my first crush

I mean, First Crush. First grade, James Madison Elementary School, in the suburbs west of New Orleans. Mark Mullins was my first-grade crush. I changed schools after first grade and didn't lay eyes on him again until we were both at the same public junior high, where I was in 8th grade and he was in 7th, because I had skipped a grade. I haven't crossed paths with him since, but every so often I remember that he's out there, because he's had a really successful musical career based in NOLA.



Look how cute he is! Awww, little Mark Mullins! He's not 5 years old any more! Neither am I!

liveblogging Battlestar Galactica

So: Tigh and Tyrell want to feel their emotions, despite the pain, but Tory, she says she can just turn it all off. Interesting gender division.

Did Tyrell mean to get himself demoted or not? Did he forget to change out that tube doodad because he's exhausted & distracted, or because his Secret Cylon Programming made him? Boomer never remembered her acts of sabotage before she realized she was a Cylon.

Now that Tigh's using Cylon projection to see Caprica Six as his dead wife, it gives me another piece of evidence for the notion that Baltar IS a Cylon after all, since he is obviously using projection when he sees his own personal Six.

If I ever need chemo, I want Edward James Olmos to come read to me.

Is Baltar really being religious? Is he sincere or just playing the role? "You are perfect, just as you are?" Really? Has he been watching "Bridget Jones' Diary"?

[commercial aside: who the hell is Tony Stewart?]

I was wondering where Kara and Anders were this episode. Looks like we're getting lots of 'em next week.

Icon of 'Oughties Design

I've lately become obsessed with the Apartment Therapy website. They're running a design contest for "Small Cool" spaces that are lived in by actual people - not designed for photographic purposes only. I haven't counted *exactly* but it seems to me that almost half of the people own the Ikea PS cabinet, mainly in white but occasionally in red. And I confess, I kind of covet it, especially now that I've visited the website and see that it's only $99, AND it's made of metal, not particle board. I have vowed to never again buy particle board ANYTHING, so the majority of Ikea products are not coming into my house. The Ikea PS cabinet, though, it's pretty hot. Especially in red.

Unfortunately, I have a feeling the Ikea PS will become a diagnostic of 'Oughties design. So: buy something cheap that will be dated in a few years because it gives you the grins, or pass it by because, really, you don't *need* a new TV cabinet? I just can't decide.

stuff that bugs me

I do not like the new usage of the term "curating" to describe the activity of picking some stuff out and putting it together.

The artful arranging of a mod collection of vintage electric fans on your Ikea bookshelf is not a curatorial task. It's decorating, okay?

Selecting half a dozen bands to perform on a TV special? Also not curating.

A curator selects STUFF, not music. She has a point of view, a thesis, that is explored via the collection of stuff. There is research involved, and design, and a careful planning process. If you open up your iTunes and stick a dozen tracks in your folder, then re-arrange them for twenty minutes and burn a CD, you know what? You're NOT a fucking CURATOR!

Friday Lazy Blogging

I so need a theremin.

I'm sure this comes as no surprise.

I voted for Hillary in the primary. If by some miracle she gets the nomination, I'll be knocking on doors and having bake sales and doing whatever I can to get Hillary elected. I was on the fence for a long time because her politics are more moderate than mine, but then again, so are Obama's. What tipped me off the fence was the unbelievable misogyny, both subtle and outrageous, that got really ramped up over the last six or eight months. I know any number of men who just DO NOT SEE IT. They get their panties in a wad over something ever-so-vaguely possibly racist coming from anyone vaguely associated with Clinton, but the constant stream of misogynistic invective is, it's like it's INVISIBLE to most dudes. Fortunately, this Youtube video brings together many examples of smug be-penised journalists taking swipes at Hillary. Some are subtle, but once you see the smug smirks, hear the tone of voice as the dudes heh-heh-heh together, it's clear what's going on. In newsrooms across the nation, the penis trumps race. You can still make sexist jokes in the "mainstream media"; racist jokes of the same caliber would get you tarred and feathered and thrown out of the newsroom.

organizing my kitchen

New Rule for Kitchen Organization:

It's either Tupperware or Chaos.

That is all.

shooting fish in a barrel

I was taking a detour back to work from lunch via the local "antique" mall which is more like an upscale flea market with maybe 20% actual antiques, and on my way down the stairs, I was stopped in my tracks by this:



Blamers, I ask you: What. The. Fuck? When do you think it was made? Is it a "cute" 70s production from that Bicentennial-related colonial revival phase - remember when everything was gingham and braided rugs and heavy dark "colonial" furniture, except it was covered in hideously itchy modern plaid fabrics? Maybe this revolting little tchotchke was meant to go in the "pub" section of the home, where the men hang out drinking beer and watching football and telling appalling sexist jokes. Like, apparently, this one: How do you get a woman to shut up? Har de har, you cut off her head. Man, that's a real knee-slapper there.

You know what I can't figure out? Who would buy this? Now, every time I go in there, I'm going to look for the damned thing, and one day, it will be gone. And I will have a permanent case of the heebie-jeebies thinking that someone - probably someone who lives here - bought it. And hung it in their house. Because nothing is as entertaining as a hot dead chick.