The Republican candidates and the Arts.

You know THIS will be a short post, yeah?


Here's what you need to know about McCain's policies re: art and culture:

Desperately Seeking John McCain's Arts Policy

and, a little tale from a small museum in a small town, circa 1997:

Anchorage Daily News (Alaska)

August 6, 1997, Wednesday, FINAL EDITION

MUSEUM STAFF QUITS IN ANGER

BYLINE: S.J. Komarnitsky; Daily News Mat-Su Bureau

SECTION: NATION, Pg. 1A

LENGTH: 975 words

DATELINE: Wasilla

Opal Toomey, Esther West and Ann Meyers don't seem like politically active types. There are no bumper stickers on their cars, no pins on their lapels.

But the three gray-haired matrons of Wasilla's city museum decided to take a stand last week. Faced with a $ 32,000 budget cut and the prospect of choosing who would lose her job, the three 15-year-plus employees decided instead to quit en masse. They sent a letter to the mayor and City Council announcing they plan to retire at the end of the month, leaving the museum without a staff. They also sent a message: They'd rather quit than continue working for a city that doesn't want to preserve its history.

"We hate to leave," said Meyers, who at 65 is the youngest of the three. "We've been together a long time. But this is enough." If the city were broke, it would be different, she said. "If they were even close to being broke."

Instead, the city is flush thanks to a 2 percent sales tax passed in 1994 that has left it with $ 4 million in reserves. There is no reason the museum's budget should be cut, Meyers said.

But the mayor and several City Council members who supported the cut say the budget surplus is beside the point.

They were elected on a platform to minimize government and concentrate on infrastructure -- paving roads and extending sewer lines. They appreciate the museum and the work the women do to manage it and several buildings that make up a historic townsite in downtown Wasilla. But the operation needs to be more efficient, they say.

"I think everybody was in agreement there were ways to make the museum more efficient, to spend taxpayers' dollars wiser over there," Mayor Sarah Palin said.

The museum, which had an annual budget of more than $ 200,000, was costing roughly $ 25 per visitor, she said. Besides, she added, "if you talk to someone in Wasilla (about) where they want their tax dollars to go, nine out of 10 say, 'Fix my road. I still don't have water in my area. And protect our lakes with a sewer system.' "

That philosophy, supported by Palin and many City Council members, has been debated in the town since the mayor took office last fall. Some say the museum is just the latest example of cutting government at the expense of the community.

The women are only the latest to leave the city payroll, noted John Cooper, who was the museum's director until Palin fired him last fall.

In addition to Cooper, Wasilla Police Chief Irl Stambaugh left last winter after Palin fired him, and planning director Duane Dvorak and Public Works director John Felton turned in their resignations this summer.

"People are voting with their feet," he said.

Palin maintains she is doing what voters asked. To have $ 4 million in reserves is prudent. That's not even an entire year's budget, she said.

Much of the latest flap over the museum is a misunderstanding, she said.

All the council wanted was to cut back the museum's hours in winter from seven days a week to five. The women made the decision to resign, Palin said.

West, Toomey and Meyers disagree. They say they were told that one of them would have to leave in September.

Regardless of what was intended, museum supporters say, losing the women will be a blow to the city.

The three have run the two-story building just off the Parks Highway since the early 1980s. And while it is no National Gallery of Art, its collection of mining materials, homestead memorabilia and early Wasilla history has its charm, said Fran Seager-Boss, Mat-Su Borough anthropologist.

"It's people and characters of the area you wouldn't find anywhere else," she said. "It reflects their location and is unique."

Several of the items in the museum were donated or are on loan, including an ore stamp mill built in 1900. Used to crush ore, the hefty-looking piece of steel machinery was carried from Knik to a mine north of Wasilla by four Chinese laborers, according to the man who donated it.

Nearby is an ancestor of the modern game of foosball, with handcrafted soccer players in place of molded plastic figures. Miners paid a dime a game to pass long hours at the mines. The outside edges still bear burn marks where the players placed cigarettes.

The three women bring their life experiences to the collection. During a recent tour, Toomey, 77, added snippets of her years growing up and homesteading in the Wasilla area. She remembers riding the train from Anchorage to Wasilla and waiting at the freight station where the family received its furniture, lumber and other goods.

"That was how everything came in those days," she said.

West, 74, recalls wearing metal hair clips similar to ones under a glass display at the museum. The metal curling irons next to them, which were heated on stoves, were before her time though, she explains.

The three also bring their institutional memory. The museum used to be a community hall that was built in 1932, they said. Dances were held there, and the City Council used to meet in the basement. It was dedicated as a museum in 1967.

Seager-Boss said she frequently calls the three for information that could take much longer to gather from traditional sources. "Opal is my source," she said.

The museum and a farmer's market held each Wednesday in the old townsite, she noted, have given a heart to a town that is mostly business.

"Everything else is strip mall," she said. "But suddenly there's a nice little area right in downtown."

Palin said she doesn't downplay the museum's importance but at the same time she has to look out for the city's budget.

For now, there are no plans to try to woo the women back. For their part, none of the three expects it. Palin said she plans to meet with members of a local historical society to discuss options for finding replacements.

LOAD-DATE: August 7, 1997

LANGUAGE: ENGLISH

GRAPHIC: Photo By Stephen Nowers; Anchorage Daily News; DOROTHY PAGE MUSEUM EMPLOYEES ESTHER WEST, OPAL TOOMEY AND ANN MEYERS

Copyright 1997 Anchorage Daily News

I sat on this for a while.

Partly because I was digesting it, partly because I figured it's a story that would disappear after a minute or ten of outrage. So, just as a reminder, in case anyone forgot:

Five women were buried alive in Pakistan this summer. Stop reading. Now.

Buried. Alive.

Got it?

What was their crime?

Expressing a desire to marry a man of their choosing, rather than be subject to an arranged marriage.

Imagine if you will, facing a lifetime of being raped by, bearing the children of, and being the property and domestic servant of a man chosen by your family. Your family which, by the way, will kill you if you express an opinion or desire a smidgeon of free will.

So, go to this link: Buried alive and think: a lifetime of sexual and domestic servitude, or death?

I note with interest the tone of the article, which seems far more interested in pointing out that such "tribal customs" are not in fact approved by Islam. Okay, got it. Murder = Not Islamic. Is that even the point here? The Senator - Balochistan Senator Sardar Israrullah Zehri - defended this murder as "tribal custom," not Islamic custom. It's all beside the point, for fucks' sake: five women were murdered and a bunch of dudes in Islamabad are squabbling about whether it was an Islamic custom or a tribal custom? Cheesus.

Men I know wonder why I'm so passionate about feminism, why I can't have a "friendly little debate", for funsies. And this is why: because feminism is a LIFE AND DEATH MATTER. Until women are acknowledged as humans the world over, women will die at the hands of our oppressors.

People who think gender is "irrelevant," that feminism is "done" (Sarah Palin, I'm looking at you!) - those people are blind and ignorant and selfish. When women can't see how much work there is to do, I am stunned, grieved, shocked.

announcement

Henceforth, I am no longer "single" or "unmarried." I am a "bachelor". The other two sound dull, and sad, and lonely not because it is true, but because our culture designates the solo female as such. The implication is that one should be something Other Than single or unmarried.

The Bachelor, on the other hand: fun! independent! whee! A bachelor chooses the bachelor lifestyle, which is a lifestyle envied by her married friends. A bachelor goes on vacations to places that aren't designated "Family Friendly," and hence are not overrun with screaming children. A bachelor spends her disposable income on whatever she wants to.* A bachelor never has to eat at Chuck E. Cheese. A bachelor never finds man-whiskers in her sink, or tube socks in her living room. A bachelor doesn't let a man leave his masculine products in her bathroom, because that would be too much like a commitment.

No, don't even think "ette". EFF the term "bachelorette", because that brings to mind bachelorette parties, which only take place when said female is about to give up her fun-loving lifestyle for the tedium of monogamy and lawn care.

*Alas, the female bachelor, operating at a 30% deficit on the male dollar, has substantially less disposable income, but let us pass over this little detail for the time being.

That is all.

Sarah Haskins, I love you.

Seriously, if you ever come to Mississippi, I will buy you dinner. And drinks. Coffee? Cigarettes? Yogurt? Really, whatever it is that you want, I love you and I'll see that you get it.

Holy effing crap. I cannot believe someone said this OUT FUCKING LOUD

Georgia Republican Rep. Lynn Westmoreland used the racially-tinged term "uppity" to describe Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama Thursday.

Oh no he didn't! Oh, oh my god, he DID.

However, let us be clear: there's nothing "tinged" about "uppity". OH no, friends, that is pure-d dyed in the wool RACIST shit right there. Nothing "tinge"y about it.

McSame

Gustav

My obstreperal lobe is tired today

So y'all are going to have to figure out for yourselves why this story is outrageous and un-fucking-believable and just, gah, So Wrong.

Woman wearing veil told to leave Italian museum

Which reminds me of this:

Woman in lesbian.com t-shirt told to leave Social Security building

So, basically, two ass-hat dudes with a modicum of authority believe that women who are unfuckable (to them, anyway) should not be seen in public. "Hi! I has a badge! Look hawtt and fuckable or get out of my sight! How can I tell if you're hawtt if you're wearing a veil? And you, lesbian, I obviously don't have a chance with you, so Get. Out.!"

Cheesus. When are we going to put men on world-wide fucking house arrest until they can prove themselves capable of acting like human beings when they walk out the door?

The Katrina Pain Index, per Shakesville

A whole lot of depressing, but not surprising, statistics.

a sample:

0. Number of apartments being rehabbed to replace the 963 public housing apartments demolished at the St. Bernard Housing Development.

0. Amount of data available to evaluate performance of publicly financed privately run charter schools in New Orleans in 2005-2006 and 2006-2007 school years.

0. Number of renters in Louisiana who have received financial assistance from the $10 billion federal post-Katrina rebuilding program Road Home Community Development Block Grant.

Go read the whole list.

MIRA gets a separate post

For the non-mainstream-media point of view, please go visit:

Mississippi Immigrant Rights Alliance

MIRA should be a go-to for info on the ICE raid. I note with interest that they saw this coming; here's the full text of their 8/22/08 press release:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Friday, August 22, 2008

TO: All Media Outlets

Contact:
Patricia Ice-office 601-354-9355
Bill Chandler-office 601-968-5182

JACKSON, MS - A series of preparations by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) on the Gulf Coast has local advocates on edge about the possibility of yet another worksite raid, and yet another devastating blow to businesses, families and communities in the name of immigration enforcement.

"The preparations we are seeing ICE make are alarmingly similar to what occurred immediately prior to the raid on the Agriprocessors, Inc. Kosher meatpacking plant in Postville, Iowa, a few months ago, " said Patricia Ice, an immigration attorney and spokesperson for MIRA. ICE has reportedly booked dozens of rooms in hotels on the Gulf Coast. They may be checking in as early as tonight.

Perhaps even more worrisome are the reports that the federal court in Hattiesburg is being readied for a response similar to the response to the raid in Postville, when nearly 400 plant workers were arrested on trumped up identity theft charges, and slammed through criminal prosecution and judicial removal (being forced to waive all their criminal defense and immigration claims) within just days of the raid.

"What happened in Postville was an absolute travesty of justice that must never happen again," said Ms. Ice. "ICE must assure that any future enforcement actions are conducted in a humane manner and that detainees are permitted their constitutional rights to due process and to legal counsel."

With all the signs pointing to an impending raid, Ms Ice, other staff and local leaders are working quickly to identify possible targets, educate workers and assemble a team of attorneys to offset the burden on public defenders and provide immigration advice.

The Mississippi Immigrants Rights Alliance (MIRA) is a membership-based alliance which guarantees the human rights of immigrants and all workers in Mississippi. MIRA works to support immigrants in the exercise of their rights through providing services, organizing, advocacy and public education.

PS

Oh, and by the way: that woman reading the news in the video? That could not be a more perfect example of the homegrown Jones County accent. It's enough to set your teeth on edge, ain't it? I call it the Jones County Whiiiiiine, with a dash of Mis'sippi LazyMouth. I have no idea why women around here pitch their voices so damn high, I swear.

ICE comes to town.

Indeed, yes, lil ole' Laurel, Mississippi was pleased to welcome several helicopters, a bunch of buses and cop cars, and some armed ICE agents this Monday. They swooped down on Howard Industries after a weekend of rumor-flying amongst the immigrant community. By Monday afternoon, word was that some 350 people had been detained. By yesterday (Tuesday), word on the street was up to 600 or so detainees.

Every Mexican restaurant in town is closed, and has been for at least two days. I hear employee attendance at the local chicken processors (Sanderson Farms, Southern Hens, Tyson are all nearby) is very, very low.

Here's a quick hit from Feministing, which reminded me to post about this:

Quick Hit

Local coverage, featuring the least informative slide show in the history of the internet:

Tuesday morning

Local update:

Ripple Effect Continues

Wednesday Morning Update

New local video featuring nearly four minutes with ICE Southern Regional Communications Director Barbara Gonzalez and less than 30 seconds with Pastor Roberto Velez, who has taken on the role of spokesman for the local Latino community:

ICE Raid at Howard Industries

What y'all may not know about the little ol' town of Laurel is that Mexican immigrants have been staffing all of our major industries (Howard plus the chicken plants) for over a decade, and a second wave came in to staff the construction industry after the storm. Best estimates over the last few years are that there are about 2000 Hispanic immigrants in a town of about 20,000 or so. No, I don't have the exact numbers - check with Jones County EDA before you quote me! I've linked to their 2000 census info, but the face of Jones County has changed a lot since then.

Now, this is the part that is totally unsubstantiated, but word on the street is that there were people at HI who actively assisted workers with getting forged papers. People, Laurel is a VERY small town, rumors spread like you wouldn't believe, but I always take them with a grain of salt.

ETA: see, I'm not the only one who heard this rumor!

"But Robert Shaffer of the Mississippi A.F.L.-C.I.O. said it was “common knowledge” that Howard and other area employers “kind of cater to the undocumented workers.”

“You ask anyone in the Laurel-Hattiesburg area,” Mr. Shaffer said."

I note with interest that workers are up in front of judges today, but no one in the Human Resources office seems to be taking a fall. Hm. Interesting, that.

Why I love Randy Cohen, the Ethicist

The persistence of murder does not compel us to ignore burglary.

I can't tell you how often feminists get trolled, dismissed, and generally harassed for being concerned with matters deemed "minor" by dudes the world over. "Street harassment? Sexist advertising? Fake pregnancy clinics? Why are you so upset! THERE ARE PEOPLE DYING IN DARFUR!". Substitute any manner of women's issues short of a world war, and some ass-hat is going to tell us we are petty, shallow, hysterical women who should be focusing on Important Things. Things that matter to *men*. Not housework, or reproductive rights, or sexual harassment in the workplace. So, now, thanks to Randy Cohen, I have my new favorite pithy response to that kind of bullshit: The persistence of murder does not compel us to ignore burglary. Nicely done, Ethicist Guy.

Dear Designer People:

Could you all maybe schedule a year with some purple in it sometime soon? Because all of these yellowy greens and aqua blues and bright glossy oranges and Chinese reds are harshing my mellow. There are SO many lovely shades of purple: aubergines, plums and lavenders, lilacs and magentas and violets, oh my. Grapes! Don't forget the grapes!

But for quite a few years now, the only purple in Design Land is an astringent synthetic purple that they're using in children's decor at big box stores. It just won't do.

I need grown-up purples, the kind with chocolatey tones, with ruby tones, the colors of amethyst and jasper and purple sapphires and topazes. Purple tulips and pansies and day lilies. There are really a LOT of nice purples there, waiting to be picked, standing on the design sidelines with their hands in the air shouting, "Me! Me! I'm pretty, too! pick me!" Bless their little purple hearts, they're lonely. Purple looks good with brown and with black and red and dark blues, and of course PINK, and warm rich purples look nice with all kinds of wood and stone and metal. There's nothing richer than purple velvet. It's the color of kings AND queens!

Look, look at these:

Purple Gemstones!

Isn't it time for *purple*, designer people?

Sincerely,
Jezebella

PS: Indigo! Petunia! PRINCE! Please?

The Bro-Bot on Sexual Harassment

Courtney from Feministing published an email she got from a dude about sexual harassment in the subway, in which he:

a. blamed the victims of sexual harassment
b. claimed he was within his rights to be a total douchebag
c. said, basically, "lol ur fat so ur jealous"

Do they give out a script for this shit? Are they actually Bro-Bots, grown in vats? What the fuck? I mean, has this dude, let's call him "Chance Noble," for that appears to be his name, has this guy got the notion that he's having an original thought? If I was *trying* to write a more stereotypically douchey response to Courtney's op-ed, this is what I would have written. Well, me or any other woman who's listened to an entitled ass-hat explain why he's a drooling idiot ruled only by the whims of his dick.

*My google-fu yields a "Chance Noble" who's a competitive cycler, but I think it's more likely that Douche McDoucherson has named himself after the main character in a potboiler called "Vampire High Council." Wow, that's slick, ain't it?

now see what happens?

You fart around on the internet long enough, refreshing your google reader long enough, and you run across this video:



cheered up. stat.

My week of assholes

Four day work-week, three normal sized assholes and and one BIG GIANT ASSHOLE.

1. The asshole neighbor who left his 2-year-old home alone, or rather, in the yard alone, locked out of the house, with no food or water. After pounding on doors and finding no one home, the neighbor and I decided that, the child having been outdoors and on her own for nigh on 2 hours by our mutual count, it was time to call the police. Anybody could've snatched her up in that time. Anybody. I can't even think about the horrors her father's neglect might have led to.

2. The asshole who ripped me a new one on a forum for no fucking good reason except that she had an urge to be a presumptuous, judgmental, verbally abusive asshole. It's an invitation-only forum, which means everybody there has been vouched for as Not An Ignorant Asshole. And yet, she insisted on talking to me as if I'm a functionally illiterate sheet-wearing yahoo. I mean, after all, EVERY Southerner is a sheet-wearing yahoo, right? Fuck that. The entire goddamned nation of the USA was built on the backs of Native Americans, and the entire economy was built on slavery. So any fucking northerner who wants to get all HolierThanThou and pretend like the legacy of slavery is strictly a *Southern* thing can kiss my white ass. Europeans aren't guiltless in this matter, so don't get all fucking smug if your people came over after 1865, crackers!

3. The asshole I work with who spends all of her time chatting about boys and shoes and lipstick and therefore can't be bothered to answer her email or do her job in a functional, timely, and competent fashion. The one who doesn't even have so much as a bachelor's degree in the field she's been hired to work in, but who thinks *SHE* is better than ME because she's in the fucking Junior League or some shit. [which I would join under no circumstances, never, even if they were to join the 21st century and consider asking an unmarried woman to join their stupid little sorority]. She's such an asshole that, even after I had left the building, done some deep-breathing, AND taken a chill pill, I STILL called her up and shouted at her that she was a total asshole. AAAAASSSS HOOOOOLLLLE. I did. She's an asshole. And a republican. Lazy, incompetent, judgmental, hypocritical, provincial, immature, two-faced, snob who is actually, despite the fact that she acts like a twelve-year-old, in her forties. I want to squash her with my thumb and forefinger. I hope I ruined the start of her vacation with her equally asshole-ish boyfriend. Twit.

Finally, let me just add this: the entire town of Buttcrack? It's an asshole. An oppressive, hot, provincial, self-absorbed, delusional, judgmental, hypocritical town that thinks it's nice, but you know what? It's not. People here are EXACTLY as nice to me as they were when I moved here seven years ago. No more, no less. I don't follow the script. I am not married, with children, and a church-goer. I don't play Garden Club (which, btw, it's not about gardening! it's about tea parties! who knew?), I don't give a fuckity fuck about Junior League or the country club or the god-awful musical revues put on by the local amateur theater. I don't play golf or tennis or bunko. I'm not desperate for a husband, not even a doctor or banker or lawyer. In fact, I have a policy of NOT dating doctors, bankers, and lawyers. I was here for six years before anybody unrelated to my employment invited me to their home. Let me note, however, that she only invites me to "girls' nights". Single women don't get invited to her other parties. Everybody here thinks they're soooooo niiiiiiice, but if you don't get with the program, the best you can expect is the same formal courtesy you got on Day One.

Assholes, every one.

Yo, writers? Pay attention. I have an announcement.

Anyone wishing to be a "writer" should fucking well learn to spell correctly. A passing familiarity with correct grammar is also desirable.

I read a lot of blogs and I run across really basic errors all the bloody time. It's crazy-making, especially on the "big" blogs, the ones with lots of writers, lots of ads, and therefore lots of income. Professional writers need copy-editors, and one thing that is clearly lacking in blogistan is proofreading. Why can't these big-ass group blogs institute some kind of peer review?

Why yes, yes I DO have a BA in English, as a matter of fact. I'm even a recovering English teacher. I had to give up reading the local newspaper because the writing is so horrific. Every time I give it another chance, I end up throwing it across the room in disgust. I have the (apparently) antiquated notion that newspapers should be a bastion of correct Standard Written English.

[Given the fact that I'm just a wee blogger with no staff, no co-bloggers, and no income, I don't have a proof-reader or peer reviewer. So, irony being what it is, there is surely some heinous error in this here post. ]

been travelin'

More on my travels later, but I have just a few bullet points today:

* Mice aren't cute.

* My boss is a raging asshole.

That is all.

and then there was grief

Eyewitness account of Knoxville shooting:

http://shakespearessister.blogspot.com/2008/07/tomorrow-therell-be-sun.html

All those dickblisters who like to "joke" about killing liberals, killing queers, killing anyone not JUST LIKE THEM: this is why it's NOT FUCKING FUNNY.

also, irony

hot

Reasons not to vote for John McCain, #3

All of those expressions on his face say to me: "I could not begin to give a crap about this subject, why is she asking this?"

The average sound bite is 5.5 seconds; it took him 8 seconds to even speak a word.

Why should he know about this sort of thing? Because access to birth control and reproductive health services is not just a women's issue, it's a HUMAN issue. Even two-parent hetero legally married christian nuclear family suburban 2-child households care about birth control. I've even heard - and do correct me if I'm wrong - that sometimes, Republicans? They have *sex*. And they use *birth control.* Really!

why grow my own?

When tomatoes are in season, everyone has extra. I've been bringing bags full of tomatoes (cherry, roma, and..uh.. round ones? I don't know the variety. But they're round. And homegrown).

I have spent the last four or five days eating some variant of tomato-cheese crostini or bruschetta for lunch and dinner. I keep thinking I'll try something else, but they're both so *easy*. For the first one, you cut some slices off a baguette, layer a slab of brie, a slice or two of tomato, drizzle olive oil, salt & pepper, and broil for a few minutes. I broil 'em in the toaster oven, which is awesome because it doesn't heat up the house. Bruschetta, well, that's just diced tomatoes tossed with olive oil, salt & pepper, on top of toasted baguette rounds. Tonight I added a little balsamic vinegar and some chopped garlic and let it set a few minutes while I sliced & toasted the bread.

I'm also completely addicted to rosemary flavored sea salt. I found a tub of it at TJ Maxx, of all places, and when I run out I'll probably have to chase all over the internet for it and have it shipped from freaking Sardinia or something. It's that good.

brand new information about my lawn

So, I totally love it when I find out that some habit of mine has A Name and A Movement. To wit, the "Freedom Lawn":

The freedom applies both to the plants and the people, the latter of whom
needn’t water, fertilize, pesticize, or other otherwise interfere. Nurseries now
sell Freedom Lawn seed mixes, for lawn owners who life in parts of the world
that have been shortchanged in weeds. But even before I came across the official
term, I thought of my yard as a Darwin Lawn. Whatever could survive the mower
and the drought was welcome to stay.

I am a lazy unmotivated lawn owner. I just can't bring myself to care about the lawn. I pay a guy to mow it regularly, but invest not a whit of water or chemicals in its greenification. This is perhaps the result of frugality as much as laziness and my general feeling that the lawn? It's a low priority in my life and my budget. After seven years of benign neglect, my lawn looks much the same as my neighbors' lawns. Patchy under oak trees, a few brown spots, but on the whole greenish when it's rainy and brownish in winter. There's no point in trying to grow grass under a tree, for heavens' sakes! It's all shade, all the time. I've noticed a bit of moss growing in between the roots, and that's nice-looking. I'm not at all opposed to it. I, too, refer to my gardening habits as "survival of the fittest." It's why I'm not so good at keeping plants in pots alive. You have to pay attention to them on a really regular basis.

So it turns out, Freedom Lawn is good for the environment! Yes, yes it is! Woo. I'm a greenie pro-environment lawn-owner and I didn't even know it. Sweet.

Where I learned about the Freedom Lawn:

Turf War: Americans can’t live without their lawns—but how long can they live with them?

I also liked this bit:

The Freedom Lawn is still mowed—preferably with a push-mower—but it is watered infrequently, if at all, and receives no chemical “inputs.” If a brown spot develops, it is likely soon to be filled by what some might call weeds, but which Bormann, Balmori, and Geballe would rather refer to as “low growing broad-leaved plants.”

I suppose where I fall away from Greenie Perfection is the lawn guy who I pay to ride around on his enormous riding mower and weed-eat with his noxious gas-powered weedeater. He comes every two weeks in summer, once a month in winter. I'd love to do away with the expense, but I'd have to buy equipment, build a shed in which to store it, and worst of all: mow it myself. In summertime. With the bugs, and the heat. I'm not ready to go that far, not yet. At least, not until I find an acceptably non-ugly shed to build, which I can also afford. Because gardening sheds are either ugly or expensive. Often, they are both. As a commitment-phobe, I cannot bring myself to build or buy an ugly shed. Or an expensive one. So, lawn guy is on the job. For now.

Giant kitteh loves his mamma!

I know, you've seen it a dozen times. So have I. It slays me every time.



SO much better if you turn the sound down so you don't have to listen to that sappy Whitney Houston song.

can't stop laughing

Oh, Simon, you know cats so very well!

Reasons not to vote for McCain, #2

From McCainPedia.Org:

McCain Voted Against $8 Million In Funding For Domestic Violence and Sexual Abuse Victims Affected By Katrina.

McCain voted against an amendment to provide $8 million for the Office of Violence Against Women to assist victims of domestic violence and sexual abuse in the areas impacted by Hurricane Katrina. ^[1]

McCain Voted Against Shifting $2 Billion Is Wasteful Spending To Fighting Domestic Violence.

McCain voted against an amendment to permit shifting up to $2 billion from wasteful bureaucratic overhead and procurement in military budget to address domestic violence. ^[2]

McCain Voted Against $1.6 Billion To Prevent Violence Against Women.

McCain voted against authorizing $30.2 billion over six years for crime prevention programs, including $1.6 billion to fight violence against women. ^[3]

McCain Voted Against A Bill To Assist Kids Who Witness Domestic Violence.

McCain voted against helping kids subjected to domestic violence. The amendment would have encouraged service providers to design and implement intervention programs for children who witness domestic violence and authorized grants to be awarded to eligible non-profit organizations to conduct programs to assist children who witnessed acts of domestic violence. ^[4]

Linky for citations:

http://mccainpedia.org/index.php/Domestic_Violence

On the other hand: Reasons not to vote for McCain

#1 in a series, today's reason from Shakesville:


"
I think that we’ve proven that both parents are important in the success of a family so, no, I don’t believe in gay adoption.

John McCain, who divorced his first wife and left her as a single mom and has yet to provide any evidence that two parents of the same gender are detrimental to the success of a family.

Just a little queer-bashing and marginalizing to keep the fundies happy. Remind me again of what a "maverick" he is.

"

on a lighter note

THIS IS AWESOME:

Violent Femmes cover "Crazy" by Gnarls Barkley

Oh, Obama

Where does a feminist Hillary Clinton supporter begin? I voted for her for a lot of reasons, and in the top five was this: Women don't throw other women under the bus once they've secured our votes. I knew Hillary wouldn't. I have yet to see a national-level male politician who hasn't.

When Obama spoke about late-term abortions as a decision for women to make with their husbands and their pastors, I nearly choked. When he said "mental distress" wasn't a good enough reason for a late term abortion, I sputtered. And when I read the blog post I'm about to link, I wept.

I've been telling people for ages that there is no such thing as a "partial birth abortion," because that's a non-medical term made up by fetus-worshipers to make late term abortion sound brutal. I've been telling them for ages that women do not have the option to have a late-term abortion without a compelling reason, and that very, very, VERY few are performed at all. I'm starting to think, though, that when I talk about reproductive rights, all my friends hear is "Blah blah blah abortion on demand bleep blorp without apology blah wah wah free to all."

The thing is, reproductive rights are important to me, so I stay informed. I'm not a politician, or a lobbyist, or professionally involved in women's health and rights to it. I just read the news, you know? The information is out there. Clearly, Mr. Obama is not that interested, or he would be as fully informed on late term abortions as I am. It's his job to have informed answers when people ask these questions. But he doesn't. He now has an opportunity to be informed so that he doesn't blithely make up imaginary scenarios about late term abortion, imagining that women who are having a bad hair day are looking to have late term abortions.

An Open Letter to Obama: A Personal Perspective on Late Term Abortion

This letter to came to my attention in the comments section of Twisty's recent post on the matter. Thanks to Lorna for posting it, and to brave blogger Lynda for writing it.

this is hilarious

and brilliant.

Word: eggbenedict.org

ETA: Egg Benedict informs me that one can click through Mary on their website for more info about Pope Benedict the Homo-Hater.

What does a rapist look like?

Look here:

So-Called "Feminist Male" Pleads Guilty to Sexual Assault

Yeah, you read that right. Kyle Payne has a degree with a minor in Women's Studies and "Social Consciousness", and he recently pled guilty to sexually assaulting an unconscious student (he was an RA) and videotaping the assault. He's got a blog all about what a great "feminist" anti-porn, anti-rape activist he is, and this is what he really is.

So, dudes, next time some woman doesn't think you're the bees knees if you go around proclaiming your "feminism," remember this: we still can't trust you. And guys like this are the reason why.

More about this at:

Eleanor's Trousers

Buried Alive

Renegade Evolution

Fetch Me My Axe

Idle Curiosity

I accidentally listened to commercial radio this morning.

And I'm wondering.

When did Linkin Park turn into Cure wannabes?



Here's the thing: if you watch it, it seems all butch and contemporary, but if you just *listen* to it, it's all moody vocals and banks of synthesizers. All of those shouty explodey noises are NOT on the radio track.

also, my definition of success

the following three things would be signs of my success:

1. Appear in the New York Times by name.

2. Guest star on Sesame Street

3. See the planet from outer space.

the mainstreaming of punk rock

It started pretty damn early, didn't it?

Very Important Announcement.

[not]

Though I am pleased to report that I have, at last, finished home-dry-cleaning the giant pile of sweaters that have been, well, *piled*, for months. I note with interest that it is July 7 and I haven't worn a sweater since approximately February.

It's the small victories we should celebrate, right? Alright, then.

June 30th, June 30th

I always think of Richard Brautigan on this day.

Land of the Rising Sun
sayonara

Flying from Japanese night,
we left Haneda Airport in Tokyo
four hours ago at 9:30 P.M.
June 30th
and now we are flying into the sunrise
over the Pacific that is on its way
to Japan
where darkness lies upon the land
and the sun is hours away.
I greet the sunrise of July 1st
for my Japanese friends,
wishing them a pleasant day.
The sun is on its
way.

Tokyo
June 30th again
above the Pacific
across the international date line
heading home to America
with part of my heart
in Japan

[shout out to divinentd.com]

Pro-Life is Anti-Woman

RIP George Carlin

I so love this headline: Female Partners to Marry After 55 Years Together

Del Martin, 87, left, and Phyllis Lyon, 84, who have been a couple for 55 years, were among the first same-sex partners to legally exchange marriage vows in California Monday. Marriage licenses for gay couples were officially issued after the state supreme court overturned a ban on such unions.

[disclaimer: marriage being a patriarchal institution and therefore inherently oppressive, it nonetheless in this patriarchy serves as validation of humans who love each other and provides not-inconsequential legal rights otherwise not available to partners. Until marriage is a forgotten quaintness, I get to think it's sweet and lovely and righteous that these two women get the same respect and acknowledgment of their commitment as any two random heteros who decide to get a license and a couple of rings]

Why I'm Voting Republican

Jessica Valenti: pay attention, people.

It's not just feminists and feministing writers who get this treatment. It's all girls and women on the internet, no matter what we do or say, getting verbally assaulted by internet misogyny.

I'm loving her shirt, btw.

people, they get all grown up and stuff

I just joined linkedin.com, a professional networking website, and have found pages for people I went to college with. Nice to see where people have landed and send them a friendly nod, even if we weren't all that tight twenty years ago.

What has blown my mind, however, is the profiles of two of the biggest druggies on campus in my day, who are now functional, employed, respected individuals with PhDs and thriving careers. I mean, these guys - who I certainly shall not name - were the kind of guys who would walk around campus in their bathrobes singing the Oompa Loompa song while tripping on mushrooms. It seemed to me that they would do any drug they ran across, in excess, and though they were brilliant and charming and funny, I would've never expected them to end up with Titles and Real Jobs.

Granted, one of them took 16 years to finish his MA, but now he's a professor. Both of them got their PhD's in the same field, even.

I mean, okay, people grow up and get married and become responsible adult parental employed people. It happens. But in the case of these guys, it blows my effin mind. I'd like to think it speaks to the high quality of students at Trinity somehow. Even the dudes who were wasted every weekend were high-level intellects who would become functional, successful members of society.

I will pass over in silence the profile page of the dude who was the biggest drug dealer on campus. Hm. Wonder what *he's* selling now.

How to tell if you are a total nerd

You're supposed to go have cocktails and see the Sex and the City movie tonight, but you've just realized that you're going to miss BOTH Battlestar Galactica AND the National Spelling Bee finals if you go out. This makes you sad, and you wonder if it might be better to just stay home and see Sex and the City another night.

Yep. Total nerd.

anti-feminist bingo

For noting on the Apartment Therapy comment section that the aforementioned BigA$$Pinata was offensive, I got piled on by a bunch of design snobs, who were defending, let us be clear, a tacky piece of crap.

It was anti-feminist bingo in in time at all:

'It's funny. You have no sense of humor. Lighten up.'
'Why are you upset over something so trivial?'
'I'm a feminist and I think it's funny.'
'Fretting about little stuff does a disservice to *real* women's issues' (thanks for the backup, sister!)
I got called a slut in a sideways sort of way (non sequitur mention of a "walk of shame"?), spoken to with condescension, and of course told to "get over it."
Oh, and the same dude suggested that it had been too long since I'd seen a naked ass - I would call that the slightly subtle equivalent of telling me I need to get laid.
Ah, also, several people explained to me, as though I were five, that beating a pinata is NOT the same thing as beating a woman. Because I obviously am not smart enough to tell the difference between a real woman and a disembodied female body part product.


Over, LET US BE CLEAR: a tacky piece of kitschy crap.

Man, the d00dz, they sure don't like having their love of disembodied female body parts criticized. And the d00dz, what they don't get is that I tossed off a snarky comment and only entered a so-called flame war after being piled on by a bunch of assholes. Oh, yeah, I was told that name-calling wasn't a good rhetorical move. Thanks, man. Appreciate that. By the time I called one dude an idiot and another one an ass-hat, it was clear that adult conversation with either would be impossible, so why not just let it rip, I say? Asshats. Idiots.

Lesson learned: Let no one be fooled by a slick modern apartment full of tasteful decor: a dude with Eames chairs is just as likely to be an ass as a dude with a plaid recliner and a painting of dogs playing poker.

misogyny in design today

Inspired by Shakesville's "Today in Disembodied Things" series, I bring you two new objects to heap your scorn upon.

First up, the "Big Ass Pinata," brought to my attention by Apartment Therapy for some reason.

I mean, not only is it offensive and sexist, it's just not an interesting or original product. I am loathe to link to the company in question, so find it yourself with your google-fu if you're interested. After several commenters noted that it was sexist and offensive, the "what about teh menz" contingent appeared with the "How do you know it's not a man's ass?! (because of the exaggerated hip-to-waist ratio, idiot!), and "why are you assuming they don't sell a male version?" (because I checked the website, dipshit!).



Point being: violence against women is neither fun nor funny. Neither is beating the crap out of a disembodied female ass.


Next up, Pharrell Williams' "Perspective Chair".


Huh huh huh, said Beavis, it looks like they're DOING IT. Yeah, that's fucking hilarious. Or is it sexy? Or stupid? It's such a fine line.

Allen Jones did it what, forty years ago? Please. It was offensive when it was done with some measure of aesthetic quality. Here it's offensive AND ugly.

Hey! Link-a-riffic!

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 Jena Six still wait for justice

Sure, you heard about the protest in Jena months ago. You know that six African-American teens have been targeted with unfair charges, denied bail, and subjected to a biased and corrupt judge, AFTER having been subjected to nooses, racial slurs, and insults by the white kid they eventually (allegedly) beat up.

It's still going on, people. Those kids are still in the system, and still haven't had a fair trial.

Read all about it in Jeff Chang's column at the Huffington Post.

Trinity Football

I seem to have forgotten to post this back when it was fresh, but it's still worth a look if you appreciate creative football plays at all.

Yeah, it's my alma mater. So?

David Sedaris on smoking

If you are or ever have been a smoker, read this:

Letting Go
Smoking and non-smoking.
by David Sedaris

House 05.19.08

Yeah, so watching House made me cry last night, but it also irritated the ever-living shit out of me. Why? Because Wilson is NOT Amber's "family." He's her boyfriend. Does she not have a next of kin? Shouldn't someone have *called* her next of kin to make the big life-or-death decisions? Man, that's aggravating. House is usually better-written than that.

Lots of people curious about what Gaeta is singing

...on the last episode of Battlestar Galactica ("Guess What's Coming to Dinner?" is the ep title). The song is called "Gaeta's Lament".

Commentary and video can be found here: Battlestar Galactica's Latest Song is full of Clues.

However, I would have to agree with the commenter on that site that the blog post title is misleading. The blogger, Meredith Woerner, doesn't exactly untangle the lyrics and give us a new interpretation. (Also, Meredith breaks up with Gaeta in this blog post. Which if fine. Gaeta can be MY boyfriend if she doesn't want him.)

It's a start, anyway.

Good hunting.

Mid-Century Modern comes to New Orleans

I skim the catalogs of the major New Orleans auction houses regularly, and for the most part, the furniture is gilded and/or Frenchy, but changes are afoot. A solid representation of Chinese antiques and whatnots has shown up in recent catalogues, and this month, a small but excellent selection of awesome mid-century modern stuff is up at New Orleans Auction.

I do not love Frenchy foo-foo things much, especially not in large quantities. In fact, just about any style named after a monarch, I'm not so much into. It's too shiny and ostentatious for me.

For example: O these Charles & Ray Eames for Herman Miller recliners! I effin LUFF these chairs with a mighty passion. If you really loved me, you'd buy me one. Also, you would purchase for me the services of a cat trainer who will keep my quattro cats from destroying it.



If you loved me even more, you'd buy me this fantastic painting by NOLA artist Ida Kohlmeyer:



I would also not be opposed to owning this charming suite of Herman Miller chairs, also designed by Charles & Ray Eames:




Although I am in general not big into vast tracts of French Provincial quaintness, my OCD organizer self loves this a LOT, because I love things with tiny little compartments for the organizing of small things:



Unfortunately it also reminds me of that Friends episode where where Ross and Rachel both buy an apothecary cabinet from Pottery Barn, but Rachel tells Phoebe it's a flea market find, and Phoebe goes on this awesome Pottery Barn rant, but then she ends up loving it anyway.

All images from: New Orleans Auction

liveblogging Battlestar Galactica 05.16.08

How did Gaius find out about Roslin's shared vision with Six and Athena?

When did Apollo get to be such an asshole?

So Tigh is getting in touch with his Cylon ESP, looks like.

[Seriously, people, who the fuck is Tony Stewart?]

I see a hitch: the four who are hidden clearly do *not* know where Earth is. And what if the Five don't want to go with the other Cylons? I guess that makes two hitches.

Oh! And what about Nick Tyrol? What will happen to him if Daddy has to leave with the Cylon rebels?

Why is Gaeta obsessed with being awake during the amputation? And when will that poor guy get laid?

OMG! Tory is busted! Oh man, and here goes another person asking Tory to prostitute herself for information. That is SO not cool.

What is with Gaeta singing? There's always weirdness around singing on this show.

And the question remains: Kara is the harbinger of WHOSE death? Tricksy hybrid! With her pronouns with unclear antecedents!

Hey, a little face time for Dualla. Haven't seen her in a while.

So what's the fallout here? Six is dead, she can't stall for time, and that means Leoben may not have enough time to undo their double-cross. IF he was planning on undoing it at all. I'm not even convinced Sharon killed the right Six - it seems like it was the Six in the brig that was going to be taking Hera. Is she thinking of killing every Six she sees?

[preview of next episode]

Sure looks like Tigh done knocked up Prisoner Six. Dang.

vegetarian victory moment

I was watching Hell's Kitchen the other night, and the head chef decided to run a taste test with the contestants. We're talking about 8 or 10 professional chefs, people who have trained and cooked for years, right? He had them taste three different dishes and try to figure out what was missing. The three dishes were a chicken pasta dish (tetrazzini, maybe?), beef stew, and sausage ravioli. They all guessed things like salt, pepper, cream, rosemary, this, that, the other. Nobody got it right.

Guess what was missing? The meat! HA! Every one of those dishes was made with fake meat and NONE of them noticed. How awesome is that?

Next time some carnivore gets up my snout about how fake meat is so, so terrible, I'm just gonna point and laugh.

my new favorite mississippi moment

This afternoon, I went out to a friend's country property to help critique the site-specific sculptures her students had produced out there. About every ten minutes, she would warn us of some new danger. Watch out for snakes! Oh yeah, and the brown recluse spiders. Next it was fire ants, and then the poison ivy and the slippery muddy swampy bits. Seriously, why do people even LIVE in the country? It's freakin dangerous. And there are bitey things.

So, one of the students had accidentally placed her piece outside of the friend's property, in her neighbor's field. The field was right next to the driveway, just a chunk of field, nothing much happening. She dug a hole, inserted a 10' I-beam, and attached on top a ring of metal (imagine a really big iron stop sign, only with a ring instead of a circle). There's another piece on the ground that fell off during installation, but that's neither here nor there.

What *is* important is that the neighbor came rolling up as we were all standing around, having just finished critiquing the work. He was the very picture of a pissed-off redneck, in his ginormous crew-cab pickup truck and his triplet-sized beer-belly. He was on the phone until he stopped the truck, then got off the phone and started snapping pictures of us with it. He shouted "Do you all know what you're doing out here?" Which, to my mind, is a dumb-ass question. Anyway. My friend walks over to chat with him, and tells us to go back to the house, since we're done with the critique. A few of us kind of linger around for a few minutes, because he really seems pretty pissed. She looks around, says, no, she's fine, head on back, and we mosey back slowly.

Ten minutes later she returns. What's the deal, we ask? This is rich. Wait for it.



He was convinced we were performing a Satanic Ritual on his property and was outraged. Yes. He thought that it was an Satanic symbol of some kind and we were out there sacrificing goats or whatever the hell. As soon as he said that, she knew it would be fine and she'd be able to calm him down, because it was so freakin absurd. Look, he was DEAD SERIOUS. Somebody had called him and told him that satanists were preparing to worship the devil on his land.

I mean, I must've laughed for ten minutes straight when I realized what he was so het up about. Satanic Rituals! On his PROPERTY! Goldangit! Do you people realize what you are doing? I'm surprised he didn't launch into a preachin'.

So that was the surreal end to my very sweaty, swampy, buggy, arty afternoon.

in which I respond to my search strings

If you are looking for news of Barbara Menendez, go to threechordcity.com and you can search YouTube for Cold videos.

Anything re: jezebel, cogitor, cat's cradle, chrysalis, the guild, and the golden age of WWIV BBSes in the 504, there ain't much out there, but you can try: bbsmates.com If you happen to know Chrysalis, tell her I said hi. She was an amazing mentor when I was a newbie.

If you're looking for Brian "BS" Wayson, try Portland, OR. Don't tell him I sent you. He's an ass and you're better off not finding him. If you read on his high school alumni website that he's was killed by an ex, that's bullshit. His idea of a "joke."

What to wear to a dissertation defense: a navy suit, a non-low-cut shirt, glasses if you've got 'em (they make you look smarter!), and bring a bottle of water. You can buy time on answering your interrogators by taking a long swig of water. Even better, wear pajamas and defend via speakerphone.

trying

As anyone who's paid attention knows, this blog veers back and forth from total fluff to political commentary esp. re: feminism. Lately it's been fluff because I think I do some of my best patriarchy-blaming over on the IBTP Forum (follow the link to IBTP blog if you're interested). I'm more of a reactive writer than a pro-active one. Give me something to argue with, I'm on it. But if I try to come up with a blog post on something new, I'll get stuck. Why? There's too much out there to be righteously indignant about. Too much to be angry about. Misogyny, racism, age-ism, able-ism, and what do you call it when someone's anti-everyone-else's-religion? Religionism isn't right, is it? Anyway, that. So much fear and hatred that I wouldn't even begin to know where to start. So I guess I post happy-making videos of kitty-cats because a dose of teh cute provides a brief mental & emotional respite from the world.

I just finished a huge project at work, that almost went completely kablooey on me (as in, almost missed publication deadline for catalog of an exhibition). The day was saved by a cash infusion (amazing what money can buy) but it's been a stressful six or eight months. Now that the project is done, it's like the dam is broken and I am able to sit still and get small things done. Sure, I can spend fifteen minutes labeling and filing at work. I can finally, FINALLY, order those cute CD binders from West Elm and transfer my CDs from jewel cases to binders, thus freeing up space (both literal and visual) in my house. I can do them because I don't have Guilt - the guilt that I *should* be doing this Huge Project, so I can't even make myself embark on a Small Project.

The dam has broken & I'm using the Apartment Therapy eight-step home cure, but on my own schedule. It's supposed to be an eight-week process, but I skipped a week (too busy at work) and then Week Three tasks took two weeks, and now Week Four tasks are taking two weeks. Which is fine. I don't have a deadline, I just need to de-clutter and spring-clean my space. I've been in my house almost 7 years now and it needs attention. Having a tidy & serene & aesthetically pleasing home environment is SO essential to my sanity, I can't tell you.

And then I re-read those paragraphs and think: holy crap I am a bourgeois honky ASSHOLE. I should be sending my every extra penny to relief efforts or Planned Parenthood or my internet friend in Canada who's about to be homeless. GOD, I'm a privileged spoiled middle-class American white girl, and what the fuck do I do about it? How can I possibly justify spending $75 on cute CD binders to house my CD collection? How fucking ABSURD is that?

But wait, do I really even have extra money? Shouldn't I have spent that $75 on paying down my consumer credit? (Let us pass over in silence my six-figure student loans). Where are my priorities:

1. social justice/aid
2. financial solvency (getting out of debt)
3. self-care

What comes first? Where should that $75 go? I spin around and around these axes and no matter which one I choose, I feel that I have failed in my efforts with regard to the other two.

And then back to it: I'm SO privileged to be able to sit here in air conditioning in front of a computer having White Lady Angst about what to do with $75, which constitutes a week's salary for many, a month's salary for others.

And the privilege of money is only the beginning of it, isn't it? This is the problem I have when I talk to people about privilege: They think it means money, money ONLY. If I say "white people have privilege" they might say, "Well, plenty of black people are richer than me." Or, say, I point out male privilege by mentioning the daily indignities of sexism, both large & small. Mr. Male Privilege then denounces each of the daily indignities as minor at best, or pronounces me paranoid, or too sensitive. Mr. Male Privilege usually thinks he's NOT privileged because, say, he grew up poor. Or short. Or in an abusive family. But he's still got that Male Privilege, but he doesn't see it, because he does not speak my language. He does not understand how privilege DOES NOT EQUAL money. It's so much more than that. SO much more.

And I fear that my White Lady Privilege is blinding me all the time. It's like I have this inkling that it's there - I know it rationally - but do I *see* it, each and every day? I don't know how to see it. I don't know exactly which daily indignities I am spared. I almost said, "I should be thankful that I'm spared these things," but that's the Patriarchy talking. That's the P saying "Be glad you're at least doing better than those poor sods over there. You think YOU have it bad? Better be grateful that your crumbs are tastier than hers!" So, no: I will not be grateful. I will try to be aware, to look, to listen. I don't know what else I can do.

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.

Another Musical Confession

Whenever I hear the name "Stevie Nicks," I think of Nancy Spungeon in the movie "Sid and Nancy," running down the street in her underwear and a long silky robe flapping in the wind. She stops suddenly, looks down at herself, and says, disgustedly, "I look like fucking Stevie Nicks," on account of the floaty silky robe thing.

And then, second memory: third or fourth grade. Every day after school Kelly and I would go to Paige's house and listen to Fleetwood Mac's Rumours on Paige's record player. We learned all the words. We made up dorky interpretive dances. We had no frackin idea what the hell any of those songs were about. But we loved Rumours. You could probably get me to sing the whole album (poorly, but accurately) if you hypnotized me.

Stevie Nicks is a little bit cheesy, and seems like kind of an airy-fairy lunatic. Which makes her exactly the kind of diva I have to dig. I mean, where does she get those platform boots any more? Who makes them for her? I want to know.

I also have a serious dilemma: should I spend $150 to go see her perform at the Hard Rock in Biloxi in June? Should I spend $200 so I can, you know, actually see her without binoculars at the Hard Rock in Biloxi in June? Do I even have that kind of money? Not really. Plus I'd need to stay overnight because, dude, I'm NOT going to that shit sober, so I'll need a hotel room, you betcha.



Look, I realize it's a nine-minute video, but it's got giant platform boot/legwarmer things and high kicks and what I'm pretty sure is a pyramid-power necklace and people giving her flowers and stuffed animals and paintings and A SHINY WHITE CAPE WITH FRINGE. You can't possibly be doing anything more important for the next nine minutes.

So: Who's in?

Friday Chicken Blogging

This chicken lives in my office:



I bought her at a trading post near Farmington, New Mexico two summers ago. Who can possibly resist a purple chicken, I ask you?

THIS chicken, on the other hand:



I had to leave him behind at an roadside flea market/antique store because I had flown to New Mexico and I'm pretty sure the airport people wouldn't let me carry him on the plane. He's probably happier in sunny and dry New Mexico, as he'd be even rustier and perhaps a tad mildewy if I'd put him in my yard in Mississippi.

ka ja goo goo

Look, I don't know. I just had an urge to look up a Kajagoogoo video on Youtube. It had something to do with an absurd 80s video posted on the Manolo for the Men blog. That film clip is, well, it's got that New Kids on the Block wanna-be thing going on, and it practically embodies the worst of the 80s.

THIS, on the other hand:



I loved this fucking song, and I tell you what: it makes no goddamned sense at all. The plot, the lyrics, the cater-waitress with Dallas hair who would never in a million years date a tiny barefoot boy with giant New Wave hair, the flashbacks to the 1940s. I mean, what the fuckity fuck, right?

I still know all the words, and I'm only slightly embarrassed to admit that.

balance

Apparently this is the year I get my personal shit in order and my professional life is a disaster.

Ooookay, then.

I've quit smoking and quit using credit cards.

I've started the Apartment Therapy "eight step home cure", which is problematic since I no longer use my credit and it's going to cost some money. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. I also don't have an apartment, but I have a 1200 sq.ft. house, so. This is the easy week: Week One, in which I make a list of all the repairs I haven't done (mainly because of cost), buy myself some flowers, do some reading, vacuum/mop, and give away something. I still need to vacuum & mop, which actually will be more like vacuum/swiff because I fracking HATE to mop. And I'm going by the Domestic Abuse Shelter's office tomorrow to drop off a pile of clothes along with a bag of toiletries I culled from my bathroom a few months ago.

Next up: food and exercise. I'm about ready to return to my yoga practice. I have some spankin' new walking shoes. And, thankfully, it's spring and produce is getting a little better. It's still absurdly expensive (and getting more so) but at least I can get some. There's spinach, strawberries, and tangerines in my kitchen right now. Nom nom. I had a lovely strawberry,tangerine, yogurt,and honey dessert tonight.

Ex Libris: Trinity University

I have a lot of fond memories of libraries and librarians, but for some reason I was thinking today about the library at Trinity University, my undergraduate alma mater.* It was intimate yet well-stocked, and I worked there for a number of years. I started out shelving, then switched to IMS, Instructional Media Services. We provided audio duping, slide production, and what I can only describe as "science fair project production". We'd put together the actual poster presentation for professors' poster sessions. I learned how to use a b/w darkroom, shoot copy slides, dupe audio and video (back then we used the fat videotapes, I think they were 2" wide instead of your more common 3/4" tapes, which I guess are growing less and less common, aren't they?).

***Yes, my youthful digital age readers, once upon a time, in the time before PowerPoint, there was film. And, yea, it would be exposed to light and transformed by a series of chemical processes into a negative. And lain unto the photosensitive paper and exposed to light briefly, and then treated with even more chemical processes, it would then produce a kind of photo without the use of a mechanical printer. No, there was no Adobe Photoshop. Yes, it's true, children. It was a time before cell phones. And, yes, we rode to school on mastodons and wore ragged fur robes in winter. ***

My boss there, Pat, was an Andrew Lloyd Webber fan. She owned a cassette copy of her vinyl collection of every published Webber musical EVER. Both the Broadway cast AND movie soundtracks, to be sure. Whenever she was in the darkroom with me, it was all Webber, all the time. You could probably hypnotize me and get me to sing (albeit terribly) all of the Webber musical tunes up to and including Phantom of the Opera.

I fucking HATE Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals. I'm not a big fan of musical theater, in general. So, yeah, that was fun.

What I actually was thinking about, though, was the reference librarian there. He could find *anything*. Seriously. Invent a term paper topic, with no resources whatsoever, show up at his desk, and he'd have a stack of books for you in no time. My friends and I called him Craig Likness, Reference Man of GOD. You have to say that with a deep movie-trailer voice.

8 Random Things About Me

I've been tagged.

1. I've lived in five cities in four states.

2. I used to have hot pink hair.

3. My first two cars were minty-green 1981 Honda Accords. The five-speed was way more fun to drive than the automatic I replaced it with.

4. My next tattoo will either be a fleur-de-lys or a Hello Kitty.

5. I never plan to get married again, but I like to read Manolo for the Brides anyway.

6. I have a weakness for men in kilts and firemen in turnout gear.

7. I rilly, rilly must never drink Jagermeister again. Rilly.

8. Pink and purple are my favorite colors.

Who shall I tag?

Karen, Jenifer, and Gentaggard. I was totally going to tag Jo, but Cara beat me to it.

Thank a feminist!

Great essay for International Womens Day by Cat at StroppyBlog:

Thank a Feminist

A few of my favorites:

Remember, if you're a woman and...

* you can vote, thank a feminist.

* you went to college / university instead of being expected to quit after school so your brothers could go because "You'll just get married anyway", thank a feminist.

* you can apply for any job, not just "women's work", thank a feminist.

* you can get or give birth control information without going to prison, thank a feminist.

Spring Developments

My miniature Daffodils are thriving:




And, omg, all four cats on the bed:



Note that Bennet and Pippin are monitoring the front yard, while Ferris is monitoring the Nigel-Kitten. At least he's not hissing.

My fashion police deputy sez:

Porch Kitty No Longer

NigelKitty has made the transition from semi-feral porch kitty to Co-Ruler of the House pretty quickly. He still doesn't like it when I actually pick him up, but he does enjoy pettins, scritchins, and lap sittin. He and Pippin get along beautifully, Bennet tolerates him, and Ferris hisses at him if he gets too close. Pretty much standard operating procedure for all three of the older boys. Nigel's about ready for de-testiculation and a new set of shots, and he is the Loudest Cat I've Ever Had. He meows all the time, and enjoys very loud toys. He also likes knocking things off of shelves and counters. I have a cup filled with pens and pencils on a bookshelf in the living room, and he knocks it over every night and I hear writing utensils skittering all over the floor. I'm about to give up and find them a new home.

Nigel has gleefully abandoned the porch for the bed:



And has discovered that the recliner? Yes, indeed, it is rather more comfortable than deck furniture:

I Can Make You Thin!

Yes, yes I can. No need to watch the show of the same name. No boring diets, no tedious exercise, no equipment, no counting calories or carbs or points or fat grams. Follow my quick-and-easy program for Getting Thin and you'll have people complimenting you on your new, trim figure in just weeks.

1. Depending on your budget, go out and buy either crack, methamphetamine, heroin, or powder cocaine. If you like the downs, go heroin; if you like the ups, any of the other three will do.

2. Whenever you feel hungry, pop a needle, light a pipe, or snort a rail.

3. When that pesky hunger comes back, repeat step 2.

There you go! All done! You can be thin! Yes, you can do it!


[Disclaimer: Yo! Redux makes no claims for the health benefits of this reducing program, and declines all legal responsibility for side effects, which may include nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, dizziness, dry mouth, meth mouth, collapsed veins, poverty, addiction, rehab, divorce, loss of child custody, and death.]