Double the Decaf

I don't follow.

There are two different kinds of things I do not understand. There are those things that we don't know, but we can learn after a chat with our friends and family, turning on the TV or searching trusted online sources, like Wikipedia and Google. Then there are those things I've accepted I will never understand, such as why a Big Bird killer is in the running for president and why decaffeinated coffee exists. Since my absentee ballot for Big Bird is in the mail, I'll peck decaf.

New Xtina: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

When I started The Cackling Hen, I envisioned this little cackle column to primarily take a peck at pop culture and silly celebrities. Then things like the election and my own life derailed that idea, and The Hen evolved into an unpredictable column! While Hens on Ice and Republicans have often been the pecking bags lately, it's time to go back to The Cackling Hen's early intentions. With a new song and video, let's take a peck at Christina Aguilera.

I wish my last album sold better.

Christina has not gone unscathed from The Hen. She got a good peck back when The Hen lived in USFSP's Crow's Nest. Check out when Christina made the anthem her own. Since getting creative with the national anthem, Christina joined The Voice as a judge, gained 40 pounds and got into drag makeup. Now she has a new music video - her first since her not-so-successful Bionic album.

Romney is Worse Than Colonel Sanders

New debate: who gets the drumstick?

Last week was the first of too many presidential debates between President Obama and Mitt Romney. In an effort to distance myself from political commentary and lower my blood pressure, I opted for a sassy dinner out with hen friends over watching the debate. I will admit I did check my Twitter feed just long enough to scream across the table for five seconds, yelling five profanities about the debate's absurdity, but other than that, it was a lovely dinner of cackles and Thai food.

When I returned after some chicken dance and cocktails, I glanced at the news(feed) to look for a brief summary of any hot topics, outrageous quotes or fist fights from the debate. I was shocked to see numerous headlines with both Mitt Romney and Big Bird. What the hell is going on? Those two have as much in common as Steve Martin and Queen Latifah in Bringing Down the House. But there are no zany antics or Betty Whites in these headlines.

Just a Country Hen

After leaving Slaughterville, aka Louisville, the Hens on Ice troop has arrived in Nashville, Tennessee. Thankfully this city pays hommage to wholesome country music, not butchering innocent chickens. I may not be a country music fan, but I sure prefer it over the sound of a KFC deep fryer. It's all about perspective.

Where's the Carrie exhibit?

Today I broadened my horizons and ruffled my feathers by visiting the Country Music Hall of Fame. I may not have known about any of the country music legends other than Carrie Underwood, but I did know that I liked Carrie Underwood. I followed her entire journey on season 4 of American Idol. I couldn't wait to relive that journey, as I was sure it'd be a special exhibit.

Face to Beak with a Killer

fluttering around Louisville

Today started as a lovely day off in Louisville, Kentucky. I explored the city and the riverfront area with some hen friends, enjoying the warm, crisp sunshine and seeing new surroundings. We had an outdoor patio lunch on the river of seafood, feed and cocktails. The setting was perfect - it seemed that the day would stay that way.

After another one or four hours of fluttering through the Louisville streets, we stopped into the tourism bureau to find a store where we could buy more feed. And there in the seemingly harmless room filled with toy horses and baseball bats stood the grim reaper of cackling hens: Colonel Sanders.

It's Always Sassy in Huntsville

The Cackling Hen had been flying high for a while - getting a record-breaking four comments and double digit page views. Clearly just one hit post away from being covered on TMZ, The Cackling Hen had to get off the typewriter and back on the ice for live performances of Hens on Ice. Once again, performing for chicks and their parental roosters got in the way of my internet stardom.

The Hens survived two busy weeks of shows, rehearsals, visits from the Hens on Ice cocks of the walk, and presentations for understudy roles of various animals and poultry. I questioned if I could pull off the roles of Rubber Duckie or lead asparagus, but after nights of practice and watching National Geographic documentaries, I was ready. Hopefully now I'll have less mornings waking up in an anxious sweat, muttering Rubber Duckie's lines to myself.

A Million Dollar Beak

Whitestrip or pregnancy test?

After years of debate, I have given in to a life-changing product in hopes to fly from my modest, middle class status to a slightly less modest, middle class status. I bought a pack of Crest Whitestrips to add some new shine to my beak.

Many of my hen friends have used Whitestrips and have had successful results. I've hemmed and hawed - is it worth the $20? Do I have $20? Will it work? Am I giving in to a superficial society? Is it a tax write off? Where are my keys? But rooming with Sasha Hen, who uses them and has an especially white beak, I went for it. And if I had any problems, she could help me.

Back on the Icy Road

Hidalgo's Statue of Liberty

The hens are back on the ice. We won't be touring any of Europe or Mars, but we will be taking our show to many of America's cultural hot spots, such as Tupelo, Mississippi and Hidalgo, Texas. We just don't have the time for New York or L.A.

During last year's European tour, we had to adapt to European culture and coups. We learned some of the native language - British English - and we squished our feathers and seeds into the "cozy" confines built for hens a foot shorter than ourselves. We will now be touring North America, and although we just began the rehearsals, we are readapting to American life. Here are a few things these hens will need to get used to again.

A Farewell to Luxury

Last week, I bid farewell to an old, loyal friend. No one died, and I didn't defriend him from Facebook over too many political comments. I sold him because I met someone better.

refusing to accept his real age

I sold my first and only car, known by all friends as The Luxury Sedan. It got its fancy name fittingly from its many luxurious features, including manual, roll-up windows and two doors for five seats. The Luxury Sedan was just too luxurious to tolerate electric locks, cruise control or a tachometer.

When I got the car at age 16, I always imagined being the only owner, driving it until it drove no more. But when my grandma recently moved to Florida, she decided not to drive anymore and offered me her car if I'd sell my old friend and give her the money. At first I refused. How could I sell my old, loyal friend for a younger, fancier friend? No way.

Hashtag Olympics

No, Mitt Romney! No!

The Olympics are happening as we speak. Every two years we see the world's best athletes in hot and cold sports fly onto our radars and make us yell at the TV with national pride. With the presidential election just around the corner, I'm also yelling at the political ads in between events with national disgust. There's a lot of yelling.

Maybe it's because I went through a journalism and media studies program. Maybe it's because I'm in between work and spend idle summer days flapping around the coup. Maybe it's because of the onslaught of social media adding to the coverage. And maybe it's all three plus low blood sugar, but the commentary and coverage of the events is driving me mad. More yelling!