The Cure for What Ails Us

~ lobablanca

As I was driving to work this morning, I heard a news announcement that Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens is considering retirement. The soon-to-be-90-year-old Justice Stevens is the oldest member of the Supreme Court, where he has presided as an Associate Justice since 1975.

The thing that struck me about this is the longevity factor. Seems that other than our entertainment elite (minus those who decide to speed up their mortality through various nefarious means), our government seems to be better than the Fountain of Youth for its upper echelon. Fellow retired Justice Sandra Day O’Connor will soon turn 80. Former South Carolina Senator Strom Thurmond was almost 100 when he finally passed. West Virginia Senator Robert Byrd? He’s now the Senate’s oldest member at 93 years of age. How about presidents? Ronald Reagan was 93 when he died. So was Gerald Ford. Richard Nixon made it to 81. Bush I is on the downward slope toward 90, this year turning 86. Bush II and Bill Clinton, both a spry 64, can expect quite a bit more time on their hands, if the longevity of their predecessors is any indication of what they can expect. Hell, even the Dark Overload himself, Darth, er Dick Cheney is still rolling merrily along at 69 (which is, ironically, both his age and the number of heart attacks he’s had in the past decade).

Add to this the relative stability of the health of our political representatives along with all the obvious teeth whitening, Botoxing, and face tweaking that’s going on there, and what does all this prove? To me, it proves that those in political service to this country are getting something that the rest of us are sorely lacking: excellent (and in the vanity instances, excessive) levels of service and attention from the health care industry. Our politicians are guaranteed some of the best health care that this country has to offer, no questions, no waiting, no refusals. Don’t believe me? Check it out for yourself: Here’s the homepage for the Federal Employees Health Benefits program. Go ahead and take a look. I’ll wait.

…

Done? Okay, let’s continue. Now, in all fairness, this is the same program that is offered to all federal employees. The difference? Well, I’m assuming that the Speaker of the House or the longest-serving member of the U.S. Senate isn’t going to go to just any doctor. They’re going to go to the best. Best doctors. Best service. According to FactCheck.org:

In addition, members of Congress also qualify for some medical benefits that ordinary federal workers do not. They (but not their families) are eligible to receive limited medical services from the Office of the Attending Physician of the U.S. Capitol, after payment of an annual fee ($491 in 2007).

Not a bad setup, if you ask me. And the coverage? This federal health insurance program covers from 72 to 75 percent of the premiums.

By the way, if you haven’t already figured this one out, since these are all government workers, We The People are the ones fronting the money to pay for all of this. But you knew that already, right?

So, here’s what I really don’t understand. Why aren’t the members of Congress, who are receiving these enviable medical benefits thanks to the people who A) voted them into office, and B) pay their salaries and their premiums with our tax dollars, bending over backward to make sure that we get the same benefits they do?

I don’t care if I sound totally naive on this one. I’m serious. Why aren’t they right now working toward making sure that everyone gets the same medical coverage that they enjoy? Did they at some point decide that we commoners don’t deserve it simply because we’re not morally deficient enough to want to be politicians? Does being politicians make them think that they are somehow more deserving? Or maybe I’m just assuming too much and, really, it’s the initial selling of their souls at the outset of their careers that grants politicians such enviable longevity over us mere mortals.

I know that I’ve been relatively quiet about this entire topic thus far. And I’m being a bit sarcastic/funny in my take on it now. Really, though, this is something that I take quite seriously. The last decade has been unusually unmerciful to both sides of my family. I’ve lost a significant number of relatives in this time frame (of course, any loss is significant to the ones who are losing), many due to serious health-related issues, and I currently have a critically/terminally ill family member who is not faring well at all at this present time.

And what are the health care professionals doing to aid in this present case? Barely stabilizing said patient before discharging them with little more than a wave goodbye and a “Don’t let the gurney hit you in the ass on your way out the door.” This patient is no longer able to get out of bed of their own volition. No longer able to walk, to tend to themselves without assistance. Doctors haven’t even given a concrete prognosis. But you can bet they make sure to submit their paperwork to the insurance company for their payments.

Meanwhile, doctors did everything short of bathe Strom Thurmond in the blood of sacrificed virgins to keep him going. And I’m willing to bet there isn’t one member of Congress who would ever be discharged from a hospital anywhere at any time with the same lack of regard from their medical staff that we’ve witnessed in our case.

And why? Why aren’t the American people getting the same level of care? Why are we getting consistently shafted when it comes to our medical coverage and the treatment we receive when we’re ill? And why isn’t our government taking the current health care reform debate seriously? Why, instead of pandering to talking heads and bloviating about socialism and death panels, aren’t they taking a serious and honest look at the current system (which is blatantly FUBAR) and trying to make it something that will actually work for the American people?

Oh. Wait. Could it have something to do with the billions of dollars that health care-related organizations are shelling out to these politicians? Head on over to OpenSecrets.org and you can take a look for yourself how much money these organizations are funneling into politicians’ pockets. Money they’ve bilked, incidentally, from people like you and me. Like the nearly $30 million that pharmaceutical companies donated to both parties back in 2008 (including more than $1 million they donated to Senator Barack Obama during his 2008 presidential campaign). Or the nearly $10 million they’ve already donated this year. Or the more than $250 million the pharmaceutical manufacturers spent last year on lobbying.

OpenSecrets points out this obvious truth:

The pharmaceutical manufacturing industry stands to lose if President Barack Obama

What Scares You?

~ lobablanca

Happy Ides of March, denizens! Watch your back and don’t trust your BFF Brutus today. Actually, don’t ever trust someone named Brutus. It’s a weird name and sounds too much like Bluto. Don’t trust people named Bluto either. Only trust Loba.

So I’ve been having a bit of a resurgence of horror love as of late, thanks in part to my DVDregs project as well as the discovery of a new podcast (let’s see how well my denizens pay attention to their surroundings; this new podcast recently made the list under “Sounds Sweet” to the right).

I love horror movies. I love the coronary jolt, the acrid tang of fear and adrenaline. I’ve been a horror fan since I was a wee pup. Back in the day, it was all about gore for me. I was mad into slasher flicks. Freddy Krueger was my all-time favorite at the time, simply because he was all about the gore and camp, two things that when combined provide an unstoppable tsunami of entertainment for those so inclined to enjoy such a combination.

Actually, Freddy is still pretty high on my list of favorites, but I think I’m far more apt to choose the original movie over any of the sequels. That first appearance of Freddy was so very dark and grotesque and disturbing. The guy was a child killer when he was alive, which is one of the darkest of all the criminal acts one can choose for their villain…something that I think is completely glossed over in sequels, which trade in the disturbing truth of this burned boogie man for the camp of one-liners like “Welcome to prime time, bitch!” or “Better not dream and drive!”

As much as I enjoyed watching Robert Englund chew the scenery like a pit bull on steroids in all the sequels (and, really, there is no other reason to watch most of the sequels than Englund’s performances as Krueger), it’s that first appearance of Krueger that keeps pulling me back. That’s the defining Freddy movie, the one that most deserves its place in the horror pantheon.

[I’m still flipping a razor-sharp middle finger to the remake, though. I’d rather be forced to watch one of those craptacular sparkly vampire movies than have to endure watching Hollywood botch up another of my favorite horror movies a la Zombie’s Hallowhathafu.]

So what scares me now? Atmosphere. I think I pretty much pushed this idea home significantly in my Halloween posting from last year. Almost every single movie on that list was frightening because of story rather than how much red dye and corn syrup they used in the making of the film. Even the gorier picks from this list depend more heavily on clever writing than on the gore factor (okay, so Billy from Black Christmas isn’t the most eloquent obscene phone caller…I’ll give you that).

It’s atmosphere. I remember my first realization of this truth came when I was about 12 or 13 years old. I was well entrenched in my horror phase by this point thanks in part to cable television and the local Nightmare Theater movie presentation every Saturday (followed, of course, by Freddy’s Nightmares and Friday the 13th: The Series). That Halloween, the community newspaper ran a contest in which they asked their younger readers to submit a scary story that would be judged for inclusion in their special Halloween section. Prizes were involved as well, but I don’t really remember what they were.

I also don’t remember what exactly I wrote for my submission. However, it was something horribly slasherific, something trite and predictable. Something that to me, at that point in my life, possessed all the trademarks of great horror. Needless to say, I didn’t win. But to this day, I still remember the story that did win that year. It was about a harlequin mask. No blood. No gore. No death. And it was scary as hell. Why?

All together now: Atmosphere. Something like that crawls under your skin and sleeps there, not jolting you immediately, but slowly releasing its venom through your blood, where it seeps and trickles until it’s permeated through to your very core. That’s the kind of horror I find myself loving most now. That doesn’t mean that I don’t like cheap scares as well…but the cheap scares are transitory. It’s the deeper scares that stay with you, make you squirm over and over.

Know what one of my favorite examples of this type of horror in recent years is? 2008’s The Br

Flashback Friday: Suncoast Motion Picture Company

~ lobablanca

Oh noes. While looking up info for this Flashback Friday, I just discovered that Suncoast Motion Picture Company is officially no more 🙁

Why does this make me so very sad? Because most of every week’s allowance when I was a young geekling somehow made its way into Suncoast’s cash registers. This was, hands down, the most awesome store in our local mall. In fact, Suncoast and the Walden Books were the only two stores that I ever wanted…nay, needed to go to (Spencer Gifts was also a favorite haunt, but it was too tacky to be considered mandatory). I literally spent hours wandering around Suncoast, most often abandoned there by friends or family who grew weary of trying to coax me away.

What made Suncoast so special? Simply put, it was a nerd store. In addition to an impressive (and impressively overpriced) movie collection, they sold books, T-shirts, action figures, posters, games, and the odd movie memorabilia. Remember the photo I posted a while ago of my nerdy book shelf? A lot of the books on that top shelf were bought from Suncoast. As were several of my movie posters, practically all of the VHS tapes that I’ve been slowly replacing with DVDs, a fair number of action figures…and half of my wardrobe from my teenage years.

Oh, how I loved Suncoast’s T-shirt collection. The photos below only show some of the shirts I bought from Suncoast (and, yes, most of the shirts not pictured were black, too). Actually, though, for full disclosure, the TNG excuse shirt came from Intergalactic Trading Company, another of my favorite haunts when I was younger.

Obviously, I still own these shirts, still in relatively mint condition, except for poor Batman, who now looks a bit on the charcoal gray side (I’m freakishly particular about my laundry style). They’re all in storage at my parents’ house, though. I find that people tend to take you more seriously in certain situations when you don’t have Cyclops glaring at them from your T-shirt.

Okay, that’s all a lie. I placed them in storage because I didn’t want them to fade anymore than they already have. Oh, that confession is just riddled with nerd shame!

What could be even nerdier? How about admitting that when I went to the Trek convention where I met Gates McFadden, I was wearing the X-Files T-shirt pictured below? Yeah, I know, wrong franchise. It was my way of showing solidarity with red-haired doctors on sci-fi shows. Think Ms. McFadden caught that?

…

I’m now incredibly sad. Suncoast is no more and I’ve been so disconnected from those days that I wasn’t even remotely aware of this until now. Who knows how long ago this took place. Apparently, they were absorbed by f.y.e, which is pretty much a hybrid of Suncoast and Sam Goody.

Holy crap! Sam Goody is gone now, too! They’ve been absorbed by f.y.e! WTH? Is this store the mall version of the Borg? Or am I pretty much giving away the fact that I step inside a mall about twice a year, and usually it’s with a particular destination in mind that I run to with blinders of disdain for my surroundings firmly in place?

Oh well. It’s not like I’ve set foot in a Suncoast in years anyway. Last time was at a Going Out of Business sale at the store near where I live now. That was about 6 years ago. Still, it does make me feel slightly more reminiscent for those days in which my biggest decision was whether I wanted to buy the new X-Men T-shirt or the special edition VHS of Halloween…

DVDregs: The Cell

~ lobablanca

I was quite embarrassed when I pulled this one from my shelf and realized that this is another one of the DVDs that I have never watched. What made this realization even worse was when I saw that the movie came out in 2000, and I remember buying this DVD from the used CD store not long after it came out. So for almost 10 years, this has been a dust collector.

Needless to say, when I fired up this movie, I could barely remember anything about it. Perhaps that was a blessing in disguise.

Let’s start with the positive. This movie is visually glorious. That was why I bought the DVD in the first place. First, this was one of the early examples of how CGI was revolutionizing the medium, pushing back the boundaries of “real” in far more believable ways than any of its predecessors. Yes, some of the special effects look dated or obvious now, but they don’t look as obvious as, say, the stop motion animation of the ED-209 in RoboCop. Also, they are used sparingly, which makes all the difference in the world. It irritates me to no end how movies today abandon any decent form of storytelling for the big nerdgasm-inducing frenzy of bigger-than-life special effects. A little goes so much further than too much.

Of course, some of the CGI imagery felt somehow very familiar to me, particularly the “cube” in which Jennifer Lopez’s character finds herself trapped (and which appears in its more familiar spinning form in a later scene). Then it dawned on me. Someone, whether it was director Tarsem Singh or someone on his crew, drew a lot of inspiration from what I consider to be one of the greatest music videos of the 90s, Madonna’s “Bedtime Story.”

This video was released a full 6 years before The Cell. I’ll refrain from now going off on a Madonna tangent about how there was a time when she led the pack in so many ways and now she’s a trend-following popstar who doesn’t seem to know when to put her ass away.

Besides CGI trickery, however, the visual style of this movie is award-worthy. There are some moments within this movie that caught me so by surprise with their beauty and/or uniqueness that I found myself holding my breath several times throughout my initial viewing. Rich, vibrant colors, unusual camera angles and shot compositions, stunning costumes and makeup, gorgeously disturbing and surreal imagery…this movie is a feast for visual fetishists.

Why these mind-blowing visuals were wasted on such a ridiculous story is beyond me. The plot, though freshened up by an intriguing sci-fi twist, is well-worn and predictable as well as unrepentant torture porn at times, mild by today’s standards, but obviously a precursor to movies such as Saw, Hostel, Untraceable, and I Know Who Killed Me. I’m by no means prudish when it comes to violence or gore in my movies. Horror movies compose a large chunk of my DVD collection. But this movie is oftentimes guilty of gore solely as a means of shocking viewers rather than contributing to a cohesive plot. Implications are more often so much more powerful than full-frontal vulgarity. Singh should take that under advisement.

Screenwriter Mark Protosevich hasn’t written much for Hollywood, but what he has written falls within the category of movies that I’ve seen once…and never want to see again: I Am Legend and Poseidon. I Am Legend was particularly upsetting for me as it’s based on a wonderful Richard Matheson novella. All my positive feelings toward Matheson are perfectly reflected in my negative feelings toward the latest movie telling of his classic vampire tale.

Protosevich is listed as writing the screenplay for the upcoming Thor movie and the American remake of Old Boy. I’m a bit nervous for both movies.

Then there’s Jennifer Lopez. I’m sure she’s a lovely actress, but in this movie she was definitely not a strong link in the chain. I simply never believed her in this role. Vince Vaughn, however, was money, as he usually is, and Vincent D’Onofrio was freakishly over-the-top, which was precisely what he needed to be for this role. Rounding out the recognizable cast was a solid though disappointingly small supporting role for Marianne Jean-Baptiste, a quick visit to the office of Pruitt Taylor Vince and his nystagmus, and a minor appearance by Dylan Baker. Unfortunately, all I think of now whenever I see Baker is his role in Todd Solondz’s 1998 movie Happiness, which continues to reign as the worst movie I have ever seen. Needless to say, thinking about Happiness makes me anything but happy.

There’s also a character in this movie played by Musetta Vander. I only mention her name because she could pass as Melinda Clarke’s twin sister. Even stranger is the fact that both actresses played characters on Xena: Warrior Princess (Vander was Ilainus in the episode “Amphipolis Under Siege,” and Clarke played the evil Amazon Velasca) and for the longest time, I thought Clarke had played both roles. I’d love to see Vander and Clarke cast in a movie together. It’d be like Playing By Heart, which cast Ellen Burstyn and Gena Rowlands together. For some reason, I always confuse those two actresses, so seeing them together in scenes was quite trippy.

DVD Special Features: This is another fine example of “more bang for your buck” from a DVD. This film comes with two DVD commentaries, one from director Singh and the second from the production team.

Honestly, they could have totally left Singh’s commentary on the cutting room floor. Along with all his whinging. This is the type of commentary that I’ve always feared finding on one of my DVDs. Singh provides limited information of any interest, instead spending an unhealthy portion of the commentary discussing the depths of his anger toward the actress cast to play Carl Stargher’s latest kidnap victim. Apparently, the actress lied to him about her ability to swim, and Singh decides that the commentary is the perfect time to vent the vitriol he’s been carrying around inside ever since. Nice. That’s exactly what I want to listen to instead of talk about all the beautiful shots and awesome camera angles. Oh, and let’s not forget about how often Singh talks about how many times he was stopped from doing something that he thought would have been awesome…but someone got too squeamish or someone wouldn’t give him the money to make it happen.

Yawn.

If you do have a couple of extra hours to waste, I would recommend the second commentary track. Pieced together from recorded commentaries from director of photography Paul Laufer, production designer Tom Foden, makeup supervisor Mich

Jackass Democrat: Eric J. J. Massa

~ lobablanca
Another fracking moron in politics

It’s been a while since I visited this topic, eh? Truth is, there are enough jackasses in the Democratic party that I could do one of these posts every day for the next year…and still be nowhere near finished.

[Don’t get all uppity, GOPers…you’ve got more than your fair share of jackasses.]

Actually, though, today is a bit of a bipartisan effort, since Representative Eric Massa was originally a Republican who switched parties because of his opposition to the latest Iraq war. That’s all well and good. Massa does deserve some respect for standing by his convictions as well as for serving his country (he’s former Navy).

However, his recent behavior chips away massively at any respect reserves he may have previously stockpiled. Massa was part of the 2008 coup by the Democrats to take control of Congress, becoming a freshman representative from New York, that awesome state that’s given us such classic politicians as Rudy “I like to dress in drag and fuck around on my wives (but not at the same time…yet)” Giuliani and recently disgraced governor and winner of the New York Chapter of Hookers and Hos’ 2009 “John of the Year” award, Eliot Spitzer-Swallows.

Anyway. Back to Massa. Again, he’s a freshman representative, which means he’s still in his first term. Most politicians don’t resign after one term. Most should, but most don’t. So, of course, there’s going to be curiosity. Massa gave as his reason for resigning the fact that his previously diagnosed non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma had returned and he wanted to resign and deal with that and spend time with his lovely beard wife, Beverly, and his children.

Problem is that he received this diagnosis back in December. He continued to run for re-election until his resignation on March 3. Dude, that’s slow, even for a politician.

Of course, then Massa changed his mind. It wasn’t really because of his diagnosis. It was because there might have been a teeny tiny little ethics investigation going on pertaining to some of the things that he had been doing during his first term. Just minor things, really. Nothing to get overly concerned or curious about.

“No, no, seriously, it’s nothing! Stop trying to look behind that curtain! Wait, did I say there was an ethics investigation? No, I meant, there should be an ethics investigation! Against all those mean bully Democrats who are roughing me up in between sessions because I wouldn’t vote for Obama’s healthcare reform. They’re terrible and not nice and Nancy Pelosi stole my lunch money and Harry Reid keeps giving me atomic wedgies and so I’m going to take my toys and go home. See? That’s the real reason right there! No need to keep investigating!”

Oh, but wait. Could it be that the real reason that Massa resigned is because of allegations of sexual misconduct involving some of his male staffers? Allegations that include sexually aggressive language about wanting to “frack” a male staffer (or as sexually aggressive as one can be when they include the word “frack” as a part of their vocabulary; seriously, don’t do that…it gives us honest geeks a bad name), as well as this incident, in Massa’s own words on his recent appearance with Glenn Dreck…er, Beck: “Not only did I grope him, I tickled him until he couldn’t breathe and then four guys jumped on top of me. It was my 50th birthday.”

Wow. I may have just vomited in my mouth a little. Oh, and Glenn, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself when you apologized at the end of this show for wasting an hour of America’s time. Trust me, bucko, this isn’t the first time you’ve done that.

So, there you have it. Yet another desultory ass clown from the American political desert. I’m so glad he switched to the Democratic party before all this came out. Not that there’s really that much difference between the parties anymore anyway, but I always get a warm, fuzzy feeling whenever a Republican politician is found for having sexual proclivities that their party is supposed to be so adamantly against. Now I not only have to contend with the fact that Massa finally imploded after he became a Democrat, but he also is apparently a Battlestar Galactica fan. DAMMIT.

Fracking douchewanger.

X-Men 4: The Doc Phoenix

~ lobablanca

A Star Trek/X-Men crossover? Wouldn’t that be the most awesome thing ever?

Actually, no it wouldn’t be. Okay, sadly, I own this book. It’s sitting on my bookshelf right now. Mocking me with its blatant mediocrity. I have nerd shame about very little, but this book sends nerd shivers through my spine. And not the good kind.

Anyway, I whipped this up after random afternoon geek-dreaming in which I tried to figure out a way of fixing the X-Men movie franchise while crossing it over and tying it in with the aftermath of the TNG episode “The Host.” You know, the episode that introduced us to the Trill…and also introduced us to the uncomfortable realization that Beverly and Riker did the nasty, Trek-style (but only after Bev made sure Deanna was down with that).

No one checked with Professor Xavier…er, Captain Picard, though. I suspect he might have been a bit miffed, don’t you?

Like I said…silly geek-dreaming. Of course, this actually sounds better than that shit bog of a third X-Men movie that they actually made.

Perfect Pinecone Prose

~ lobablanca
White Wolf in Snow by Acaciacat (click for link)

One of my ImagiFriendsTM, the multi-talented Tony, wrote the following sonnet for La LobaBlanca.

The white wolf waits in her cold winter cave
protecting her hoard of wet paints and pens,
knowing the stench of her insipid prey,
biting the vein of what they believe in.
Back in the woods where pollution can not
blacken and spoil the crystal-white snow,
she smiles at the stars children have sought,
litters the ground with perfect pinecone prose.
Other creatures scurry close just to hear
phantoms and fantasies worth embracing.
The delicious tone of her call so clear
giving voice to the continued beating,
the worldly pull of our Mother

Flashback Friday: UNO

~ lobablanca

Today’s flashback is just a quick one, denizens. I was going to do one that I’ve been putting off for a while now, but the overwhelming nature of the topic…overwhelmed me. Truth is, though, I think I’ve just built it up so huge in my brain that I’m now frightened of it. Jinkies, it’s just a cartoon after all.

Right. Like Star Trek is just a TV show.

Anyway, so UNO. I’ve already mentioned that I was never really one for board games when I was a pup. But UNO was different. Easy to transport, easy to put together, easy to play on the fly. It was the perfect distraction at recess as we were transitioning out of that age range of monkey bars and merry-go-rounds and heading toward the surly insouciance of teendom.

I remember spending several months of total UNO submersion during the latter part of my elementary school days (I think it was 5th grade, but it could have been 6th grade). Every recess, we would gather under the one tree on the playground and start dealing UNO cards. To this day, I’m surprised that my old school didn’t ban us from playing this game, citing some bizarre mandate that it was akin to gambling and the devil would possess us if we didn’t stop.

One particular game still sticks in my mind, and subsequently still makes me laugh whenever I think about it. We were well into our latest round of games that recess, parked under our regular tree, under the bright spring sky. One girl suddenly called out, “UNO”…and was promptly shat upon by a bird sitting in the tree. Plopped right down in the middle of her skirt.

She ran in and washed up in the restroom, came back for another round, inevitably called “UNO” again…and this time the bird shat on her shoulder.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Third time’s the charm? This time, when she called, “UNO” the bird hit bullseye right on her head. And oh the screaming that ensued, both from her and from the howls of laughter from the rest of us in the game. It was too perfect a set of coincidences, something so seemingly staged as to be from a movie. Was it something about her voice that had an effect on this poor little bird similar to the way a woman suffered epileptic seizures whenever she heard Entertainment Tonight’s Mary Hart? Or was she simply yelling UNO so loudly that she simply (and literally) scared the shit out of this bird?

Who knows. All I know is that it was my favorite game of UNO that I have ever played. I also know that whenever I get ready to call UNO any more, I always make sure to look up first.

Post-Flashback Follow-up

Um. They make a Star Trek UNO. Most awesome UNO EVAR (until they make a TNG version, and then that will win :-D).

Why, Scotland, Why?

~ lobablanca

Dear Scotland,
You don’t know me. I’m just another of the millions of wacky voices out here in teh Interwebz ether, screaming into the winds of egoizing inanity.

Truth is, I don’t really know you either. I mean, I know where you are (I’m not that American that I can’t locate you on a globe or a world map). I know things like you’re part of the United Kingdom, you’re Gaelic (sorry, is that a “don’t ask, don’t tell” topic with you?), and you love thistles, ponies, and men who go commando in their kilts. Oh, and you deep-fry candy bars, which makes you kind of sexy.

What I don’t understand, however, is why one of your residents found me through a keyword search of unimaginable cruelty. An Edinburghian…er, Edinburgher? Someone from Edinburgh found my lair through the keyword phrase “gates mcfadden bad actress.”

You wound me, Scotland, and your wound is deep and painful. Look, you’ve also upset Dr. Crusher.

What did I ever do to Scotland?

What kind of country are you, making the Enterprise‘s CMO cry like that?

Bad Scotland. BAD.

[For the record, that phrase never before appeared at the lair in any capacity. Well, except for now, thanks to you, Scotland! I counteract your meanness with this: Gates McFadden Excellent Awesome Super Duper Amazing Spectacular Actress. Ha!]