Yo! Redux

home with a nasty cold....

2012-01-04T00:21:00.002-06:00

AND SO SICK OF BEING SICK I TELL YOU WHUT!

Anyhoo, have spent the last few days indulging in: a day of watching reruns of America's Next Top Model; the next day I watched all seven episodes of Grimm on Hulu - which I loved; then an all-day marathon of Mythbusters(because who doesn't love explosions?); and then today, every episode of Once Upon a Time aired to date. The dude who plays Prince Charming was the top student of a fella I did some museum bidness with last summer. His name - Josh Dallas - which sounds fake, is for real. It's like his parents KNEW he needed an actor name.

Srsly, sick. of. being. sick. Nyquil doesn't even put me to sleep any more.

crap on the television

2011-12-04T14:30:00.002-06:00

I am considering turning off any television show that features regular use of firearms. The militarization of the various crime-fighting units featured on some of my more favorite crime procedurals seems to me to be closely linked to the militarization of actual police in the world, the kind who respond to peaceful protests with SWAT-team aggression. I may have to make an exception for NCIS since they are, in fact, a military organization. And Mark Harmon is only getting hotter with age. How does that happen?

A while back I started turning off any television show as soon as I saw a hot dead chick, or a hot woman being assaulted in some way. I don't think I've watched an entire episode of Law & Order or CSI since. I don't miss them, to be honest.

The abundance of aspirational watch-people-shop TV shows is gross and boring. There are hundreds of hours of TV devoted to watching people buy real estate, wedding dresses, new wardrobes, the contents of storage units, and who knows what else. This kind of "watch people spend money" programming seems to me to be the modern depression analog to the wildly popular over-the-top musicals (Ziegfield follies et al) of the 1930s Depression. It's escapism for some, I guess, but I find it appalling. Also, watching people haggle at a pawn shop is incredibly boring. I kind of like the little historical interludes in Pawn Stars - sort of a low-rent Antiques Roadshow, really - but then the tedious and predictable haggling sequence follows, and, yawn.

Finally, as a thought experiment, I would love to see that awful Millionaire Matchmaker lady try to find a partner for an average-looking middle-aged woman who wants a hotty-boombalatty younger man to serve as arm-candy. Can you imagine a bunch of straight 30-ish dudes getting all tarted up to go stand in front of a panel and be judged and questioned as to whether he might possibly worthy of dating said average-looking middle-aged woman? Ha. Not gonna happen.

blah blah blah

2011-10-22T12:17:00.001-05:00

Boys are stupid.

Blah.

Why I'm not an anarchist

2011-10-19T20:44:00.002-05:00

Because anarchy in the patriarchy would actually be worse for women, in my view. Peek into a dudebro's mind to find out what he thinks "anarchy" would be like, and you'll see a nasty rapey world, all Mad Max and Thunderdome. Eff that. I'll take the U S Constitution over anarchy as long as I live in a rape culture, thankyouverymuch.

Am I a socialist? Kindasorta. Same problem applies: the same minority of white hetero able-bodied old white guys will still be decided who needs what, and who needs to give what. Guess who'll stay at the bottom of the food chain? Yeah, before revolution, chop wood carry water, after the revolution, chop wood carry water. On the plus side, the massive inequities in wealth would be eradicated and a lot more people would have an education, health care, a clean environment, and at least a decent shot at living the life they want to live. You can take the boy out of the government but you can't take the patriarchy out of the boy.

Thoughts on crying in public

2011-10-02T11:12:00.005-05:00

A week and a half ago, Ferris and I lost his battle with whatever was wrong with him. I tried everything reasonable, and in the end I had to say goodbye. This is the second time I've had to make that decision for a beloved pet, and it probably won't be the last. I cried almost from the minute I walked in the vet for our last visit all the way out the door, and home. And I remembered the day of my Grandma's funeral, when I did the same thing. I've noticed that public crying makes other people uncomfortable, and I used to try to control my crying, rein it in, in order to NOT make others uncomfortable. Somewhere along the way I said to myself: fuck it. I am sad, I am crying, and other people's fee-fees are really not my problem. So I let 'em flow. I never cry at work if I can possibly help it, but otherwise, I refuse to keep a lid on it for the sake of polite conformity. A cousin looked at me at Grandma's funeral and said, "We're going to have to get you alright." And I thought: why? What does it mean to you if I'm sitting here crying? Let me be. Just let me be.

I've been thinking about why I felt for so long that crying in public was shameful, embarrassing, to be avoided at all costs. I know that it's considered a sign of weakness in our culture - *girls* are crybabies, and "boys don't cry." Crying is a sign, particularly, of feminine weakness, and boys the world over are punished for crying. [Example: a guy I used to date who was beaten regularly by his dad from about age 8 to age 14 stopped getting beatings when he stopped crying and started getting angry. No lie. The guy is almost totally incapable of expressing his emotions or even knowing what they are or really feeling empathy. His dad beat it out of him. Literally.]

I then remembered my personal grammar school bully, let's call him Donny Anderson, because that was his name. He sat right behind me in the third grade. I was the new kid, I'd just skipped a grade, and I was nearly 2 years younger than everybody in class. I was 6, they were 7 and 8 years old. Donny was way bigger and taller than me. I don't remember why he made me cry the first time, but as soon as he realized he could bully me into crying, he did it as often as possible. He'd sit behind me and whisper mean things to me, and I'd tear up. Or he'd pull my hair so hard that I would involuntarily get tears in my eyes. Then he'd make fun of me for crying. He'd start making submarine sounds: "Whoop, whoop, it's gonna flood, get in the submarine!" Eventually I learned to not cry when he was being an asshole, and if I gave him a dirty look, he'd start with the 'whoop, whoop' submarine noises and talking about how I was crying, and then I'd get mad at him because I fucking well WASN'T crying, but he was pretending like I was. It was just infuriating. Truly, if I saw that guy right now, I'd punch him in the face. He tormented me for three long years. I spent an entire year with skinned knees because every time I walked past the kickball game, where he was usually pitching, he'd throw the fucking ball at me and knock me down. I had to walk past it to get to the water fountain, and eventually found a different route, but he found new and shitty ways to torment me. Seriously. I would walk up to him right now and punch him in the face if I could.

But wait. Let me get to the point: it was Donny Fucking Anderson that made fun of me crying, after he'd MADE me cry by being an asshole. It was right there, age 6, that I learned from a boy that girls were big crybabies, and weak, and that was a bad thing. I was tagged as a crybaby the whole three years I was at that school because of that asshole. And where did he learn it? At home, no doubt. One hopes he grew out of it, but what are the odds? We live in a culture where crying is shameful.

I'm not sure when or why or how I decided that I would fucking well cry in public if I need to, maybe it was when my Grandma died and there was no holding back the flow, or maybe before that, but now I cry when I need to. I don't let other people determine my behavior. I will cry at the vet, I will cry at funerals, and I will cry driving down the road. I will not hide my "weakness" - by which, I think, people mean my "emotions" - for the convenience of others. I hate this idea that having emotions, and showing them, is weak and feminine.

I also hate it when someone says or does something that makes me cry, and then blames ME for being "hypersensitive." Suddenly it's MY fault that I'm crying, not theirs. It's also infuriating. You want to see me turn into a howler monkey? Call crying "emotional blackmail," implying that the crying is just fakery, designed to manipulate. Or laugh at me when I'm crying. The emotionally abusive ex used to do both of those things. I honestly have never been so angry in my life as I was when he'd hurt my feelings so much I cried, and then he'd laugh because he thought I was "over-reacting." No, I was REACTING. Accusing me of dishonesty - of crying to manipulate - is the meanest thing someone can accuse me of. I have a lot of faults, but I am not a liar, and I am not a hypocrite. My mother used to accuse me of being hypersensitive, too. I think this is a way for people who have done hurtful things to disavow their responsibility for their meanness. They shift the blame to the victim. Hm, that sounds familiar: I get hurt, I cry, it's MY fault for responding to it. No bully has ever been really stopped by the stupid advice to "just ignore him" and "don't respond." They just raise their game, get meaner and meaner, in my experience. I left two schools in six years because of bullying. In junior high, it was girls. Kelly Revercomb and Julie Roseman, I hope you are googling yourselves and find this post. I hope Donny does too. All three of them were hateful little shitheads, bullies, and I wouldn't piss on them if they were on fire. Truly.

So I learned as a kid to try to hide my emotions, to not express them, but now, as an adult, I say to hell with that. If my emotions make you uncomfortable, that's YOUR problem, not mine. Bottling up emotions makes you sick. Makes ME sick. And I won't do it, not for anybody. So if you see somebody crying in public, don't think of them as weak. Think that they have finally decided they do not give a shit what you think about their emotions, because, really, it's none of your business. It's my business. I'm reclaiming crying in public. I HAVE reclaimed it.

fighting a losing battle.

2011-09-17T19:30:00.001-05:00

The Foo, my feline soulmate of twelve years, is ill. He is jaundiced, he is not eating, he is yakking up any medicine I give him, he's lost a bunch of weight, and $500 worth of vet visits and bloodwork has yielded no solid answers. Now it looks like he's got an eye infection. I can't tell you how many hours I have spent lying on the floor petting his head and weeping this week. If I can't get medicine into him, I can't help him at all. Tuna, chicken, milk, yogurt, wet food, you name it, all of his favorite foods, he won't eat it. I am an absolute wreck.

Here, let's see what the wingnuts in Mississippi are up to...

2011-09-08T16:04:00.001-05:00

The wingnuts have successfully managed to get a "Personhood" amendment on the Mississippi ballot this fall. I could go on and on about how incredibly fucked up it is that the voters will get to decide on a human rights issue - as in, taking away human rights from women of reproductive age - but I think I'll let Planned Parenthood do it for me:

INITIATIVE 26: EXTREME CONSEQUENCES FOR FAMILIES

If passed, amendment will have extreme consequences for women and children.

HATTIESBURG, MS --Today the Mississippi Supreme Court sent down a decision placing Initiative 26 on the 2011 general election ballot.

“Planned Parenthood is very disappointed that the court ruled to allow this clearly unconstitutional amendment to be placed on the 2011 general ballot,” said Kay Scott, CEO of Planned Parenthood Southeast, Inc., which covers Mississippi. “The Mississippi Constitution explicitly states that the initiative process cannot be used to change the Bill of Rights and Initiative 26 would do just that if it passes,” said Scott.

Scott said further, “Amendment 26 may sound sensible to some, but it will have extreme consequences for women and children. It may outlaw abortions, even if the woman's life is threatened or she's been raped. It’s so extreme it could even ban common methods of birth control like the pill and IUDs. This would mean more unintended pregnancies, putting families at risk, and women facing unhealthy and dangerous options. This would put government bureaucrats in charge of important life decisions when they should really be focusing on getting the economy back on track and getting their own house in order.”

###

Planned Parenthood is a trusted provider of high-quality, affordable health care and is a valued community partner in the Greater Hattiesburg area. PPSE is committed to helping make health care services available to those in need in communities across Georgia, Alabama and Mississippi. The regional administrative office is in Atlanta.

Here, let me explain south Mississippi to you.

2011-09-06T21:23:00.002-05:00

So I'm on Facebook, and I see a friend of a friend's profile picture and think: "I cannot possibly be seeing what I think I'm seeing." So I click on her name, and behold, let me describe to you the full redneck-ed-ness of her profile picture. She and her partner/bf/babydaddy/wev have gone to a photo studio in jeans. She is about 4-5 months pregnant, and they have taken off their shirts. They are posed with her in his arms, her to the right, him to the left, with his arm around her front (covering her boobs) and his other hand firmly clamped on her ass. Yes: this is the pose they chose at Olan Mills, or WalMart, or wherever it is they went to commemorate their young love, early pregnancy, and vibrant youth. He has a crappy tattoo on the bicep facing us (I'm sure this is on purpose, so we can see his awesomely crappy tattoo) and his hair has been doused with some sort of unguent and combed back so you can see exactly where the stylist did his highlights. Did I mention she is wearing low-rider maternity jeans so you can see the fullness of her baby bump?

Look, I am not one to judge her for getting pregnant so young. It's just the state of things in Mississippi, where there is no sex education and kids are taught that using birth control is as big a sin as fornication, so why double their sins when they decide to fuck while still in high school? [this accounts not only for our high teen pregnancy rate but also our awesomely high rates of gonorrhea, chlamydia, et al.] My objection is entirely in the realm of aesthetics and taste.

But, see, it's not just the poor aesthetic choice I am judging. No, it's not. There's more. And this is where my bitchy Southern lady hostess training goes into full effect. This kid, with her naked Olan Mills portrait AS HER FACEBOOK PROFILE, says to our mutual friend: "I'm rushing. Any words of advice?"

Which means, precious, that our heroine wants to join a sorority. Yes. And it has not occurred to her that her Portrait of Young Love? Is not what sororities are looking for. O. M. G. I almost - I swear to you - posted in that thread and said, honey, take that picture down if you want to get into a decent sorority.

And then I remembered how much I loathe the national Greek system, and that she's really going to be better off NOT joining a sorority (even though she thinks she wants that right now), and I let it pass.

And then I thought: what the fuck do I know about sororities in the 21st century in the buttcrack of Mississippi? Maybe they don't care if you put pictures of your semi-naked pregnant self on the internet?

And then! Bitchy Southern Lady Hostess-Trained Self thinks: oh holy fuck the Greek system has gone to hell in handbasket if this is appropriate behavior not only for young women in general, but also for sorority rushees?

Yes, I'm a fogey. I get that. But, jeez, kids, keep your naked pics off the internet. Especially if you want to join a sorority. And any sorority that's okay with your naked pic being on the internet? You don't want to join it.

Although, really, I'd advise against joining the Greek system under any circumstances. It's a conformity machine for women, and fraternities are, for the most part, a tool for turning semi-douchey young men into the douchiest, date-rapiest assholes they can be.

Unsolicited Advice Part Whatever

2011-08-02T15:22:00.003-05:00

[and a bit of brand-naming consumerism]

Some things that are working for me at the moment:

Smoked Sea Salt. On everything.

I am still in love with my Kenmore Calypso washer & dryer. High Efficiency, large loads, cost a fortune ten years ago (like maybe $1400?) but still going strong. I can do a month's laundry in four loads: lights, darks, sheets/towels, and delicates on the "ultra handwash" setting. Love. It.

Washing my hair with baking soda. My hair is cleaner, stays clean longer, it's cheap, easy, no plastic bottles or weird chemicals going into the landfill/water stream.

Started using vinegar as fabric softener. The vinegar smell is gone by the time everything leaves the dryer. Works to soften towels and get grease out. Cheap and genius, and really just as easy as using the other smelly stuff.

Just, fyi, amateur artists of my acquaintance...

2011-07-15T16:16:00.001-05:00

Really, it would be best if you not ask me what I think of your new paintings unless you want an honest answer. There are things I will make noncommittal noises about, but when it comes to art, I'm afraid you're going to get the unvarnished truth. Proceed with caution.

today in fat-hating....

2011-07-14T10:29:00.004-05:00

SO MUCH FAIL:

Should obese children be taken from their parents?

This article makes me sick to my stomach.

My thought is that being fat is not a reason to subject a child to the foster care system and being torn out of her family. It is also unreasonable to expect poor parents, especially those who live in food deserts, to be able to feed their children anything *but* what is available in their neighborhoods. This will turn into witch hunt going after poor, fat, mothers. Do we really want to burden the already inadequate foster care system with kids who are fat? This is just punishing fat kids. It's awful. I hate the very idea of it.

A blogger at the XX Factor is slightly more reasonable: ">"Let's put all the fat kids in health care. Real health care, not "we can't afford any visit with any local physician and the nearest doctor who takes the state child health insurance is an hour away and has a three-month-long waiting list and so we end up in the emergency room" health care."

Although she, too, thinks foster care is a viable solution. And she's dead wrong.

Here's part of the JAMA opinion piece - note that it's COMMENTARY, not SCIENCE -

State Intervention in Life-Threatening Childhood Obesity

Here's my problem: the OBESITY EPIDEMIC OMG people think that any extra poundage is life-threatening. Nobody is safe from the deathfat, yo! So where do we draw the line? When does it become acceptable to tear a kid away from her family, to take a child from her parents, because she's overweight? Ten pounds? Twenty? Fifty? Does the family have access to healthful affordable food? Is there anywhere safe in their neighborhood to play outdoors? Do the parents have any kind of information about nutrition that is useful for them? Is the kid in need of medical attention? Shit, maybe's she's just, you know, a fat kid who's perfectly healthy and happens to store fat on her person. A donut is not child abuse.

In which I confess

2011-07-03T14:09:00.002-05:00

My resolve has failed. I was determined to give up paying someone to clean my house, and so have not had a cleaner here in several months. This means my bathroom has only been cleaned in a desultory fashion, because I LOATHE cleaning the tub. HATE. IT. And today, readers, was the day I was going to finally do it, here on this three-day weekend, and my resolve to be a responsible adult and clean my own fucking bathroom: it failed. I have texted the cleaner to see if she will come this week.

Sigh.

If this were a tweet:
#firstworldproblems
#feminismfail

Dear Omnivores:

2011-06-28T09:51:00.003-05:00

For the record, omnivores, it is none of your fucking business what I eat, what I wear, or where I shop. Mind your own business and I won't regale YOU with tales of battery cages, veal barns, and slaughterhouses, mmmkay?

I am SO FUCKING SICK of drive-by anti-veg*an snark showing up in my life, like some bird just flew over and shit on my head. Really, people: MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. Argh.

And, just so you know, we've heard it all before:

Prom season

2011-05-24T21:00:00.002-05:00

'Tis prom season here in the ol' U.S. of A., and the subject seems to be circling around and around me lately. I recently heard from a younger friend that prom spending has become massive, and that teenagers think of prom as sort of 'practice weddings.' So, that information was revolting ENOUGH, when he proceeded to casually mention that they have a ritual where the boys take garters off their dates' legs with their teeth. A la the wedding garter ritual, except teenagers, en masse, and approved by the adultly authorities, believe it or not. This friend of mine graduated high school about 2000, and it was well-established by then.

No way, I thought: this is weird. This must be some stupid Buttcrack County ritual, and could hardly be normal nation-wide. But lo, I was wrong. I listened this weekend to the podcast of This American Life's prom episode, and a story produced in NINETEEN HUNDRED AND NINETY FIVE referred to this wedding-based prom ritual, in which teenage boys stick their heads between the sweaty thighs of their dates *ON THE DANCE FLOOR* and do this garter crap. When Ira Glass was surprised by this, a high school teacher said, "where have YOU been?" I was wondering the same thing myself: where the hell have I been that I didn't know this has been going on these fifteen years at least? Sixteen, even. Good gravy. I am a fogey. I am also a grossed-out radical feminist that does not approve of turning prom into a rehearsal for a wedding, along with the attendant expenses and heteronormativity and, of course, enforced couple-hood. of the wedding-industrial complex.

*Full Disclosure*: I attended several proms in my youth, but not my senior prom. I regret this decision NOT ONE WHIT. Furthermore, the proms I attended were at Catholic schools, and I would bet dollars to donuts that the Catholic schools still do not condone this sort of foolishness. Having one's date remove one's garter with his teeth is surely behavior reserved for the holy state of matrimony. Furthermore, there is absofuckinglutely no way I would've let some dude stick his face all up in my business in front of an entire hotel ballroom full of people.

Turns out Oreos are vegan.

2011-05-06T13:50:00.002-05:00

I consider this awesome news. Once upon a time, they were made with lard, and I was sad. For years, I would read the ingredients list, see "lard," and make a frowny face. And lo! One day! I turned over the package and saw NO "lard" and I was happy. Now, even better; no whey, so they're completely vegan.

No, I'm not 100% vegan, but I'm working on getting dairy & eggs out of my diet and figuring out an array of vegan food that tastes good. What I find when I start looking at vegan cooking websites is an obsession with desserts, which really, I hardly ever make and am not that interested in for myself, and an obsession with fake meats and meat-looking things. Like fake meat-loaf and fake turkey and...yuck. I don't like meat, so I certainly don't want fake meat. There are a few pre-made veg* burgers I'll buy in the frozen aisle, just to make a convenient lunch. Eeeevery so often I buy fake hotdogs or fake bacon because I'm craving those - like maybe twice a year. But on the whole I do not want a casserole that looks like a soupy southern chicken/rice/mushroom soup debacle. I don't want to sculpt my fake-meat ingredients into something resembling shepherd's pie or pot pie or whatever. I guess what I'm saying is: I don't see a lot of recipes for *vegetables* in the few vegan blogs I try to read. I'd rather do without a meat analogue entirely instead of focusing on a meat + three model. I mean, I'm sure I could find plenty of vegan recipes that do not involve dessert or fake meat, but those seem to be the two categories that get most of the attention out there. How many people regularly make cupcakes? Especially people that aren't parents of elementary-school kids?

Jazz Fest!

2011-05-04T14:59:00.001-05:00

NOLA!

That is all.

My middle name is "buzzkill"

2011-04-29T09:47:00.002-05:00

Feh: Royal Wedding. Why is America obsessed?* I am repelled by the wedding-industrial complex, grossed out and offended that anyone would spend $30 million on a wedding, generally opposed to marriage in the first place, and really, on top of it, MONARCHY WHAT THE FUCK? Seriously, it's the 21st century, and the US of A gets all squidgy over a "commoner" becoming a "princess"? Didn't we fight a fucking revolution about that monarchy crap? The whole construct of "nobility" is revolting. Yuck.

A lot of people I consider otherwise reasonable got up at the ass-crack (as in, before dawn) to watch a wedding that will TOTALLY get re-run over and over for the next three days. Baroo??

*this is a rhetorical question. The answer, obviously, is "Patriarchy."

career change?

2011-04-14T09:48:00.003-05:00

I'm working on an exhibition involved fashion photographs from the 1940s to the 1960s, and I'm finding the research kind of exciting. Suddenly I want to change paths and be a costume/fashion/textile historian. Well, maybe not so much the techniques of textile, because I cannot get excited about warps and wefts and dye techniques, but fabric and clothing and shoes are interesting to me. Also the ways in which fashion photographs changed over just those two decades - very interesting. I think there's room in costume history for gender analysis, especially when you mix it with photography, because not only are you dealing with the clothing designer's ideas about the garment, but then you have to take into account the point of view of the photographer, art director, and client. What is the message Vogue, or McCall's, or Harper's Bazaar is trying to deliver with this photo? Why pick that dress and that belt? Obviously, at the very base of the pyramid is the imperative: SELL MAGAZINES. Running a close second is: SELL GARMENTS. But then - there's this complex mix of messages, brands, desires, art and commerce.

I just watched "The September Issue" documentary about the development of Vogue's September issue in, I think it was about 2008, and although Wintour is clearly the final authority on all things Vogue right now, there are a lot of visions competing in that organization.

Part of me, of course, the elitist, wants to dismiss it all as puffery, vanity, commerce. But there is real gender analysis to be done here - and Marxist analysis - regarding the ways that fashion and fashion photography push the consumer and the consumer sometimes pushes back. Which is the cart? Which is the horse?

Succumbing to the ordinary

2011-04-07T22:55:00.002-05:00

I am watching as a friend succumbs to the ordinary, to the script that was laid out for him at birth by this dumbfuck town he was born into, and it is depressing as hell. Soon he will get a factory job, marry his dumbass redneck infant of a girlfriend, go to church twice a week, and raise more dumbass rednecks who think the likes of Glenn Beck aren't lying, poisonous sacks of shit. It's like watching somebody sink beneath the surface.

Jezebella on tour, Spring 2011

2011-04-06T10:02:00.002-05:00

I've been out and about lately. Went to Tulsa to visit some friends, where we drank Guinness in the streets at Kilkenny's Pub. Lovely ginger crowd, but the music wasn't Irish...wtf? Seriously, play some Irish music on St. Pat's day, eh?

Visited the Gilcrease Museum and the Philbrook Museum. I may have more to say about them later. I had some...ISSUES... with an American history exhibition at the Gilcrease. The continuing honky-fication of American history mystifies me. It's the 21st century, for fucks' sake, do we still have to act like the only Americans since 1492 were white guys? Criminy. Both museums had some stellar works, some mediocre works, and decent Native American art collections.

Went to Jackson, MS last weekend to see the Orient Expressed show at the MMA. Good idea, lovely installation, some great works by Robert Henri, William Merritt Chase, Hiroshige, and others. Also some kind of not-so-awesome Orientalist works which. I found the exhibition a bit lacking in its narrative.

Went to Hubfest in Hattiesburg a few weeks ago, volunteered with Planned Parenthood's info booth, drank some beer in the street, smelled a lot of meat-on-a-stick (gross) and decided that, really, funnelcake is the trashy poor relation of beignets and I'd rather just wait til I can have a beignet than eat such a poor substitute. I mean, you would think one fried dough products is the same as the next, but no, not really. Funnelcakes are too heavy and greasy, and probably fried in the same oil as corndogs and god-knows-what-all. Beignets are light and fluffy and not at all meat-tainted.

So: now I've talked myself into craving some beignets. Damn. And maybe a nice hunk of fry bread. Man, I love fry bread. I like the crispy southwestern kind with cinnamon on it, and the fluffy Choctaw kind with just a slightly sweet flavor, just out of the fryer...nom. Now my mouth is watering. Dammit.

Today in Anti-Fatty Bias

2011-03-14T11:07:00.003-05:00

A seemingly benign article about using surgery to improve sleep apnea.

Blah de blah, new surgery, fixes sleep apnea, yay....but wait! Keep reading!

"I wouldn't send a middle-age obese man for surgery as their first option," says Aurora. "I would say let's lose the weight; lets use CPAP and see a nutritionist; lets avoid the alcohol and let's see how you do." The apnea can probably be taken care of with these non-invasive techniques, she says, and invasive surgery can be avoided.

But when she sees a young, thin person with severe apnea, says Aurora, surgery might be the answer."

[my emphasis]

So, basically: if you're fat and have too much tissue blocking your throat, we're not going to offer you surgery to correct that. Because you know what causes big tonsils? Fatness. RIGHT.

No, wait, that's not right. Tonsils are what they are. You either have a dangerous, possibly fatal condition caused by large tonsils, or you don't. The size of your ass has nothing to do with that. So, hey, fuck you, Dr. Aurora. People like you are the reason fat people have ever-so-slightly shorter life expectancies than thin people. Because we are denied life-saving medical intervention and told to "lose the weight and then we'll think about it".

This is pure and simple discrimination against fat people. In this case, it's not just about an airplane ticket or a job interview. NO. This is life-threatening fat-hating. And it needs to end now.

How much does this chap my ass? A WHOLE METRIC FUCK-TONNE that's how much.

Unsolicited Advice #2

2011-03-10T13:35:00.003-06:00

Wooden clothes-pins, thus:

Handy little multi-purpose items. Love 'em. You can get a sack of a hundred for a couple of bucks.

- Save money on chip clips, use one of these instead to close sacks of chips, candy, or even your sack of flour or rice.

- Instead of buying fancy skirt hangers and whatnot, just use them (as they were intended) to clip clothes onto your regular plastic hangers. They're wooden, with round holes, don't clip too tight, so they don't leave marks on your clothes.

- Paint a decorative color and stick to the wall with double-stick tape or poster putty to hold papers - like, letters that need to go out, or coupons, or notes to people in the house.

- Clip together bunches of paper when you're working on a big, paper-intensive project that needs organizing.

For pennies per clothespin, you're getting a lot of handy uses out of them.

I am really sad that I'm missing Mardi Gras this year.

2011-03-07T10:41:00.002-06:00

Normally, I don't miss it, but I got a taste of it last weekend and I'm all irritable that I can't take off three days and go play in the streets.

Mark Twain: "It has been said that a Scotchman has not seen the world until he has seen Edinburgh; and I think that I may say that an American has not seen the United States until he has seen Mardi-Gras in New Orleans."

new blog crush

2011-03-07T10:36:00.001-06:00

How adorable is this boy?

"Dangerous Fat Activist. Humorless feminist. Pedantic Liberal. Sometimes dressed in white."

Go, read his words at his blog: Red No. 3

male voice/female voice

2011-02-22T20:17:00.003-06:00

I just witnessed a remarkable, yet everyday, example of male privilege, that I thought was pertinent to the ongoing radfem arguments about the ways in which trans*women may or may not retain male privilege.

To paraphrase, a young (21-year-old) transwoman who recently came out as trans said she goes to a discussion group once a week, where she noticed that the boys dominated the discourse, and women were ignored. So, what was her solution? Switch back to what she called her "boy voice, the one [she] used before [she] came out as trans". Here, in a nutshell, is where the male privilege still resides with the transwoman: at this point in her life, she has the option to switch her gender presentation up and have her voice heard in a way that a born-woman does not. There is no milieu in which my voice will be heard as anything but a woman's voice. Eventually, if this young woman transitions fully, and moves into a community where no-one knew her as male, she'll lose that option, but for now, she just easily picked up the mantle of male privilege as it suited her.

And this is where the sticky wicket is for me and so many other radfems when it comes to residual male privilege. I don't wish to ignore the many, many ways in which trans*folk are discriminated against, and I suppose I can concede to the ways in which my born-female-ness comes with a degree of privilege over that of trans*women. Yet that little act of switching up in order to be heard is at the heart of the issue for me. Trans*women, for a time, and for as long as they choose, can opt to present as male and use that male privilege they were given at birth.

That for me is the very core of what makes born-women different from trans-women. Not better, not worse, but surely not the same. I am okay with a broad definition of gender and a broad definition of biological sex, but I'm simply not comfortable with or able to pretend that the life experiences of transwomen are the same as those of women born into femaleness.

To me, one of the primary goals of radical feminism is to do away with the gender binary altogether. Meaning all activities, all attires, all personality traits, all body shapes are simply *human*. Not female, not male; not masculine, not feminine. They just ARE, the way brown eyes are un-gendered. The way knees are un-gendered. And this is why I resist the idea that a person who wishes to have long hair and wear dresses should have to feel like they must be female if they have those desires. I, a born woman, am not that fired up about high heels and cosmetics and poufy hair. Does this make me less of a "woman"? Sadly, to some people, it does. To the Pentecostals around here, my pants-wearing and short hair make me pretty much the whore of babylon. My ongoing and futile resistance to the performance of femininity makes it very, very difficult for me to understand why anyone would fight for the right to perform femininity. To me, it's artificial, constructed, oppressive, patriarchal. I resent being judged as "less" because I don't pouf up my hair and wear makeup and pantyhose. Why on earth would ANYONE fight for that right? I honestly don't get it.

I don't have to, fortunately. I am totally down with people looking, dressing, acting however they want, as long as they're not assholes and they don't tell me what to do or how to dress, and if a person says "Hey, I'm not a boy any more, I'm a girl," then alright, that's fine. Name yourself, and I will respect that. Because we live with the gender binary and people, unfortunately, have to pick one or suffer negative consequences for their genderfuckery. I just wonder, without the gender binary, how many people would opt for hormones and cosmetic surgery and all of the intense body-modification that goes on in order to transition. I know a few transgendered folks who haven't opted for medical intervention. I wish it was easy for them to make that choice. I am not entirely convinced that body modification can turn a male body into a female body. It can make a body more comfortable for a person who feels "female" on the inside, but in the end, am I nothing more than a man with extra estrogen, boobs, and a hole instead of a pole?

The contradiction between desiring the end of gender and having grown up as a woman within the gender binary is kind of disorienting. I want to resist the idea that I am nothing more than a man with slightly different parts. I don't think it works the other way 'round, either: a female body doesn't become male through body modification. I guess what it comes down to is that I do believe you can change your gender identity, but I don't believe you can change your biological sex, and I don't believe you can entirely rid yourself of the gender identity you were given at birth.

in which I complain about Valentine's Day

2011-02-09T10:08:00.003-06:00

Why? It is a holiday designed to sell stuff to people in relationships, and to make people not in relationships feel like shit.

Furthermore: blood diamonds; roses picked by slave labor; chocolate picked by child labor; you see where I'm going with this, right? The "little luxuries" of the holiday are paid for in pain and suffering.

And, of course, the bullshit "give her a diamond and she'll fuck you" script; the "give her an ugly diamond pendant and she'll think you actually put some thought into this crappy holiday" script; the "buy her something at the last minute once a year and you're done being nice for a whole year" script.

Also: the commercial holiday is built on the Catholic holiday that was itself built on top of the Roman holiday of Lupercalia, which wasn't exactly fluffy kittens and sweethearts. More like blood and lust:

The festival was held every year, on the 15th of February,a in the Lupercal, where Romulus and Remus were said to have been nurtured by the she-wolf; the place contained an altar and a grove sacred to the god Lupercus (Aurel. Vict. de Orig. Gent. Rom. 22; Ovid. Fast. II.267). Here the Luperci assembled on the day of the Lupercalia, and sacrificed to the god goats and young dogs, which animals are remarkable for their strong sexual instinct, and thus were appropriate sacrifices to the god of fertility (Plut. Rom. 21; Servius ad Aen. VIII.343).b Two youths of noble birth were then led to the Luperci, and one of the latter touched their foreheads with a sword dipped in the blood of the victims; other Luperci immediately after wiped off the bloody spots with wool dipped in milk. Hereupon the two youths were obliged to break out into a shout of laughter. This ceremony was probably a symbolical purification of the shepherds. After the sacrifice was over, the Luperci partook of a meal, at which they were plentifully supplied with wine (Val. Max. II.2.9). They then cut the skins of the goats which they had sacrificed, into pieces; with some of which they covered parts of their body in imitation of the god Lupercus, who was represented half naked and half covered with goat-skin. The other pieces of the skins they cut into thongs, and holding them in their hands they ran through the streets of the city, touching or striking with them all persons whom they met in their way, and especially women, who even used to come forward voluntarily for the purpose, since they believed that this ceremony rendered them fruitful, and procured them an easy delivery in childbearing. This act of running about with thongs of goat-skin was a symbolic purification of the land, and that of touching persons a purification of men, for the words by which this act is designated are februare and lustrare (Ovid. Fast. II.31; Fest. s.v. Februarius). The goat-skin itself was called februum, the festive day dies februata, the month in which it occurred Februarius, and the god himself Februus.

a brief review based on limited exposure

2011-01-31T21:46:00.003-06:00

I've watched a few minutes here and there of "Heavy" the new "Intervention"-style exploitation/documentary about extremely obese people. It's essentially the same freak show masquerading as "help" that you find on Intervention, Hoarders, Cheaters, etc.

And I've noticed something. Women become unacceptably fat, and in need of intervention, at about 300-350 lbs. Men reach that level around 500-550 lbs. Men can be TWO HUNDRED POUNDS FATTER before reality show folks deem them dangerously obese enough (or, um, freakish enough, depending on how you're feeling about these shows) to need help.

Unsolicited Advice #1

2011-01-28T10:06:00.003-06:00

In the wake of my recent spate of domestic goddess-icity, I've been rather productive on the home front. I live on a meager budget, but I like things to be tidy, organized, and efficient. My house is small, with a tiny kitchen and tiny bathroom. I've lived in it almost ten years and have come up with some household-y solutions that I'm rather fond of, so when I think of them, I'll post them as "Unsolicited Advice" posts.

Today: cheap chopsticks as multi-tool. Get you a package of 20-30 cheap plastic chopsticks. I found mine for a dollar at Hudson's Treasure Hunt, when they had a Chinese restaurant supply stock for half-off. I have most of mine in the kitchen, where I use them to stir, poke, and flip various foodstuffs and beverages. They wash easily, cost so little that if they get icky you can toss 'em, and work beautifully to stir your sugar into your iced tea, flip a tortilla in a skillet, or poke a hole in a casserole to see if it's done.

I also keep a few in the toolbox for poking purposes. Need to clear the lint out of your outdoor dryer vent? Done. Need to pick a wad of hair out of the bathtub drain? Done. (The time I did that, I threw the chopstick away. I couldn't bear the thought of it accidentally finding its way back into the kitchen drawer). Need to stir a small jar of touch-up paint? Done.

I am all about multi-use items in my wee kitchen. One-function gadgets are few and far between at my house, because who has room for a bunch of one-function items? Give me a cast-iron skillet, a saucepan and a stockpot, and I can make pretty much anything. (Okay, so I can't make waffles at home. Do I want a groovy Belgian waffle maker? Yes, I kind of do. Do I *need* one? Gawd, no. Do I have room for one? Not no, but HELL no.)

A quick Google shopping search shows the above package to be about $3 for 20 chopsticks. That looks more or less like the one I bought. I'm sure you can find them at your dollar store or discount store if you keep an eye out, rather than paying shipping.

I had a dream about shoes last night.

2011-01-27T11:47:00.002-06:00

In the dream, I was hanging out in the basement from "That 70s Show", albeit not with the cast. And someone left a very tall, very red pair of strappy red heels there, with a high back heel and a platform in the front. I mean, the kind of shoe that in real life, would cause me to fall over and break an ankle within minutes. The kind of shoe that, even if I managed to avoid falling over, would be incredibly painful. That I wouldn't wear because they're impractical and you have to take baby mincing steps in them and watch the ground constantly so as to make sure you don't fall over from stepping on uneven pavement. Yeah, that kind of shoe. TALL.

In the dream, I put them on, and they were comfortable and easy to walk in.

Clearly, I have been spending way too much time noodling around the Manolosphere.

Jezebella on Tour: Vicksburg

2011-01-25T09:27:00.002-06:00

Last Friday I hied forth, northward, to Vicksburg, Mississippi, to visit Margaret's Grocery, a folk art environment/church/installation art/yard show created by one Revered H.D. Dennis and his late wife Margaret. Reverend Dennis has now moved into some sort of "convalescent home", which I suspect means "institution for the warehousing of poor old people". The deacon from his church brought him over to visit with us and unlock the grocery and the bus/church for us to visit.

The whole thing was designed by the preacher to attract attention on Business Highway 61, so they would stop, and he could preach to them. I am personally not a giant fan of folk art/yard shows/whatever you want to call them, because they exist on the razor's edge right next to hoarding, and hoarding gives me the willies. I watch those hoarding tv shows like other people watch horror movies. I only made it to the front room of Margaret's Grocery, which was the only part he decorated anyway. The living quarters were dark, freezing cold, crumbling, crowded, and floors felt like they would fall in. I walked into the second room and turned right back around. No sir, Jezebella does not enjoy such environments.

The front room and the bus - the rooms decorated with all manner of ephemera, from Mardi Gras beads to foam food trays with plastic balls glued to them, xeroxes of articles about the preacher, photos, letters, and whatnot - they were a sight to behold. I'm torn about the preservation issue: the whole place is like a man-made garden, as it was constantly in process when the preacher and Margaret lived there. Now that they're gone, it's declining, and if someone else were to start "preserving" it, what would happen? Would it still be the same garden if a new gardener took over? Without the person living in the environment, the experience is more elegiac than abundant.

I think the ideal solution would be to remove the bus to a folk art museum, remove the front room's furnishings and re-install them elsewhere, document everything thoroughly, and let it go. Some things are ephemeral, and meant to be that way. Without the preacher, the place is an empty nest.

After a cold, windy morning with the preacher, we drove into downtown Vicksburg to visit the Attic Gallery. Again, not a huge fan of the folk art, but I did find a few things to buy. In fact, most of the people with me bought something. Then we at at Rusty's, a seafood joint, with outstanding no-nonsense service and friggin delicious banana cream pie.

a charming start to the new year

2011-01-06T14:49:00.002-06:00

After my bout of domestic goddess-icity, I woke up Sunday to a scratchy throat and a bit of a cough and a headache. It's now Thursday and I feel like I have been run over by a truck and I sound like Tom Waits when I talk.

I was thinking last night about the night the night DJ died, my ex's dad, and I kind of want to tell that story because I actually think of him almost as often as I think of his son. He would've made an excellent father-in-law, though his son would have made a terrible husband. The funniest thing about DJ is this: he had the mistaken impression that "twat" means "behind". So he'd say in his coonass/N'awlins accent, "Sit your twat down, it's time for dinner." The ex, let's call him Todd for blogular purposes, was so shocked the first time DJ said it that he didn't correct him. By the time he realized DJ was using it regularly, it was too late. So Todd warned me, on our first trip to dinner with DJ and his fiancee (aka his special lady friend, but that's another story), that it was entirely possible that DJ would tell me to put my twat in the chair, and sure enough, he did, and I managed to snicker to myself instead of being shocked.

Seldomly a domestic goddess

2011-01-01T16:34:00.001-06:00

Today I am in domestic goddess mode: I've just pulled homemade vegan cornbread muffins out of the oven, vegan black-eyed peas are ready to be served up, and rice is ready in about ten minutes.

The downside to being a single domestic goddess: no dishwasher (human or automated) to clean up after me.

The upside: no dishwasher (human) to complain when I listen to Madonna while being a domestic goddess.

Mark Twain on this overrated holiday:

2011-01-01T14:16:00.001-06:00

"New Year's is a harmless annual institution, of no particular use to anybody save as a scapegoat for promiscuous drunks, and friendly calls and humbug resolutions."

-Mark Twain

Jezebella's Favorite Things

2010-12-29T19:33:00.001-06:00

1. My Tempurpedic mattress

2. cold-brewed Toddy coffee

3. fleece! who knew fleece clothing was so amazing? NOT ME for some reason. Until this year. Now I want to wear fleece every day.

Memo to the Criminal Minds writing staff

2010-12-15T10:58:00.002-06:00

Dear Writers:

I kind of love Criminal Minds. Derek Morgan is adorbs, Dr. Reed annoyingly/lovably nerdy, and Penelope Garcia is funny, brilliant, and nobody comments on the fact that she's not a size two. Love. Her.

However: could we please STOP blaming mothers for the actions of serial killers? Because, really, LOTS of kids are abused - by fathers AND mothers, alas - and the vast, overwhelming majority of them do NOT become serial killers. So, really, lay off the Mean Mommy Made Him a Bad Man story line, please.

Thank you.

it shouldn't bother me

2010-12-15T09:31:00.003-06:00

...but it kinda does. The poet, the ex who broke my heart a million times over, is married now.

mid-life crisis imminent

2010-12-13T11:02:00.001-06:00

Actually, I think I had it on Saturday morning, and it passed by Saturday afternoon, as soon as I realized why I was asking existential questions about my reason for existing at all, much less being stuck in dumbfuckistan.

Now I'm shopping for a Miata.

liberty, security, etc.

2010-11-24T11:25:00.002-06:00

Those who would give up Essential Liberty to purchase a little
Temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety. —Ben Franklin

I can't say I'll quit flying, because I'm going to have to at some point, and I still haven't been to Asia, but until this fascist invasion of bodily integrity calms the fuck down, I will not be engaging in elective air transportation.

the holidays approach

2010-11-16T19:41:00.002-06:00

Oh, holidays, how do I hate thee? Mama-drama, family-drama, turkey carcasses, agonizing over gifts (and how to pay for them), giant fund-raiser at work that pushes all of my buttons and, furthermore, requires formal attire, meaning stockings, and girl shoes, and ass-kissing of rich people, and entitled rich people getting all up in my grill. Oh, and the annual "all I want for christmas is for my family to go to church with me," and really, why would you even want me to go if it means NOTHING to me? Whyyyyy?

Wah. I am whiny today. Luckily I still have some delicious vegan chocolate truffles from Whole Foods, and a nice new bottle of bourbon.

Dear Rich White Ladies:

2010-11-09T09:16:00.002-06:00

Memo to Rich White Ladies Blocking Traffic at 8:30 A.M.:

Yeah, you! The three rich white ladies pushing strollers, side by side, filling an entire lane of 5th Avenue? Yeah. Cut that out. Pronto. Just because you are rich white Republican mommies doesn't mean you own the roads. I realize this is brand new information, so I'm gonna give you a second to absorb it.

There. Got it? The roads, they were not built for your strolling convenience.

You happen to live in the only neighborhood in town with sidewalks. USE THEM. The roads, as it happens, are there for people with cars to get to work. You've heard of that, right? Jobs, which people go to in order to get paid? I have one of those, and I have to drive my crappy car down the road to get to it, so GET. OUT. OF. THE. STREET.

Love,
Jezebella

purple bike!

2010-11-08T14:07:00.002-06:00

I bought a purple bike at a yard sale last month, and this weekend, for my birthday, my dad helped me fix it for riding. I haven't owned a bike in 20 years. Yikes. He had an extra helmet, gloves, and lock, so at this point my total investment is $25, so if I don't ride much I haven't blown a wad of cash, but I'm looking forward to getting to ride it after work today.

Oh, GOODIE.

2010-11-03T10:33:00.002-05:00

Dumbfuckistan just got dumb-fuckier. Gene Taylor, one of the most conservative Democrats in the House of Representatives, just got ousted by a giant corporate-money-loving douchebag by the name of Steve Palazzo.

Seriously, y'all, it sucks here SO MUCH.

And if "dumb-fuckier" isn't a word yet, I declare that it shall be so, henceforth.

Halloween is Sunday!

2010-10-29T15:30:00.001-05:00

Oh, wait, no it's not! I live in Buttcrack, deep in the heart of Dumbfuckistan, so the city fathers have decreed that Halloween will take place on SATURDAY, so as to not interfere with CHURCH.

You know what, Halloween-hating Christians? Fuck you. Don't go trick-or-treating, fine, but don't fuck it up for everybody else. They also moved it when it was on Wednesday a few years back because, uh-oh, the BAPTISTS THEY GO TO CHURCH ON WEDNESDAY.

Again, don't fucking celebrate Halloween or Samhain or anything else you don't want to celebrate, I could not give a shit, but don't bloody well fuck it up for the rest of us.

HALLOWEEN is SUNDAY, fuckers.

It Gets Better

2010-10-05T15:30:00.000-05:00

Chris Colfer for The Trevor Project - It Gets Better

2010-10-05T15:29:00.000-05:00

mmm. lovely.

2010-09-17T09:56:00.000-05:00

using that doctorate to diagnose

2010-09-14T20:02:00.002-05:00

If Jezebella is having iced coffee, cheetos, and a Milky Way bar for dinner, what the hell?

Ah, I see: PMS. Yes indeedy. The P, the M, the S.

Sunday

2010-09-12T19:51:00.002-05:00

The hangover fairy snuck into my bedroom and kicked me in the head in the wee hours of the morning.

BlameCon 2010

2010-09-01T15:34:00.001-05:00

Headed northward this weekend for blaming and margaritas with four of my on-line besties. I need to get out of this town like you wouldn't believe.

Awkward

2010-08-31T10:14:00.002-05:00

So, my best guy friend has this girlfriend who's kind of an infant. And she's nice, and he likes her, but sometimes he complains about their relationship. And this puts me in an awkward position. I want to be supportive and agree with him, but I can't cross the line and be like, "You are so right. That manufactured drama was a bunch of toddler bullshit. Tell her to put on her big girl panties and quit whining."

Because, well, yeah: he can talk shit about her being a giant baby, but if *I* say it, he'll have to defend her and be like, "don't talk shit about my girlfriend." And if he takes my advice and tells her to grow a pair, it probably won't go well, and then he'll be mad at me for giving him bad advice.

So I'm in this awkward position of trying to figure out what tone to take when he complains. I know my advice is probably terrible, because my love life has been a 25-year-long train wreck, but I'm much better at giving advice than doling out sympathy. I'm trying to get better at the sympathy bit, but I have a short attention span when it comes to whinging adults. I can say "there,there" to a child all day long, but an adult? Either quit whining or get a room and have a good cry, but leave me out of it.

This probably makes me kind of an asshole. Or, I dunno: a dude? Yeah, it makes me a *dude*, doesn't it? I'm just not wired for sympathetic maternal behavior towards grown people, and I have no idea how he can spend fifteen minutes having the same conversation over and over:

"My cat's been missing for ten minutes. What if he's dead?"
"He's just hiding somewhere in the house. He's fine."
"But what if he's dead?"
"He's not. He's hiding. He'll be fine."
"BUT WHAT IF HE'S DEAD?"

Lather, rinse, repeat for two separate fifteen minute phone calls.

My head would totally explode if I was on the receiving end of that phone call.

I don't have a point, really, I'm just trying to figure out what tone to take because it's happening more and more.

Five years

2010-08-29T13:30:00.002-05:00

I think I've written about this before, but five years ago today, I spent 8 hours huddled in my hallway on a futon, listening to pine trees crashing all around me. I thought it was transformers blowing, so I didn't realize I was in danger. The cats were completely unfazed: they lounged on the bed and looked at me, there on the floor in the middle of the house, like I had lost my mind. I woke to the storm around 8 am, the power went out around 9, and it raged until 4:30 or 5:00. I walked out, wondering if it was the eye passing and we had another 8 hours, or if it was over. The storm was over, but it was only the beginning. I didn't see the devastation in New Orleans on TV until four days later. Power was out for almost three weeks, water was out for 4 or 5 days, and it was at least three days before the roads were cleared so I could drive off my block. Luckily the Poet, who I was dating at the time, was in the National Guard and came to stay with me two days after the storm. He'd go down to Camp Shelby to work overnight, then come back in the morning with a vegetarian MRE for me. I don't know what I would've eaten otherwise, except for crackers and peanut butter, because the free meals at churches and community centers were all full of meat.

I grew up in New Orleans, and among other storm preparations, we always filled the tubs with water, and put an axe in the attic, just at the top of the ladder. I don't have an axe, and I'm not below sea level here, but I did fill the tub with water. For the first time in my entire life, that turned out to be a good idea: I didn't have to drink it (luckily) but being able to flush one's toilet can not be too overrated. It was also the first storm in my life where an axe in someone's attic in the suburbs of NOLA saved their lives.

A few months after the storm, when the NY Times was doing features on people who died in the storm, my dad's long-time (former) secretary Gloria was featured. She drowned in her attic in Central City. She was one of way too many. I don't even think my dad could go to her funeral; he couldn't return home for several months and there was no way for him to get in touch with her people.

Friday

2010-08-27T14:12:00.001-05:00

Still disgruntled and angsty. Still want to run away from home. Maybe I'll dye my hair purple this weekend, or get a new tattoo, or just drink whiskey and watch Torchwood. Wev.

Monday

2010-08-23T11:10:00.002-05:00

It's a hot and muggy Monday morning here in the Buttcrack of Mississippi, and I just want to run away. I want to run away to about 1987, where I can drop some acid and go see the Butthole Surfers play, and then have the free time to spend a couple of days looking at the world sideways, and then maybe do my English major homework, which consists of lying on the couch reading some novels. It's not so much that I want to be 19 again, because, fuckity fuck, 19 was a brutal age to be, and I wouldn't be back in my 1987 relationship for all the money in the world, but I don't have any escape outlets now like I did then. I think the time for psychedelics is probably over, and the trippy intense live music available to me occurs 30 miles away and after midnight, and I have a stupid JOB, where I have to be on time and dressed like a grown up and can't dye my hair random colors. I have to be NICE to people I'd much rather kick in the eye. I have to listen to people's stupid fucking DIET TALK all the goddamn time. Some days I am just sick and tired of being a grownup. Today is one of them.

typical

2010-08-21T22:57:00.002-05:00

I want something I can't have, which I could've had before, but I didn't want it when I could have it. But now that he's seeing someone else: want.

I feel absurd, like a cliche. My timing is always terrible. I keep proving over and over that I can't trust my own judgment. I trust the wrong people, over and over. It's frustrating as hell.

at a crossroads

2010-08-04T13:57:00.002-05:00

It's come to my attention that my peers, mostly in our forties, are all going one of two ways:

1. getting fit
2. getting decrepit or actually fucking *dying*, like dropping dead of a stroke at age 48, mang.

This aging business, it is for the birds, yo. Mortality? Likewise. My parents, having completely retired finally, are starting to act like old people. I do not dig this development.

My own self, my blood pressure has jumped forty points since the last time I had it checked. I have been 120/80 since like FOREVER. Went to the doc Friday, it was fucking 160/90. Not good. No, not good at all. I attribute this primarily to my depression-induced excessive smoking, which I am treating with an anti-depressant and nicotine gum. It's too hot to exercise safely outdoors - we're talking heat indices over 100 from 9 am to 9 pm. This does explain my rampant headaches over the last few months, at least.

So, yeah, it's decision time: get fit, or get decrepit. Shit. I hate exercise. It's boring as fuck, walking around in a goddamn circle for hours on end, going to the same gym over and over with the same people and the same smell and the same machines. I don't like games where people propel balls at me. I can't get a good yoga class anywhere in the county. Wii Active fucking busted my ass the last time I tried it, and my thigh muscles turned into boards so I walked around like the Tin Man for a week. Seriously, I loathe all forms of exercise. I would totally try martial arts if I could find a woman-friendly beginner class within, oh, 20 miles. But there ain't one. I would go to yoga if it didn't involve driving 45 minutes each way.

It is expensive and time-consuming to have a body. Could somebody just download me into a low-maintenance machine? Kthx!

the war, coming home

2010-08-01T18:58:00.002-05:00

I was in Jackson yesterday at a beer-tasting event for most of the afternoon. There were maybe, I don't know 800-1000 people there over the course of the afternoon. And during those 3 hours, I saw four young people with their arms missing below the elbow. Four. In their twenties. Three men, one woman. What are the odds of that? Well, I guess they're higher what with these never-ending wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Those were just the kids with visible damage. Heart-breaking and then infuriating.

NSFW: Unf**k the Gulf

2010-07-23T20:48:00.001-05:00

don't blame the victim, TRASH the victim

2010-07-15T11:15:00.002-05:00

So, I don't usually pay attention to celebrity gossip media, with the exception of fashion-oriented blogs like Manolo, Go Fug Yourself, and Tom and Lorenzo. It's about the clothes and the snark, though, not about the celebrities themselves. I try to avoid the gossip stuff because it's frankly a cesspool of blah-blah about people who aren't really that interesting as human beings.

That said, the recent revelations that Mel Gibson isn't just in the habit of verbally abusing police officers, but is also an abusive husband, have come to my attention. It's kind of hard to miss, you know? That guy is seriously one temper tantrum away from homicide. I kind of thought, once the tapes were out, that we could all be in agreement that this is a reprehensible human being in need of incarceration and re-programming. But LO! NO! What should I discover but I was actually completely wrong about this.

I turned on my TV yesterday to see what was on, and I accidentally watched a few minutes of Entertainment Tonight (Tonite? Wev.) And there, sitting in the dark, wearing sunglasses, with his voice changed, was some douchebag opining that Mel Gibson's wife was a "gold digger", that she was obsessed with flirting with celebrities, that all she ever wanted was a celebrity husband and a bunch of money. I mean, who is this guy? Some random douchebag who, for all we know, could be Mel Gibson, or one of his PR flunkies, or some out-of-work actor Mel Gibson's PR flunkies paid to trash Oksana Grigorieva. So after this CHARMING little "interview", the announcer says, "Tomorrow, Oksana's plastic surgery REVEALED!" And there's a clip of some guy pointing at her face, smirking, and saying "Oh, that's a telltale sign of plastic surgery!" Like every single on-camera member of the ET staff hasn't had plastic surgery. Puh-lease.

Now, here's the thing. This isn't fucking news. Trashing a victim of domestic violence with RIDICULOUS accusations of being a "gold digger" and (gasp!) getting cosmetic surgery, as literally tens of thousands of women and men do every single year, is fucking beyond the pale. I know ET is in the making-money-by-selling-ads business, and people will stop and watch if the announcer says "Mel Gibson", but why the fuckity fuck would they make this particular choice - the trashing/blaming the victim choice - if they weren't being pressured by someone with a financial interest in Mel Gibson's longevity as an actor? Or are they just making this choice because it is in the best interest of perpetuating the patriarchal myth that only bad women get beat up? Whatever reason, it's unacceptable. It's sickening.

Obviously they aren't saying *OUT LOUD* that she deserved to be abused, but it's an easy leap from a to be: "she's imperfect, therefore the bitch deserved it." Using anonymized sources is just the lowest of the low. It makes me sick to see a victim of abuse - and well-documented abuse - being trashed for no other reason than that she's... um... what? Female? Married to someone rich? What the fuck?

Screw you, celebrity entertainment complex! I hope you all die in a fire.

mood swing

2010-07-14T20:11:00.001-05:00

Today's random hormonal shift yields equal parts impending doom, intense yearning, and free-floating anxiety.

July in Mississippi

2010-07-13T15:27:00.002-05:00

Seriously, it's too hot to string together enough words to form a coherent sentence, much less have original thoughts.

I commend all two of my readers to visit the blogs on my sidebar, which apparently are written in, like, the Arctic Circle or summat, or else written by people who do not wilt in 97-degree heat and 90% humidity, as I am prone to do.

Ain't much happening here. I've spent the last week resisting the urge to burn down the house of a lying, cheating fuckwit who can't keep his dick in his pants. Lucky for him he lives three hours away, or I might've at least showed up on his porch to see how long it would take to make him cry. Alas, he and I are scheduled to be in the same building this Saturday. I hope he doesn't show, because I'm actually in no mood for drama. I'm kind of hoping he'll drop dead between now and then.

World Whatsit

2010-07-09T19:51:00.001-05:00

There was so much hollering on Facebook recently about the World Whatever that I totally thought it was finally OVER. Turns out it's STILL GOING ON. Who knew?

An open letter to the grocery cashiers of Buttcrack

2010-06-03T18:01:00.003-05:00

[As I may have mentioned once or maybe a thousand times, I live in Buttcrack, MS, deep in the heart of Dumbfuckistan.]

Dear Grocery Store Cashier:

I belong to a sub-culture known in these parts as "Treehuggers". One of the quaint customs of my people is the use of re-usable tote bags at the grocery store. You may have heard of it before. I hear it's very big in Japan, this custom. Also in most places where people don't want to use a plastic bag for ten minutes that will then go into a landfill for decades. I know, it's a crazy idea. Humor me, though, okay? Approximately 9 out of the 10 times I get into line with my tote bag, you are dumbfounded. Even at the grocery store where I shop like three times a week. Seriously, whatever you are doing that wrecks your memory, cut it out, okay?

Let me help you out here with some advice.

1. Do not try to charge me for my own bag and be mystified that it lacks a tag. It's RE-USABLE, see? So I bring in my own.

2. This happens probably 5 out of 10 times: you ask, "Do you want me to put EVERYTHING in this bag??" Hm, I don't know. Depends on how much stuff I have. It's not a TARDIS, see, so if I happen to have picked out more stuff than will fit in the bag, then, you know, put the rest in disposable plastic. I will re-use it for cat litter. Easy peasy, see?

3. I realize that the custom in most stores is to put one item, maybe two in each bag. But I'm guessing that somewhere along the line, you learned NOT to put squashable things in the bottom of a bag. For example: eggs, bread, chips, $5 bags of organic baby spring greens, bananas; these do not go in the bottom. Do not give me the stinkeye when I stop you from dropping canned goods and orange juice on top of squashable things.

4. If I have, say, a box of cat litter and two smaller items, do not put the 15-pound box of cat litter in the tote bag. This is just fucking stupid. Would you put it in a plastic bag? No. Do you think the bag is made of woven titanium and not some kind of flimsy fiber? God, I hope not. Seriously, put the small shit in the bag, and I will carry the cat litter with the HANDLE ON TOP OF IT.

5. Do not bag my items in plastic before putting them into the tote bag. This just defeats the purpose. You DO understand the purpose, right? To not waste plastic bags??

6. When I tell you not to pre-bag my items in plastic, don't roll your eyes, take the item you already bagged out of the plastic bag, wad it up, and throw it away. I can't tell you how depressing it is when you do that.

Sincerely,
Jezebella

harassment via direct mail

2010-06-01T17:34:00.004-05:00

So, this charming piece of crap appeared in my mailbox last week.

Jillian wants ME! to lose weight. Does she know me? Does she know every single person this was mailed to? No, no she doesn't. It's a piece of direct mail that landed in the mailbox of thousands, maybe even millions of people last week.

You know what I want? I want Jillian to mind her own fucking business.

Here's the thing. I could be a thin person with no need to lose weight. I could be an average sized healthy person with no need to lose weight. In other words, I could be one of the more than 50% of Americans who are average or below average in weight.

I could be recovering from an eating disorder, and therefore triggered by this random assault on my recovery. I could be a fat person who is struggling to live fat acceptance. I could be a fat person who is SICK AND FUCKING TIRED OF STRANGERS GETTING IN MY FUCKING BUSINESS. I could be a woman who is tormented by those "last five pounds" I think I need to lose, even though I am a perfectly healthy person with a perfectly healthy weight. I could be a person whose prescription meds, disability, or illness has caused me to gain weight, and I KNOW I've gained weight, and I'm uncomfortable with it, but I can't do anything about it without compromising my health. I could be a fat lazy gluttonous Fatty McFatterson who hears from everyone, all day, every day, that I am a Bad Person because I'm fat. Jillian has no business telling anybody they should lose weight. Screw you, lady, and get out of my mailbox. Stat.

I once spent a whole ass-load of time filling out forms and mailing letters in order to prevent direct mail garbage landing in my mailbox, and somehow all those do-not-mail directives have expired, so here they are again.

You know who wants to hear this shit from Jillian? Exactly nobody.

Dulce et Decorum Est

2010-05-31T15:12:00.002-05:00

Dulce et Decorum est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. --
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

- Wilfred Owen, 1917

summer reading

2010-05-31T11:46:00.004-05:00

I have mentioned before that I'm only reading women authors this year. Actually, my Year of Women Authors was supposed to start in January 09 (it was a rare New Years' Resolution), but at the time I was in the middle of a half-dozen books by dude authors. So I finished those up and commenced in June of last year. Just yesterday I was looking around the house for something to read, and found I was fresh out of new stuff by women, so I picked up one of my abandoned books by male authors. "The Art Thief" by Mansplainy Mansplainerson is what I picked up, and it's like reading an Art History 101 lecture, only without pictures. Criminy. Have I mentioned that I've been teaching Art History 101 since the mid-90s? Yeah, I don't need a lecture on van Eyck's Arnolfini portrait, which by the way is no longer called the Marriage Contract. Just, FYI. 30 pages in and I'm already skipping entire pages. Coincidentally, The Rejectionist, over at Tiger Beatdown, just posted about ManFiction and how tedious it is. For example:

"What’s a manfiction book, exactly? It is indeed, almost but not entirely exclusively, a book by a man; but it is a particular kind of book by a particular kind of man, a Real Man, a virile, manly man, who gallops around on horses in between penning great works."

Go, read the whole thing.

Now, just as I finished THAT, what appears in my google reader but this little gem:

Hot Summer Reads from 12 Literary Stars

Let's do a Guerrilla Girls style breakdown:

all 12 literary stars appear to be white, though one has a Hispanic name**
4 of them are female
10 recommended books by men
1 of the books by women was about getting your baby to sleep through the night
so! only ONE of the books recommended was a narrative work by a woman about something besides traditional lady-business*

In conclusion, well, you know: it's all about the white people. I note with interest that Mother Jones is supposed to be a progressive publication.

*I kind of want to give the one narrative book by a woman bonus points for being about teen Latinas, but then again it's a book by a nice white lady sociologist about teen Latinas, so, you know, that could go either way, right?

**Vendela Vida, whose wikipedia entry mentions her husband, a pretentious author whose name rhymes with Wave Weggers (whose first big deal famous bestseller book was so loathesomely self-absorbed I couldn't finish it) almost immediately, and then constantly, throughout her bio.

everything comes around again

2010-05-21T23:02:00.000-05:00

The Futureheads sure sound a lot like XTC.

Rand Paul

2010-05-21T10:13:00.001-05:00

I suspect there will be many more opportunities to hate Rand Paul. Here's just one:

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Paul never answers a question he is asked. NEVER. He just blathers on, man-splaining, diverting, evading, and telling unrelated stories.

Paul believes freedom of speech encompasses the freedom to discriminate. This is patently false.

Paul also believes that the right of businesses to profit is more important than human rights. Fuck you, Rand Paul.

He also throws in bullshit "examples" about how the ADA is intrusive and unreasonable, like "hundred thousand dollar elevators". Adding an elevator to a two-story building is not going to cost $100,000.

In the gross-out category, he is surely named after Ayn Rand, which just makes me want to hurl.

In conclusion, I hate libertarians.

memo

2010-05-21T10:09:00.002-05:00

To: The Cats
From: The Can Opener

Stop putting your butt on me.

Get your snout out of my glass of water. You have your own water!

Don't try to put your feet in my food, either. You may use it like a hand, but I know perfectly well it's a *foot*. And it does not belong in my glass, or in my food.

No, you really do not have to lay on top of the keyboard while I'm at my desk. Really. Although putting your wee little paw on my hand while I have it on the mouse is kind of cute.

Jazz Fest 2010

2010-05-03T10:31:00.003-05:00

Went to Jazz Fest this past Saturday, where I got a wicked sunburn on the spots I missed with sunblock. Back of the arms, edge of the tank-top, ouchy. Made for uncomfortable sleeping last night.

Started the day with a little bossa nova tune from Russell Batiste and friends, but didn't stay long as we needed some margaritas and my compadre needed some Crawfish Monica.

Charmaine Neville was next; she is always funky and fresh. She's got this violinist these days who throws a sometimes fiddly, sometimes classical, groove into her usual mix. I remember seeing her at Benny's Blues Bar back in the 90s, tiny little joint, the woman just owns any room she plays, whether it's a dirty little blues dive or an outdoor crowd of thousands.

Next up was Dirty Dozen Brass Band, who make me want to JUMP. High energy. Never thought I'd be into this, but there was a baritone sax solo near the end of the set that was a wackaloon psychedelic jazz freakout, and it kind of made me feel like I was high, the way poetry and music and art sometimes do.

Moved on to the Fais Do Do stage for a little Cajun music by the Chubby Carrier and the Bayou Swamp Band. Didn't stay too long, as we were kind of on the outer rim and when Rebirth started, I could hear both bands. Hearing two kinds of music at once makes me crazy.

So, next up: Rebirth Brass Band. I freakin LOVE a brass band. So good. Always tight, fierce, and powerful. I could go see them every week.

Back to the Fais Do Do stage for Beausoleil and Michael Doucet. Despite the presence of a murderous ligustrum in my orbit, it was a great set. Love me some Cajun music, everybody was dancing the Cajun two-step, and the Fais Do Do stage is the epicenter of wacky hats on men and women alike.

After Beausoleil we walked over to the Gospel Tent for the Aaron Neville Quintet. Couldn't get in - it was packed - so we sat outside and listened. His voice is sweet like syrup, I just can't get enough of it. I'm surprised he was at the Gospel Tent, though, that's usually the venue for traditional stomping-and-shouting gospel with a choir backing. I ain't complaining, though

Stopped by Economy Hall for twenty minutes or so of traditional Dixieland from Pete Fountain. He's an institution, and my traveling podner had never heard him, so it was kind of a must-see.

Onward: Pearl Jam. (one of these things is not like the other, eh? it's jazz and "heritage" and heritage covers a lot of stuff, including grunge, yo)

The old guys still have it, y'all. They fucking rocked it. I thought I had seen them at Lollapalooza years ago, but was kind of fuzzy about it, because, you know, *Lollapalooza*....but a woman I was in line with for the potty confirmed my vague and aged memory. I remembered Vedder climbing up in the scaffolding and singing from way up high. Boy, was *I* in a different place the last time I saw them live. 1992, eighteen freakin years ago. I'm sure they were in a way different place then, too. We were all in our twenties, for one thing. Anyway, absolute pros, Vedder is in fantastic shape, the band was tight and looked like they were having a good time and I am SO glad I went.

Freudian slip of the day? week? YEAR?

2010-04-25T23:03:00.001-05:00

Just heard a guy say "masculine virulence" when he meant "masculine virility".

Ha.

moratorium

2010-04-21T17:00:00.003-05:00

Or wait, let's call for a permanent deletion of this phrase from the English language:

"the esoteric wisdom of the East"

Christ on a crutch, people, can we let go of the Orientalist tropes of previous centuries already? I ran across this phrase in a tome on Chinese snuff bottles published in 1993, a full 15 years after the publication of Edward Said's Orientalism. Any art historian worth her salt should've known better than to engage in such stereotypical and antiquated rhetoric by the 1990s. Alas, the snuff bottle obsessives who wrote this tome - and good lord, is it a high-falutin' tome - had been publishing since the 1960s and had probably been so obsessed with the ins and outs of snuff bottles, spoons, and stoppers that they hadn't bothered to keep up with, you know, *art history" per se.

I am also in a bit of a snit about Hester Bateman, but I'll save that for another day.

the trees....

2010-04-16T15:43:00.001-05:00

they are trying to kill me.

recommendations

2010-04-03T16:01:00.003-05:00

Stuff I am always on about, at least lately:

1. Antihistamine eye drops. Sheer freakin genius. Over-the-counter itchy eye relief for people allergic to, say, Mississippi. Take out your contacts, put in drops, wait ten minutes, toodle off to a world without itchy eyeballs.

2. Budget billing from your utility companies. Each month you pay the average of your last twelve months' bills. Also genius, because I don't get surprised with a giant bill when it's hella cold or hot. Makes budgeting way easier, because the bill never varies by more than 5 or 10 bucks. You have to have paid your last 12 bills on time for them to switch over, at least with Mississippi Power and my gas company, which has a long name I can never remember. I have it for electricity and gas.

3. [TMI alert!] Paragard IUD for the lady readership. I know the IUD isn't for everybody, but I love it. One moderately painful insertion, one doctor bill, and you're set up for a decade, with no on-going expensive prescriptions to refill. My insurance covered most of it. No hormones involved, which is awesome because hormonal birth control is bad for me. It makes me depressed, makes me gain weight, and also wrecks my libido. Highly effective, because, you know, I don't want to have sex, but that's not quite what I'm looking for in a contraceptive. Made for heavier periods for a while, and obviously still need condoms for STI prevention, but it's highly effective and once it's there, no worries. Love. It.

4. Planned Parenthood, y'all, seriously, look into it. They've got free condoms, low-cost scrips for contraceptives, the ones with a clinic can meet all of your reproductive health needs (and most have a sliding scale), STI testing for men and women, and their website is chock-full of useful info. I just recently recommended it to a friend feeling anxious about talking about sex with her 11-year-old daughter. She found it very helpful. They've got all kinds of literature about everything to do with sexual and reproductive health. PP was my primary health care provider during the no-insurance years, really. They're an absolute lifesaver for women who can't afford for-profit medical care.

5. Volunteer! DO! EET! Want to meet like-minded people? Volunteer for an organization that matters to you. Say, Planned Parenthood for example. Or your local museum. Museums would not survive without volunteers, seriously. Most orgs are happy to have a few hours a month of your time. It's a great way to tap into the community, it's a way to give back if you don't have extra money, and to be honest, I feel like the rewards are far greater than what you're giving to the org.

Toxic Airborne Event

2010-03-29T10:03:00.003-05:00

Here come de pollen. My white car is a dusty yellow.

I love the phrase "toxic airborne event" for some reason. It featured prominently in an early Don DeLillo novel - White Noise, I think - the one whose main character was an Elvis Studies professor. The government never would say what was in the air, just that it was a "toxic airborne event". This vaguely threatening language covers a whole realm of possibilities, from a really heinous fart to death from above.

a wee reminder

2010-03-27T19:12:00.000-05:00

The whole point of health insurance is a *shared risk pool*, not maximum profit for shareholders.

Too many have lost sight of this very simple truth.

freeware new toy

2010-03-24T17:00:00.002-05:00

Playing with Google Sketchup. It's pretty awesome. I can do exhibit design at my desk.

spring?

2010-03-22T11:10:00.002-05:00

Yeah, okay, so spring officially started on Saturday, and it was 38 degrees last night. WTF?

Dinner: wheat thins, smoked gouda, diet coke, reeses' mini peanut butter cups. I am SO. FREAKIN. HEALTH CONSCIOUS. Envy me.

spring, well...

2010-03-19T14:26:00.003-05:00

I spoke too soon. The down comforter is back on the bed and it's chilly in the mornings. Daffodils are still in action, and I've got some swanky new herbs on the deck: sage, oregano, and parsley. The rosemary is looking a little sorry after a long winter, might go ahead and put her in the ground instead of a pot. I think she'll be happier there.

No, this is not a gardening blog, but it's spring and I want to get my hands dirty and grow stuff. I'll get over it as soon as I have to start having to take daily benadryl in order to breathe through my nose.

Headed to Mandeville, LA tomorrow for a craft beer festival with Dad and Baby Bro. Perhaps I should locate my camera between now and then?

Spring!

2010-03-11T14:44:00.002-06:00

How do I know?

1. Buds on the daffodils in the front yard; actual flowers on the other daffodil plants.

2. Unearthed my sandals from the depths of the closet, as it is now too warm to wear slippers in the house.

3. Removed the fleece sheets & down comforter from the bed, replaced with regular sheets/light comforter.

4. Wearing only one layer of clothing (not counting underwears).

5. Did not shiver & shake between shower & closet. Outstanding.

Spring!

bleah

2010-02-28T21:44:00.003-06:00

Spent February fighting a cold, having a cold, and recovering from said cold. It's been just delightful. Decongestants are the cure that is often worse than the disease; neti pots disgusting but so effective, though only for a short while; Nyquil makes me dizzy.

I finally feel nearly human, thank goodness, because the shit will hit the fan at work if I don't get productive, and soon.

Stupid weather keeps fucking with my bulbs. Paperwhites never bloomed; daffodils started about ten days ago and then it froze again, so they're probably not going to finish blooming. I am a lazy gardener, and a cheap one, so I don't like planting annuals. I like bulbs because, you know, you plant them once and they just keep coming back. Unless the stupid weather confuses them into starting early and then, cruelly, freezes their wee green little buds. Mean weather.

snow day

2010-02-11T19:00:00.000-06:00

The sound of sleet on dry grass sounds like a sizzling skillet.

OMG Y'ALL

2010-01-27T11:11:00.002-06:00

So, I watched a little American Idol last night, which doesn't happen all that often. Normally I watch some of the early episodes, but then when they start making the kids do group medley numbers like some sort of high school misfits club - only not as awesome as Glee - that is when I quit.

ANYhoo, they showed a montage of people who showed up with Adam Lambert's hair, and one of them was Daniel Franco, the designer who was on TWO seasons of Project Runway. Daniel, in case you are not a PR nut like me, is a strange mixture of sweet, intense, a little crazy, talented, a little celebrity-hungry, and just, just THISCLOSE to occasionally being a little bit creepy. But I think that's because he's so intense. And he's always telling Heidi Klum that he loves her. I'm pretty sure he's in his 30s and thus too old for American Idol, but he got in the door somehow. I have a vague recollection of him singing show tunes in the sewing room with some of the other designers, but I could be confusing him with the other 400 show-tune singing designers that have been on PR.

I think he's kind of adorable and kind of completely from outer space. In fact, when I win the lottery, I think I might hire him to be my personal couturier. I think he actually *likes* women, as opposed to thinking women make conveniently mobile dress hangers for their ARTISTIC CREATIONS.

I would like to note, by the way, that Adam Lambert did not invent backwards hair. Emo boys have been wearing their hair like that for years. Shit, redneck nurses and Kate Gosselin have been sporting the rooster in the back/backwards in the front look for at least five years. Are the American Idol producers so out of touch with the rest of America that they think anyone with backwards hair is copying Adam Lambert? I think it's their job to be on top of what's popular, yeah?

True Fact

2010-01-27T09:46:00.002-06:00

I was in my 20s before I discovered that "When the Saints Go Marching In" was actually a gospel tune. I was sure it was written for the football team. I never heard it in any other context until I left New Orleans.

Kermit Ruffins got his christmas wish!

2010-01-25T20:10:00.000-06:00

Blog for Choice day

2010-01-22T18:00:00.002-06:00

Abortion should be available ON DEMAND AND WITHOUT APOLOGY.

That is all.

twenty years on...

2010-01-22T11:02:00.003-06:00

So, I ran across a copy of "The Band Played On", Randy Shilts' book about the early years of the AIDS epidemic, and figured I'd go ahead and read it. It is thorough, grim, infuriating, sad, compelling, and enlightening. And, twenty years on, with AIDS still ravaging Africans and the drug cocktail that keeps it in check only available to the affluent, I can only believe it's this way because the people at the top *do not care* and have *never cared* about a disease has mostly afflicted poor people, gay people, black people, addicts, and sex workers.

And, furthermore, Ronald fucking Reagan? Was NOT a great president. He presided over what I can only call negligent genocide. His people kept calling AIDS his "number-one health priority" while refusing to fund it, acknowledge it, or throw any resources at it at all. The Congress had to force a tad of AIDS funding into the budget every year, but never enough. Never enough. That motherfucker, if I believe in hell, would be rotting there for sure.

There's also nothing like a week of reading about AIDS to turn one into a giant hypochondriac. I think of those years in the 80s, before they told us straight people could get AIDS, when I did not practice safe sex. I was on the Pill, what else did I need, right? I can't exactly pinpoint the moment when straight people realized we were at risk. For me, living in Texas, it was sometime between 1987 and 2001; I got married in 1987, and by the time I got divorced four years later, the sexual landscape had changed and condoms were mandatory. Before 1987, I don't think I'd ever used one. Birth control was the issue, not STIs. So, point being, every sniffle or new freckle I've noticed this week? Freaked. Me. Out. Which is absurd, considering I have been tested several times and been practicing safer sex for several decades. I cannot imagine the level of absolute terror gay men were living with in the 80s.

[I called this post twenty years on because the book was published in 1988 or so, which was 20 or so years ago, but in reality, the AIDS epidemic is much older. It's probably closer to 35 years old. The first MMWR report on what would turn out to be AIDS was published in the summer of 1981, almost 30 years ago]

Memo to the beasts

2009-12-31T12:36:00.002-06:00

Eldest cat: Seeing the bottom of the bowl is not a giant tragedy. Also, stop hissing at everyone. It's getting embarrassing.

Middle cat: I understand that you are clawing my calf repeatedly because you want me to the throw the ball. But, as I have said repeatedly, I cannot THROW the ball unless I HAVE the ball. Fetch means you bring the ball back to me. It does not mean "bring the ball halfway back and then hassle me until I get up and go pick it up and throw it again." Whatever game THAT is, I'm not playing.

Youngest cat: I get that you need to be brushed ALL. THE. TIME. However, there are only 24 hours in the day and I do have other responsibilities. Don't worry, even with a mere 3.6 hours of brushing per day, your coat is lovely, sleek, and stripey.

Open Letter to Male Musicians:

2009-12-28T00:39:00.002-06:00

We get it. You have a penis, and you would like to put it in someone. This is not brand new information, and you can stop writing songs about it.

Thanking you in advance,
Jezebella

Giftmas List

2009-12-18T11:41:00.002-06:00

Dear Santa, enclosed please find my wish list for this year:

1. A day without rape.
2. A fifty-percent reduction in man-splaining (I'll take the rest next year, mmmkay?)
3. A better job
4. Free contraception for all, and abortions for anyone who wants one, on demand and without apology.

That should do it!
xo,
Jezebella

Dear Married Friends:

2009-12-17T11:09:00.002-06:00

When you get married and stop calling your single friends, it's shitty. When you only invite other married people to dinner, to movies, to parties, it just sucks. What the fuck is wrong with you that you can no longer be friends with singletons? We're not contagious. We aren't a threat to your marriage. Go call one of your single friends today and invite her out to dinner, or to your holiday open house, or out for coffee. Or just, you know, fucking CALL her. Sheesh.

An Open Letter to Apartment Therapy Commenters:

2009-12-12T14:42:00.004-06:00

You are a denizen of a website that regularly features $4000 coffee tables and $10,000 sofas. It fetishizes *original* Eames and Saarinen furniture and all things mid-century modern. The AT philosophy advocates saving up and investing in quality design for your home, your furnishings, and your decor, rather than buying whatever cheap crap from China fills up Walmart this week. And yet you accuse me of snobbery for advocating the purchase of art made by artists, and suggest that just anyone can make good "abstract art" with some paper and black ink. How does this compute? Abstract art, like good design, is a matter of connoisseurship. Anyone who reads AT often enough to comment regularly should be able to understand this. Why, I ask you, should someone who has carefully designed their entire living space give up on quality when it comes to the artwork on their walls? This is not snobbery any more than preferring an original Eames to a knockoff is snobbery.

Quality artwork at reasonable prices can be found at your local gallery, your local college art department, and online. "DIY"ing abstract art will result for 99% of DIYers in splashy shitty decorative crap that looks like something from a reality design show on HGTV, not something good enough to frame and hang in one's home.

Finally, if you can't tell the difference between Modernist abstraction and Asian calligraphy, you aren't looking very hard, and you have proven yourself a less-than-capable judge of artistic quality.

Hugs,
Jezebella, PhD

"what does a rapist look like?"

2009-12-07T22:37:00.003-06:00

I wrote a post with that title over two years ago, and I still get a zillion hits coming from that search string. I find it depressing that so many people ask that question. Why? Because they don't look *any* way. They are all ages, weights, races, heights, incomes, eye colors, and manners of attire. Let me reframe it: if 1 in 6 women is raped or attempted-raped in her life, and most rapists assault an average of 10 women in his life, then 1 in 60 men that you know is a rapist.

One in sixty. Look at your facebook friends list, or around your workplace, your church, the bar you go to, and you'll probably see a rapist. He might not even *think* he's a rapist, because he thinks that pressuring a woman until she gives in, or raping a woman too intoxicated to give consent isn't "really" rape, but he is.

A rapist looks like your neighbors, your relatives, your acquaintances, your coworkers. I'm sorry to say it, but I speak as I find. You can't see them coming down the street. They don't wear crazy-rapist shirts or come with warning labels. I wish they did. I wish we could tattoo "rapist" across the goddamned forehead of every dickblister that rapes a woman, but unfortunately we cannot.

Do you want to know how to prevent rape? Get dudes to stop raping women. Here's a handy primer that all men should commit to memory:

I got yer rape prevention email forward here.

iiiiiii

2009-12-01T10:23:00.001-06:00

I am tired of people who say "iPhone" instead of "phone". Do you REALLY need to let me know you have an iPhone? Can you not just say "phone" like the rest of us? I mean, it's not like I go, "Oh, hey, my Palm Treo 755p was ringing but it was in the bottom of my purse." "I got a new app for my Palm Treo 755p." It's just a fucking phone, yo. Cut it out. Seriously.

holidays

2009-11-25T13:26:00.001-06:00

It just seems like the holidays engender an endless pile of to-do lists. Today: dishes, cat maintenance, pack, drive 130 miles, dinner with nuclear family and Republican cousins. Sigh.

bad habit

2009-11-23T22:45:00.004-06:00

When I'm in nearby college town I still drive past his house sometimes, and when I do, I feel like a junkie visiting the corner where he used to score.

Report from Voodoo Fest

2009-11-06T10:40:00.003-06:00

Ahem, the Voodoo Experience Music Festival.

The Pogues: alternately sublime and sad. Shane MacGowan is going to be dead soon. He is a terrible alcoholic, a bloated, pale, shambling, mess. The rest of the band is tight, fierce, and brilliant. Shane stumbles on stage every third song or so and slurs his way through a tune. He's got a handler who walks him on stage, gives him a lit cigarette and the microphone, and makes sure he doesn't fall down. Awful. Honestly, they're better without him. Obviously they put up with him because the drunk yobs in the audience are all about how hilarious the drunk is, but the yobs are young enough to have never seen a man drink himself to death. Overall, they were brilliant, and I love the band, but the other singer is, frankly, better. Also, he was in a temper, and it put a sharp edge on their performance that I kind of enjoyed. Also, they had a hot accordion player in velvet pants. I mean, smokin' hot bald guy with an accordion. Whoda thunk?

Squirrel Nut Zippers: Listened from outside the tent while chatting with a friend I hadn't seen in way too long. They sounded excellent, but I can't say I paid a ton of attention.

Flaming Lips: Holy frijoles, what a freakin' spectacle! Psychedelic from the get-go, lights, screens, people dancing in furry animal costumes, confetti, Wayne Coyne in an inflatable ball, smoke machines, bullhorns, yes, and yes, and yes. I could've taken hours more of it. They played Yoshimi, and Do You Realize, and the Yeah Yeah Yeah song, and some new stuff, and they were terrific.

Meat Puppets: ROCK! SHOW! They played in the Bingo tent, so it felt like a rock show in a club. They were amazing. They were loud. Curt Yearwood is one of the best guitarists I have ever heard. Sometimes I forget how much brilliant noise a three-piece band can make. They fucking rocked it. SO good. It helped that the douchebags were all at the Lenny Kravitz stage. Not that Lenny's so bad, but you know, his audience? Not so much. It was intimate, and punk rock, and just so fucking good.

I caught a few minutes of Widespread Panic because they were on the opposite stage while the Flaming Lips were setting up, and man o man are they some boring stinky hippies. Jeebus. So boring. Allow me to share with you my Widespread Panic story. About, oh, a decade ago, the Squidophile and his friend K wanted to go to Jazz Fest and see Widespread. I tagged along, thinking, well, I'm just going for the food, really. Widespread had TWO lots at Jazz Fest, which is really unusual, and totally undeserved if you ask me. So we're watching Widespread and I'm eating this great veggie pita from the African food stand, and when my food is gone I am booooooooooored. I mean, yawn, right? So I ask K and the Squidophile: is this more interesting if you're high? And they're like, well, let's find out! So they spark it up (I do not indulge. Jez no like the weed). I wait ten or fifteen minutes and say, so? Is it better if you're high? And they're all, "No, we're just too stoned to want to get up and go away." Aha! I see it now: the entire appeal of Widespread Panic is that their audience is too high to leave.

thanks be to modern pharmacology

2009-10-28T16:20:00.000-05:00

Turns out lortabs really DO kill toothache pain. Good news indeed.

I want a cape.

2009-10-26T22:07:00.001-05:00

It's the 21st century, right? So where are my silver jumpsuit and my awesome boots and my cape? Why are we not wearing capes for every occasion, whether casual or formal? I'm ready. Science fiction, have you lied to me??

moment of clarity

2009-10-21T10:00:00.002-05:00

So I've been trying to sort out what the fuck it is with Ann Coulter: why do the right-wingers love her so much? I mean, sure, she's a racist, homophobic, right-wing hate-monger, and they like THAT, obviously. But, she is also tall, leggy, blonde, miniskirted tanned, thin, polished, painted, buffed, and waxed. Normally this sexbot look adds up, for dudes, to someone they want to just shut up and look good. But they seem to like it when she says stuff. A lot. But then Mearl, a commenter over at IBTP said, “There is almost no way to be Dude-Approved hawt and be taken seriously." And she is absolutely right.

I had a light-bulb moment. I haven’t been able to parse it before, but I think I’ve got it now: they really *don’t* take her seriously. She is popular to the right-wing dudes the way a monkey singing opera might be popular: it’s not what she’s saying, but the fact that she is *saying it at all*. It’s like, “Look! Barbie TALKS!!” They surely, to a man, don’t think she actually writes her own books or thinks her own thoughts.

I feel so much better now.

Things I learned while painting my bathroom

2009-10-19T10:55:00.002-05:00

1. Lock the cats out.

2. Do yourself a favor and invest in the Benjamin Moore Aura low VOC (non-stinky) paint. I had to start with a coat of Kilz primer, which was brutally stinky, and then a coat of Aura, and it was like painting with heavy cream. Lovely. If you can't afford it right now, wait until you can. Worth every penny, especially when you consider it's truly one-coat coverage.

3. If I paint without a bandanna on my head, I get paint in my hair. If I wear a bandanna, I don't get any paint on my head at all.

4. Twelve years ago, I vowed never to paint behind a toilet again. Lesson learned? Never say never. I still hate painting behind the toilet.

5. Don't fool yourself: there is no painting just the walls of any room. As soon as you paint the walls, the paint on the woodwork looks dingy and shitty.

6. Lesson confirmed: the previous homeowners, aka Mr. and Mrs. Half-assed, did everything half-assedly. EVERYTHING. The wallboard is not tightly fitted, there's a gap around the window frame where he measured wrong and just left it, and the whole reason for this painting project is the half-assed wallpaper started falling off recently. Like, I brushed against it and a whole sheet came loose.