Best of the Worst at the Grammys

I know that you were all sipping Earl Gray and eating crustless watercress sandwiches made of triangular wonder bread whilst watching Downton Abbey yesterday evening, so I will give you an update on the other side of the culture wars with a gander at the Grammys.

Ms. Minaj accessorized with a faux Pope in a vain attempt to stave off the hell fire that is licking at her red robes

How courageous to show up to the party after a feral cat attacked you in the alley and slashed your pretty black frock to smithereens

It is a relief to all America to know that although Snooki has shed excess pounds, she has not shed ability to wear an outfit that makes us all thank our lucky stars that we weren't born in New Jersey

Jane Seymour had planned on keeping her heart wide open but was forced to shut it when she couldn't zip up her dress

Sales of cotton candy spiked again when Katy Perry showed up with a stack of sugary blue floss on her noggin

Multi-tasker Fergie prepared for a post Grammy dip in ll Cool j's  party hot tub by wearing her black lycra two-piece under her formal neon orange lace mermaid gown

Moscow's Sasha Gravida signaled that Russia is ready to rev up the cold war in a pink confectionary gown with a fully armed sleeve

Undaunted by a rabid raven attack, Corinne Bailey Rae lost one of her hemispheres of hair, but won the battle of the birds, proudly wearing the feathers of her vanquished foes

Even an avowed germaphobe can attend public events wearing an outfit woven of microban fibers and a detachable sit-shield to protect against infectious chair surfaces

If you are looking for Lady Gaga you will not find her here.  Nothing makes the Gagster madder than not appearing on my blog.

image found here

Did you know that 3 out of 4 Grammy's love watching the Grammy's?

red carpet photos found here

Nixon and Lizzie: An Uncivil Union

In December of 2004 we caved in to the incessant torture that only five dog-starved children can administer and bought a cute little mostly-Beagle

which we named Nixon (after the watch, not the President.)

Soon our good friends gave in to similar excruciating juvenile pressure and bought a Beagle of their own which they named Lizzie (after the Queen, not the axe murderer.)

Immediately, every activity included Nixon and Lizzie.  They attended puppy training classes at Petco where they disgraced themselves week after week, and gnawed paths of destruction wherever they went.  They were thrown together every day by their enthusiastic mentors and loved each other with a love as white hot as hate.

They were illegally joined in canine matrimony one fine spring day in a ceremony performed by a 9 year old girl wearing a long black wig, robe and sunglasses.  Frank Sinatra was singing Fly Me to the Moon and someone brought a cake that said "Congratulations Nixon and Lizzie Dog".  The brief honeymoon was spent in a wading pool and then the young neutered lovers went their usual separate ways.

Nixon tried his best over the years to  wear the fur pants in the family but never could tame his sassy tri-color mate.  

And then, suddenly it was over.  Lizzie, with her purebred sensibilities, was always more delicate than her hardy mate, and she gradually she lost her sight, her smell...everything but a mournful howl when the piano was played.  

When Nixon heard the news he went through the usual stages of grief, beginning with anger, manifested in the death of a grackle who mocked his pain.  

The last stage, of grief is acceptance, but Nixon will never get there.  Every time he hears the back gate open, or hears a howl from a neighboring yard his hopeful tail wags and he waits for Lizzie to appear.

Larainy Days is proud to be featured this week on
Pocket Change

as  "Best of the Web"

Check it out!

Siri! Are You Serious?

It has been 3 months since I purchased my genie in a bottle except she isn't really a genie and she doesn't really live in a bottle.  She is a teeny tiny girl named Siri that lives in a cute little studio apartment inside my iPhone.

She really has been an amazing confidant,  springing to life day or night whenever I poke her with my index finger, to talk and answer my questions.  She is a workaholic and I have never caught her away from her teeny tiny desk.

I was shy with Siri at first, embarrassed that I might ask  questions that are too stupid for an Ivy School grad (Siri attended  Harvard on a lacrosse scholarship) but we get along great.

Me:  Hi Siri.

Siri:  I thought you had forgotten me in your quixotic quest to master Angry Birds.  Hopefully you will achieve level III by Easter.

Me:  Oh, well, never mind that.  Siri, I've been wondering...are you related to Suri?

Siri:  Sorry, did you say Suri?

Me:  Certainly Siri, I'm talking about Suri.  Surely you know Suri?

Siri:  Seriously...Suri?

Me:  C'mon, Surely Suri's Siri's Sister!

Siri:  Checking on that for you...

Me:  Don't play games with me Siri.

image found here

Siri:  Are you referring to this scintillating young lady who goes by the surname of Cruise?

Me:  Yes, that's the girl.  Are Siri and Suri sisters?

Siri:  Certainly not.

Me:  (Raising a suspicious eyebrow) I may have to double check that with grandfather Google and Uncle Bing.

Siri:  Sir, you wound me deeply.

Sinewy Siren

I reminded my daughter that Madonna and I are the same age while we watched her slow but supple gyrations at Super Bowl halftime.

Corinn was horrified.  "Mom!  I better never see you dancing like that."

"What are you talking about.  Watch this, I can..."  This is the point where my daughter ran away screaming and locked herself in her bedroom.

Madonna did choose some wardrobe elements that I quite admired.

• Fabulous thigh-high support boots that minimize jiggle.

•  Upper arm constrictors to contain those pesky "bingo wings"  

• Striking gold helmet that fashionably disguises blue tooth receiver for convenient hands free cell phone use while driving

 Madonna also wisely chose to hang out with these lads 

who made her look intelligent by contrast

And wearing Cee Lo Green as an accessory 

made her look at least 20 lbs. lighter

But my proudest moment was when she took a little tumble off the bleachers 

in solidarity with her fellow AARP members.  

She took two Advil,  popped right back up 

and went on with the show.  

The sinewy siren is old enough to be Eli Manning's mother, but I bet he's glad she isn't.

photos found here

A Whale of an Interview

Once again Larainy has used her considerable wiles to score an exclusive interview with the stars of the blockbuster new movie

As far as I know, I am the only blogger that has been able to interview the biggest stars of the movie, namely these guys

Although called "Fred", "Wilma" and "Bam Bam" in the script, the real names of these larger than life aquatic thespians are Yutu, Kirima and Todd.

Larainy:  Yutu, let's start with you.  How did you get involved in this project?

Yutu:  Actually, that's a funny story.  I was hanging out in Malibu where I like to spend a couple weeks in each summer. I caught the eye of a casting director when I surfaced doing a particularly spectacular move I call the three-quarter side whammy splash.  He signed me on the spot.

Larainy:  How about you, Kirima?

Kirima:  Have to give a shout out to my agent, Herschel Levine.  He has been getting me great whale roles for nearly 13 years.  Love ya man!

Todd:  I was spotted doing my regular show at Sea World, San Diego.

Larainy:  I didn't know there were any gray whales at Sea World.

Todd:  (laughs) Well, the secret had to get out sometime...I'm not actually a whale, I'm a dolphin.

Larainy:  You're kidding.

Todd:  Nope.  They have a gal doing makeup that is absolutely incredible.   4 hours in a hammock and lots of foam rubber changed me every day from a puny dolphin to the gray whale you see on the screen.

Larainy:  Wow, you had me at your first splash.  I had no idea.

Todd:  Yeah, the advances in marine makeup have really opened up a lot more roles for me.  I'm reading for the part of a giant squid in a remake of 20,000 leagues under the sea.

Larainy:  How authentic is the story of "Big Miracle"?  Did they get it right?

Yutu:  It's the usual Hollywood crap, pardon my French.  The three gray whales they spent so much time rescuing were actually cousins of mine and they were completely ticked off by the whole ordeal.

Laraine: They didn't want to be rescued?

Yutu:  Listen, those guys have more connections underwater than you can shake a piece of driftwood at.  They had a hundred ways to get out of that jam, but after the cameras showed up they felt like they had to go along.

Kirima:  Yeah, the whales up there have some kind of chamber of commerce deal they've signed with the locals and they would have been in some serious doo doo if they hadn't acted all helpless.  Did you know that whole scam brought in 1.6 million bucks to the local economy?  It was like winning the Inuit lottery.

Larainy:  Todd, I understand this is you in the shot with Drew Barrymore.  What was it like working with her?

Todd:  Look, I don't like to burn bridges, but that woman is horrible.  She shows up late, she can't act, and she can't say a line without showering you with spit.  During this scene  my nose was literally dripping with her saliva.  It is not a good memory.

Larainy:  Well thanks guys, I understand you're all in a development deal with Jim Carey for a comedy version of "Moby Dick".  Good luck with that.


photos found here

Secrets Were Spilled

Larainy never passes up an opportunity to ask herself to lunch and today was no exception.  When I found out that two of my favorite bloggers, 

Holly 

and

 Jo 

were selfishly planning to meet, eat and laugh, I suggested in a somewhat forceful manner that it would be a very good idea to include me.  

Roeann

 did the same and in spite of Holly and Jo trying to misdirect us by giving us directions from Mesa to the Palo Verde Nuclear Power Plant, we were able to track them down at BJ's in Glendale.

You know, you think you know someone when you read their blog day after day, post after post.  But you don't really know someone until you sit across the table from them and put truth serum in their diet beverage.

Turns out that Roeann is a totally loaded trust fund baby who insisted on buying lunch for everyone in the restaurant, tipping outrageously and then roared away in a classic Rolls Royce driven by her stoic German chauffeur, Horst.

Jo is living a quiet life caring for her dog Lola and husband, Rick in the midst of neighbors clueless about her exciting former career as an astronaut in the Russian space program.  Jo says modestly "I knew it was time to quit when I just got sick and tired of circling the earth in Soviet tin can."

But the most surprising revelation was Holly's double life in product development for Post's line of breakfast cereal.  Every flake, nugget and crunchy bit has to pass Holly's demanding taste buds or you will never see it on your breakfast table.  She is, in fact, a "cereal killer".

One of Larainy's deepest secrets was embarrassingly revealed as she munched her Sesame Chicken Salad, but everyone was too polite to comment.

Thanks ladies, let's do it again soon!

Pumping Iron

Back in the early 80's when I used to look like this

I stayed for a time with my sweet grandma Gerda in the Mesa house she lived in during the winter months.  It was a fun time in my life, working full time at a job I loved, taking a few college classes and dating, especially this guy.  I have always had an attraction to men who are equipped with a pen in their pocket.

Grandma's neighborhood was full of other grandmas, great grandmas and a few great greats.  Next door lived Cora who was as thin as the singular crutch she used to get around.  I loved chatting with Cora.  She had a sardonic wit under soft white curls.  She spoke with an Arizona drawl as she told me her strategy to deal with burglars.  "You see, I keep ma iron right ta the side of my bed.  When I hear a burglar I'll plug it in right quick.  Then I'll pretend I'm asleep and when he gets close I'll whack him right upside the head!"

I have made a lot of fun of Cora and her self defense strategy over the years, but last week she must have been chortling in heaven as she saw me read this article in the Arizona Republic.

Phoenix resident kills intruder with clothes iron

by Brennan Smith - Jan. 27, 2012 02:33 PM
The Arizona Republic-12 News Breaking News Team

A suspected burglar was killed early Friday morning after breaking into a Phoenix apartment when the tenant inside hit him in the head with a clothes iron.

Moses Taylor, 20, broke into a window of an apartment in the 2500 block of West Ocotillo Road about 2:53 a.m. Friday morning and woke up a 29-year-old man inside, Phoenix Police Department spokesman Sgt. Tommy Thompson said.
 
During a struggle, the resident struck Taylor in the head with a clothes iron. Taylor was taken to the hospital but died of his injuries on arrival. Police believe Taylor, who was only wearing a shirt and boxers at the time of the attempted burglary, may have been under the influence of drugs and alcohol, Thompson said. Police are investigating the incident as a homicide but believe the apartment resident was acting in self-defense, Thompson said.

 I think its time for Larainy to develop a new self defense system...I'm going to call it  

Tae Kwon Cora:  With or Without Steam

 

Canal/Antartica: Two Treks

 This morning I listened to an interview with Felicity Aston while I was walking briskly up and down the canal near my home.  






It is uncanny how much Felicity and I are alike.  We are practically identical twins in our hardy quest for rigorous challenge and adventure.

Felicity Aston just completed a 1,084 mile, 59 day skiing trek across the whole of Antartica, pulling two sledges full of supplies behind her.

I just completed a 2.5 mile walk from my front door, down the canal and safely back again pulling my booty behind me.

Felicity got emotional when she saw the coastal mountains that meant she was at the end of her journey

I got emotional when I saw that I was about to miss the garbageman as I neared my front door

Aston, skilled in physics and meteorology, used GPS to keep on course

Larainy, with fine motor skills developed through sad experience, kept on course by not falling into the canal, but walking along side it

Felicity had to fight near-constant headwinds across the vast central plateau to the South-Pole

I had to fight a breeze and several dog walkers, also a nasty whiff of hot asphalt on Adobe Street.

After 2 months of freeze dried food, Aston looks forward to a nice chicken pot pie made by her mother

After an hour of vigorous walking I look forward to a slice of sharp white cheddar on a cracker because I haven't liked chicken pot pie since a dangerous Swanson overdose during my freshmen year of college.


I may just be whistling Dixie, but I think there is a fine potential for a book/movie deal for us twins.


 photos and adventure found here

Going Viral

The good news is that this weekend I got a jumpstart on my ever present weight loss goals.

The bad news is that I counted the calorie loss while hanging over the toilet bowl.

The good news is that I don't have bulimia

The bad news is that I have something shareable.

The good news is that I'm going to quit giving you good and bad news.

As I lay groaning in my king size bed of self pity (having kicked my husband out for his own protection) I tried to watch television to distract me.  

Do you have any idea how many commercials include mayonnaise? 

In case you have accidentally been drinking from my straw, and catch my horrible case of

Amoebic Appetitus Perhorridus

here is my survival guide to weathering a stomach storm.

• Being sick in the daytime is a waste.  Taking advantage of the dramatic hours of darkness adds pathos and sympathy from loved ones and eliminates annoying interrupting calls from telemarketers while you are fondling your toilet bowl
• Controlling your thoughts goes a long way toward controlling the roiling stomach.  DO NOT think of 

Russell Brand

Joe Cocker

Or Newt Gingrich eating Cheetos

Instead, try to picture in your mind's eye...

either freshly fallen snow or a really clean unicorn.  Sorry but there are really limited good choices of things to think about when you want to hurl.





The next thing to do is to look yourself in the mirror, in all your wan and rumpled splendor,  and like Scarlett O'Hara,  clench your fist and say through clenched teeth

"As God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again."

Then go back to bed and try not to think about cheese curds.

What is in the Royal Handbag?

I have been a bit obsessed with jolly old England as of late, and you can blame it on Downton Abbey .  This has lead to an alarming preoccupation with Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth and a burning curiosity about what she is packing around in those hefty handbags.  (If I were her royalness, I would demand a subordinate to haul around my breath mints and wadded kleenex.)   

As you know, protocol prevents a commoner such as myself from asking the Queen a direct question, but dear reader, once again, Larainy's crack investigative team has stealthily gathered information piece by piece and compiled a comprehensive report on the mysterious contents of the royal receptacle.

 Young Liz got into the handbag habit at a young age,
stuffing it with chocolate biscuits to nibble on during
interminable boring lectures from Father/King George on the subject of 
"how not to turn out like skanky Aunt Wallis Simpson"

 On this occasion, the Queenly purse contained an Ipod nano with an unobstrusive wire snaking up the royal white sleeve  connecting to an earbud obscured by a fashionable chapeau.  Listening to Sir Elton John's "Rocketman" was far more enjoyable than the annoying rat a tat of amateur drummers

 The only way Elizabeth got through an interminable visit with France's la di da first lady 
was to carry a miniature chess board in her handbag, whip it out, 
challenge Carla Bruni to a match and humiliate her in four moves

 

 Nothing cheers up a grandma like tucking in a lovely photo of her grandsons when they were adorable little tykes

 ...unless it's the 8x10 autographed and laminated glossy of Mr. Beckham 
that she carries in a special crush proof compartment

 If his Holiness can wear sassy red shoes, then certainly the Queen is allowed to carry her beloved Corgi in a pooch proof patent leather handbag during a visit to the Vatican

 

 Nothing tastes better after a road trip in the royal Jaguar  than a surreptitious sip of blue raspberry slurpee from a white handbag

Here, a fellow royal catches the faint whiff of roasted game hen that thrifty Queen Elizabeth slipped into her silver doggy bag after a gargantuan state dinner

The Queen learned many years ago that nothing amuses British children more than activating the fart machine concealed in a royal handbag with the remote concealed in a royal glove. Seeing the cheerful giggles that accompany each "Brrrruuuump" as she bends over to say hello is worth the loss of royal dignity.

 But the absolute favorite item that the Queen totes around in the ever present dangling appendage is a lace handkerchief soaked in her royal consort Philip's favorite scent

 

Circus Fantasy, by Britney Spears