I’m minding my own business at the office today, when a little plink announces that there is new e-mail. It’s from a member of a Green committee that I’m on, so I open it. Only, it isn’t about our committee, it’s an invitation (forwarded with other e-mail stuck to it) to join her in a new Bible study group that she’s forming. It will meet in the break room on my floor at lunch time. It will be non-denominational, she says, because there are so many of us of so many religions. To which the attached reply has responded, and I pretty much quote: “Praise the Lord. What a great way to spread His word.”

I choke on my coffee. I type the following reply (paraphrased): “Dear Cow-orker, I’m more than a little offended by your invitation. I find bible study in the workplace highly inappropriate. Although you claim that this will be non-denominational, it has been my experience as a Jew, that when people like you say “Bible”, you are not referring to the Pentateuch, (my Torah) or even the Old Testament. You will be reading the story of Jesus, the New Testament. Please remove me from this mailing list.”

But I didn’t send it. Why offend someone I have to work with? I rewrote it, substituting “I’m uncomfortable with your invitation.” Then I took out the “people like you” part. Then I called the HR office and spoke to someone in Employee Relations and trashed the e-mail entirely. I mean, come on. My name is so typically Jewish that I often joke that it’s Jewish for Smith. Or Gonzalez. What makes her think I want to join a bible study group that includes people who say “Praise the Lord” fer fuck sake? Of course, this is the woman who told my Hindi friend that Jews don’t read the bible. She told my friend when she overheard us having a conversation about borrowing one of my prayer books. So she said it to my face. And I corrected her then. Sigh.

Anyway. I work for a business whose business is death and dying. We are, as individuals and as a company, acutely aware of spirituality and how that manifests in a million ways. We are very careful in our Chaplaincy to not promote or endorse any one religion, but all spirituality. And I have some wanker asking me to partake in lunch time bible study. On site. Um, thanks, but no thanks. And I think HR explained to her how, if she wanted to read the bible with her friends at lunch, it would be better to do it informally among friends, rather than sending out a blanket invite to all and sundry.

My personal (albeit brand new) National Holiday. This does not replace my other personal national holiday, Bob Dylan’s birthday.

Someone on Ravelry asked: “What do you miss most about being a child?”

I grew up in South Florida (which I need to mention because) I miss: going to the beach in the dead of night in the middle of the summer to watch the sea turtles lay their eggs. Seeing the shoals of sand dollars just under your toes. Riding my friend’s horse through the orange groves and flower farms. Summers eating all the raspberries I could pick from the brambles in my Grandpa’s back yard in Newport. Picking mushrooms and having Grandma fry them for breakfast. Climbing coconut & mango trees. Eating everything that was edible in the landscape, from palm hearts to oranges to wild grapes to mangoes to coconuts to rose apples to guavas to mulberries to avocados to Key limes to wild mustard to kumquats and calmondins to loquats to Surinam cherries to the honey from the flame vine flowers. If it didn’t grow in my yard, it grew in someone else’s and was free for the taking. Making lime-ade from the Key Limes and drinking it from a high ball glass with a mint garnish and a splash of grenadine. Having my daddy make fried kippers for me. Fishing in the creek with a cane pole and frying up pan fish afterwards. Going swimming in the pond and getting yelled at because there could have been a gator. Taking my dog to the beach, where he could run free. Getting tucked in at night. Going to the family store after hours and having the run of the place. Riding my bike to the beach. Body surfing and snorkeling all day without worrying about skin cancer. The stars. The smell of orange blossoms in the spring. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches beside the country club pool. Hearing the trio play “Baby Elephant Walk” at the country club dinners. Catching minnows in a net made out of a wire hanger and the toe of my mother’s stocking (not pantyhose). Making a horse tail out of Royal Poinciana fronds. Climbing the mulberry tree and eating until I was purple and still having enough to take home to my mother to make a pie. Driving around town to look at the Christmas lights. Standing in the sugar sand to watch the space launches 100 miles north. The parades down Flagler Avenue. Learning to sail on the Indian River. Learning to waterski on the St. Lucie River. Feeding lettuce to the manatees at the dock in down town Fort Pierce. Orange groves and flower farms. My best friend, who lived on a dirt road. The feel of the hot car seat after a day at the beach.

Back wit da bitches and da hos

Although ANTM managed to sneak back on teevee without sending me the memo, they only were on for a week before I found them. All we missed was the crazy that was too crazy for the legal department, and so we’re off to see Miss Tyra and the new batch of mildy retarded, delusional hamsters that warm the cockles of my hard little heart. Yes, gentle readers, America’s Next Top Model is back on the air for Cycle 10, and Miz Shoes is on the couch, martini in one hand, pen in the other to bring you the best (except for Potes) in snarky recapping. Take a swig, and let’s begin.

We see Marvita, she of the frohawk and bad attitude. She’s this year’s returning wannabe, and though she’s no Tiffany, she has her issues and they are many: she was abandoned by her crackhead momma, tossed around many foster homes, abused and raped and left homeless by the system by the age of 18. But she’s been in therapy every Tuesday for a year, and she’s feeling much better now.

We meet Kim, who is dumber than dirt and talks funny. We meet Amis, who used to be Amy, but there was another hamster named Amy and Miss Tyra said that one of them had to change her name, so she volunteered. Why change it to Amis? Because it’s a name from the bible. Miz Shoes isn’t one of those reader/rereader/daily dipper bible nuts, but she does know this: in the bible, they spell it Ay-Em-OOOH-Ess. Amis with an I is Kingsley Amis, the author. I’m just sayin’.

Fatima gets her moment in the rehash spotlight and shares with horrified viewers everywhere her personal tale of female circumcision (aka: genital mutilation) and Miz Shoes downs the first martini in one gulp. Mah Lord, do not make us hear about this every week for 12 weeks, please. Somehow I doubt that my prayer will be answered. On the contrary, last cycle was the Green cycle, and Tyra has told us this is going to be the Important Issues Cycle, and I fear we have not heard the last of genital mutilation. It’s going to be a looooooong twelve weeks.

Fatima is out of the gate and in the early lead (by a nose over Marvita) for the title of House Bitch. After yanking everyone’s chains, she coolly observes to no one in particular that she didn’t know she could make people feel upset. “How interesting.” Oh, how foreshadowing, more like. I don’t know what happened next, but my notes (and we are only five minutes in) say: “Christ on a cracker, do these hamsters ever STOP squealing?” And sadly, the answer is no. They do not. Tyra scrolling text message? SQUEEEEEEEEE! The two Jays? SQUEEEEEEE!!!! A photo shoot? SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! A fashion show in Times Square? SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!! For Badgley Mischka? Crickets. Oh, well. Hey, look! Badgley has the same silver hair-don’t as Mr. Jay!

Lauren self-identifies as “The Girl Who Has Never Worn High Heels Before Being Cast on ANTM.” Where do they find them? And off they go down the runway. Marvita hikes out first, looking down at her feet and racing to the end and back. Kim can’t walk and proceeds to voice over that she was wearing a pair of $700 mini-shorts and she finds it stupid to pay that much for clothes and she doesn’t get it. Ruh-roh, not a good sign.

Lauren causes me to go ACK and Miss Jay to make a face. Amis tries to be cute and aw shucks by asking what she’s doing on a runway, when golly, she’s just a ragamuffin. She uses the word “ragamuffin.” I hate her already. Backstage, Marvita and Fatima are gunning for a bitch fight with each other. Neither one is backing down, and I’m not sure which one is going to pull the first shiv. It could go either way.

Back to the loft, where there is a Tyra Scrolling Message and there is more inane squealing. There is a visit to Elite Model Management to meet Neal Hamil, so the sponsor can get the first look and decide who’s going to win. We have our first look at Paulina Porizkova, former top supermodel, ex-Dancing With the Stars hoofer, critically acclaimed actress in movies nobody ever saw, novelist, renowned knitter and wife of Ric Ocasek (one of the homeliest men in rock and roll, second only to, or maybe beating out Todd Rundgren—who, coincidentally, replaced Ric when The Cars reformed a couple of years ago…). Can you say overachiever? Just typing that list makes me want a nap. Paulina, however, is ready for anything and wastes no time telling each of the hamsters exactly why they will suck: you have bad skin; you look like a drag queen/scrub your face; too High School Musical (this to Kim the Dim) if you have a dark side, bring it (and demonstrates pulling something out of her… well, I’m not sure where it was coming from, but it required sticking her entire arm down her throat.); you are too shmooshy-faced.

And off the models go, to their first “real” shoot, which has something to do about homeless people. Except, real homeless people will be posing with the girls, wearing the high fashion stuff and the girls will be dressed like street people. Salacious D has a “My Life” (still no longer My Life as a Cover Girl, it must be one of those truth in advertising things) commercial and explains that now that she is a new cover girl, she needs a new hairstyle. No, you needed a new hairstyle because that rat weave Tyra & Co. gave you was heinous.

First up on the set is Fatima, who gets all weepy because in addition to her female circumcision, she was also afflicted with homelessness as a child. She goes backstage and starts up with Marvita again, just to blow off the sadness. Marvita gives as good as she gets, and then, Ohmygod! they discover that they have so much in common: homelessness, abuse, stank attitude, anger management issues, and they immediately become BFF. Whew. I thought for sure someone was gonna have to cut a bitch.

The rest of the girls go down thusly: Dominique, surprisingly hot; Claire, sorta good; Amis, amiss; Kim, dumber than dirt; Marvita, dull. Kim then interviews that she wants to model, but not high fashion clothes because she doesn’t “want to support that”. That being the fashion industry and spending good money on clothing. Miz Shoes pounds the second martini and ponders the notion that there is someone in the world who aspires to be a clothing model for Sears or K-Mart.

More squealing as the scrolling message light announces the first judging. Miz Shoes is not feeling the scrolling message lights. We enter the judging room and see that Nigel is as hot (and hopefully as pervy) as ever. Miss Jay has on one of Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation reject jackets, upon which he has velcroed each of the hamster’s names. He will be ripping one name off each week. I suppose that this is better than the ever-expanding afro, or the clown collar, but not by much. The final judge is Paulina Porizkova. Oh boy! La Dickenson has a worthy successor, finally. No more Missus Nice Guy Twiggy in her tatty little cardigan.

Lauren “Lawsy, Miss Tyra, I don’t know nuffin bout walkin in no high heels” gets the first critique and it goes like this. Paulina loves her. Nigel says she looks, in person, way too nervous. Paulina jumps down Nigel’s throat and tells him that Lauren has a right to be nervous, at least for a couple of weeks. Nigel gets his snark on and tells her that she’s entitled to her opinion, NEW judge. And Paulina doesn’t miss a beat and calls him OLD judge. And we all know she wasn’t talking about the number of cycles that he’s been doing this. Miss Jay and Tyra are gleeful at the fireworks. Ratings! We see ratings! Oh, yeah, there are still 13 girls to torment, so let’s continue, shall we?

Anya is put on notice that because she’s pretty and doesn’t suck, she’ll be getting the harsh judging. Amiss is inexperienced and looked like an inexperienced model looking into the light. Paulina yawns. Aimee looked not homeless but incredible. Fatima took the shoot to the extreme and everyone loves it/her. Then Tyra throw cold water on her by saying that yeah, everyone loves this shot, but it was the only one of your pix that didn’t just totally suck. Next, Dominique-a-nique-a-nique is dragalicious. Allison was lost and had no presence and Mr. Jay didn’t have one good thing to say about her work on set. Nice. Whitney is our token large girl and Paulina and Tyra go all ga-ga over the fact that she’s got the “personal, invisible wind machine”. Marvita brings the glamor to the shot, but Miss Jay yells at her to stand up straight and look people in the eye, dammitBeavis. This season’s token Soviet Sweetheart gets high marks, Claire is striking but has bad hands. Atalya is pretty, but not telling the story. The homeless people out shine her. Stacey Ann has a Minnie Mouse voice and only five poses. Kim walks forward in a horrible outfit that includes a giant headband and the judges tell her to take off the headband before they’ll even talk to her. Miss Jay pulls out a stinky, crumpled tissue and tells her that’s what she looked like in the fashion show and then Kim tells the judges that she doesn’t believe in fashion. She doesn’t find it interesting at all. She would, in fact, like to go home now, because one week in she’s decided this sort of sucks. She gets her wish and Tyra (who has heard this so often now, she doesn’t yell or call her a loser or anything) rips her photo in half, but not before telling the room that Kim had one of the best shots. Sting. And yeah, we had 14 girls so we still get to eliminate another one of you tonight.

Anya; Allyson is a Gossip Girl wannabe, Upper East Sider; Marvita; Amiss is nothing out of the ordinary; Aimee; Lauren; Atalya is pretty and pretty dull; StaceyAnn; Katarzina wears too much makeup; Claire is loved, Whitney; Dominique-a-nique-a-nique is a tragic tranny (well, you have to have one); Fatima only had the one good shot, but it was the best shot. So…

First pic goes to Anya, then Claire, who tells Tyra that her dress is “SICK!”; Whitney, Lauren, Aimee, Fatima, Marvita, Katrazina, StaceyAnn, Dominique-a-nique-a-nique, Allison and in the bottom two are Atalya, pretty but dull and Amiss, who is interesting in person, but can’t take a good picture to save herself. At least yet. Amiss stays, and Atalya takes the bus back to Brooklyn.

Next week: Make overs!! Who will get their head shaved? Who will get the rat weave? Who will get the inappropriate hair color? Who will cry for no reason? My favorite.

It’s a cheap shot, but I gotta take it. William F. Buckley is dead, but how could anyone tell?

On the other hand, this is just the shot in the arm P.J. O’Rourke needed for his career. Now he can be the go-to guy for rabidly right-wing rhetoric from an upper-class twit. As far as that goes, he’s certainly funnier than Bill Buckley, and arguably better looking. Not that that’s saying much.

I wanna live forever!! Or at least, leave a lasting impression on the world. That’s why I, Ralph Nader, will not stop until I have screwed every presidential election between now and the day I die.

That’s the only thing that Miz Shoes can figure is going through Ralph’s head these days. Why else would he do this? He’s got no platform, he’s got no chance, he’s got no backing (unless he’s a secret agent for the Pure Evil that is Karl Rove). What does he have to gain, other than a footnote or a couple of paragraphs in the history books?

Get over yourself, Ralph. And go do something productive for a change, like take on Hummer. Or start a viable, well-conceived third party. Start at the grass-roots, and construct a platform. Engage voters. Promote clear thinking and honest debate as opposed to scripted sound bites and photo-ops. Or would that be too much hard work and not enough instant gratification?