November 01, 2006
You're The Hugspiration, Ty Pennington
That irreverant spiky hair, that bare chest, that spastic personality: What could be better than Ty Pennington?
It takes a special man to build things in two days; it takes a genius to pretend you're doing a whole room without anyone's help; and it takes an angel to do it without his shirt on, while making absolutely hilarious jokes about being locked in the bathroom, or things falling on his head, or needing sustenance thrown through the window.
God, my sides are aching just thinking about it! That Ty -- I could eat him up.
It's just so darn funny how he works with no shirt on, constantly forgetting that cameras are all around. Here, he's all, "WHA? WHO GOES THERE?" and the camera caught him before he realized he wasn't being menaced by an invader, but rather a crew member with almost as wacky a sense of humor as Ty himself.
And yet he's as sensitive as a freshly shorn leg:
He's so pensive here. He's probably thinking, "How did I become an inspiration? I'm just a man." And only a multi-layered guy like Ty could do this with a t-shirt depicting some kind of deranged chipmunk.
So Ty Pennington, this hug's for you. Because you are A Talent.
Anne Geddes: Hugged By An Angel
When I'm blue, there's one very easy way to get me out of my cranky pants and back into my overalls of joy. And that is to look at some of the truly unforgettable photographs snapped by that golden genius Anne Geddes.
It's a baby! In a flowerpot! Dressed as a bee! It just doesn't get much better than that. Anne Geddes doesn't just see the world the way it is -- she sees metaphors that add new layers of meaning and depth to everyday life. When I see this, I just think about what a wonderful allegory for childbirth this is. My womb is a flowerpot. You can plant a seed in it, and the seed will be safe and watered and tended to constantly, and the environs are fertile and lush. And when it's time, you can pluck the baby out of the womb-pot, and sometimes, it's true, the baby has a stinger.
I wish I could see through Anne's eyes. I wish I saw little babies in everything, and could capture that through photography in ways that turn the mundane into the magical. But I can't -- no matter how hard I look, I can't see a baby in my boyfriend's X-box, or in my new red sheets. But thanks to Anne Geddes, when I'm frustrated and start to lose faith in fetal ubiquity, I can turn to her.
Help yourself to some of this glory.
November 01, 2006
Thank You, She Wrote
Dear Mrs. Jessica Fletcher,
Twelve glorious years of Murder, She Wrote: Who could have asked for a better gift than dubious denizens of tiny East Coast towns being befuddled by the local busybody who was a secret genius?!? Remember the one where your friend did it? Your friend! It was such a shocker! Poor Seth. But you were very understanding.
Look! Here you are, looking all authorly and sweet. If I were writing a story about this photo, it would be called, Won't You Try My Homemade Jam?
But that's beside the point, which is this: Mrs. Fletcher, thank you for sharing your curmudgeonly savvy as you drifted through life in Cabot Cove, or visits with various asexual nephews or distressed nieces with feathered hair. Really, if it weren't for you, so many mysteries would have gone unsolved. And so many bumbling law enforcement personnel, like sheriffs, would have been allowed to arrest The Wrong Guy. But no, Mrs. Fletcher, you always had a nose for the true culprit. It was amazing the way you wrangled confessions out of them, even when it would be so easy for the suspect to say, "Up yours, you old bat, I plead the fifth and I need a lawyer." No, all you had to do was cock an eyebrow and say, "Come on, Jenny. If you had really arrived at 5 p.m., then you couldn't have heard your mother scream when the toaster got thrown into her bathtub," and then Jenny would melt into a puddle of bitter rage and yelp, "Okay, the woman deserved it! She was married to a man HALF MY AGE," and then you would heave that sympathetic but pitying sigh and the local police would take her into custody after she gave a lengthy explanation of how she did it. Sometimes with diagrams. Always with flashbacks.
How did you do that, Mrs. Fletcher? How did you get people to admit things they should never say out loud? America could really use you right now. For one thing, there's a wee actor named Tom who probably has a lot to get off his chest. And I think you should be called upon to question Michael Jackson.
You, good woman, are a genius. Not only did you give occasional work to that guy from Xanadu after his career went down the toilet -- did you really think I wouldn't recognize him when you made him play different characters? Did you really? -- but I also suspect you are a brilliant writer. I wish I could read your most renowned novel, The Corpse Danced at Midnight -- but that's not to discount your other classics, Sanitarium of Death, The Corpse Called Collect, Dirge for a Dead Dachsund, A Case And A Half of Murder, and of course, The Stain on the Stairs.
So thank you, Mrs. Fletcher, for all that wholesome family fun. If I ever kill anyone, I want you to find me. I will tell you everything, and I will totally try your homemade jam.
You're The Hugspiration: Michael Bolton
Michael Bolton has been unfairly maligned. Here at Go Hug Yourself, we'd like the golden-throated crooner to know that he is still appreciated by ladies all over America; namely, by us!
I guess I just don't understand how anyone could not love this face:
People say mean things about Michael Bolton all the time and it's really unjustified. I was enjoying the movie Office Space -- even though I believe in working hard every day and I would never beat the goodness out of my office supplies -- UNTIL they called Michael Bolton a "no-talent a#$ clown." [Here at Go Hug Yourself, we don't believe that you need to use profanity to express yourself.] There is a lot wrong with that statement:
1) Michael Bolton is VERY talented. Just look at all the record albums he has sold!
2) I'm sure his a$# is VERY NICE and probably a lot nicer than the a#$es of a lot of the people who would use that word to describe it.
3) What's wrong with clowns?
When I am blue, I just like to put on one of Michael Bolton's CDs and pour myself some Franzia and sit down with my Reader's Digest and forget the world. He turns my frown right upside down.
You're The Hugspiration: Valerie Bertinelli
We'd like to give a big GHY hug to Valerie Bertinelli. Her work on Lifetime: Television For Women and also on The Oxygen Network has brought a lot of healing tears to my eyes and to the eyes of my dear ones.
I was so sad for her when she and Eddie Van Halen broke up, but I think she and her son, Wolfgang, are going to be okay. She is such a survivor! I loved her as sweetie Barbara Cooper on One Day At a Time. (Which is good advice for everyone, you know? I have that as a magnet on my fridge, right next to the one that says, "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff...And It's All Small Stuff!") And who wasn't touched by HER in Touched By an Angel? I certainly was. I really wanted her sitcom, Cafe Americaninene to succeed, but maybe the Lord has other plans for our gal Val.
It's not often that we decide to eat crow. In fact, we generally consider ourselves allergic to it. But after countless e-mails from readers frustrated with the way "Go Fug Yourself" ruins people's lives, stunts the feminist movement, and not only represents all the evils of the world but in fact spawns new ones, we've had a bit of a renaissance of the heart.
Because, at the end of the day, the accusations are all true. We are just jealous. And fat. And ugly, poor, viciously destructive blobs who can only cope with the grim reality of our own lives by tearing down other people. We're not just Satan's minions; we eat his leg shavings, toasted and topped with fresh sweat-butter.
And so, Go Hug Yourself has been born. We want to put good out there in the world and celebrate everything wonderful -- from hugs to love to puppies to Little House on the Prairie. Snark is a thing of the past; sarcasm is dead. We're in a new millenium now, so it's time to turn this Earth into one giant ball of affection.
We hope you'll ride along with us in our crusade to make the world a better place. Because really, isn't that what the Internet is all about?