I ran across this recently:
An archive of Biting Beaver's posts.
A project of the AntiPorn Activist Network.
Check it out, yo.
[shout out to Izzy at Damage Control for the link]
The fake populist.
2 weeks ago
Showing posts with label cool websites. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cool websites. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Thursday, July 12, 2007
I once read a poem
It was called "All Rabbits are Republicans." In fact, rabbits, like Republicans, do not approve of much of anything human beings do.
Linky: Disapproving Rabbits
Linky: Disapproving Rabbits
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
I am a list geek
I am motivated by lists: check them off, cross them off, erase off the whiteboard, whatever: I'm a list geek. It's how I download anxiety about Stuff That Needs Doing: I write a list and it stops floating around my head pestering me. Hence, I adore Joe's Goals. Once upon a time, I actually used to print out lists that look almost exactly like the Joe's Goals grid, and put them on the fridge at the beginning of each week. I like this better because it keeps statistics (statistics about lists are even better!), makes cute little charts (see my sidebar) and is infinitely variable. I can add a goal for short-term use, delete it, change the way I use it, any time I want.
Current goals involve exercise, vitamins, getting fruits and veggies, cleaning my house, getting to work on time, and the hardest one right now: "one less thing," in which I get a check if I donate, sell, or throw away one thing I no longer need. Alas, junk mail does not count. It has to be something I paid for.
Current goals involve exercise, vitamins, getting fruits and veggies, cleaning my house, getting to work on time, and the hardest one right now: "one less thing," in which I get a check if I donate, sell, or throw away one thing I no longer need. Alas, junk mail does not count. It has to be something I paid for.
Monday, December 11, 2006
got a secret?
oh yes you do. It's hard to keep secrets, isn't it? You can cage them up in the far reaches of your memory, but they still rattle the bars now and again. Sometimes one will escape and dominate all of your waking hours with the awful secret you are keeping. Should I tell A. that his wife is cheating on him? Should I tell B. that her relationship is a train wreck? Should I tell C. that I know he's got one foot out the door? Should I tell NASA that I've perfected warp drive? Should I tell the CIA that Osama bin Laden is shacked up in a Motel 6 in Purvis, Mississippi, binging on pork rinds and Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper? You know, that kind of stuff.
Every Monday I go to PostSecret.com and see the fresh batch of anonymous secrets. They're sad, or happy, or weird, or funny, in different combinations. You know that each person telling a secret is relieving himself or herself of a burden.
Every Monday I go to PostSecret.com and see the fresh batch of anonymous secrets. They're sad, or happy, or weird, or funny, in different combinations. You know that each person telling a secret is relieving himself or herself of a burden.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
radfem blogging commentators: consider the bonobo
I love I Blame the Patriarchy, I really do. I read it almost daily and always enjoy Twisty's point of view. Do I agree with her 100%? As a matter of fact, I do not. More like 85%, probably. I still enjoy hearing her take on things. Go figure.
What is bugging me right now is the comment section, which I used to blissfully ignore. But now that I know it's there, it's hard to ignore. Especially when there are 150 comments. So I read, I am amused, I learn a few things, I get irritated, sometimes I comment, but lately, not so much. Why? Because yahoos will eternally plop themselves down into someone else's blogspace and be predictably tiresome. Commenters on feminist blogs seem to get mired in the same conversations over and over and it's really getting on my nerves.
There are the people who complain that the Blogger or Commentors are too strident, too militant, not "nice enough," and proceed to explain in a patronizing tone that more people would pay attention if only they would tone it down a bit. Because, you know, asking nicely for an end to patriarchy would surely work; if only we had thought of it before! Use a soft, well-modulated voice, passive tense, wear lip gloss, and tilt your head. It'll work, sweetie! Go ahead, try it!!
These same folks often get their knickers in a twist because somebody disagreed with them, vehemently, perhaps impolitely even (shocking!), and suddenly the commentor feels that everyone is picking on them. Wah, wah, and wah. You walk into someone's house and act an ass or say something disagreeable, someone is going to call you on it. Same with someone else's blog. If people disagree with you and you don't like it, don't go there. Attendance is optional.
Then there are the straight girls who think they're being disagreed with just because they're straight. At every feminist blog I've visited, this is not true. They're being disagreed with because they're wrong. Or misguided. Or ignorant. Or whatever. But it is a convenient distraction from the substance of one's opinion: "You hate me because I'm not a lesbian!" Jeez, could you get any more stereotypical? Absurd. I'm a straight girl and have never had my opinion discounted for that reason, so far as I know. Now, if I started making ignorant unqualified assertions on behalf of the lesbians of the world, I'd deservedly take some flak, since I'd have no right to that. Likewise, I sure as hell wish other hetero commenters wouldn't decide to make comments on behalf of all the other man-fuckers in the house. I didn't elect a Speaker of the Hetero Female Population, so leave me out of your pronouncements, dig?
Then there are the people who don't understand why their rhetorical or universal questions about feminism, patriarchy, capitalism, why the sky is blue, and why a frog aren't answered immediately, with footnotes, by everyone in sight. They need to shut up and read a book instead of expecting the world to drop everything and explain it all to them on demand.
Finally, what's with the CONSTANT FUCKING FLOW OF PERSONAL ANECDOTES? Yes, I know I'm shouting. I know it. Why, oh why, must any pronouncement of one person's opinion on any feminist-inflected topic open a floodgate of personal testimonies about the joys of blowjobs, housework, childbirth, high heels, corsetry, BDSM, bonobos, cats vs. dogs, macs vs. pcs, etc.? Jeebus. It's almost like there's an outside agitator at every blog whose job it is to shout into the midst of any fruitful feminist conversation "blowjob"!! or "high heels"!!! (or both) ...and thereby distract, befuddle, and irritate every participant, thereby resulting in no conversational progress AT ALL. God. Why does it all come down to shoes and makeup and hair and sex in these conversations? Sweetie, I don't care what kind of shoes you wear. I really don't. Do you care what kind of shoes I wear? I didn't think so. So quit it. Seriously. (Unless you want to write a shoeblog, in which case, go see Manolo's Shoe Blog for lessons on how to do it. But let me reiterate: do it on your own time, on your own blog, mmmkay?)
The best part is when, after someone has threadjacked a comment section in one of the aforementioned directions, someone else says, stentoriously: "Don't you people have anything more important to talk about? Shouldn't you be worrying about Darfur or China or world peace instead of something so silly and petty as clothes and fellatio?" Bog, I love that. Because, you know, anyone who talks about sex or clothes or makeup is clearly incapable of thinking about anything else, ever, at all.
I'm trying to quit reading comments, really I am, but I am powerless to resist the comment count. 125 comments! 175! 200! How can I resist such lively discourse?
What is bugging me right now is the comment section, which I used to blissfully ignore. But now that I know it's there, it's hard to ignore. Especially when there are 150 comments. So I read, I am amused, I learn a few things, I get irritated, sometimes I comment, but lately, not so much. Why? Because yahoos will eternally plop themselves down into someone else's blogspace and be predictably tiresome. Commenters on feminist blogs seem to get mired in the same conversations over and over and it's really getting on my nerves.
There are the people who complain that the Blogger or Commentors are too strident, too militant, not "nice enough," and proceed to explain in a patronizing tone that more people would pay attention if only they would tone it down a bit. Because, you know, asking nicely for an end to patriarchy would surely work; if only we had thought of it before! Use a soft, well-modulated voice, passive tense, wear lip gloss, and tilt your head. It'll work, sweetie! Go ahead, try it!!
These same folks often get their knickers in a twist because somebody disagreed with them, vehemently, perhaps impolitely even (shocking!), and suddenly the commentor feels that everyone is picking on them. Wah, wah, and wah. You walk into someone's house and act an ass or say something disagreeable, someone is going to call you on it. Same with someone else's blog. If people disagree with you and you don't like it, don't go there. Attendance is optional.
Then there are the straight girls who think they're being disagreed with just because they're straight. At every feminist blog I've visited, this is not true. They're being disagreed with because they're wrong. Or misguided. Or ignorant. Or whatever. But it is a convenient distraction from the substance of one's opinion: "You hate me because I'm not a lesbian!" Jeez, could you get any more stereotypical? Absurd. I'm a straight girl and have never had my opinion discounted for that reason, so far as I know. Now, if I started making ignorant unqualified assertions on behalf of the lesbians of the world, I'd deservedly take some flak, since I'd have no right to that. Likewise, I sure as hell wish other hetero commenters wouldn't decide to make comments on behalf of all the other man-fuckers in the house. I didn't elect a Speaker of the Hetero Female Population, so leave me out of your pronouncements, dig?
Then there are the people who don't understand why their rhetorical or universal questions about feminism, patriarchy, capitalism, why the sky is blue, and why a frog aren't answered immediately, with footnotes, by everyone in sight. They need to shut up and read a book instead of expecting the world to drop everything and explain it all to them on demand.
Finally, what's with the CONSTANT FUCKING FLOW OF PERSONAL ANECDOTES? Yes, I know I'm shouting. I know it. Why, oh why, must any pronouncement of one person's opinion on any feminist-inflected topic open a floodgate of personal testimonies about the joys of blowjobs, housework, childbirth, high heels, corsetry, BDSM, bonobos, cats vs. dogs, macs vs. pcs, etc.? Jeebus. It's almost like there's an outside agitator at every blog whose job it is to shout into the midst of any fruitful feminist conversation "blowjob"!! or "high heels"!!! (or both) ...and thereby distract, befuddle, and irritate every participant, thereby resulting in no conversational progress AT ALL. God. Why does it all come down to shoes and makeup and hair and sex in these conversations? Sweetie, I don't care what kind of shoes you wear. I really don't. Do you care what kind of shoes I wear? I didn't think so. So quit it. Seriously. (Unless you want to write a shoeblog, in which case, go see Manolo's Shoe Blog for lessons on how to do it. But let me reiterate: do it on your own time, on your own blog, mmmkay?)
The best part is when, after someone has threadjacked a comment section in one of the aforementioned directions, someone else says, stentoriously: "Don't you people have anything more important to talk about? Shouldn't you be worrying about Darfur or China or world peace instead of something so silly and petty as clothes and fellatio?" Bog, I love that. Because, you know, anyone who talks about sex or clothes or makeup is clearly incapable of thinking about anything else, ever, at all.
I'm trying to quit reading comments, really I am, but I am powerless to resist the comment count. 125 comments! 175! 200! How can I resist such lively discourse?
Monday, November 06, 2006
I confess: I have too much stuff
So I'm attempting to institute a daily policy of "One Less Thing". One thing goes in the garbage, the goodwill bag, onto eBay, or onto Bookmooch. Which, by the way, anyone with too many books should check out:
Bookmooch
It's a book swap website. Get a point for giving a book away, use it to mooch a book off someone. The cost of media mail shipping is low, and you're basically getting a book for the cost of shipping another one to someone else. You can specify mailing within the US only if you don't want to deal with international shipping, which I certainly don't. Dig it.
Bookmooch
It's a book swap website. Get a point for giving a book away, use it to mooch a book off someone. The cost of media mail shipping is low, and you're basically getting a book for the cost of shipping another one to someone else. You can specify mailing within the US only if you don't want to deal with international shipping, which I certainly don't. Dig it.
Monday, October 23, 2006
El Guapo in DC
El Guapo in DC:
"Bush: No pullout until mission complete.'
Yes, I know. I learned that in the 8th grade."
Oh. my gawd. I can't stop laughing.
"Bush: No pullout until mission complete.'
Yes, I know. I learned that in the 8th grade."
Oh. my gawd. I can't stop laughing.
Friday, October 13, 2006
The Politics of Housework
The Politics of Housework
This link goes to one of the best essays ever on how the political and the personal really do go hand-in-hand. It lays out the dynamics involved in the push-pull of getting a man to actually do more than give lip-service to gender equality.
It was written THIRTY SIX YEARS AGO and yet it is still as relevant today as it ever was. For example: My last relationship got mired in an endless battle over his lazy ass expecting me to do all the nasty housework, and re-reading this just raises my blood pressure, I swear. I once even printed this essay out for him and he FREAKED OUT.
Now I live alone, and I still hate housework, but at least it piles up at the one-human-per-household rate, instead of twice that. And I'm certain, very certain, that I'll never live with a man again unless we agree in advance that he cleans up after himself AND we hire a maid for the shitwork AND I get my own bathroom. And that there will be no whining on his part, and no need for reminders or complaints on mine. This is an entirely bourgeois solution, as it costs money to have an extra bathroom and a housekeeper, but I cannot come up with any other solution that doesn't involve CONSTANT VIGILANCE, which is work in itself.
My mother would say, when I was fighting with the ex over housework, "well, you just need to get over this," and I'd say, HOW? I see two solutions: 1. become the maid and clean up after him 24/7, or 2. live in filth. Neither of these was an acceptable solution, and I certainly couldn't afford to pay a housekeeper.
I constantly hear women around me complaining that they can't get their husbands to pick up their socks, or put away their dishes, or what-have-you. My marital advice, at every wedding shower I go to, comes from my mother and is highly valuable. I doubt many people follow it, but here it is:
"Never do anything for a man once if you don't want to do it for him for the rest of his life."
In other words: pick up his socks once, he will forget how to, assuming that you "don't mind," or "it's more important to you," or perhaps he doesn't think about it at all. He'll just quit doing it himself. So just don't start.
I just never understood how anyone who's met me would assume I'd turn into Betty Fucking Crocker the minute he gave me my own keys to the front door. I've had this happen more than once, and I just don't get it. The question, "Have you met me?" comes to mind.
Why would a man be attracted to a feminist woman with a strong personality, a lively intellect, and an active social & intellectual life, and think that this very same person would be totally satisfied and fulfilled by hours of drudging, nasty, thankless housework? If I don't want to do it for myself, why in hell would I want to do it for someone else? And, conversely, if a man loves and respects his partner, why would he want her to be his maid? I find it degrading and disrespectful. I went to college so I wouldn't have to clean up after other people. I'll never understand why a healthy, fully functioning grown man thinks it is some other person's job to follow around cleaning up after him, unless of course he has hired that person and is paying them to do so.
This link goes to one of the best essays ever on how the political and the personal really do go hand-in-hand. It lays out the dynamics involved in the push-pull of getting a man to actually do more than give lip-service to gender equality.
It was written THIRTY SIX YEARS AGO and yet it is still as relevant today as it ever was. For example: My last relationship got mired in an endless battle over his lazy ass expecting me to do all the nasty housework, and re-reading this just raises my blood pressure, I swear. I once even printed this essay out for him and he FREAKED OUT.
Now I live alone, and I still hate housework, but at least it piles up at the one-human-per-household rate, instead of twice that. And I'm certain, very certain, that I'll never live with a man again unless we agree in advance that he cleans up after himself AND we hire a maid for the shitwork AND I get my own bathroom. And that there will be no whining on his part, and no need for reminders or complaints on mine. This is an entirely bourgeois solution, as it costs money to have an extra bathroom and a housekeeper, but I cannot come up with any other solution that doesn't involve CONSTANT VIGILANCE, which is work in itself.
My mother would say, when I was fighting with the ex over housework, "well, you just need to get over this," and I'd say, HOW? I see two solutions: 1. become the maid and clean up after him 24/7, or 2. live in filth. Neither of these was an acceptable solution, and I certainly couldn't afford to pay a housekeeper.
I constantly hear women around me complaining that they can't get their husbands to pick up their socks, or put away their dishes, or what-have-you. My marital advice, at every wedding shower I go to, comes from my mother and is highly valuable. I doubt many people follow it, but here it is:
"Never do anything for a man once if you don't want to do it for him for the rest of his life."
In other words: pick up his socks once, he will forget how to, assuming that you "don't mind," or "it's more important to you," or perhaps he doesn't think about it at all. He'll just quit doing it himself. So just don't start.
I just never understood how anyone who's met me would assume I'd turn into Betty Fucking Crocker the minute he gave me my own keys to the front door. I've had this happen more than once, and I just don't get it. The question, "Have you met me?" comes to mind.
Why would a man be attracted to a feminist woman with a strong personality, a lively intellect, and an active social & intellectual life, and think that this very same person would be totally satisfied and fulfilled by hours of drudging, nasty, thankless housework? If I don't want to do it for myself, why in hell would I want to do it for someone else? And, conversely, if a man loves and respects his partner, why would he want her to be his maid? I find it degrading and disrespectful. I went to college so I wouldn't have to clean up after other people. I'll never understand why a healthy, fully functioning grown man thinks it is some other person's job to follow around cleaning up after him, unless of course he has hired that person and is paying them to do so.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Internet Anagram Server / I, Rearrangement Servant
Internet Anagram Server / I, Rearrangement Servant : anagram, anagrams, anagramme, anagrama, wordplay, word play, creator, solver, finder, generator, crossword, transmogrify, pangram, shuffle, fun
Totally entertaining, totally useless. Enter your name or any other group of words, and the generator spits out all possible anagrams. My favorites:
CHANCE LILAC HER JELLY
ARCANE CHIC HELL JELLY
CHANCE HAIRY CELL JELL
ACHE RECALL CHIN JELLY
EACH LA CLINCHER JELLY
CALLER JAY LICHEN LECH
CLEAR CHINA LECH JELLY
CLEAR ACHY LICHEN JELL
ACHY CAR CHENILLE JELL
ACHY JEAN CHILLER CELL
CHANCELLERY JAIL LECH
CHANCRE HELICAL JELLY
Totally entertaining, totally useless. Enter your name or any other group of words, and the generator spits out all possible anagrams. My favorites:
CHANCE LILAC HER JELLY
ARCANE CHIC HELL JELLY
CHANCE HAIRY CELL JELL
ACHE RECALL CHIN JELLY
EACH LA CLINCHER JELLY
CALLER JAY LICHEN LECH
CLEAR CHINA LECH JELLY
CLEAR ACHY LICHEN JELL
ACHY CAR CHENILLE JELL
ACHY JEAN CHILLER CELL
CHANCELLERY JAIL LECH
CHANCRE HELICAL JELLY
Monday, September 18, 2006
About Recycling for Charities: Wireless Cell Phone Recycling Fundraising Nonprofit
About Recycling for Charities: Wireless Cell Phone Recycling Fundraising Nonprofit
Got junk? You know you do: old cell phones, PDAs, whatever, that are sitting at the bottom of a drawer somewhere. Go to this website to find out how you can help a charity and clean out a drawer at the same time.
Got junk? You know you do: old cell phones, PDAs, whatever, that are sitting at the bottom of a drawer somewhere. Go to this website to find out how you can help a charity and clean out a drawer at the same time.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Houston, we have a problem.
Okay, so it's basically a design problem, but it's still a problem: I am sick of looking at stacks of CDs in jewel cases. I want to put them into pretty CD binders and get rid of my growing forest of CD racks. West Elm has some nice canvas-covered ones, $30 a pop, which are the best I've found so far. Canvas covered binders, in cream, brown, or light blue. They're nice, but not, you know, *exciting* or pretty or anything else very wonderful. However, they are Not Black Nylon, which is a rare thing indeed in the world of CD binders.
Apparently Case Logic still employs a design strategy that is aiming at the 16-24 mostly male demographic. I don't WANT black nylon, or black plastic, or anything with flames or skulls or psychedelic graphics. I don't NEED a zipper all the way 'round, because this isn't for carrying around in my car. I just want nice binders of CDs on the shelf next to (or nearby) my stereo. Is this so much to ask? To be fair, Case Logic's competitors are on the same page, as well.
I even emailed Grace at Design Sponge to see if she knew of any good CD binders/books. If anyone has her finger on the pulse of office supply design, I knew it would be her. Sure enough, she turned me on to a great office supply website (See Jane Work) but, alas, no luck there. Not with CD books, anyway. They do have tons of amazing cool office stuff, pretty file folders and pens and things that I want one of each of everything... I mean, wouldn't work be much more fun if folders looked like this?
instead of the boring manila envelopes above, which are there because I'm too lazy to figure out how to make the pictures I upload go where I want them to.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
The Shape of a Mother
The Shape of a Mother TM: August 2006
Powerful stuff. Pregnancy really is a giant biology experiment, isn't it? Dangerous, difficult process.
Having not had children, I don't really "get" why women want to tell their baby stories, over & over, in excruciating detail. Pregnant women I know get addicted to that "Baby Stories" show (is it on Lifetime?) but somehow I am inclined to think ignorance might be bliss. Apparently as soon as you start looking pregnant, everyone wants to tell you their labor & delivery horror stories... what is that?
I guess the project is something like that, only with pictures, and come to think of it, no one's pregnancy stories follow up with "and now my belly looks like bread dough, my calves are veiny, and I've got scars and stretch marks here, there, and everywhere". The baby stories usually end with delivery - or at least the narrative switches from mother to baby once delivery is complete.
The pics make me suspicious of the Hollywood chicks who are back in flat-tummied form six weeks after pregnancy. Do they just hand off their children to nannies and spend 24/7 working on their abs? Do they all just get tummy tucks while in the hospital? I've seen really young women bounce back to their old figures, at least clothed, but it seems like the changes are more than the shape of your ass or the bulge of the stomach.
Powerful stuff. Pregnancy really is a giant biology experiment, isn't it? Dangerous, difficult process.
Having not had children, I don't really "get" why women want to tell their baby stories, over & over, in excruciating detail. Pregnant women I know get addicted to that "Baby Stories" show (is it on Lifetime?) but somehow I am inclined to think ignorance might be bliss. Apparently as soon as you start looking pregnant, everyone wants to tell you their labor & delivery horror stories... what is that?
I guess the project is something like that, only with pictures, and come to think of it, no one's pregnancy stories follow up with "and now my belly looks like bread dough, my calves are veiny, and I've got scars and stretch marks here, there, and everywhere". The baby stories usually end with delivery - or at least the narrative switches from mother to baby once delivery is complete.
The pics make me suspicious of the Hollywood chicks who are back in flat-tummied form six weeks after pregnancy. Do they just hand off their children to nannies and spend 24/7 working on their abs? Do they all just get tummy tucks while in the hospital? I've seen really young women bounce back to their old figures, at least clothed, but it seems like the changes are more than the shape of your ass or the bulge of the stomach.
Monday, July 17, 2006
The Daily Kitten
The Daily Kitten
If the daily puppy doesn't satisfy your need for cuteness, the daily kitten ought to do it.
If the daily puppy doesn't satisfy your need for cuteness, the daily kitten ought to do it.
The Daily Puppy
The Daily Puppy
You know, the world is a really alarming place right now. When you can't take it any more, click on over to the Daily Puppy, because there is nothing like a heap o' puppies to put a smile on your face.
You know, the world is a really alarming place right now. When you can't take it any more, click on over to the Daily Puppy, because there is nothing like a heap o' puppies to put a smile on your face.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
oh. mah. gaw.
fredflare.com | 800-243-9924
Clearly Fred Flare has inserted some sort of spyware into the shopping portion of my brain and figured out exactly what I want in every possible shopping category. I could buy one of EVERYTHING on this website and not regret it, I think. I'm all of a twitter, a swoon, with the shopping vapors, and trying very, very, very hard not to bust out the credit card and do major damage.
Cute but not twee, ironic but not snarky, and, believe it or not, everything is REASONABLY PRICED. Holy crap, it's unbelievable.
Clearly Fred Flare has inserted some sort of spyware into the shopping portion of my brain and figured out exactly what I want in every possible shopping category. I could buy one of EVERYTHING on this website and not regret it, I think. I'm all of a twitter, a swoon, with the shopping vapors, and trying very, very, very hard not to bust out the credit card and do major damage.
Cute but not twee, ironic but not snarky, and, believe it or not, everything is REASONABLY PRICED. Holy crap, it's unbelievable.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Monday, June 05, 2006
Represent, y'all.
Here we be, modeling our new NOLA t-shirt:
Ferris, aka the Beast from the East, adopted me by getting locked into our tool shed when I was living on Morrison Road. He's a bully, but he loves his mama, and that's all that matters, right?
Bennet was a porch kitty on Claiborne, near Broadway. He's more refined than Ferris, and considerably nervous-er. Probably due to being raised by Ferris, the thug.
Representing Metairie, but born at Baptist Hospital as all proper New Orleanians are.
Get yr shirts & stickers at Dirty Coast
Ferris, aka the Beast from the East, adopted me by getting locked into our tool shed when I was living on Morrison Road. He's a bully, but he loves his mama, and that's all that matters, right?
Bennet was a porch kitty on Claiborne, near Broadway. He's more refined than Ferris, and considerably nervous-er. Probably due to being raised by Ferris, the thug.
Representing Metairie, but born at Baptist Hospital as all proper New Orleanians are.
Get yr shirts & stickers at Dirty Coast
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Won't You Be My Neighbor?
YouTube - Won't You Be My Neighbor?
Do not miss this if you have ever seen an episode of Mr. Rogers. I grew up watching Mr. Rogers, as so many people have, and even today if I run across a rerun, he just makes me feel better.
He does a brilliant job of explaining why public television, why educational programming, why kids matter, why their feelings matter.
Do not miss this if you have ever seen an episode of Mr. Rogers. I grew up watching Mr. Rogers, as so many people have, and even today if I run across a rerun, he just makes me feel better.
He does a brilliant job of explaining why public television, why educational programming, why kids matter, why their feelings matter.
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