Strange Things that Make Me Happy

So I checked out Yahoo!’s news this morning, and came across this blog post: Assault on Erin Andrews’ Privacy Scay for All Female Journalists.

The long and short of it is that some ass took video of a female sports journalist through her door peephole when she was naked, and then posted it on the internet.

Here was the best part of the article:

That sort of attention wouldn’t keep most women from working in sports. Sexual assault — and, make no mistake, Andrews was assaulted — will. Voyeurism isn’t “boys will be boys,” or realizing that men are ogling your (clothed) picture. Voyeurism is about taking safety and security from a victim in a place they should feel comfortable.

Emphasis mine.  The fact of the matter is, this article about a well-known female sports journalist tells you straight out that voyeurism is serious, it explains why, AND it was featured on the front page of Yahoo!.  That’s encouraging.

Dear Memere

I thought of you today.  I had steak and green beans for lunch — fresh green beans.  Do you remember when you used to make me cube steak with green beans, mashed potatoes and that gravy powder for lunch?  Those were the days when I slept over after Pepere died.  I was 7.  The scent of the green beans and steak heating in the microwave today brought me right back to you.  We would sit at your table in the kitchen, and I would scarf food and ask you questions, and you would answer me in that curt way.  You know — answering me with the Iron Hand of Memere, kind of like that time Dick asked, “What are these?” when you put a plate of brownies in front of him, and you answered, “They’re good!” and gave him a look.  He didn’t ask any more questions, but I was not so easily dissuaded.

You never ate as much as me.

Sometimes I wonder what you would think of all this gluten nonsense.  It’s not really nonsense, but it can feel like it, particularly when I’m hungry and I can’t find something to eat, and people are looking at me like I’m purposely being difficult.  Somehow, I know you’d adapt.  Either that, or you’d forget and try to serve me bread, and then I’d remind you and you’d say, “M’oh tad zee!”  I don’t even know what that means.

Your birthday is coming up.  My birthday passed.  How about we celebrate by you sending me some divine inspiration on how to can?  I’m not into saving cooked chicken for later (like the kind we found in your kitchen cupboards), but I wouldn’t mind learning the art of making grape jelly.  There are some blackberry bushes in the park across the way — I bet that would turn out some awesome preserves.

Lots of love,

your little cochon

Is This Normal?

This was on the front page of Yahoo! today, and I thought it looked a little strange.  Then I realized that they called the president “Barack Obama.”  Not “President Obama,” or “President Barack Obama.”  Is that standard AP usage?  I thought the correct way to refer to the president in news headlines was to always put in the word president.  No?  Yes?