Zeus tested... Zeus approved!

Please note above Greek God and his mighty lightning bolt... The Olympics, which fills our screens at present, was begun to impress this guy. Does he look impressed? As we practice it now, poor Zeus must look down from whatever cloud has tickled his loins to behold this...



That can't be comfortable.




So, in honor of Zeus and (perhaps) in an effort to bring him something more entertaining, I believe the Olympics is due for an overhaul. Under Zaedah's administration, we'll do away with the boring, the lengthy and yes, the unsightly (take another gander at above shot).

First up... Dolphin racing. Grab your friendly marine mammal and put him up to the gate. Aaaaand they're off! Of course, this will all be done humanly because that's just the kind of people we are. The winner will be fed fresh fish. Oh, and the dolphins will get stuff too.



Next: We shall cater to the criminal element in us all by a handcuff picking tournament. Speed and creativity will be essential in this competition, as participants will be hand chosen from our incarcerated population. The winner receives the Erik Weisz medal and a 'get out of jail free' card.




For the kiddie demographic, I suggest a marble-shooting contest. Only the stakes shall be higher than the average schoolyard pastime. While not endorsing violence in an arena, there's nothing wrong with a little incentive. The bullies will be lined up outside the playing circle, ready to... deal with the losers. The winner gets to keep his teeth.

There are many other entries that the committee will be reviewing. Shoot-apple-off-head archery, swine riding, applying-makeup-in-a-speeding-cab, scorpion eating contest and my personal favorite... reciting Shakespeare while skydiving without a parachute. Viewer ratings will plunge straight off the chart and into the unbridled atmosphere.


Everyone will get into the spirit of these revamped Olympics.




The strangely beautiful...





And the downright scary.






So please, gentle readers, vote for the Zaedah Olympics. Choose your extremely non-exotic locale and let the games begin!

The Nature of Nature is... Rebellion!

Outside the windows of my office lives the above row of trees. Being an amateur photographer (neon-bright emphasis on amateur) I've attempted to secure an artsy shot of these trees in their mostly uniform appearance. 'Mostly' because they have a rebel in their ranks.

I'm rather partial to the daring tree who stands fourth from the left. She (because wild children deserve some sort of gender designation) sticks her leafy tongue out at the others who feel that green's still in even after autumn gets traction. But our girl's a fan of red and isn't interested in waiting until the fashion police say it's okay to begin the traditional turn. Nope, she's breaking out early.

Of course, with the ravages of snow and the inevitable balding, she's as naked as the others. But autumn will return months from now and she promises to trade her future emerald for splashy red before the rest can chastise her.

Good for you, Tree!

Wisdom of Zappa...

Two weeks after the blizzard of 2010 deposited a cushy 17 inches on my poor lawn, we still tromp over the mounds of white stuff. I'm one of those "bring it on" snow-enthusiasts but even I have had enough. I'd like to start a letter campaign to evict Father Winter.

The stuff won't freakin' melt!

Princess Vespa (Spaceballs) had an industrial sized hairdryer that garnered its own luggage. I should very much like to borrow it. For only the power of the mammoth beast of electric fury could turn these stubborn inches of sinister, compactness into sweet little puddles. The problem we're facing now is a bit of unsightly technicolor that has crept into the once-virgin fluffiness.

As previously noted, we have three gigantic dogs. In the natural order of things, big dogs leave big... messes. Lets face it folks... if they could flush, local busybodies wouldn't have to post reminders to pick up after your adorable bundle of killer fur. My yard is the glaring reason why clean-up is not only good for visual aesthetics but necessary for the sanctity of one's shoes.

Fortunately, no one wants to picnic in the snow, handy thing since my property looks like we've been using lemon snowcones as weapons. (And don't get me started on the tootsie rolls bullets). Look out my kitchen window and take in the ice formations, majestic cardinal and the splotches of spilled lemonade. Thanks puppies!

I'm reminded of the stirring lyrics of one Frank Zappa... "Watch out where the huskies go and don't you eat that yellow snow."

Yeah... about that.

Valentine's Day. Is there a more puke-worthy holiday? It's the sort of made-up, commercial fund-fest that only romantic sods and jewelry/flower/candy shops can get behind. Bitter? Not me! Well, maybe a little.

Because you may not know this about me (which explains why I don't receive nearly enough pity) but my last boyfriend was in the dark ages of 1999. Yup, a decade and a millennium ago. I've gotten a bouquet only once and that was by an ex-fiance who should have remembered that I'm allergic to flowers.

Today I received a Facebook note from a new friend (Thanks JF) who invited me to celebrate SPAD (Single Persons' Appreciation Day), an inclusive affair in no way limited to one 'special person.' Which is great when you don't even HAVE one.

I'm told the official color of SPAD is navy blue because it's not as unappealing on the masses as red. I actually changed my shirt to honor this bit of information. But regardless of the acronym or the color of my attire, I'm still alone for yet another Day of Lovers.

But not entirely...

Today I have officially adopted the foster cat formerly known as Reuben. As of today, he is called Zhander (poor creature, having to abide by my Z theme) and many hugs and treats were bestowed upon my furry Valentine. Hey, he's more loyal than most guys I've dated, so don't knock my choice of companion. He won't kill me with flowers, fatten me with candy or even care if my hair is brushed. I now have his fur all over my navy blue shirt and it feels a lot like love!

Yup, they bathe in Blue # 40

If you're like me (and I know we've had that discussion before), you wait until the craze dies down before sneaking through the backdoor into a fad. Call me a Phenomenon Procrastinator but, being one of those anti-establishment types, I'm not waiting at the front of the line to jump on any blockbuster bandwagon. I tend to loiter somewhere in the back where they're selling eight day old hot dogs in soiled newspaper.

Mind you, there are exceptions:

A fascination with Zachary Quinto put me just a scant few paces off the head of the line to see Star Trek. And Lord knows I saw Sherlock Holmes on opening night because, quite frankly, Robert Downey Jr just plain works for me. But a movie about CGI-ed blue people isn't likely to motivate me to brave the after-Christmas crowds, especially at a two-and-a-half hour running time. I mean, have you met my bladder?

So I waited, sitting comfortably away from the tumbling debris of shattered records (though it was a delight to see Titanic sink from # 1). Until today, when the biggest smash of all time (or some such) was no longer in the top spot and I had some chance of getting a decent seat. 3D? Why not. $11.50 a ticket? Ouch.

Okay, fine, whatever... it was good.

A story that reincarnates the age old tale of the white man coming in hoards to steal native land? My Cherokee daddy will be pleased. A tale of living as one with nature and striving for balance? Mother Earth advocates will celebrate. A bunch of buff blue guys scampering about in thongs? Sign me up! That the natives are victorious feels a bit like vengeance against those whom my ancestors could not defeat.

Oops... perhaps I shouldn't have spoiled the ending, but then again, the box office assures me that everyone else on the planet has already see it.

Why I oughta...

There are some days when one wishes for a mountaintop and a set of operatic lungs from which might issue forth a seismic bellow the likes of which ensures an avalanche that demolishes the populace below.

It seems to me that one would need a quality phrase to shout in order to secure the greatest amount of damage...


"I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore..." No, that's been done to death.

"You're cruisin' for a bruisin'..." Nah, wouldn't even scare the Beach Boys.

"insert vulgar flip-off here..." Nope, no one would buy that from me.

So I've climbed the mountain and stand tall-ish at the ledge, viewing the world below that I shall obliterate with my Mariah Carey banshee yell, armed with my most cunning phrase...

WHY I OUGHTA!!!!!