That doorjamb came out of nowhere!!

Ouch.

Seriously, may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your genitalia forever, OU-fucking-CH!!

This morning, when I managed to dislocate my pinky toe on the doorjamb to my bathroom, I hopped about with my foot in my hands cursing a blue streak, once I got my breath back sufficient to form curses. It came out of no where, that doorjamb, I was minding my own slightly hungover business when SLAM!, that fucking doorjamb jumped right in front of my foot.

After two hours of intense, it goes to 11, pain I went to the ER and was subjected to x-rays from a very apologetic tech. At some point during the trip to the ER the toe was relocated somehow, reducing the pain to about a 4, and leaving behind swelling and bruising. So I get tape, and a very fashionable shoe, for a week.

Thanks a lot doorjamb, see if you get anything in your stocking this year!!

What a way to start year 33!

Last night, which we shall call pre-toe dislocation, was wonderful though. I got to celebrate my birth with many lovely friends at the Rock Bottom Brewery, as the bar I had chosen has been closed for renovations for about three months. (oops.) I was gifted with chocolate, beer, shirts, lotions, motherpucker lip gloss, garden grown squash, and handmade cards. Best of all I was gifted with time. Many of the people I love took the time to come and toss back a drink with me. Given how busy everyone is, I count myself blessed beyond imagination. We tossed a few bucks in the jukebox (okay, the computerized music player) and danced between pool tables to some old school hits, we reminisced about parties we enjoyed over 17 years ago, and we made fun of Sarah Palin (the ultimate liberal party game. Come to think of it, the ultimate anyone’s party game.)

I even got to hang all night with Coni, who had just finished her national exams and needed to unwind. It was a true gift, as she and I hadn’t had the time to swill away an evening together in over a decade. An hour or two a month at the most, that has been our time for each other over the years as work, school, and family filled in the spaces between dawn and dusk. Last night I got her for 5 hours. It was awesome.

I think I have throughly celebrated my palindromic birthday. I look forward to the year to come.

Can’t be quiet.

I tried. I spent two days slightly less than two days reading other blogs, commenting a little, and not writing in mine. I tried, but I can’t stop writing now, when so much is going on!!

For example, Sarah Palin referring to herself as a representative for Joe Six-Pack. I wonder if she means this Joe Six-Pack, a beer reporter in Philidelphia, or this one, apparently the author of a “manly” transgendered website? (Who knew? I love Google searches, he was 7 links down!)

I know, I know,  she probably meant John Q. Public, a generic name used in America to denote the “common man.” Unfortunately, Ms. Palin didn’t choose to use a phrase commonly associated with a reasonable common member of society, she choose a phrase that is usually used in a derogatory manner to refer to a lesser member of the common man, such as someone who spends all their time/energy/money investing in the aforementioned six pack.

William Safire of the NY Times wrote on the birth and life of Everyman, now known as Joe Six-Pack, when Bill Clinton used the phrase in the late 90’s (not to describe himself.)

The average Joe appeared as Joe Blow (1867), Joe Doakes (1926), Joe College (1932), G.I. Joe (1943) and, in Britain, Joe Bloggs (1969). Though Joe Zilch (1925, probably a play on zero) and Joe Schmo (1950, rhyming with hometown Kokomo) are derisive, Joe Cool (1949) gets respect.

A six-pack (which still takes a hyphen, but not for long) is a half-dozen bottles or cans, often of beer, packaged to be purchased as a unit. Beer is traditionally Everyman’s alcoholic beverage, slurped up noisily or chug-a-lugged breathlessly by those who sneer at effete elitists with ”Champagne tastes.” Hence, the affinity of the plebeian Joe with the symbol of beer purchased in quantity, the six-pack, a word coined in 1952″

Well that’s what I want in Vice presidential office, a person who numbers herself among Americans who pony up to the couch with a six pack of brew to sneer at the effete elitists in society. (Although frankly, my problem with Safire’s article is his assumption that said Six-Packers could define effete or for that matter, plebeian.)

The Urban Dictionary defines poor Joe even less kindly, calling him the “Average American moron, IQ 60, drinking beer, watching baseball and CNN, and believing everything his President says.

The American Heritage Dictionary of Idioms defines Joe as “A lower-middle-class male. For example, I don’t think opera will appeal to Joe Six-pack; he’d prefer a rock concert. This disparaging term, first recorded in 1977, conjures up the image of a man in undershirt and construction helmet who will down all of a six-pack (six cans or bottles of beer sold in a package) in an evening.”

Not the best curriculum vitae for leading the country, especially if Ms. Palin expects us to spend our hard earned taxes on her beer habit.

What I want to know is this; when did our country begin to be seen as a land filled with beer swilling under achievers? I am insulted. Most Americans work damn hard, and I don’t think describing the majority of them as shiftless beer swillers is flattering. The middle class people I know are working hard, often two jobs a piece, to send their kids to school, pay their bills, get a decent house, and make their kids lives better than their were when they were growing up.

Geez Sarah, it’s bad enough the rest of the world thinks we are tools, with our deplorable foreign policy and our ineloquent President, do you have to portray us as low functioning alcoholics too?