Over the years, I've taken something of an interest in the Kennedy family. (Maybe "have had a sick obsession with all things Kennedy" is a little more accurate.) I'll read anything about any of them, from Ted Kennedy's autobiography to Rose Kennedy's chauffeur's tell-all book (I'm not even making that up). So I've formed my own opinion on who really shot President John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Join me as I take a look at some of the theories that have been proposed over the years, won't you?

1. Lee Harvey Oswald was the lone gunman. 
Are you kidding? Have you not seen JFK, the Oliver Stone movie in which Kevin Costner replays the Zapruder film over and over while chanting "Back, and to the left. Back, and to the left . . ."? He's referring to the way Kennedy's head moves upon being shot. One of the shots clearly came from the front, because when you're shot from behind, like perhaps from the Texas Book Depository, your head would snap forward. Not back, and to the left. Plus, I've read the Warren Commission Report, and it should be classified as a fiction novel. Add to that the fact that just about everyone who testified for the Warren Commission said afterwards that their statements had either been changed or omitted entirely in the report, and you can start to see the problem. You know who sat on the Warren Commission? Gerald R. Ford. The same president who thought the line "I'm a Ford, not a Lincoln" was absolutely hilarious. 
I think we can safely dismiss the "Oswald acted alone" theory as crap.

2. The Mafia did it.
Back in 1960, Papa Joe Kennedy made a few "under the radar" or "highly suspicious and definitely illegal" dealings with some organized crime members. Joe just wanted to get his son elected president, no matter what. After the election, JFK's brother, Bobby, was named Attorney General. Cries of nepotism aside, he was actually a pretty good choice, and did his job well. A little too well. Bobby Kennedy made it his personal mission to unearth and destroy all factions of organized crime in the United States. As you might imagine, Sam Giancana was less than pleased. But would this really drive him to assassinate the President of the United States?
Sure, Jack Ruby had some mob ties. Sure, some witnesses have come forward to say there was a mob contract out on both Kennedy brothers. Sure, those same witnesses have now died or disappeared under suspicious circumstances. But here's what I know: Italian men are very big on family. I mean, La Cosa Nostra was built on families. I just don't believe that they'd shoot the father of two young kids, especially since family was also pretty darn important to the Kennedys. It would be like shooting one of their own. And who ever heard of the mafia killing one of their own? Ridiculous.

3. Militant Cuban Exiles did it.
I found this fun fact on Wikipedia: 
With the 1959 Cuban Revolution that brought Fidel Castro to power, thousands of Cubans left their homeland to take up residence in the United States. Many exiles hoped to overthrow Castro and return to Cuba. Their hopes were dashed with the failed Bay of Pigs Invasion in 1961, and many exiles blamed President Kennedy for the failure.

Motive? Sure. Anger at our government? Absolutely. However, I think the militant Cuban exiles might have been a bit more preoccupied with another target. Say, Fidel Castro, the guy who drove them out of Cuba in the first place. If I'm upset with the way my homeland is being run, I'm not going to shoot the guy who runs the neighboring country. It's just common sense.

4. LBJ did it.
Lots of people think that Lyndon Baines Johnson had something to do with the President's untimely demise. Sure, he hated Bobby Kennedy, and it has been said that he was unhappy being Vice President, and wanted the big seat. However, this is the same guy who allowed himself to be photographed lifting his beagle up by the ears, and showing off his gallbladder surgery scar, leaving the indelible image of a paunchy presidential gut burned into the retinas of all Americans. Does this sound like the actions of a mastermind of assassination? Didn't think so. Totally implausible. Next!

5. The CIA did it.
You can hammer me with every detail you want to about how the CIA hated Kennedy, was furious with him over his reluctance to escalate the situation in Vietnam, and how Kennedy said he wanted to "splinter the CIA into a million pieces." This is not proof enough to me that the CIA killed Kennedy. Let me instead tell you a story of a man, a woman, and a CIA official.
This may come as a shock to some of you, but JFK was a bit of a philanderer. I know, you say no way, but sadly, it's true. The man was a horn dog. And one of his many, many, many concubines was a pretty blond woman named Mary Meyer.
Mary was a wealthy socialite who hung in the same circles as our beloved President. She was artistic, smart, and witty. What hot-blooded president wouldn't jump at the chance to sleep with her? Repeatedly?
Here's the thing. Mary's ex-husband was CIA official Cord Meyer. After their son died in 1958, Mary left her husband and jumped into the arms of JFK.
Who knows what Cord was thinking or feeling? My guess is he was feeling pretty darn mad, or "ready to kill the S.O.B. that's sleeping with my wife, president or no." If only he had the resources to kill the guy and cover it up! But wait! Maybe his employer, who also hated the guy sleeping with Mary Meyer, might be able to suggest something. Do I have proof that Cord Meyer went to his boss and said "let's kill that horn dog 'til he's dead?" No. But I have my suspicions.
Interesting conspiracy-filled side note: Mary Meyer was subsequently murdered in 1964, and her murder was never solved. Also, when her family went to go find her diary in her apartment, the CIA was already there, looking for the same diary. Proof that the CIA was a murderous bunch of president-killing snipers. (In their defense, I don't think they still are. I grew up with a girl who is now in the CIA, and she's delightful.)

So there you have it. Irrefutable proof that the CIA killed Kennedy. I don't know why this is so hard for people to figure out. 

The internet exploded yesterday with incredible news that had everyone talking. Was it the use of chemical weapons in Syria that had everyone angered? Or perhaps people were concerned about the wildfire currently burning out of control at Yosemite National Park? Heck, no. It seems that people are stunned and outraged at the news that Ben Affleck has been cast as Batman in the next Superman movie. Honestly, people. Your priorities are terrible.
"But look at Daredevil!" You cry. "It was awful!" Sure it was a stinker, but is this Affleck's fault? Aren't there a few other people to blame for this? I personally think the script writer, director, producer, Jennifer Garner, and the key grip might share some of that blame. (But not Michael Clarke Duncan. He is never to blame, because he was wonderful.) Blaming Ben Affleck for Daredevil is like blaming Ronald McDonald when you get a bad cheeseburger. Neither one of them is really running the show. Know what movie I really like? Dazed and Confused. Ben was in that, too. But everyone knows that Affleck is not the reason why that movie was so wonderful. That's just ridiculous.  Matthew McConaughey is the reason why that movie was awesome.
Think that the personal betrayal you are feeling over the casting of Batman is something new? Let me take you back in time. The year was 1995. Michael Keaton, the Batman of all Batmans, had dropped out of Batman Forever. The world was in chaos. Jerry Garcia dropped dead over it. (What? Do you actually know that this isn't what killed him? What else could it possibly have been?) The powers that be chose someone different (gasp) for the role. That's right. Val Kilmer would now don the cape and bat ears.
You want to talk about outrage? Anger? The end of the world as we know it? The masses were furious. Val Kilmer? The Iceman? The guy who won a Chicago Film Critics Association Best Actor Award for his portrayal of Jim Morrison in The Doors? Who was this hack?
Well, you can imagine what happened. The movie came out, made a ton of money, and nobody cared that Batman was now Val Kilmer. That's right: nobody cared. They were too distracted by the nipples on the Batman costume to really criticize Kilmer's performance.
So there you go. History has a way of repeating itself, and here we are again, struggling to come to grips with a new face behind the Bat Mask. Sure, a mass grave with bodies of adolescent children was just discovered near Mexico, but is that really important? Apparently not. Our priority now is to discuss what, exactly, Batman's costume is going to look like in Batman vs. Superman. Because that's what really matters.

Here I am, midway through 40, and I'm fading fast. Everything on my body is falling apart. My midsection is spreading at an alarming rate, my eyesight is so bad that I have constant migraines, and of course, aspirin doesn't help, because the printing is so small on the bottle that I took Pepcid for three days thinking it was Advil. The headache stayed, but on the plus side, I haven't had heartburn in a week.
The failing eyesight has proven to be the biggest problem so far. I'm having the hardest time shaving my legs, because I can no longer see the hair, and wind up missing big patches. I've resorted to the "feel as I go" method, which is depressing, because now I realize I should've been moisturizing my legs along with my neck all of these years. The good news is, if they ever need a stand-in for Godzilla's legs, I'm a shoo-in.
Trying to lose weight has been a lot of fun, too. I keep hearing my friend Helen in my head. "Wait until you turn 40," she always said to me, when I was merrily clueless in my 30s. "It's soooo hard to lose weight after 40." What Helen should have said was "you can eat all of the carrots, cucumbers, and green beans you want. Once you turn 40, even the thought of a Double Stuf Oreo will cause the scale to jump three pounds." The good news is, most of the over-40  clothes that I like at J.C. Penney are roomy throughout the waist and hip area. I'm sure these loose, sensible blouses make me look pregnant . . . though nobody's asked me lately when I'm due. I'm not sure if I should be thankful or depressed about that!
It's not just my body that's giving in to middle age. It's my mind, too. I guess it's okay that I can't read anything anymore unless I take my glasses off, because when I open People magazine, I don't know who anybody is in there that they're talking about. When I was at my optometrist's office recently, I was so excited to find a magazine with someone I recognized on the cover. There was Gloria Estefan, looking smoking' hot . . . on the cover of AARP magazine.
Ditto for today's music. I can't stand most of it (though I love Pink. She's good. I'll have to ask my 13-year-old nephew if she's "cool" or if she's singing "old people music.") I find myself tuning in to the 'lite' station, because they play 80s music all weekend. I am happy to report that Boy George, George Michael, and none of the members of Duran Duran qualify for AARP membership yet. I'm using that little fact to reassure myself that they are still young and hip, like me.
There are some perks to being over 40, however. Nobody makes fun of me when I wear a belly bag. (My sister and I go walking a lot, and I need something to carry my keys and phone in. It's a fashion statement, really.) I think they assume it's expected at my age. Also, I can play old arcade games like Pac-Man and Pitfall against my nephews and still beat them occasionally. That's right: we were the generation that test-drove those mindless games you young 'uns are playing on your iPods today! And I have no problem marching into a dressing room and trying on a bathing suit while wearing knee highs. Something like that would've mortified me ten years ago. Now, I'm just happy that the knee highs are hiding that huge swatch of hair that I missed on the back of my ankle while shaving.
Also, sometimes when I go to Shop Rite on Senior Citizen Tuesday, they give me the senior discount by accident. Normally, that would make me cry, but I'm big on saving money, so I don't complain. (Ten percent off! That's nothing to sneeze at.) 
Probably the most reassuring thing about turning 40 is going on Facebook. There, I can see what all my high school friends are up to these days. It usually cheers me up, because every day I see all of them turning 40, too.

What do writers do when they're struggling with blog ideas for the week? They create lists, of course. This week: the ten sexiest actors ever, according to me.

10. Brad Pitt
Am I shallow? Sure. He's pretty to look at. He comes in at #10, however, and not higher, because I don't like how he treated his ex-wife. But, I repeat, he sure is pretty to look at. How's his acting? Who knows? I've never paid much attention.

9. Chris Hemsworth
You'll sense a pattern here. Namely, the "sure is pretty to look at" pattern. I actually had to look this guy's name up for this list. Ironically, I don't find him that sexy when he's not in a skirt, dressed up as Thor. And the long hair--I totally dig the long hair. Which is ironic, because three of the guys on this list have no hair. But I digress. Thor: sexy as heck.

8. Gary Cooper
Finally! A sexy actor who could actually act! But why is he only at #8? Because Coop, for all of his fabulousness, did not treat his wife very well either. He cheated on her all the time. So while I'll always love you, Mr. Deeds, I can't condone that kind of behavior.

7. Vin Diesel
This man is hot. Sooo hot. Plus, he can kick Brad Pitt's butt. Sure, you're thinking, but I'm pretty sure that guy in the Thor skirt could act circles around Vin Diesel, and that's not saying much. Who cares? Vin Diesel could snap that guy in half! The list says sexy, people, not talented. Go on. I'll give you a moment to admire his picture a little more.

6. Dwayne Johnson
Sexy, and I would argue that he's not a bad actor, either. Sure, he's no Ian McKellen on the screen (brilliant, but not that sexy) but he's kind of funny. Also, if you ever watch an interview with him, he's got a fun and likable personality. Two yums up.

5. Michelle Rodriguez
I find Michelle Rodriguez to be one of the sexiest and kick-a** woman to ever grace the silver screen. I can't get enough of this woman. My biggest problem is that she's usually killed off in every movie she appears in (though not Machete, which is why I'll be seeing the sequel on opening night). Can she act? Why are you people so hung up on that one minor detail?
Interesting side note: One of my all-time favorite movies is Fast & Furious 6, which should surprise nobody considering this and the previous two entries on this list.

4.  Sam Elliott
I'm not talking about Sam Elliott circa 2013. He's three years older than my dad, and that's just icky. I'm talking about Sam Elliott circa Frogs. The older I get, the more I like Sam Elliott circa Tombstone, too. He's a cowboy. Cowboys are sexy. Plus, he's usually one of the good guys. And he's got that gravelly voice. Good guy cowboys with gravelly voices are HOT.

3. Yul Brynner
Yul Brynner was incredibly sexy. I'm not talking about Yul Brynner in his later years, when he was croaking out anti-smoking commercials. That Yul Brynner was gross. I'm talking about Yul as the smoldering Rameses in The Ten Commandments. Honestly, I don't blame him for resenting Moses so much. After all, Rameses was the handsome, royal heir to the Egyptian throne, yet Moses got all the glory and the chicks. Doesn't seem fair to me. 

2. Denzel Washington
He's a fabulous actor, a genuinely decent human being, and beautiful to look at. Anyone who dares to disagree with those statements deserves to spend an eternity in hell, watching Vin Diesel movies. Denzel Washington is practically perfect in every way. Sexy, sexy, sexy!

1. Marlon Brando
Look. At. This. Man.
Marlon Brando was so sexy that other, lesser actors were able to make a decent living imitating him even though they couldn't act (I'm looking at you, James Dean). He was sensitive, brooding, and brilliant. As Stanley Kowalski, Terry Malloy, or Don Vito Corleone, he was fascinating and seductive. (Maybe not so much seductive as Don Vito. But still enthralling.)
Sure, he got a little obese and bizarre as he got older, but he still managed to captivate his audience (remember The Freshman? Or The Island of Dr. Moreau? Fabulous! And weird.) Marlon Brando is still my favorite actor of all time, no matter how many men in Thor skirts you throw at me. He was an acting genius. And gorgeous.

So there you have it. My ten sexiest actors of all time. Disagree with me if you like; I don't care. I filled a whole blog post, and got to talk about Brando and Brynner, so I'm happy. See you next week!

Nobody's perfect, right? That's what they say, and although I like to think I'm pretty darn close to perfect, I'm not. I guess. That's what I've been told.
In fact, I have a few habits that some heathens have pointed out can be construed as a tad bit ... annoying. I consider them endearing myself, but everyone's entitled to their own (misguided) opinion. Here are a few that have rankled people over the years:

1. I tend to correct other people's grammar. In public. Repeatedly.
Jason actually bears the brunt of this little habit, but I've done it to others. Here's a snippet of an actual conversation I had with a former friend:

Sally: I can only take so much. Blacken my eyes, break my ribs, fine. Irregardless, when he raised his hand to my 18-month-old, I decided enough was enough. I called the cops.

Me: Oh. My. God. How many times do I have to tell you "irregardless" is not a word?

She's not speaking to me anymore. I'm happy to report she did get that guy arrested and went on to meet a wonderful man who treats her like gold. I've only met him once, at which time I reminded him there's no "t" at the end of across. They never invite me over.

2. My head is chock full of trivia about serial killers, and I'm happy to share.
Yes, I'm that person, the one at the PETA rally who reminds everyone that Charles Manson is also a big animal lover, or the woman at the barbecue who announces that Jeffrey Dahmer used to hand out pulled "pork" sandwiches to his neighbors. I've read a lot of true crime, and for some reason, many of the minute details have stuck with me. I just have a hard time remembering that nobody really cares that Ted Bundy sometimes kept severed heads as mementoes of his crimes.

3. I am a serial flosser.
My dentist and I don't see this as a huge problem. I keep floss in my purse and have been known to whip it out whenever it's called for: in the movie theater, in a public restroom after eating corn on the cob, on the subway. I can't stand having anything stuck in my teeth, and certainly don't want to use a matchbook or my fingernail to get it out. That would be disgusting.

4. I can't stand to have my food mixed together on the plate. 
You'll never find me ordering shepherd's pie off the menu, but if you serve me a plate of ground beef, corn, and mashed potatoes in neat little separate piles on a plate, I'm happy. However, if even one stray kernel of corn finds its way into the mashed potatoes, there it will sit, uneaten. Who wants their corn coated in mashed potato? Ick!
I don't even have a good reason for this. It might be indicative of mental illness.

5. I could get lost driving out of my own driveway.
I like to think that because my mind is filled with so much trivia that this is why I can't find my way to the KFC down the road without getting lost. (You know who else was a big fan of Kentucky Fried Chicken? John Wayne Gacy.)  I've actually recognized landmarks when traveling through town because I've been lost there before. And don't tell me to use Siri or a GPS: they're not always right, you know. Just last week, Siri told me to drive straight on a dead end road, and now guess who has to pay the fees to have the Blackledge Golf Course reseeded? 

There you have it: my complete list of nasty habits. Love me, hate me, I am who I am. And if you ever need to know what brand of sneakers Richard Ramirez preferred, I'm your go-to gal.