun problem. Let’s face it Celtic people can’t tan. There are only really two phases, white (pale) and red (sun burnt). If a Celtic person has a tan they have just figured out a way to squish all their freckles together to give the illusion of tan. Because certain other races will be able to tan in five minutes while the Celtic team all huddles under one coconut tree for shade during the high noon sun. I mean I don’t want to say anything about other teams but some people who can stay in the sun for hours and not die of cancer are just PIGMENT HOGS! And you people know who you are…

An advantage Team Celtic will have is the Luck of the Irish. Events going badly would turn to our favour the minute we put an Irish person in front of it. For instance, if a typhoon is heading towards the rest of team we would immediately have The Corrs play on the tarmac and all our troubles would disappear. Luck of the Irish, can’t touch this! Besides the Corrs HAVE to play at any Irish event, even the opening of an Irish envelope.

Another advantage is that NOBODY speaks Gaelic. If the whole team speaks Gaelic none of the other teams will be able to decipher what Team Celtic is talking about. In fact, if a team member is from Cornwall, even people in Team Celtic won’t be able to understand her!

We Celtics aren’t exactly known for our athleticism per say, but we sure can write! The greatest authors of books, plays, and poetry are Celtic. After all a form of poetry is not called a Limerick for nothing! (Limerick is a county in Ireland). So if we can’t beat them we can sure out write them! We could call upon Nobel Prize for literature winner, Seamus Heaney to create a secret code based on his Harvard poetry.

But if we are looking for athleticism for Team Celtic we have plethora of very tough Irish boxers to choose from. Of course any one of them would be hard-core enough and athletic enough to win on Survivor, but the most athletic person in the Celtic world is of course, Linda Cawte. Linda is a lean, mean, River-dancing machine. After winning nearly every Irish step dancing competition in Ireland she is the lead female dancer in the original Riverdance show. In a test of endurance she would literally dance circles around the competition.

In hopes of boosting the ratings we MUST have popular Celtic figures on the team. Luckily for Team Celtic, we have Bono. Not only can Bono stand and pose in front of the boats tents, but also this silver-tongued devil was Nobel nominated for his ability to negotiate between world leaders. His blarney abilities could come in handy sometimes, BUT, with Bono in the mix, when it is all over somehow the rest of the teams will have taken over the African-American teams’ debt.

Inevitably we will run into the issue of McGee. Nary a Celtic block is walked without running into the site of McGee’s Pub. He will undoubtedly set up a McGee’s Pub tent in the center of the Celtic tent village. Ignore the fact that we’re stranded on an island; somehow McGee will be able to get shipments of Guinness.
With Conan O’Brien as the bar keep none of the other teams will go into McGee’s because only celtic people get his jokes. Soon all the meetings will be held at McGee’s Pub tent, then eventually we will not be able to get the Celtic men to leave McGee’s to actually participate in the shenanigans of survival. This may be a problem…

But the Celtic Team has a secret weapon…. Hermione Jane Granger! This Scottish lass is resident genius of Hogwarts and best friend of Harry Potter. With brains and magic the other teams don’t stand a chance. There isn’t a spell our Hermione can’t do. Anyway, if that doesn’t work we can have Anthony Hopkins threaten to eat everyone.

Go Team Celtic Go!

~taste the rainbow~

Monday, December 4th, 2006

Holland Holidays

So this week Meg Cabot wrote a fab blog about how Switchblade Kittens rocks. You can see it here. We feel the love and believe me it is returned when it comes Meg Cabot because well she is a Pink Goddess. All I have to say in response to her blog is YES! I consider myself a pink wearing, card carrying, Simone reading, leg waxing FEMINIST!

But enough about me…Recently we have noticed a surgence of fans from Holland. They are celebrating currently holiday festivities. So in honour of our fans from Holland, my favourite fan from Holland, A.C. will make a special guest blog appearance, take it away A.C….

Hello,there
Thank you so much! I have to tell you that,I didn't had time to listen to your music,it was a kind of hectic week, over here,you had Thanksgiving,but we had an election,we have also a special day coming,that's called,I don't know if you have ever heard of it. Well,if your interested,it's something mostly for the children,it's a person that looks a lot like Santa Claus only he rides a white horse,and has a lot of servants that carry a lot of sacks full of presents,or candy called kruidnoten,pepernoten,taaitaai,marsepein and speculaas. He comes from Spain,that's what the tale is everybody tells there little children,so they are all very nervous when he comes in the country,he arrives by boat,that's live on television. So every child can see it,he arrives also in nearly every city or town,so there are really a lot Sinterklaasen everywhere,but for the little kids,there is only one. He also comes at schools,where he carries also a great book,in that book are so-called the names of the children,but it tells also the question if a kid has behave it self through the whole of last year,if not then you will put in a great sack and will taken away with Sinterklaas to Spain. So many kids who believe that,will be a little nervous,but mostly they're more nervous,what kind of present they will get,it's just a little like the present,you have with Christmas. Only here the children,have more surprises,because,from the moment,the Sint is in town,they can set there shoe or boots with a carrot for his horse,for the fireplace or chimney in the hope that they get something,a small present or sweet candy,as a wrote earlier,and that can or will they do from the 18 November,on that day,he comes in town,till the great day of his birthday,that's on 5 December. But it's definitely not only for the children,even the adults are given each other presents,mostly they try to make from their present a whole surprise,some are going so far that they,pack there present in big box full of wool from wood,or paper,all for fun. I almost forgot even in the Supermarket,children can put there there shoe or boot,and get a nice surprise. And on the Fifth of December,mostly all the stores in town or the city are closing early,and people are earlier from work also,just to have more time to celebrate,I receive from my work a almond cake,and in the afternoon and evening the Sint will appears on most TV channels,so you see we have something really nice over here. I hope you like it.
Greetings A.C.

Thanks A.C. now back to our regularly scheduled Drama’s blog. So Pep’s dad is from Spain and unfortunately the ONLY person I know from Spain. So in honour of our Holland fans I started to call Pep’s dad, Sinterklaas. But for some reason he thought I said stinky-house. So he was upset because he thought I kept saying his house was stinky. So now he won’t let me go to his house, Sheesh some people are soooo touchy. So in honouring our fans from Holland, Pep’s father hates my guts.

So I say to everyone from Spain and from Holland...

Happy Holidays you Sinterklaasen!

~taste the rainbow~

Friday, September 1st, 2006

Holley Go Lightly? or Why Holley Mangold is Kooler Than You

Holley Mangold is a 5 foot 9 inches 300 pound can of whoop a*s with a heart of gold.   She plays American football as a junior at Archbishop Alter High in Kettering, Ohio.  She plays the position of lineman and now because of her for the first time sports magazines are calling the position, linewoman.  Being a princess type of gal I don’t know exactly what that position requires but there is a lot of footage of Holley full on running into guys and knocking them over.  Here is the beginning of her “hit em hard” days as told by her father, Vern in The Columbus Dispatch:

Her father, Vern, realized as much when Holley was 2 years old. ‘‘We’re watching television, and she climbs up onto the arm of the couch," Vern said. ‘‘I can see she’s going to dive off, so I’m diving over the coffee table to try and catch her, but I can’t.

‘‘She smacks herself on the floor, shakes her head, and climbs onto the couch to do it again." Vern stopped her. But that’s the last time anyone stopped Holley from doing what she wanted.

Word.  Holley has an official website at www.holleymangold.net and the first page plays the song “Brickhouse” by the Commodores.  This irony is not lost on me.  “Brickhouse” is an ode to an hourglass shaped woman, it even has her body measurements in the song.  Basically the song is all about a woman whose body is gaining her male attention.  Perfect Holley, same exact thing only different repercussions.  This is precisely why Holley is my new heroine. 

Daddy’s Girl

You can tell a lot about how a woman will turn out by how the men in her family treat her. Holley’s father, Vern has said that he didn’t want his daughter to play football at first.  But as a father you are always proud when your little girl does well and well, Holley does well.  Nowadays Vern sings a different tune:

"Like a lot of rock-headed coaches, they tried to run the ball at her twice in a row. They got stonewalled," Vern said. "They didn't run that way anymore. She makes believers out of folks. Holley just enjoys that cold rush when you smack into somebody. It's hard for me to say about my little buttercup, but it's true."

To Vern, Holley is a little buttercup and always will be.  Her father loves her no matter what and that is fab.

As for her big brother Holley had to physically compete with him, because your older brother will beat you up, it is a fact of life.  So if you can win some of those fights you are in good shape.  Holley growing up watched her big brother attend football camp and she decided she wanted to play football also.  Her brother Nick Mangold, plays professional football for the Jets.  He has said that Holley was an OK player but needed to work on her footwork.  For an older brother that is high praise indeed!

High School Holley

Holley is in high school. Most high school girls are trying their hardest to lose weight, reading fashion magazines religiously, and starving themselves with an everyday diet coke lunch.  Holley on the other hand comes from a family on the heavy side.  She knows she will never be 97 pounds and will always be too tall.  So she works with herself.  Holley could be eating a supersized Big Mac meal and the men around her would say “good job Holley can I get you an apple pie?”  Because the bigger she is, the better.  Holley can eat anything she wants and not feel guilty and that is freedom.

I think the next big issue with high school girls is popularity, like being able to sit with the popular people. Guess where Holley eats her supersized meal everyday?  At the cool table.  She is part of the football team, all the “hot” football players know her and like her.  There is no one higher on the high school food chain than a football player and Holley IS one.  She gets to be the cake and eat it too.

And finally the game of grab a*s.  If you are female and went to high school you inevitably had some bloke grab your bottom in the hallway, when you turn around to slap him, there is a large crowd and whoever did it fades anatomously into the crowd.  Well NOBODY tries to grab Holley’s bottom.  She has stated before that one of the appeals of football for her is the “thrill of the hit” and watching them fall down.  One reaction comes to mind of a friend of mine, Benjamin 9000 who is the editor of Celebrity Pets Zine:

“Holy Sh*t that girl could kill you! She has a lower center of gravity...I would run.”  Ben would never touch a woman inappropriately and he is not a small guy either, that is why his reaction is so telling.  So the next time a guy grabs you in the hallway, put your book bag in front of you and charge!  Holley would. (hee hee)

Holley Gives It Up For Charity

Holley set the national AAU record squat lift with a lift of 525lbs.  She carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, and decides to give back.  Holley recently was involved in a liftathon, using her power to get donations against her lifting.  She raised a bit sum for charity.  She periodically does charity events on her website so check it out if you are feeling altruistic. 

Holley will never be on a diet, will sit at the cool table, and knock over the entire defensive line of a football team and then get big hug from her dad. Whenever I am faced with adversity I will channel my inner Holley.  Holley would never go lightly.

~taste the rainbow~