1) Moving back to the City. Yeah, it’s expensive, and I’m going to have to sell the car before I can really live here w/o being in debt, but I still love it, love my apartment, etc.
2) Trifecta of trips (Egypt in April with Jacob, Alaska with Kyle in July, and a Christmas Markets River Cruise through Germany and Austria with my birth mom). No wonder I’m in debt - but it was worth it!
3) McCullum Youth Court. Part of the coolness of this is being in charge again, but it’s also a genuinely awesome org that I’m psyched to be a part of it and I continued to be blown away by the youth involved in the program!
4) My year of Wine. From SueLin’s Winter Wineland Birthday Celebration to start the year off to my Wine Tasting Holiday Party Fundraiser to end it, I definitely drank more wine this past year than probably the past 7-10 combined! AND have a new fave: Pinot Noir over Cab.
5) Other parties. From the party that was absolutely amazing up until the moment someone killed our cat to the end of year festivities, I was reminded how much I enjoy hosting (and going to! why won’t someone ELSE throw a party and invite me?) a good party!
6) Thanksgiving road trip. Perfect in that it only took a couple of hours to get to our “base” in Santa Cruz, and then included fun side/day trips to Monterey and Big Sur, PLUS getting to hang out with my “El Lay” buddies AND my boy. Good times.
7) The only decent thing about Obama’s presidency: that so many gap-toothed, slack-jawed, inbred, backwoods, racists are SO upset by him. If only half of what these dimwits thought was happening, was happening, I’d be much happier.
8) Kyle walking. Even though it was “only” for a Certificate of Completion, he’s still the first one in his birth family history to do even that, so I'm still proud of him!
9) Asterios Polyp. I need to get back to reading more, but am definitely glad I went outside my normal genres to devour this awesome graphic novel. Loved it loved it loved it!
10) Good entertainment for a change. This was one of the best years for me in terms of discovering new and old “mainstream” entertainment. Awesome movies like Fantastic Mr. Fox, Christmas Carol in 3-D IMAX, Avatar in 3-D IMAX (seeing this weekend, but feel safe in putting down now!), The Princess and the Frog, Coraline, Star Trek, Harry Potter, District 9, In the Loop, and The Damned United were all amazing. Tho I only watch DVDs for TV, I continued/discovered awesome series like: Dexter, Lost, 30 Rock, Desperate Housewives, Mad Men, Heroes, and Flight of the Conchords. And my personal “entertainer of the year” is/was Ryan Reynolds. Not only is he a stud, but he actually has some range as witnessed by his roles in “The Proposal,” “Adventureland,” and “X-Men.” Oh, and he’s got a decent body, too. :)
12/1/09
How Do I Get Offended, Let Me Count The Ways
Why do I get so offended when people say, "Beatles or Stones?" - Why?? Because, believe me, I get really offended. To me, it's not quite the fact that it's not even that close, it's that it's a ludicrous comparison in the first place. The Beatles stand alone as a group. Just like Elvis does as a solo artist.
And though I'm not like a Beatles freak or anything, I find this to be one of my "dealbreakers" because it's so appalling an idea. I mean, not to demean U2 or anything, but I think a more appropos comparison would be "Stones or U2?" - and, frankly, I think the answer is U2.
I'm not even a Stones hater. I like some of their stuff. But in terms of quality and impact, I think they're also still below The Smiths, Nirvana and probably some more--possibly even Pearl Jam, tho I'm not a big fan of them, either.
Why do I get so offended when confronted with stupidity? I mean, I don't know if there's more stupidity, or is it--like crime--so over-reported and/or witnessed that its true quantity is inflated in the public/my mind.
But, seriously, I think that listening to those stupid teabaggers at a protest (captured on film by an "undercover" prankster) scarred me for life. And I was just SO. VERY. OFFENDED that I have to entrust these people with the vote. It's disgusting.
And I'm talking more about the willfully, rather than the "innocently" stupid--if you aren't educated, well, then it only stands to reason you are going to be less open to new ideas, facts, etc., because you've had no lengthy experience with such things. But I know many folks with not a whole lot of "education" that are still plenty smart.
But the willfully ignorant ones--the ones who still blather and parrot crap told them by talk radio, even when contradicted by facts (e.g., "You lie!"), those are the ones I want to see shipped to Alabama or Mississippi or some other welfare state that consistently votes against government support but takes in WAY more federal support than they provide in return, and just let them be their own, yes, stupid, country and leave us to a socialist "hellhole" of universal health care, world class mass transit, zero waste policies, and a quality education povided through college in exchange for 3 years service to your country in the military, Peace Corps, or Americorps. I'll take that trade.
Why do I get so offended over timidity on the highway? Kyle is always hectoring me for being so "aggressive" on the road and for getting SO. VERY. OFFENDED by timid drivers. You know, coming to a virtual stop to get around the corner, sitting there like a dumb animal and/or on the cell/texting when the light turns green,etc. It's like they just don't deserve to drive. But, again, really, it's more the willful ignorance that is most annoying.
I mean, how can so many people complain, like me, about how people don't know how to use the left lane on the highway, and yet there still be so many people who don't know how to use the left lane on the highway? And, again, why do I get so offended by the arrogant, clueless, selfish assholes who cruise along at the same effing speed as the car on their right, or won't bother to temporarily merge back to the right so you can pass because, eventually, they will pass the car far off in the distance on the right.
And yet, in the end, rather than really honestly beating myself up for getting so "easily" offended, I rationalize that my rage is healthy, as it is based on legitimate things to be offended about--and that, in the end, it's the rest of society who should be asking, "Why am I NOT so offended?"
Well, Why aren't you?
And though I'm not like a Beatles freak or anything, I find this to be one of my "dealbreakers" because it's so appalling an idea. I mean, not to demean U2 or anything, but I think a more appropos comparison would be "Stones or U2?" - and, frankly, I think the answer is U2.
I'm not even a Stones hater. I like some of their stuff. But in terms of quality and impact, I think they're also still below The Smiths, Nirvana and probably some more--possibly even Pearl Jam, tho I'm not a big fan of them, either.
Why do I get so offended when confronted with stupidity? I mean, I don't know if there's more stupidity, or is it--like crime--so over-reported and/or witnessed that its true quantity is inflated in the public/my mind.
But, seriously, I think that listening to those stupid teabaggers at a protest (captured on film by an "undercover" prankster) scarred me for life. And I was just SO. VERY. OFFENDED that I have to entrust these people with the vote. It's disgusting.
And I'm talking more about the willfully, rather than the "innocently" stupid--if you aren't educated, well, then it only stands to reason you are going to be less open to new ideas, facts, etc., because you've had no lengthy experience with such things. But I know many folks with not a whole lot of "education" that are still plenty smart.
But the willfully ignorant ones--the ones who still blather and parrot crap told them by talk radio, even when contradicted by facts (e.g., "You lie!"), those are the ones I want to see shipped to Alabama or Mississippi or some other welfare state that consistently votes against government support but takes in WAY more federal support than they provide in return, and just let them be their own, yes, stupid, country and leave us to a socialist "hellhole" of universal health care, world class mass transit, zero waste policies, and a quality education povided through college in exchange for 3 years service to your country in the military, Peace Corps, or Americorps. I'll take that trade.
Why do I get so offended over timidity on the highway? Kyle is always hectoring me for being so "aggressive" on the road and for getting SO. VERY. OFFENDED by timid drivers. You know, coming to a virtual stop to get around the corner, sitting there like a dumb animal and/or on the cell/texting when the light turns green,etc. It's like they just don't deserve to drive. But, again, really, it's more the willful ignorance that is most annoying.
I mean, how can so many people complain, like me, about how people don't know how to use the left lane on the highway, and yet there still be so many people who don't know how to use the left lane on the highway? And, again, why do I get so offended by the arrogant, clueless, selfish assholes who cruise along at the same effing speed as the car on their right, or won't bother to temporarily merge back to the right so you can pass because, eventually, they will pass the car far off in the distance on the right.
And yet, in the end, rather than really honestly beating myself up for getting so "easily" offended, I rationalize that my rage is healthy, as it is based on legitimate things to be offended about--and that, in the end, it's the rest of society who should be asking, "Why am I NOT so offended?"
Well, Why aren't you?
11/24/09
Deep thoughts, cheap shots, and bon mots - the fourth.
You know, even though she's cute and all, when her face pops up on my Facebook page, to the right, saying, "Is she into you?", all I can immediately think is, "Oh, god, I hope not!" Somehow, I think that's not quite the response they're aiming for.
Which is odd, coz Facebook, a la Big Brother, usually is pretty good at "targeting" their ads. But google mail or gmail or whatever is even better. I'll be reading an e-mail from Kyle, yakking about his latest mis-step towards enlisting, and at the top of my mailbox, is a little ticker with ads and/or news stories about the Army.
Creepshow.
But, in the meantime, it turns out that putting on a sweater, or in my case my awesomely warm and colorful Keith Haring bathrobe (I should do a commercial for it!), really does mean you can go without turning the heater on/up.
But only for awhile.
I think I might be becoming a bit too fond of those 7-11 Taco & Cheese taquitos. But damn, they're good! :)
Have to give a shout out to Disney's "Carol" - very gothic (wink to Brian). Keep in mind, I'm basing it on seeing it in Digital 3-D on IMAX. I swear, time and again it seemed to be snowing between my 3-D glasses and my eyes. And, thankfully, Zemeckis has managed to fix that dead eye look from "Polar Express."
Another cool thing about it: the ghost of Christmas present looks like a cross between Jesus and Santa (of course, he's written that way), and surprisingly Disney includes the exchange between Scrooge and the Ghost wherein Christmas Present chides him for thinking mankind can do things in his name. Anyway, I highly recommend it - again, at least the 3-D IMAX version.
Best. Carol. Ever.
I have a confession to make: my very favorite "modern day" Christmas songs is Michael Bolton's "Our Love is Like a Holiday"
The latest in Excalibur's parking spot: tonight, in the same area on Hyde, but a large space, the guy still had to have his buddy get out and "direct" him into it. It was comical; he had at least 4-6 feet behind him.
Later, across the street, a Smart car got into a space that only a Smart car could have gotten into. I couldn't have even gotten my Mini in it! But my thing about Smart cars is they are TOO small. I see them on the freeway and I immediately think of some dark animated cartoon wherein the Smart car is coming to a stop but accidentally bumps slightly the car in front causing the Smart car to burst into flames.
So the latest episode of "Dexter" (and latest, for me, is Season 3, Disc 2, Episode 8) had a very touching and yet distressing storyline wherein a dear friend of Dexter's--a sweet old lady, natch--asks him to put her out of her end stage lung cancer misery. And of course Dexter's all torn up coz it doesn't fit his "code."
I can imagine very few more horrible positions in which to be put. I can't even begin to fathom how I would cope with such a request. There was an exchange that implied it would be easier to do for someone you really love, that if they were in horrible pain, and all knew it was only a matter of time, that you could more "easily" do it because of that love.
Personally, I don't see it. If, for example, Kyle were begging me to "help" end his life, I can only imagine I would be so devastated at the prospect of him dying that there is no way I could contribute to it without having some kind of breakdown afterwards.
Curious to hear what others think about this. Could you "help" someone in this way? What would it take? Would it be easier or harder to do it for someone you REALLY loved?
Discuss.
Which is odd, coz Facebook, a la Big Brother, usually is pretty good at "targeting" their ads. But google mail or gmail or whatever is even better. I'll be reading an e-mail from Kyle, yakking about his latest mis-step towards enlisting, and at the top of my mailbox, is a little ticker with ads and/or news stories about the Army.
Creepshow.
But, in the meantime, it turns out that putting on a sweater, or in my case my awesomely warm and colorful Keith Haring bathrobe (I should do a commercial for it!), really does mean you can go without turning the heater on/up.
But only for awhile.
I think I might be becoming a bit too fond of those 7-11 Taco & Cheese taquitos. But damn, they're good! :)
Have to give a shout out to Disney's "Carol" - very gothic (wink to Brian). Keep in mind, I'm basing it on seeing it in Digital 3-D on IMAX. I swear, time and again it seemed to be snowing between my 3-D glasses and my eyes. And, thankfully, Zemeckis has managed to fix that dead eye look from "Polar Express."
Another cool thing about it: the ghost of Christmas present looks like a cross between Jesus and Santa (of course, he's written that way), and surprisingly Disney includes the exchange between Scrooge and the Ghost wherein Christmas Present chides him for thinking mankind can do things in his name. Anyway, I highly recommend it - again, at least the 3-D IMAX version.
Best. Carol. Ever.
I have a confession to make: my very favorite "modern day" Christmas songs is Michael Bolton's "Our Love is Like a Holiday"
The latest in Excalibur's parking spot: tonight, in the same area on Hyde, but a large space, the guy still had to have his buddy get out and "direct" him into it. It was comical; he had at least 4-6 feet behind him.
Later, across the street, a Smart car got into a space that only a Smart car could have gotten into. I couldn't have even gotten my Mini in it! But my thing about Smart cars is they are TOO small. I see them on the freeway and I immediately think of some dark animated cartoon wherein the Smart car is coming to a stop but accidentally bumps slightly the car in front causing the Smart car to burst into flames.
So the latest episode of "Dexter" (and latest, for me, is Season 3, Disc 2, Episode 8) had a very touching and yet distressing storyline wherein a dear friend of Dexter's--a sweet old lady, natch--asks him to put her out of her end stage lung cancer misery. And of course Dexter's all torn up coz it doesn't fit his "code."
I can imagine very few more horrible positions in which to be put. I can't even begin to fathom how I would cope with such a request. There was an exchange that implied it would be easier to do for someone you really love, that if they were in horrible pain, and all knew it was only a matter of time, that you could more "easily" do it because of that love.
Personally, I don't see it. If, for example, Kyle were begging me to "help" end his life, I can only imagine I would be so devastated at the prospect of him dying that there is no way I could contribute to it without having some kind of breakdown afterwards.
Curious to hear what others think about this. Could you "help" someone in this way? What would it take? Would it be easier or harder to do it for someone you REALLY loved?
Discuss.
11/16/09
A is for Apple. Or Antediluvian. Or Abstemious. Or or or...
I read somewhere once that many smart people believe in the power of reading a dictionary. Yes, READING it, not just using it to look up those words smarter people than you throw at you to make sure you remember that they’re smarter than you.
I would actually have to agree, though, that reading a dictionary is indeed a good thing. It IS gratifying to throw words out that other people don’t know and watch them smile blankly and nod their heads when you respond to their innocent little musing about whether or not Dianne Feinstein would make a good president with something like, “Oh, I don’t know--she’s just so.....so......antediluvian, don’t you think?”
Of course, reading is a time-consuming business and I know most of us don’t have time to sit and relax in your favorite old chair with a nice heavy copy of Webster’s annotated in your lap. I mean what with working 10 hours a day, sleeping for six (maybe), the gym, my MTV, catching the latest $100 million art house flick, cruisin’ the web and surfin’ the net and flaming all those morons who actually believe that Captain Picard is a better Star Trek captain than Captain Kirk. I know it’s hard to keep up.
So of course I’m here to help. I will, as a service to my faithful readers, and to help with my eternal ambition to be a teacher (just not in a public high school), read the dictionary myself and, periodically, provide you with a brief definition of some obscure, but impressive-sounding words for you to use on your boss, loved ones, or anyone else that needs to be reminded of your intellectual prowess. And if you continue reading this within the next two minutes, at no extra charge, I’ll even use the word in a sentence for you!
Let’s start with antediluvian, since I mentioned it above (and since I have only read the A’s so far in the dictionary). Antediluvian--emphasis on the lu, as in loo--basically means “of the time before the flood.” Now, I don’t know if this is so literal that people who don’t believe in God and Noah and all that can’t use the word, I’ll leave that up to individual consciences. And, as for using it in a sentence, I already did, remember? Dianne Feinstein is positively ANTEDILUVIAN.
Okay, let’s move on. ABATTOIR. Many of you may know this one because it’s always first on those “improving your vocabulary” tapes and runs all the time in Reader’s Digest. Frankly, I don’t know why it’s so popular considering that it’s simply a fancy word for a slaughterhouse, but I felt I should include it just to make sure everyone out there knows how to spell it. I always wanted to spell it as abbatoir, but I'm assuming that has something to do with ABBA.
Anyway, using it in a sentence, let me see.... Oh, okay, here we go: Dianne Feinstein, the positively antediluvian Senator, made a campaign stop today at an abattoir. I have to admit that sounds nicer than saying, “Old Dianne Feinstein dropped by a slaughterhouse today.”
Next, ABSTEMIOUS--emphasis on the ste, as in stee. This means “sparing in one’s taking of food and drink, not self-indulgent.” The dictionary also reminds you that an abstemious person does not abstain entirely (italics, dictionary). So a good sentence would be: Dianne Feinstein, the positively antediluvian and possibly ABSTEMIOUS Senator, made a campaign stop today at an abattoir. " Swish! Can you believe I’m making up these sentences as we go along? Who says learning isn’t fun?
Then we have AEGIS--emphasis on the ae, is in ee. Aegis is a noun, even though it sounds like a verb (or am I thinking of an adjective? won't someone tell me what I'm thinking of?), and means “protection, sponsorship.” Incredibly enough, the dictionary provides us with a sentence fragment using aegis, that fits uncannily into our ongoing, and I must admit thrilling, story about Dianne Feinstein.
Our new sentence thus reads: Dianne Feinstein, the positively antediluvian and possibly abstemious Senator, while under the AEGIS of the Humane Society, made a campaign stop today at an abattoir. Is that eerie, or what? And it changes the meaning of the sentence for those of you who had previously proscribed rather nefarious (see more about this word in a future column!) motives to Ms. Feinstein’s visit to the abattoir.
But, quiet, fool, so we can move on to the next word! I’m dying to know what happens to old Dianne--excuse me, to the positively antediluvian Dianne--aren’t you?
In fact, let’s just finish up the A’s and I’ll let you all go home early. We have AMELIORATE (emphasis on the mel, as in meel, and which means to make or become better); we have ANACHRONISM (emphasis on the nach, as in “My Sharona” and meaning 1) a mistake in placing something into a particular historical period, 2) the thing wrongly placed, 3) a person, custom, or idea regarded as out of date...Hmm, can just SMELL this one coming, can’t you?); and, finally, we have APHASIA (emphasis on the pha, as in fay, and referring to a partial or total loss of speech, or loss of understanding of language, resulting from brain damage).
Let’s tie it all up with one nice, long, sentence using all the new words we’ve learned and be prepared to amaze your family and friends: Dianne Feinstein, the positively antediluvian and possibly abstemious Grdlflick in jammer, astibalished...... Editor’s Note: We apologize, but Mr. Wallace was suddenly struck with aphasia and will be unable to finish this lesson. We have sent him to the hospital, where he has been given pharmacotherapy to help ameliorate his pain until he can discontinue his obsession with the Knack’s “My Sharona.” Our apologies.
I would actually have to agree, though, that reading a dictionary is indeed a good thing. It IS gratifying to throw words out that other people don’t know and watch them smile blankly and nod their heads when you respond to their innocent little musing about whether or not Dianne Feinstein would make a good president with something like, “Oh, I don’t know--she’s just so.....so......antediluvian, don’t you think?”
Of course, reading is a time-consuming business and I know most of us don’t have time to sit and relax in your favorite old chair with a nice heavy copy of Webster’s annotated in your lap. I mean what with working 10 hours a day, sleeping for six (maybe), the gym, my MTV, catching the latest $100 million art house flick, cruisin’ the web and surfin’ the net and flaming all those morons who actually believe that Captain Picard is a better Star Trek captain than Captain Kirk. I know it’s hard to keep up.
So of course I’m here to help. I will, as a service to my faithful readers, and to help with my eternal ambition to be a teacher (just not in a public high school), read the dictionary myself and, periodically, provide you with a brief definition of some obscure, but impressive-sounding words for you to use on your boss, loved ones, or anyone else that needs to be reminded of your intellectual prowess. And if you continue reading this within the next two minutes, at no extra charge, I’ll even use the word in a sentence for you!
Let’s start with antediluvian, since I mentioned it above (and since I have only read the A’s so far in the dictionary). Antediluvian--emphasis on the lu, as in loo--basically means “of the time before the flood.” Now, I don’t know if this is so literal that people who don’t believe in God and Noah and all that can’t use the word, I’ll leave that up to individual consciences. And, as for using it in a sentence, I already did, remember? Dianne Feinstein is positively ANTEDILUVIAN.
Okay, let’s move on. ABATTOIR. Many of you may know this one because it’s always first on those “improving your vocabulary” tapes and runs all the time in Reader’s Digest. Frankly, I don’t know why it’s so popular considering that it’s simply a fancy word for a slaughterhouse, but I felt I should include it just to make sure everyone out there knows how to spell it. I always wanted to spell it as abbatoir, but I'm assuming that has something to do with ABBA.
Anyway, using it in a sentence, let me see.... Oh, okay, here we go: Dianne Feinstein, the positively antediluvian Senator, made a campaign stop today at an abattoir. I have to admit that sounds nicer than saying, “Old Dianne Feinstein dropped by a slaughterhouse today.”
Next, ABSTEMIOUS--emphasis on the ste, as in stee. This means “sparing in one’s taking of food and drink, not self-indulgent.” The dictionary also reminds you that an abstemious person does not abstain entirely (italics, dictionary). So a good sentence would be: Dianne Feinstein, the positively antediluvian and possibly ABSTEMIOUS Senator, made a campaign stop today at an abattoir. " Swish! Can you believe I’m making up these sentences as we go along? Who says learning isn’t fun?
Then we have AEGIS--emphasis on the ae, is in ee. Aegis is a noun, even though it sounds like a verb (or am I thinking of an adjective? won't someone tell me what I'm thinking of?), and means “protection, sponsorship.” Incredibly enough, the dictionary provides us with a sentence fragment using aegis, that fits uncannily into our ongoing, and I must admit thrilling, story about Dianne Feinstein.
Our new sentence thus reads: Dianne Feinstein, the positively antediluvian and possibly abstemious Senator, while under the AEGIS of the Humane Society, made a campaign stop today at an abattoir. Is that eerie, or what? And it changes the meaning of the sentence for those of you who had previously proscribed rather nefarious (see more about this word in a future column!) motives to Ms. Feinstein’s visit to the abattoir.
But, quiet, fool, so we can move on to the next word! I’m dying to know what happens to old Dianne--excuse me, to the positively antediluvian Dianne--aren’t you?
In fact, let’s just finish up the A’s and I’ll let you all go home early. We have AMELIORATE (emphasis on the mel, as in meel, and which means to make or become better); we have ANACHRONISM (emphasis on the nach, as in “My Sharona” and meaning 1) a mistake in placing something into a particular historical period, 2) the thing wrongly placed, 3) a person, custom, or idea regarded as out of date...Hmm, can just SMELL this one coming, can’t you?); and, finally, we have APHASIA (emphasis on the pha, as in fay, and referring to a partial or total loss of speech, or loss of understanding of language, resulting from brain damage).
Let’s tie it all up with one nice, long, sentence using all the new words we’ve learned and be prepared to amaze your family and friends: Dianne Feinstein, the positively antediluvian and possibly abstemious Grdlflick in jammer, astibalished...... Editor’s Note: We apologize, but Mr. Wallace was suddenly struck with aphasia and will be unable to finish this lesson. We have sent him to the hospital, where he has been given pharmacotherapy to help ameliorate his pain until he can discontinue his obsession with the Knack’s “My Sharona.” Our apologies.
11/9/09
Adventures in Babysitting
I read somewhere the other day that the “going rate” for baby-sitting is now around $10 an hour. Or MORE. This is one of those interesting little sociological tidbits that has sneaked up on my 40-something-year-old self and slapped me in the face, forcing me to admit that there are actually generations of folks out there that are YOUNGER THAN I AM.
The first time this happened was with the craze for wearing your pants with the seat of them hovering just slightly above your knees. And then, of course, you ran around all the time trying to pull them up. I’d look at these kids and think, “Golly gee willickers, generation gaps ARE appalling things!”
Anyway, when *I* was younger and baby-sitting, I was lucky to get $10 for TWO NIGHTS of sitting, let alone one hour. And I had to walk 10 miles through the snow to where I was baby-sitting, yadda yadda yadda. I also heard that girls got more for some reason. When I asked my mom about the unfairness of this, she snorted and said something like, “Boo hoo hoo; talk to me again in 20 years when she’s getting 67 cents for each dollar you’re getting while both of you are pushing papers around a desk.” To which I would wittily reply, “Um, huh?”
I understand inflation. I understand baby-sitters being more appreciated these days (although I can’t think of exactly WHY that would be, but let’s leave it in as a space filler). I even will allow that today a baby-sitter faces different challenges. For example:
WHEN I WAS BABY-SITTING: “Are you sure your mom said you could eat Fritos and drink Hi-C and stay up past your bedtime to watch ‘Love, American Style’??”
A BABY-SITTER TODAY: “Are you sure your mom said you could drink all the scotch, smoke her dope, and stay up past your bedtime downloading dirty pics?”
However, keep in mind that these things would be of proportional scariness factor. Just as kids today are scared of being gunned down in their classrooms, kids of yore used to be equally afraid of monsters sneaking out from under their beds in the middle of the night and devouring them. Both equally frightening propositions, no?
Therefore, I will submit that baby-sitting “then” was just as full of hazards as baby-sitting “now.” For instance, how many of you former baby-sitters out there can remember each--or at least some--of the following:
1) The kids with the large pet/demon from Hell that did whatever they wanted. Of course the purpose of this animal was so the kids could then have YOU do whatever they wanted. I baby-sat a pair of kids, boy and girl, who had a giant schnauzer. And I mean a GIANT schnauzer. Up to that point, I thought the only kind of schnauzer that existed was like the little black one in Disney’s “Lady & the Tramp.” Now, this schnauzer did indeed look like little “Scottie” (or whatever his name was) but blown up to Japanese horror movie size. These kids would come in the kitchen with “Caesar” and say, “Mom says we can have twinkies AND Cap’n Crunch while we watch The Late Late Late Movie.” “Oh yeah?” I snap, whirling my head with a withering stare that lasts all the way up until the time I notice they are patting Caesar on the head. “Well, you can only have regular OR berry Cap’n Crunch with your twinkies, not both!”
2) The parents who say “Eat what you want from the fridge” only because they’ve taken the precaution of emptying it of anything good--all you'd find would be old apple butter, olive loaf, and a box of baking soda. But some parents actually MEANT it, and in THEIR refrigerators you’d find tofu, carrots and assorted other varieties of “nature’s candy,” soy milk, and any manner of things a younger person would rather be devoured by a giant dog by than eat.
3) The good kid/bad kid house where one child has a crush on you and the other one thinks you’re a monster from the pits of hell--or at least WISHES you were, so you’d be more fun. I’ll be sitting for little Johnnie and Katie and when I say, “Okay, kids it’s bedtime,” and tap on my watch, little Katie will smile beatifically at me and say, “Yes, David, will you tuck us in?” while little Johnnie is calling for Caesar.
4) The kids who are perfect angels while Mom & Dad are around, but once the parents are out the door, the kids are at each other’s throats. One time, while making a sandwich for little Tammy, her brother Duane had managed to herd up all of her Barbies, shave their heads and tattoo his initials onto each one of them with his woodburning set. “I wanted to play ‘Barbie in a War-Time Prison Camp,’” said Duane. So while I sat him down and explained the incorrectness of his deed (all the while praying for the speedy return of his parents so that I could STRONGLY suggest therapy), Tammy was getting her vengeance by tossing Duane’s pet goldfish out on the bedroom rug and giggling maniacally as Tabby played with them.
Coincidentally or not, this was the very last couple I sat for. I recall getting a couple of more requests, but generally from parents who had hellish children I already knew entirely too much about and refused to sit for.
Of course, back then, if they had offered me $10 an hour...
The first time this happened was with the craze for wearing your pants with the seat of them hovering just slightly above your knees. And then, of course, you ran around all the time trying to pull them up. I’d look at these kids and think, “Golly gee willickers, generation gaps ARE appalling things!”
Anyway, when *I* was younger and baby-sitting, I was lucky to get $10 for TWO NIGHTS of sitting, let alone one hour. And I had to walk 10 miles through the snow to where I was baby-sitting, yadda yadda yadda. I also heard that girls got more for some reason. When I asked my mom about the unfairness of this, she snorted and said something like, “Boo hoo hoo; talk to me again in 20 years when she’s getting 67 cents for each dollar you’re getting while both of you are pushing papers around a desk.” To which I would wittily reply, “Um, huh?”
I understand inflation. I understand baby-sitters being more appreciated these days (although I can’t think of exactly WHY that would be, but let’s leave it in as a space filler). I even will allow that today a baby-sitter faces different challenges. For example:
WHEN I WAS BABY-SITTING: “Are you sure your mom said you could eat Fritos and drink Hi-C and stay up past your bedtime to watch ‘Love, American Style’??”
A BABY-SITTER TODAY: “Are you sure your mom said you could drink all the scotch, smoke her dope, and stay up past your bedtime downloading dirty pics?”
However, keep in mind that these things would be of proportional scariness factor. Just as kids today are scared of being gunned down in their classrooms, kids of yore used to be equally afraid of monsters sneaking out from under their beds in the middle of the night and devouring them. Both equally frightening propositions, no?
Therefore, I will submit that baby-sitting “then” was just as full of hazards as baby-sitting “now.” For instance, how many of you former baby-sitters out there can remember each--or at least some--of the following:
1) The kids with the large pet/demon from Hell that did whatever they wanted. Of course the purpose of this animal was so the kids could then have YOU do whatever they wanted. I baby-sat a pair of kids, boy and girl, who had a giant schnauzer. And I mean a GIANT schnauzer. Up to that point, I thought the only kind of schnauzer that existed was like the little black one in Disney’s “Lady & the Tramp.” Now, this schnauzer did indeed look like little “Scottie” (or whatever his name was) but blown up to Japanese horror movie size. These kids would come in the kitchen with “Caesar” and say, “Mom says we can have twinkies AND Cap’n Crunch while we watch The Late Late Late Movie.” “Oh yeah?” I snap, whirling my head with a withering stare that lasts all the way up until the time I notice they are patting Caesar on the head. “Well, you can only have regular OR berry Cap’n Crunch with your twinkies, not both!”
2) The parents who say “Eat what you want from the fridge” only because they’ve taken the precaution of emptying it of anything good--all you'd find would be old apple butter, olive loaf, and a box of baking soda. But some parents actually MEANT it, and in THEIR refrigerators you’d find tofu, carrots and assorted other varieties of “nature’s candy,” soy milk, and any manner of things a younger person would rather be devoured by a giant dog by than eat.
3) The good kid/bad kid house where one child has a crush on you and the other one thinks you’re a monster from the pits of hell--or at least WISHES you were, so you’d be more fun. I’ll be sitting for little Johnnie and Katie and when I say, “Okay, kids it’s bedtime,” and tap on my watch, little Katie will smile beatifically at me and say, “Yes, David, will you tuck us in?” while little Johnnie is calling for Caesar.
4) The kids who are perfect angels while Mom & Dad are around, but once the parents are out the door, the kids are at each other’s throats. One time, while making a sandwich for little Tammy, her brother Duane had managed to herd up all of her Barbies, shave their heads and tattoo his initials onto each one of them with his woodburning set. “I wanted to play ‘Barbie in a War-Time Prison Camp,’” said Duane. So while I sat him down and explained the incorrectness of his deed (all the while praying for the speedy return of his parents so that I could STRONGLY suggest therapy), Tammy was getting her vengeance by tossing Duane’s pet goldfish out on the bedroom rug and giggling maniacally as Tabby played with them.
Coincidentally or not, this was the very last couple I sat for. I recall getting a couple of more requests, but generally from parents who had hellish children I already knew entirely too much about and refused to sit for.
Of course, back then, if they had offered me $10 an hour...
11/2/09
Sent via Blackberry
So I finally broke down and joined the "so 10 minutes ago" cool club by getting a Blackberry. Of course, it's still through CREDO, so I get to maintain my hippie cred. :)
My first impression: WTF? Why does someone need this much shit on their phone? I mean, I just don't have time to do even a TENTH of what this thing can do. And I don't want to make the time. I guess my generation gap is showing.
What's interesting, though, is that we're living in one of those few moments in history where you can actually almost feel/see the change, its happening so fast. I mean, if you took a Blackberry back to just 1989 - 20 years ago - most people would have been goggle-eyed at what all it can do.
Or maybe it's just me. I mean, I seriously am still blown away by TV (and even, to a lesser, extent, radio). I just don't grasp how IMAGES can be transmitted through THIN AIR. I mean, I've had it explained to me, "scientifically," a thousand times (or was it a thousand acres?), but it still blows me away. The phone itself is a trip--cell or landline. That you can hear someone's voice, instantaneously, through an effing WIRE, let alone the AIR?? I mean, seriously, as they say in "Shakespeare in Love," It's a mystery!
I remember coming back from Peace Corps, in 1999, right near the height of the dot-com boom and it seemed like, overnight (i.e., the 2 years I was away), everyone had gotten a cell phone! Of course, they were HUGE by comparison to today's.
I wish I could remember what show, it was something like Magnum P.I., where the hero had this HUGE effing cell phone. It was a trip. It looked more like one of those mondo-sized military walkie-talkies. Ah, back in the old days.
Anyway, the (first?) downside I've found to the Blackberry is how long the battery takes to charge and how long (as in not) it holds the charge.
But at least I'm cool for 10 minutes ago.
My first impression: WTF? Why does someone need this much shit on their phone? I mean, I just don't have time to do even a TENTH of what this thing can do. And I don't want to make the time. I guess my generation gap is showing.
What's interesting, though, is that we're living in one of those few moments in history where you can actually almost feel/see the change, its happening so fast. I mean, if you took a Blackberry back to just 1989 - 20 years ago - most people would have been goggle-eyed at what all it can do.
Or maybe it's just me. I mean, I seriously am still blown away by TV (and even, to a lesser, extent, radio). I just don't grasp how IMAGES can be transmitted through THIN AIR. I mean, I've had it explained to me, "scientifically," a thousand times (or was it a thousand acres?), but it still blows me away. The phone itself is a trip--cell or landline. That you can hear someone's voice, instantaneously, through an effing WIRE, let alone the AIR?? I mean, seriously, as they say in "Shakespeare in Love," It's a mystery!
I remember coming back from Peace Corps, in 1999, right near the height of the dot-com boom and it seemed like, overnight (i.e., the 2 years I was away), everyone had gotten a cell phone! Of course, they were HUGE by comparison to today's.
I wish I could remember what show, it was something like Magnum P.I., where the hero had this HUGE effing cell phone. It was a trip. It looked more like one of those mondo-sized military walkie-talkies. Ah, back in the old days.
Anyway, the (first?) downside I've found to the Blackberry is how long the battery takes to charge and how long (as in not) it holds the charge.
But at least I'm cool for 10 minutes ago.
10/29/09
10 Things I Don't Hate About Sonomarin
No, I wasn't trying to be snarky, I was trying to play off that "10 Things I Hate About You" which I just now remembered had a very young, extra cute Heath Ledger in it. With....oh god, what was her name that improbably popped up in a Bourney Identity movie - or was it a Mission Impossible movie?
ANYWAY, so here's my "long awaited" Top Ten Things I Miss From Sonomarin; I'm combining the counties coz I lived in Sonoma but worked in Marin.
1) The parking. Sorry SueLin, but my recent hideously expensive towing incident bumps you out of the top spot. I sometimes, maybe had to walk 3-4 blocks when I parked in downtown Petaluma. And of course at home, I had a garage.
2) My friend SueLin. I realized the other night that even tho we've known each other for TWENTY-SIX YEARS now, this past year was the first time we'd lived in the same city since 1991. Although I already knew this about her, it was, of course, awesome to be able to spend time again with someone so smart, funny, generous......excuse me I have something in my eye! :)
3) My friend Lorrie. My only other friend in Petaluma. You could say, "How sad," OR you could say, "Well, how lucky you were to have two such fantastic people as SueLin and Lorrie for friends that you didn't even need any more friends!" I prefer to think of it as the latter.
4) My friend Mary. Mary is a ROCK STAR at Conservation Corps North Bay, and I am lucky that, for my year plus there, I had her there not only for support for my rants about Kyle and Sonomarin drivers, but also as a VERY helpful friend when Kyle and I lost our cat.
Break: the good thing about the above three, is I can still see them - but they're on the list coz I don't get to see them as much!
5) The wine. I mean, I can get wine here, and I'm trying to get back in the habit, but when you live up in Sonoma, you just kind of HAVE to drink wine more often! :)
6) The townhouse I had. Don't think I've ever lived in a place that was three stories before. It was kinda cool just for that, but also had a fabulous kitchen - probably the best I've ever had, and great amenities in the complex. Something that size, with the garage and those amenities, would probably run at least $2700 here. Welcome back to the City!
7) CCNB. Conservation Corps North Bay is an awesome organization doing amazing work and having a significant impact on the earth and our youth. I'm glad I got to be a part of it for awhile!
8) The quiet. While I love the bustle and hubub and vibrancy of the City, and have acclimated to the not-really-so-bad-most-of-the-time sound from the streets, it's still annoying on those nights when more than one siren goes by. Of course, I could live in the Sunset or Richmond if I wantedzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. :)
9) Papa John's. Yes, SueLin, there are some good restaurants in Petaluma, as well as in Marin, but I miss most the convenience of the Papa John's right down the street coz baking it yourself is not only cheaper, but taste better/fresher. Wow, I could do a commercial for them! Oh, wait, I guess I just did.
10) My boy. I saved him for last coz he's really, actually, the most important. Although Kyle still has some, er, life lessons to learn, I still love the little brat something fierce and miss him every single day!
So it may not be a very glamorous list, and of course is half-populated with people, but I did enjoy my time in Sonomarin overall. Word.
ANYWAY, so here's my "long awaited" Top Ten Things I Miss From Sonomarin; I'm combining the counties coz I lived in Sonoma but worked in Marin.
1) The parking. Sorry SueLin, but my recent hideously expensive towing incident bumps you out of the top spot. I sometimes, maybe had to walk 3-4 blocks when I parked in downtown Petaluma. And of course at home, I had a garage.
2) My friend SueLin. I realized the other night that even tho we've known each other for TWENTY-SIX YEARS now, this past year was the first time we'd lived in the same city since 1991. Although I already knew this about her, it was, of course, awesome to be able to spend time again with someone so smart, funny, generous......excuse me I have something in my eye! :)
3) My friend Lorrie. My only other friend in Petaluma. You could say, "How sad," OR you could say, "Well, how lucky you were to have two such fantastic people as SueLin and Lorrie for friends that you didn't even need any more friends!" I prefer to think of it as the latter.
4) My friend Mary. Mary is a ROCK STAR at Conservation Corps North Bay, and I am lucky that, for my year plus there, I had her there not only for support for my rants about Kyle and Sonomarin drivers, but also as a VERY helpful friend when Kyle and I lost our cat.
Break: the good thing about the above three, is I can still see them - but they're on the list coz I don't get to see them as much!
5) The wine. I mean, I can get wine here, and I'm trying to get back in the habit, but when you live up in Sonoma, you just kind of HAVE to drink wine more often! :)
6) The townhouse I had. Don't think I've ever lived in a place that was three stories before. It was kinda cool just for that, but also had a fabulous kitchen - probably the best I've ever had, and great amenities in the complex. Something that size, with the garage and those amenities, would probably run at least $2700 here. Welcome back to the City!
7) CCNB. Conservation Corps North Bay is an awesome organization doing amazing work and having a significant impact on the earth and our youth. I'm glad I got to be a part of it for awhile!
8) The quiet. While I love the bustle and hubub and vibrancy of the City, and have acclimated to the not-really-so-bad-most-of-the-time sound from the streets, it's still annoying on those nights when more than one siren goes by. Of course, I could live in the Sunset or Richmond if I wantedzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. :)
9) Papa John's. Yes, SueLin, there are some good restaurants in Petaluma, as well as in Marin, but I miss most the convenience of the Papa John's right down the street coz baking it yourself is not only cheaper, but taste better/fresher. Wow, I could do a commercial for them! Oh, wait, I guess I just did.
10) My boy. I saved him for last coz he's really, actually, the most important. Although Kyle still has some, er, life lessons to learn, I still love the little brat something fierce and miss him every single day!
So it may not be a very glamorous list, and of course is half-populated with people, but I did enjoy my time in Sonomarin overall. Word.
10/26/09
Sign me up!
So with Kyle doing more to join the Army than anything else he's ever tried to do on his own, I was thinking how horrible it would be if he went to Afghanistan, etc. I mean, truth be told, I would have been all for going, hard, after Bin Laden right away, but NOOOO, it was more important to go into Iraq. And, again, simply for going along with Bush on, Hillary doesn't deserve to be President, but ANYWAY, I got to thinking, what would I go to war over?
And I thought of something. If I knew it would help, and there'd be a decent chance, I'd totally take up arms to separate this country and get me away from the gap-toothed, slack-jawed, in-bred, racist yokels that ask/allow/provide for the following:
* the 46% of White Americans who find Fox news "credible" (5% of African-Americans do, and 11% of Hispanics)
* the outrageous, not to mention insanely stupid disconnect, of allowing guns in national parks or no credit card reform.
* speaking of guns, the just as outrageous, etc. of allowing guns on Amtrak or no federal funding
* those stupid teabaggers - "Duh! Me no want something good if brown or poor person gets it, too!"
* this totally un-shocking fact: U.S. states whose residents have more conservative religious beliefs on average tend to have higher rates of teenagers giving birth, a new study suggests. The relationship could be due to the fact that communities with such religious beliefs (a literal interpretation of the Bible, for instance) may frown upon contraception, researchers say. If that same culture isn't successfully discouraging teen sex, the pregnancy and birth rates rise. Mississippi topped the list for conservative religious beliefs and teen birth rates, according to the study results, which will be detailed in a forthcoming issue of the journal Reproductive Health.
* the fact that the GOP actually tried to spin the fact that Franken's rape amendment got 30 nay votes - all Republicans.
Check this out and sign me up for the war; at this point, I'd almost rather be dead than live in a country with such evil and stupidity:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/10/15/jon-stewart-takes-on-30-r_n_321985.html
And I thought of something. If I knew it would help, and there'd be a decent chance, I'd totally take up arms to separate this country and get me away from the gap-toothed, slack-jawed, in-bred, racist yokels that ask/allow/provide for the following:
* the 46% of White Americans who find Fox news "credible" (5% of African-Americans do, and 11% of Hispanics)
* the outrageous, not to mention insanely stupid disconnect, of allowing guns in national parks or no credit card reform.
* speaking of guns, the just as outrageous, etc. of allowing guns on Amtrak or no federal funding
* those stupid teabaggers - "Duh! Me no want something good if brown or poor person gets it, too!"
* this totally un-shocking fact: U.S. states whose residents have more conservative religious beliefs on average tend to have higher rates of teenagers giving birth, a new study suggests. The relationship could be due to the fact that communities with such religious beliefs (a literal interpretation of the Bible, for instance) may frown upon contraception, researchers say. If that same culture isn't successfully discouraging teen sex, the pregnancy and birth rates rise. Mississippi topped the list for conservative religious beliefs and teen birth rates, according to the study results, which will be detailed in a forthcoming issue of the journal Reproductive Health.
* the fact that the GOP actually tried to spin the fact that Franken's rape amendment got 30 nay votes - all Republicans.
Check this out and sign me up for the war; at this point, I'd almost rather be dead than live in a country with such evil and stupidity:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/10/15/jon-stewart-takes-on-30-r_n_321985.html
10/22/09
Apoplectic With Rage
Disclaimer: Yes, I made a mistake and understand I should be "punished," but I would really like folks' honest feedback as to whether or not I still have the right, after my stupid mistake, to be so apoplectic with rage after the following events.
So I was excited to find a parking space on Sutter, just on the other side of the street from my apt., when I got home from work yesterday and saw no street cleaning until next Wednesday. I happily parked it there and decided to BART to work today and tomorrow coz I had late afternoon meetings and the bridge is a NIGHTMARE basically any time after 4:30 p.m.
But what I stupidly forgot was that side of the street has NO parking whatsoever every day from 4-6 for rush hour, and so of course when I got home the car had been towed. Because I went and got it wthin four hours, I didn't have to pay "storage," but still had to pay effing $373.75 to get it! There's no way I could describe the rage I am in.
The fees included $155.75 for the "SF Administrative Fee," $174.25 for the towing, and $43.75 for an "Extra Dolly or Flatbed Fee" - and for those who may have forgotten, or may not know, I have an effing MINI. A MINI needs an extra dolly or flatbed?
PLUS there were TWO tickets on it totaling $186, for a grand total of $560! I mean, seriously, can you believe that? And when I'm already so broke. GAWD!
Oh and of course one of the tickets was for "Towaway." I mean, seriously, this is just disgusting beyond belief. I mean, what kind of "human beings" make these policies?
How on earth would anyone with very little income afford something like this?
So I was excited to find a parking space on Sutter, just on the other side of the street from my apt., when I got home from work yesterday and saw no street cleaning until next Wednesday. I happily parked it there and decided to BART to work today and tomorrow coz I had late afternoon meetings and the bridge is a NIGHTMARE basically any time after 4:30 p.m.
But what I stupidly forgot was that side of the street has NO parking whatsoever every day from 4-6 for rush hour, and so of course when I got home the car had been towed. Because I went and got it wthin four hours, I didn't have to pay "storage," but still had to pay effing $373.75 to get it! There's no way I could describe the rage I am in.
The fees included $155.75 for the "SF Administrative Fee," $174.25 for the towing, and $43.75 for an "Extra Dolly or Flatbed Fee" - and for those who may have forgotten, or may not know, I have an effing MINI. A MINI needs an extra dolly or flatbed?
PLUS there were TWO tickets on it totaling $186, for a grand total of $560! I mean, seriously, can you believe that? And when I'm already so broke. GAWD!
Oh and of course one of the tickets was for "Towaway." I mean, seriously, this is just disgusting beyond belief. I mean, what kind of "human beings" make these policies?
How on earth would anyone with very little income afford something like this?
10/19/09
Blue Light Special on Breast Scaffolds & Skull Pegs!
Attention ladies! I said attention! Blue light special from the FDA! For those of you who feel larger breasts are a MUST to get ahead in our hurly-burly, hustly-bustly world, there’s good news. It seems that researchers have discovered that they can remove a tissue sample from a woman’s thigh or abdomen and use it to grow additional cells, which they can then implant into your breasts! But wait, there’s more!
They will implant these growing cells in a biodegradable breast-shaped SCAFFOLD. It’s true! The scaffold is then (hopefully) metabolized within a few weeks while the cells multiply and mature into real breast tissue. These cells will fill the space left for them by the scaffolding and then SOMEHOW know when to stop growing. This is what scientists expect, at least. That these cells will SOMEHOW know when to stop growing.
Excuse me, but how? Granted, I may not know much about science (or breasts, actually), but this strikes me as, well, SCARY. What happens if they DON’T “somehow” know when to stop growing? Will doctors then inject little cell army men into the breasts to track down the out-of-control growth cells and kill them? Will they use tiny cell nuclear weapons? What a great excuse this gives a woman for those nights she’s not up to being pawed by her husband.
“Please, honey, not tonight. My new cells have overrun their scaffolding and are currently being beaten back by an army of containment cells. Ooooooh!! Excuse me.”
The flip side to this is that men will be all over this advancement like.....well.....like manipulated thigh cells on biodegradable breast scaffolding. And you know where they’ll want theirs. “Take some of these beer gut cells and slap some scaffolding on to my little buddy and turn ‘em loose in there, kay doc?” And will the guy be upset if the cells don’t “somehow” know when to stop growing? Hahahahahahahahahahaha. Um, I mean, possibly.
Now, if the thought of uncontrollable cells enlarging parts of your body isn’t scary enough, there’s something even better; and this one IS for men (who, of course, by birthright deserve the better of everything). We all know that for every woman who wants larger breasts there is a man who wants more hair. So they try minoxidil, hairpieces, implants, transplants, and yes even those spray cans if they can afford them.
But now, instead, they can have tiny metal pegs imbedded into their skulls!! It’s true. A cosmetic surgeon in......no, wrong! NOT in Los Angeles! A cosmetic surgeon in New York has come up with a SNAP-ON hairpiece. After Dr. Frankenstein inserts these little metal pegs into your head, you wait a scant three months for the skin and BONE to grow back and then you can have a hairpiece to just “snap on” to the pegs. Words fail me. Almost. I mean, I had thought the skull bone does not just simply grow back; is that not right? I barely got C’s in Science.
So, anyway, the doctor says that for the first several months it will feel like somebody has nailed a nail into your head (Ouch! Remember what THAT feels like?). But then you’ll get used to it. Kind of like the way you get used to having your breasts grow uncontrollably, I guess.
Fortunately, with all of the other, equally appalling, hairpiece options available to men, I can’t see this one becoming too popular. And, of course, what happens in airports? Or when you walk through a field of loose, extremely heavy, but still easily flyable through the air magnets? These are only two examples of why a scientist can never get a date. They’ve got it all backwards. What they should be working on are snap-on breasts and uncontrollably growing hair. I mean, if your hair keeps growing (duh, like REAL hair does) you just go get it cut. And for the woman who decided later that she didn’t like having larger breasts after all, she could just UN-SNAP THEM! If I weren’t so busy dating, I’d become a scientist myself and help to rectify this matter. In the meantime, countless poor souls will undoubtedly fall for these new wonder “improvements.”
After all, the woman with the small breasts--who is padding her bra--wants the “real” thing so that she can get the cute guy who, at the same time, is wearing a hairpiece while saving up for a better one so that he can then land the woman with the padded bra. Of course once each of them gets their respective “improvements” they then decide that they can set their sights higher and continue remaking themselves until they hit 50 and all of the tinkering boomerangs on them and they end up with the very first person they were chasing after, bitterly cursing their bad luck for “having to settle.”
They will implant these growing cells in a biodegradable breast-shaped SCAFFOLD. It’s true! The scaffold is then (hopefully) metabolized within a few weeks while the cells multiply and mature into real breast tissue. These cells will fill the space left for them by the scaffolding and then SOMEHOW know when to stop growing. This is what scientists expect, at least. That these cells will SOMEHOW know when to stop growing.
Excuse me, but how? Granted, I may not know much about science (or breasts, actually), but this strikes me as, well, SCARY. What happens if they DON’T “somehow” know when to stop growing? Will doctors then inject little cell army men into the breasts to track down the out-of-control growth cells and kill them? Will they use tiny cell nuclear weapons? What a great excuse this gives a woman for those nights she’s not up to being pawed by her husband.
“Please, honey, not tonight. My new cells have overrun their scaffolding and are currently being beaten back by an army of containment cells. Ooooooh!! Excuse me.”
The flip side to this is that men will be all over this advancement like.....well.....like manipulated thigh cells on biodegradable breast scaffolding. And you know where they’ll want theirs. “Take some of these beer gut cells and slap some scaffolding on to my little buddy and turn ‘em loose in there, kay doc?” And will the guy be upset if the cells don’t “somehow” know when to stop growing? Hahahahahahahahahahaha. Um, I mean, possibly.
Now, if the thought of uncontrollable cells enlarging parts of your body isn’t scary enough, there’s something even better; and this one IS for men (who, of course, by birthright deserve the better of everything). We all know that for every woman who wants larger breasts there is a man who wants more hair. So they try minoxidil, hairpieces, implants, transplants, and yes even those spray cans if they can afford them.
But now, instead, they can have tiny metal pegs imbedded into their skulls!! It’s true. A cosmetic surgeon in......no, wrong! NOT in Los Angeles! A cosmetic surgeon in New York has come up with a SNAP-ON hairpiece. After Dr. Frankenstein inserts these little metal pegs into your head, you wait a scant three months for the skin and BONE to grow back and then you can have a hairpiece to just “snap on” to the pegs. Words fail me. Almost. I mean, I had thought the skull bone does not just simply grow back; is that not right? I barely got C’s in Science.
So, anyway, the doctor says that for the first several months it will feel like somebody has nailed a nail into your head (Ouch! Remember what THAT feels like?). But then you’ll get used to it. Kind of like the way you get used to having your breasts grow uncontrollably, I guess.
Fortunately, with all of the other, equally appalling, hairpiece options available to men, I can’t see this one becoming too popular. And, of course, what happens in airports? Or when you walk through a field of loose, extremely heavy, but still easily flyable through the air magnets? These are only two examples of why a scientist can never get a date. They’ve got it all backwards. What they should be working on are snap-on breasts and uncontrollably growing hair. I mean, if your hair keeps growing (duh, like REAL hair does) you just go get it cut. And for the woman who decided later that she didn’t like having larger breasts after all, she could just UN-SNAP THEM! If I weren’t so busy dating, I’d become a scientist myself and help to rectify this matter. In the meantime, countless poor souls will undoubtedly fall for these new wonder “improvements.”
After all, the woman with the small breasts--who is padding her bra--wants the “real” thing so that she can get the cute guy who, at the same time, is wearing a hairpiece while saving up for a better one so that he can then land the woman with the padded bra. Of course once each of them gets their respective “improvements” they then decide that they can set their sights higher and continue remaking themselves until they hit 50 and all of the tinkering boomerangs on them and they end up with the very first person they were chasing after, bitterly cursing their bad luck for “having to settle.”
10/15/09
Youth Court Night!
So the "highlight" of McCullum Youth Court, my new job, is Court Night. We usually have it twice a month, on Wednesday nights, at the Alameda County Superior Courthouse in Oakland. In some ways, it was about as I expected; but in most ways, it was even better! :)
First of all, we've got some rock star attorneys (the attorneys, clerks, and bailffs are all youth--some of whom came through the program initially as an offender), and it was both cute and inspiring to see them up there arguing for or against the offender (these kids have pled guilty, so basically it's a sentencing hearing). Each youth juror gets to also ask 1-3 questions before going into deliberation.
Deliberation is awesome to watch. The kids take it seriously and totally get into defending and explaining their positions. Again, many of the jurors have come through as offenders, as one of the sentencing options they have is to require the offender to "volunteer" for 1-3 court nights on jury duty.
There's interesting sociological stuff going on in the deliberation room. I observed this boy's high school-age case (we have 4 courtrooms: 1 middle school, 1 high school girls, and 2 high school boys coz boys are, well, boys). This guy had been with a friend who'd waved around a replica of a handgun in a mom & pop store in Chinatown (Oakland). The young man is African-American.
As it so happened, the jury was split between 3 white kids and 3 black kids. One of the black kids had come through as an offender himself, and he basically wanted to throw the book at this guy. Wanted the maximum jury duty, maximum community service hours, maximum workshops to attend, etc.
These two white boys (probably from Piedmont), were all "progressive" and were arguing for the minimum sentence, saying the guy had basically been arrested for being Black in Chinatown. The truth, of course, was somewhere in between, and after much TORTURED negotiation, they reached an agreement.
One kid made me almost laugh out loud, coz as the two sides kept arguing over the number of hours of community service the boy should do, this juror kept insisting that the most logical, and fair, thing to do was to total up everyone's suggested hours and then divide by the number of jurors.
But the "hawk" on the juror then hiked his number to skew the results and when the Piedmont boys dropped theirs to zero, the hawk smugly pointed out that now he could just make a number that would then average out to whatever he wanted. I felt badly for logic boy. That kind of anal-retentive approach always appeals to me. :)
The other thing that was kind of a surprise, is I figured the youth offenders wouldn't be taking it so seriously, but they were seriously scared/worried. But of course I realized it WOULD be scary to be facing a group of your peers, firing questions at you, and holding your fate in their hands. This middle school boy was just terrified as the prosecuting attorney ripped into him for stealing a bike.
While there's some structural changes that need to be made at McCullum, and the culture needs to improve in some areas, I lucked out in that it's an awesome, awesome program that is having a serious impact on at-risk kids' lives at a critical juncture. Yay!
First of all, we've got some rock star attorneys (the attorneys, clerks, and bailffs are all youth--some of whom came through the program initially as an offender), and it was both cute and inspiring to see them up there arguing for or against the offender (these kids have pled guilty, so basically it's a sentencing hearing). Each youth juror gets to also ask 1-3 questions before going into deliberation.
Deliberation is awesome to watch. The kids take it seriously and totally get into defending and explaining their positions. Again, many of the jurors have come through as offenders, as one of the sentencing options they have is to require the offender to "volunteer" for 1-3 court nights on jury duty.
There's interesting sociological stuff going on in the deliberation room. I observed this boy's high school-age case (we have 4 courtrooms: 1 middle school, 1 high school girls, and 2 high school boys coz boys are, well, boys). This guy had been with a friend who'd waved around a replica of a handgun in a mom & pop store in Chinatown (Oakland). The young man is African-American.
As it so happened, the jury was split between 3 white kids and 3 black kids. One of the black kids had come through as an offender himself, and he basically wanted to throw the book at this guy. Wanted the maximum jury duty, maximum community service hours, maximum workshops to attend, etc.
These two white boys (probably from Piedmont), were all "progressive" and were arguing for the minimum sentence, saying the guy had basically been arrested for being Black in Chinatown. The truth, of course, was somewhere in between, and after much TORTURED negotiation, they reached an agreement.
One kid made me almost laugh out loud, coz as the two sides kept arguing over the number of hours of community service the boy should do, this juror kept insisting that the most logical, and fair, thing to do was to total up everyone's suggested hours and then divide by the number of jurors.
But the "hawk" on the juror then hiked his number to skew the results and when the Piedmont boys dropped theirs to zero, the hawk smugly pointed out that now he could just make a number that would then average out to whatever he wanted. I felt badly for logic boy. That kind of anal-retentive approach always appeals to me. :)
The other thing that was kind of a surprise, is I figured the youth offenders wouldn't be taking it so seriously, but they were seriously scared/worried. But of course I realized it WOULD be scary to be facing a group of your peers, firing questions at you, and holding your fate in their hands. This middle school boy was just terrified as the prosecuting attorney ripped into him for stealing a bike.
While there's some structural changes that need to be made at McCullum, and the culture needs to improve in some areas, I lucked out in that it's an awesome, awesome program that is having a serious impact on at-risk kids' lives at a critical juncture. Yay!
10/12/09
None For Me, Thanks - Or So I Thought!
And yet just a few years after this....
For the new millennium, I resolve to shriek like a banshee, flap my arms madly about, and roll my head in the largest possible circular motions I can whenever someone starts a sentence that even vaguely resembles the following in meaning/interpretation: “you know, you’re not really complete until you’ve had children.”
Don’t get me wrong: I think people who choose to have children, choose to raise them in a way that at the very least doesn’t leave them mentally or physically scarred due to parental negligence by the time they’re ready to head off into the “real world,” hey, I think those people are HEROES.
But just because I am physically capable of having children, does not necessarily mean I automatically need to “obtain” any. While I honestly believe I’d be a WONDERFUL parent if forced to (and it'd probably have to be at gunpoint), I know I’d also worry incessantly--that is, worry that I’d start sounding like everyone else I know who have had children.
“Gee, it’s so wonderful, David, you really should have one,” says my good friend, oh let’s call her Happy. Happy is always saying stuff like, “Oh, David, it’s just so incredible, you can’t imagine.” Or, “Oh, David, you really should try having one; you’d be amazed at the feeling.” Um, first of all, let me just say, yes, I can imagine I’d feel MORE than amazed if I tried having one, but still...
I invariably answer with stuff like, “Well, yes, Happy, it certainly is incredible; I mean the smell, the noise, the demands on your time...” And of course she replies with something noble like, “Oh, but you learn to forget all about YOURSELF. Your entire life is wrapped up in this extraordinary little person that YOU helped create. All of your thoughts center around her and oh my god it’s so wonderful and meow meow meow meow.”
“Meow meow meow meow?” I ask politely/confusedly.
My friend Happy giggles. “Oh, I’m sorry, I sometimes find myself now lapsing into ‘Henrietta Kitty’ speech--she’s on the ‘Mister Rogers’ show.”
“I see,” I nod fearfully while backing for the door.
The problem is, I want my entire life wrapped up in THIS extraordinary creature right now. And I’m pointing at myself. Me me me me me me. Again, I’m not dissing others’ rights to have children and enjoy them--nay, even IMMERSE themselves in them if that’s what they want. Truth be told, I LOVE all of my nieces and nephews. They are an incredibly beautiful, fun, smart, charming group of kids and I spend about a week with them each year--around Christmas--and love almost every minute of it. But that’s because, for me, it’s kind of like having a toy. I play with it all I want and then when I’m tired of it, I just go put it in the toybox (or give it to my brother, whatever). No dirty diapers. No having to instill values. No dealing with tantrums and the terrible twos and theatrical tirades and any other awful t-words connected with children.
And since I have few friends that have children, I’m hardly around them, which works for me because outside of your own and possibly your relatives, I firmly believe all other children are horrible demons who exist only to annoy old people. So I’m luckier than another friend of mine.....oh, let’s call him Unhappy. Unhappy, for some reason--some punishment from above for something he must have done as a child but which he, conveniently, cannot remember--seems to have this aura about him that attracts hateful, unruly children to his general area, no matter where that general area may be.
Unhappy can be in a restaurant, a movie theater, a BAR, it doesn’t matter. If there are evil, riotous children within scent, they will all close in on him--instantly--whenever he goes somewhere. Sometimes he tries being nice to them, perhaps attempting to disarm them, I don’t know, but it never works.
I made the mistake of going to see a movie with my friend Unhappy the other day, temporarily forgetting about his Pied-Piper-For-Horrid-Children tendency. Sure enough, we were barely into the previews of the movie when Nameless Brat #1, sitting behind us, starts kicking Unhappy’s seat. And I mean kicking it violently, not accidentally. Unhappy glances, gloweringly, at me, and then turns around to face Nameless Brat #1 and says, quite pleasantly considering, “Please stop kicking my seat.” Nameless Brat #1 stares blankly at Unhappy, who glowers again at me as he swivels his head back around to catch the movie, but of course Nameless Brat #1 is at it again about 2 minutes later. Still, Unhappy tries to be polite. (please grind your teeth as you read the next sentence, to get the full effect) “PLEASE stop kicking my seat.” Nameless Brat #1 again stares blankly.
Two minutes later, Nameless Brat #1 kicks Unhappy’s chair AGAIN, but also kicks MY chair as well. Nameless Brat #1 has now become Vile, Hideous Beast-Child From Hell and I whirl around and sigh/huff indignantly at both vile child and his, apparently, vile-habits inducing parent. Which brings up the only good reason I can think of to have a child. To show people how one should be raised.
Yes, my child would still be fun, spontaneous, charming, happy, gracious, etc. But he would also be WELL-BEHAVED. And I would take my well-behaved child all over town to places where maladjusted parents were forcing THEIR children on the general populace and I would plop my child down next to theirs, who would all promptly have to shield themselves from the glare, and I would say/screech: “You see! Do you see this? THIS is how a well-behaved child acts in public!” Then I would huff indignantly, take my wonder child by the hand and head home for a treat before putting him back in the toy box.
For the new millennium, I resolve to shriek like a banshee, flap my arms madly about, and roll my head in the largest possible circular motions I can whenever someone starts a sentence that even vaguely resembles the following in meaning/interpretation: “you know, you’re not really complete until you’ve had children.”
Don’t get me wrong: I think people who choose to have children, choose to raise them in a way that at the very least doesn’t leave them mentally or physically scarred due to parental negligence by the time they’re ready to head off into the “real world,” hey, I think those people are HEROES.
But just because I am physically capable of having children, does not necessarily mean I automatically need to “obtain” any. While I honestly believe I’d be a WONDERFUL parent if forced to (and it'd probably have to be at gunpoint), I know I’d also worry incessantly--that is, worry that I’d start sounding like everyone else I know who have had children.
“Gee, it’s so wonderful, David, you really should have one,” says my good friend, oh let’s call her Happy. Happy is always saying stuff like, “Oh, David, it’s just so incredible, you can’t imagine.” Or, “Oh, David, you really should try having one; you’d be amazed at the feeling.” Um, first of all, let me just say, yes, I can imagine I’d feel MORE than amazed if I tried having one, but still...
I invariably answer with stuff like, “Well, yes, Happy, it certainly is incredible; I mean the smell, the noise, the demands on your time...” And of course she replies with something noble like, “Oh, but you learn to forget all about YOURSELF. Your entire life is wrapped up in this extraordinary little person that YOU helped create. All of your thoughts center around her and oh my god it’s so wonderful and meow meow meow meow.”
“Meow meow meow meow?” I ask politely/confusedly.
My friend Happy giggles. “Oh, I’m sorry, I sometimes find myself now lapsing into ‘Henrietta Kitty’ speech--she’s on the ‘Mister Rogers’ show.”
“I see,” I nod fearfully while backing for the door.
The problem is, I want my entire life wrapped up in THIS extraordinary creature right now. And I’m pointing at myself. Me me me me me me. Again, I’m not dissing others’ rights to have children and enjoy them--nay, even IMMERSE themselves in them if that’s what they want. Truth be told, I LOVE all of my nieces and nephews. They are an incredibly beautiful, fun, smart, charming group of kids and I spend about a week with them each year--around Christmas--and love almost every minute of it. But that’s because, for me, it’s kind of like having a toy. I play with it all I want and then when I’m tired of it, I just go put it in the toybox (or give it to my brother, whatever). No dirty diapers. No having to instill values. No dealing with tantrums and the terrible twos and theatrical tirades and any other awful t-words connected with children.
And since I have few friends that have children, I’m hardly around them, which works for me because outside of your own and possibly your relatives, I firmly believe all other children are horrible demons who exist only to annoy old people. So I’m luckier than another friend of mine.....oh, let’s call him Unhappy. Unhappy, for some reason--some punishment from above for something he must have done as a child but which he, conveniently, cannot remember--seems to have this aura about him that attracts hateful, unruly children to his general area, no matter where that general area may be.
Unhappy can be in a restaurant, a movie theater, a BAR, it doesn’t matter. If there are evil, riotous children within scent, they will all close in on him--instantly--whenever he goes somewhere. Sometimes he tries being nice to them, perhaps attempting to disarm them, I don’t know, but it never works.
I made the mistake of going to see a movie with my friend Unhappy the other day, temporarily forgetting about his Pied-Piper-For-Horrid-Children tendency. Sure enough, we were barely into the previews of the movie when Nameless Brat #1, sitting behind us, starts kicking Unhappy’s seat. And I mean kicking it violently, not accidentally. Unhappy glances, gloweringly, at me, and then turns around to face Nameless Brat #1 and says, quite pleasantly considering, “Please stop kicking my seat.” Nameless Brat #1 stares blankly at Unhappy, who glowers again at me as he swivels his head back around to catch the movie, but of course Nameless Brat #1 is at it again about 2 minutes later. Still, Unhappy tries to be polite. (please grind your teeth as you read the next sentence, to get the full effect) “PLEASE stop kicking my seat.” Nameless Brat #1 again stares blankly.
Two minutes later, Nameless Brat #1 kicks Unhappy’s chair AGAIN, but also kicks MY chair as well. Nameless Brat #1 has now become Vile, Hideous Beast-Child From Hell and I whirl around and sigh/huff indignantly at both vile child and his, apparently, vile-habits inducing parent. Which brings up the only good reason I can think of to have a child. To show people how one should be raised.
Yes, my child would still be fun, spontaneous, charming, happy, gracious, etc. But he would also be WELL-BEHAVED. And I would take my well-behaved child all over town to places where maladjusted parents were forcing THEIR children on the general populace and I would plop my child down next to theirs, who would all promptly have to shield themselves from the glare, and I would say/screech: “You see! Do you see this? THIS is how a well-behaved child acts in public!” Then I would huff indignantly, take my wonder child by the hand and head home for a treat before putting him back in the toy box.
10/7/09
Won't somebody please think of the liability?
Okay, so I'm doing another rare "blog suggestion." I barely have time to read my own, let alone someone else's, but this Lenore Skenazy deserves kudos for "Free Range Kids." This woman caused a sensation awhile back for letting her 9-year-old son ride the NYC subway alone! You know what THAT calls for:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHjFxJVeCQs
Anyway, she makes some good points about the fact that the crime rate today is actually LOWER than in 1970, and thus it's actually SAFER for kids today. But because those fewer crimes are broadcast and twitterized 24/7, well...then that explains why people can nod knowingly and/or shake their head sadly and say stuff like, "Yes, well, you know, things are different these days."
Um, yeah, it's safer.
Anyway, Ms. Skenazy just wrote about this community that will not allow children under 16 to even play outside w/o supervision! Somewhere in Florida, I think. Oh God, I just remembered! It's Code Orange! I just remembered from the airport 3 months ago! OMG, WTF, WDWD when it's Code Orange? Is this the one where we take off our shoes and do what with the toothbrush and take a picture for the hotel maid? (google toothbrush, picture, maid if you miss the reference)
And very closely tied to the whole fear FEAR FEAR thing: Is there anything more tiresome now than the word "liability?" You can't INSERT RANDOM SEMI-BIZARRE THING HERE w/o someone warning you about liability--most always in terms of ensuring you understand "they" won't be held liable. The cable guy can't tack the cable, snaking throughout the house and over the river and through the woods to make it from the stupidly placed entry point in your closet to the TV, because of "liability." Our summer campers, for an outdoor experiential environmental camp for God' sake, can't go in the ocean because of "liablity issues." You can't host a party in your own home unless you're willing to ensure that either no one gets drunk, or that if they do, they don't drive--otherwise you'll be held "liable." Roller coasters strap you in like an Air Force fighter pilot to protect the park's "liability."
OMG, random aside: fortunately, the Cyclone still operates on Coney Island. I swear, if you've never ridden this thing, and you're a coaster fan, it MUST be on your MUST list! My friend Brian and I rode it back in '94, and I swear, when we got off, I was literally shaking and slobbering and afraid to ride it again!
Don't make 'em like THAT anymore. Coz who'd be liable?
Humph.
Check out the Cyclone:
http://www.coneyislandcyclone.com/about_us.php
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajz-tzyp3FQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHjFxJVeCQs
Anyway, she makes some good points about the fact that the crime rate today is actually LOWER than in 1970, and thus it's actually SAFER for kids today. But because those fewer crimes are broadcast and twitterized 24/7, well...then that explains why people can nod knowingly and/or shake their head sadly and say stuff like, "Yes, well, you know, things are different these days."
Um, yeah, it's safer.
Anyway, Ms. Skenazy just wrote about this community that will not allow children under 16 to even play outside w/o supervision! Somewhere in Florida, I think. Oh God, I just remembered! It's Code Orange! I just remembered from the airport 3 months ago! OMG, WTF, WDWD when it's Code Orange? Is this the one where we take off our shoes and do what with the toothbrush and take a picture for the hotel maid? (google toothbrush, picture, maid if you miss the reference)
And very closely tied to the whole fear FEAR FEAR thing: Is there anything more tiresome now than the word "liability?" You can't INSERT RANDOM SEMI-BIZARRE THING HERE w/o someone warning you about liability--most always in terms of ensuring you understand "they" won't be held liable. The cable guy can't tack the cable, snaking throughout the house and over the river and through the woods to make it from the stupidly placed entry point in your closet to the TV, because of "liability." Our summer campers, for an outdoor experiential environmental camp for God' sake, can't go in the ocean because of "liablity issues." You can't host a party in your own home unless you're willing to ensure that either no one gets drunk, or that if they do, they don't drive--otherwise you'll be held "liable." Roller coasters strap you in like an Air Force fighter pilot to protect the park's "liability."
OMG, random aside: fortunately, the Cyclone still operates on Coney Island. I swear, if you've never ridden this thing, and you're a coaster fan, it MUST be on your MUST list! My friend Brian and I rode it back in '94, and I swear, when we got off, I was literally shaking and slobbering and afraid to ride it again!
Don't make 'em like THAT anymore. Coz who'd be liable?
Humph.
Check out the Cyclone:
http://www.coneyislandcyclone.com/about_us.php
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajz-tzyp3FQ
10/5/09
Braces
There is only one thing in the world worse than having to wear braces as an adult. And that’s people who won’t give you enough sympathy for having to wear braces as an adult. Oh, they may PRETEND to be sympathizing at first, but that lasts only as long as it takes them to remember some horror story from their youth about their OWN braces. And that usually takes about 3.2 seconds.
Granted, this is human nature. You talk about having your tonsils out, and everyone who had their tonsils out has a story to share about it. You talk about some place you went on vacation, and if people have been there they can’t wait to tell you what THEY did when THEY went (which is always 10 times more fun than what you did, even though the memory of yours is fairly fresh while theirs is STALE). You tell a horror story about how your latest boyfriend stopped the car he was driving on the interstate in the middle of an argument with you and started jumping up and down on the hood of the car, then by golly everyone else that’s had this happen to them tells about it, as well.
But it’s DIFFERENT with adults having to wear braces. I mean, at least one way in which it’s different is that *I* am the adult having to wear the braces. I pitched such an incredibly furious fit when I was a child that my parents just said, “Okay FINE, we WON’T spend $3,000 on your stupid old teeth and you can just pay for it yourself when you’re in your thirties and THEN you’ll be sorry!” At least, this is how I remember it. And yes, the money is a very annoying part of it. I can think of tons of more entertaining things I could be spending $100 a month on (e.g., gooey sweets, jawbreakers, apples, celery, popcorn, peanut butter, ice, etc.).
But the more annoying thing is simply HAVING ALL THIS METAL IN MY MOUTH ALL THE TIME. Digging into my gums. Impressing itself into my inner cheek while I sleep, leaving a painfully deep ridge in said cheek that I have to pry the wire out of in the morning. So anyway, I show up at work all full of metal and self-pity, and do I get any, “Oh, David, how awful to have braces as an adult” lines? No. How about any “How hideous of your evil parents not to have offered to take care of this when you were a child” comments? Nooo. What I get is stuff like, “Oh, god, well when *I* had braces the wires were always coming LOOSE in the middle of the night and just cutting my cheeks to RIBBONS.” And of course they also had to walk ten miles in the snow uphill, both ways, to get to their orthodontist.
And I say, “Yes, I empathize. I understand how awful it must have been, BECAUSE IT”S HAPPENING TO ME NOW.” This, to me, is the crucial part. Yes, the Spanish-American War was awful, but guess what? It’s OVER. My personal war is going on RIGHT NOW, and should thus be the sole focus of any terrifying braces stories. By ANYBODY. So then I say, “The really annoying thing is this bite plate I’ve got in here,” and I’ll be damned if someone isn’t right on it, totally disregarding everything I’ve so patiently (and did I mention painfully) told them, and saying, “Oh, yes, but what about ME? What about when *I* had a bite plate, and me me me me me me me.”
Although, I will admit, the bite plate has been a plus on occasion. You see, sometimes, if I’m getting in a really heated argument with someone, and start talking very quickly, well, then, the bite plate isn’t quite as, shall we say, STABLE as it otherwise may be. In fact, you could say it even becomes so loose that during a crucial point in the argument when I’m spitting out an, “Oh, yeah?” I’m spitting the bite plate out right along with it. And, of course, since this is an argument we’re talking about here, and since the closest thing to me is another person’s face, well you can just imagine where that drool-enrusted little thing is gonna hit.
Now the plus here (Yes, that’s right, hitting them in the face with your slobbery bite plate isn’t even the plus!) is that no matter what you’re arguing about you instantly win because the other person’s response will be either:
1) “Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww” and they will run from the room, forgetting all about the argument. OR
2) To begin screeching hysterically while clawing at their eyes because they’ll believe you’re possessed and are spewing organs at them (did I mention that the bite plate is pink and rubbery?) and the argument becomes the furthest thing from their mind. OR
3) “Oh, wow, you’re into that, too?” (in which case the argument becomes the least of YOUR worries)
Still, this is not enough of a plus, I feel to offset all of the other negatives. Fortunately, I am just a little more than half way through with the treatment. My orthodontist, Dr. Mengele, tells me that the next time I come in, I will be at the end of the first phase, and could lose the bite plate as well as one of the many, many heavy wires damaging my cheek tissue. Unfortunately, this also implies that there is a NEXT phase, and I didn’t even bother to ask him about that. Head gear. Some kind of other hideous “appliance,” which--while I know some people don’t like that term, thinking it’s a little too “heavy” sounding for dental work--I think is the PERFECT term for them. The few people I do find who will give me the sympathy I so rightly deserve, those who’ve never had braces, and can’t IMAGINE how awul it must be, REALLY blanch when they hear about all of the APPLIANCES I have in my mouth and what the next APPLIANCE is I’m going to have put in my MOUTH for me to SPIT out at them during an argument. Poor, poor me.
Granted, this is human nature. You talk about having your tonsils out, and everyone who had their tonsils out has a story to share about it. You talk about some place you went on vacation, and if people have been there they can’t wait to tell you what THEY did when THEY went (which is always 10 times more fun than what you did, even though the memory of yours is fairly fresh while theirs is STALE). You tell a horror story about how your latest boyfriend stopped the car he was driving on the interstate in the middle of an argument with you and started jumping up and down on the hood of the car, then by golly everyone else that’s had this happen to them tells about it, as well.
But it’s DIFFERENT with adults having to wear braces. I mean, at least one way in which it’s different is that *I* am the adult having to wear the braces. I pitched such an incredibly furious fit when I was a child that my parents just said, “Okay FINE, we WON’T spend $3,000 on your stupid old teeth and you can just pay for it yourself when you’re in your thirties and THEN you’ll be sorry!” At least, this is how I remember it. And yes, the money is a very annoying part of it. I can think of tons of more entertaining things I could be spending $100 a month on (e.g., gooey sweets, jawbreakers, apples, celery, popcorn, peanut butter, ice, etc.).
But the more annoying thing is simply HAVING ALL THIS METAL IN MY MOUTH ALL THE TIME. Digging into my gums. Impressing itself into my inner cheek while I sleep, leaving a painfully deep ridge in said cheek that I have to pry the wire out of in the morning. So anyway, I show up at work all full of metal and self-pity, and do I get any, “Oh, David, how awful to have braces as an adult” lines? No. How about any “How hideous of your evil parents not to have offered to take care of this when you were a child” comments? Nooo. What I get is stuff like, “Oh, god, well when *I* had braces the wires were always coming LOOSE in the middle of the night and just cutting my cheeks to RIBBONS.” And of course they also had to walk ten miles in the snow uphill, both ways, to get to their orthodontist.
And I say, “Yes, I empathize. I understand how awful it must have been, BECAUSE IT”S HAPPENING TO ME NOW.” This, to me, is the crucial part. Yes, the Spanish-American War was awful, but guess what? It’s OVER. My personal war is going on RIGHT NOW, and should thus be the sole focus of any terrifying braces stories. By ANYBODY. So then I say, “The really annoying thing is this bite plate I’ve got in here,” and I’ll be damned if someone isn’t right on it, totally disregarding everything I’ve so patiently (and did I mention painfully) told them, and saying, “Oh, yes, but what about ME? What about when *I* had a bite plate, and me me me me me me me.”
Although, I will admit, the bite plate has been a plus on occasion. You see, sometimes, if I’m getting in a really heated argument with someone, and start talking very quickly, well, then, the bite plate isn’t quite as, shall we say, STABLE as it otherwise may be. In fact, you could say it even becomes so loose that during a crucial point in the argument when I’m spitting out an, “Oh, yeah?” I’m spitting the bite plate out right along with it. And, of course, since this is an argument we’re talking about here, and since the closest thing to me is another person’s face, well you can just imagine where that drool-enrusted little thing is gonna hit.
Now the plus here (Yes, that’s right, hitting them in the face with your slobbery bite plate isn’t even the plus!) is that no matter what you’re arguing about you instantly win because the other person’s response will be either:
1) “Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww” and they will run from the room, forgetting all about the argument. OR
2) To begin screeching hysterically while clawing at their eyes because they’ll believe you’re possessed and are spewing organs at them (did I mention that the bite plate is pink and rubbery?) and the argument becomes the furthest thing from their mind. OR
3) “Oh, wow, you’re into that, too?” (in which case the argument becomes the least of YOUR worries)
Still, this is not enough of a plus, I feel to offset all of the other negatives. Fortunately, I am just a little more than half way through with the treatment. My orthodontist, Dr. Mengele, tells me that the next time I come in, I will be at the end of the first phase, and could lose the bite plate as well as one of the many, many heavy wires damaging my cheek tissue. Unfortunately, this also implies that there is a NEXT phase, and I didn’t even bother to ask him about that. Head gear. Some kind of other hideous “appliance,” which--while I know some people don’t like that term, thinking it’s a little too “heavy” sounding for dental work--I think is the PERFECT term for them. The few people I do find who will give me the sympathy I so rightly deserve, those who’ve never had braces, and can’t IMAGINE how awul it must be, REALLY blanch when they hear about all of the APPLIANCES I have in my mouth and what the next APPLIANCE is I’m going to have put in my MOUTH for me to SPIT out at them during an argument. Poor, poor me.
9/30/09
Deep thoughts cheap shots, and bon mots - the third.
So"Mad Men" is getting even better. I'm on episode #7 of Season One and although I'm still appalled by the smoking and the sexism, the ongoing character development is awesome and the story line now with the agency debating/discussing Nixon vs. Kennedy is priceless! Oh wow, Draper was just a total dick to his wife, though.
Saw lots of tourists out tonight taking pictures of cable cars in the fog--as much as I snark on the tourists, they are good at helping me remember some of the cool aspects of living in the City.
Football sure is gay sometimes. Am watching (for not much longer, as badly as it's going) the Florida-Kentucky game and the announcer has just repeated the probably at least partly apocryphal story of Tebow telling his coach to not be afraid to lean on him, to "ride that horse." Yes, the announcer said more than once, Tebow said to his coach, and I quote, "Ride me!" My god, they look like worldbeaters but also Kentucky looks like absolute shit--kind of like Cal did earlier. And the morning started off so promising with Kansas winning and LSU looking like anything BUT worldbeaters against Miss. State. Oh well.
Um, Outback "Steakhouse" is actually promoting their third $9.99 meal as coming with a "wedge salad?" Seriously? What's next? Free tap water? Fewer ratdroppings in your "loaded" baked potato? Sorry, but I feel justified in slamming Outback coz their ower is a major homophobe. Or am I getting him confused with the owner of Carl's Jr.? Sigh. So many homophobes, so little time to expose and mock them all.
Let's end with a comparison of why we'll eventually succumb to the Germans and/or Chinese. They just don't put up with shit like we do. Witness from "News of the Weird":
Two formerly well-off retired couples in Germany, whose nest egg was largely wiped out by investments in sub-prime Florida mortgages, vented their anger by kidnapping their investment adviser, James Amburn. They took him to the vacation home of one of the couples near the Austrian border, bound him like a mummy and beat and tortured him over several days, fracturing two ribs, in repeated attempts to punish him and extort his own property as partial compensation for their losses. Police rescued him after he managed to send a coded message by fax.
Crisis Intervention: A certain bridge in Ghangzhou, China, has become popular for suicide (12 attempts in a 45-day period in April and May), and with each incident, traffic is slowed or halted for hours while crews attempt to talk the distraught person down or perform rescues. Mr. "Chen" was on the ledge in May, according to an Agence France-Presse dispatch, but he couldn't make up his mind about jumping. One frustrated motorist, Lai Jiansheng, ended the suspense by walking up to Chen and pushing him off. Chen survived, and Lai was arrested.
So the question is: should we turn over our financial leaders to the Germans or to Lai Jiansheng? Discuss.
Saw lots of tourists out tonight taking pictures of cable cars in the fog--as much as I snark on the tourists, they are good at helping me remember some of the cool aspects of living in the City.
Football sure is gay sometimes. Am watching (for not much longer, as badly as it's going) the Florida-Kentucky game and the announcer has just repeated the probably at least partly apocryphal story of Tebow telling his coach to not be afraid to lean on him, to "ride that horse." Yes, the announcer said more than once, Tebow said to his coach, and I quote, "Ride me!" My god, they look like worldbeaters but also Kentucky looks like absolute shit--kind of like Cal did earlier. And the morning started off so promising with Kansas winning and LSU looking like anything BUT worldbeaters against Miss. State. Oh well.
Um, Outback "Steakhouse" is actually promoting their third $9.99 meal as coming with a "wedge salad?" Seriously? What's next? Free tap water? Fewer ratdroppings in your "loaded" baked potato? Sorry, but I feel justified in slamming Outback coz their ower is a major homophobe. Or am I getting him confused with the owner of Carl's Jr.? Sigh. So many homophobes, so little time to expose and mock them all.
Let's end with a comparison of why we'll eventually succumb to the Germans and/or Chinese. They just don't put up with shit like we do. Witness from "News of the Weird":
Two formerly well-off retired couples in Germany, whose nest egg was largely wiped out by investments in sub-prime Florida mortgages, vented their anger by kidnapping their investment adviser, James Amburn. They took him to the vacation home of one of the couples near the Austrian border, bound him like a mummy and beat and tortured him over several days, fracturing two ribs, in repeated attempts to punish him and extort his own property as partial compensation for their losses. Police rescued him after he managed to send a coded message by fax.
Crisis Intervention: A certain bridge in Ghangzhou, China, has become popular for suicide (12 attempts in a 45-day period in April and May), and with each incident, traffic is slowed or halted for hours while crews attempt to talk the distraught person down or perform rescues. Mr. "Chen" was on the ledge in May, according to an Agence France-Presse dispatch, but he couldn't make up his mind about jumping. One frustrated motorist, Lai Jiansheng, ended the suspense by walking up to Chen and pushing him off. Chen survived, and Lai was arrested.
So the question is: should we turn over our financial leaders to the Germans or to Lai Jiansheng? Discuss.
9/27/09
Games
My roommate and I love board games. Sometimes he wins, sometimes I win. Okay, more times I win. We play a lot. We argue a lot. No matter how straightforward the rules, no matter how much we enjoy the game, we always manage to find something to argue over.
"You can't loan money," I say to him one night during a game of Monopoly. The other players freeze.
"Of course you can," he says. "We always have before."
"Show it to me in the rules," I say in my sticking-out-my-tongue tone of voice, even though my tongue remains in my mouth. For now.
His eyes glint, and he says, "Show it to me in the rules where it says you CAN'T." He is smug.
I am smug back. "It doesn't say in the rules you can't spit on the board, either, but no one does THAT." Both of us emphasize certain words when arguing--as if this will immediately cow the other into submission.
We go back and forth like this until we finally notice that all of our friends have left.
The more byzantine the rules, the more byzantine the arguments. Avalon Hill war games are notorious for their complicated, ferociously detailed rules. They have pages of rules. Chapters. Books. We each retain our own copy for quick reference.
"Ha!" I exclaim during a heated battle for control of the sea zone bordering Antarctica during a Word War II re-enactment game. "I've sunk your aircraft carrier with my sub. You automatically lose the two planes that were on board."
He shakes his head. "No way. They now defend on their own. Page 24, Section C.1, paragraph two."
I scan the offending paragraph quickly and bleat, "BUT....there is an exception for subs. See page 942, Section ZZ.113, paragraph seventeen." The argument continues as other sections are referenced and contradictions are pointed out. Unfortunately, even the King James Bible is open to less interpretation than these rules. We dump them.
"It's ludicrous to think planes could shoot at subs, anyway," I sneer.
He rolls his eyes and replies, "As if Britain would even be attacking Germany in Antarctica!"
We decide to call off the war--at least the one on the board. Neither of us ruminate on what would have happened if Churchill and Hitler had gotten in a similar snit and agreed to throw in the towel.
But, like hogs rooting for truffles, we find good stuff to argue about even when we agree on the rules.
"You're taking too long to move! Hurry up, will you?"
"I don't take any longer than YOU do."
"Do too! And quit counting your pieces! You should be doing stuff like that while I'm moving!"
"I had to use the bathroom while you were moving!"
"You always have an exuse!"
Then, when we finally DO finish a game, it's time for the sore winner/sore loser dance.
"Well, THAT was a satisfying victory!"
"I don't see why, considering I played so badly."
"Oh, please. I think I played pretty well."
"Having some good luck doesn't equal playing well."
"I made good STRATEGIC moves."
"Okay. Whatever."
"Why do you have to try and denigrate my victory?"
"I'm not. I'm denigrating my defeat."
"Which is done solely to make my victory seem less impressive."
"I couldn't POSSIBLY do that." (in rolling-my-eyes tone of voice)
"See?"
After these games, we don't speak to each other for literally HOURS, sometimes days, and leave hateful notes scattered about the apartment with quotes pulled from rulebooks. After a vile game of Checkers one night, I awoke the next morning to find an illegible note bleeding ink into my orange juice.
But eventually the urge overcomes one of us--because we enjoy games SO much--and one night, just over the buzz of the television, you hear, "So, you wanna play some Risk?"
The most appropriately named game that we own.
"You can't loan money," I say to him one night during a game of Monopoly. The other players freeze.
"Of course you can," he says. "We always have before."
"Show it to me in the rules," I say in my sticking-out-my-tongue tone of voice, even though my tongue remains in my mouth. For now.
His eyes glint, and he says, "Show it to me in the rules where it says you CAN'T." He is smug.
I am smug back. "It doesn't say in the rules you can't spit on the board, either, but no one does THAT." Both of us emphasize certain words when arguing--as if this will immediately cow the other into submission.
We go back and forth like this until we finally notice that all of our friends have left.
The more byzantine the rules, the more byzantine the arguments. Avalon Hill war games are notorious for their complicated, ferociously detailed rules. They have pages of rules. Chapters. Books. We each retain our own copy for quick reference.
"Ha!" I exclaim during a heated battle for control of the sea zone bordering Antarctica during a Word War II re-enactment game. "I've sunk your aircraft carrier with my sub. You automatically lose the two planes that were on board."
He shakes his head. "No way. They now defend on their own. Page 24, Section C.1, paragraph two."
I scan the offending paragraph quickly and bleat, "BUT....there is an exception for subs. See page 942, Section ZZ.113, paragraph seventeen." The argument continues as other sections are referenced and contradictions are pointed out. Unfortunately, even the King James Bible is open to less interpretation than these rules. We dump them.
"It's ludicrous to think planes could shoot at subs, anyway," I sneer.
He rolls his eyes and replies, "As if Britain would even be attacking Germany in Antarctica!"
We decide to call off the war--at least the one on the board. Neither of us ruminate on what would have happened if Churchill and Hitler had gotten in a similar snit and agreed to throw in the towel.
But, like hogs rooting for truffles, we find good stuff to argue about even when we agree on the rules.
"You're taking too long to move! Hurry up, will you?"
"I don't take any longer than YOU do."
"Do too! And quit counting your pieces! You should be doing stuff like that while I'm moving!"
"I had to use the bathroom while you were moving!"
"You always have an exuse!"
Then, when we finally DO finish a game, it's time for the sore winner/sore loser dance.
"Well, THAT was a satisfying victory!"
"I don't see why, considering I played so badly."
"Oh, please. I think I played pretty well."
"Having some good luck doesn't equal playing well."
"I made good STRATEGIC moves."
"Okay. Whatever."
"Why do you have to try and denigrate my victory?"
"I'm not. I'm denigrating my defeat."
"Which is done solely to make my victory seem less impressive."
"I couldn't POSSIBLY do that." (in rolling-my-eyes tone of voice)
"See?"
After these games, we don't speak to each other for literally HOURS, sometimes days, and leave hateful notes scattered about the apartment with quotes pulled from rulebooks. After a vile game of Checkers one night, I awoke the next morning to find an illegible note bleeding ink into my orange juice.
But eventually the urge overcomes one of us--because we enjoy games SO much--and one night, just over the buzz of the television, you hear, "So, you wanna play some Risk?"
The most appropriately named game that we own.
9/23/09
Little Overly Analyzed Red Riding Hood
Okay, I admit it. I like to analyze things. I've analyzed relationships until they’re beaten and lifeless; I’ve wondered what the store cashier really meant when she sighs and shakes her head over half of my grocery purchases, and then analyze why I care. However, there are some things with which even I will not put up with in regards to analysis. And fairy tales and nursery rhymes are at the top of the list.
Suddenly, childhood stories lose some of their charm when you realize that Jack was keeping his wife “very well” in a pumpkin shell because that was the easiest way to continue oppressing her. Or that Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and the lot weren’t all glamorous princesses overcoming great odds to live their dreams, but pathetic creatures chasing after men to make themselves feel “whole” or “worthy” (sorry, but snagging a cute, rich, young prince would certainly make me feel worthy, and probably even a little bit….um, never mind).
From what I’ve recently learned, though, “Little Red Riding Hood” is the all-time analyzer’s dream (dry or not). Apparently, there have even been ACADEMIC SQUABBLES over the symbolism in all the many different versions of this particular tale. The basic story, as most of us know it, is pretty much the same. Little Red Riding Hood is taking a basket of goodies to her grandmother when she meets a wolf and tells him her destination. In any case, blabbing to the wolf is her big mistake and where the differentiation in versions of the tale begins.
After talking with Red Riding Hood, the wolf gets her to pick flowers and then rushes to grandma’s house first. He then devoured or killed the old woman and either did or did not serve pieces of the body to the girl (yes, Virginia, there are some really twisted versions of this tale). Then, in an earlier version, the wolf ordered the girl to strip and throw her clothes on the fire (Mom DEFINITELY never told me this version). The wolf then ate the girl, which is the end of the story unless it’s the version where a hunter shoots the wolf with an arrow, or cuts its belly open allowing the girl and her grandmother to escape. Amazingly, in some versions, the wolf even survives this. There is even a version where the girl gets away from the wolf by saying she has to go outside and relieve herself (my personal favorite).
Now, all I remember wondering about as a child when being told this story was simply “Would I react so calmly to a talking wolf?” However, it appears that what we’re REALLY supposed to wonder about is if the red hood was a sign of sin and the devil, menstruation, or of withcraft and evil. Or was it just a plain hat? And as for the wolf, HE has been interpreted as the Id, the pleasure principle, the predatory male, the phallus, an outlaw, a demon, the animal in all of us, and/or the inherent dangerousness of a cruel (and unusual, filled-with-talking-animals) world.
So Freduians, feminists, and literary critics have a field day. Some say the girl brings on her own “rape” by straying from the path; some say the tale tries to show that only a strong male (e.g., the hunter) can rescue foolish girls from their lustful desires; and Erich From, writing WAY back in 1951, says the red cap represents mensturation, the mother’s warning to Red not to drop a bottle refers to losing her virginity, and the view of sex as a cannibalistic act performed by ruthless males is “an expression of hate and prejudice against men.” All I can say to that is, “Uh, what?”
This is why they don’t write fairy tales anymore. Can you imagine any of the stories being told to children today becoming timeless classics? Well, maybe if McDonald’s or Nike sponsors them and pays for them to be serialized. “Mommy, mommy, can we read the story of ‘Little Red-Haired Ronald McDonald’ or ‘Deion Prime-Time Sanders and the Three Pairs of Nikes?” But back to Little Red Riding Hood.
Sex, sex, sex. In most every interpretation it’s sex. Why do we get to hear this supposedly lusftul story when we’re young and thinking only “candy, Mommy is good, candy, grandma lets me do what I want, candy” instead of when we’re teenagers and thinking, “sex, Mom is evil, sex, if I have to visit grandma again I’ll scream, sex”? I still think that unless I’d been told otherwise, I would NEVER think of Little Red Riding Hood in the ways some of these people do (let us be thankful the same attention hasn’t been paid to implications of bestiality in “Goldilocks and the Three Bears”). I always thought the moral of the story was simply, "Don’t let talking wolves know where grandma lives.”
In the end, my favorite analysis comes from a Professor Vidler from Princeton who claims that the real problem in the tale was a design flaw: the weak lock on grandmother’s door. Hmmm, this must mean grandma was subconsciously “asking for it.”
Suddenly, childhood stories lose some of their charm when you realize that Jack was keeping his wife “very well” in a pumpkin shell because that was the easiest way to continue oppressing her. Or that Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and the lot weren’t all glamorous princesses overcoming great odds to live their dreams, but pathetic creatures chasing after men to make themselves feel “whole” or “worthy” (sorry, but snagging a cute, rich, young prince would certainly make me feel worthy, and probably even a little bit….um, never mind).
From what I’ve recently learned, though, “Little Red Riding Hood” is the all-time analyzer’s dream (dry or not). Apparently, there have even been ACADEMIC SQUABBLES over the symbolism in all the many different versions of this particular tale. The basic story, as most of us know it, is pretty much the same. Little Red Riding Hood is taking a basket of goodies to her grandmother when she meets a wolf and tells him her destination. In any case, blabbing to the wolf is her big mistake and where the differentiation in versions of the tale begins.
After talking with Red Riding Hood, the wolf gets her to pick flowers and then rushes to grandma’s house first. He then devoured or killed the old woman and either did or did not serve pieces of the body to the girl (yes, Virginia, there are some really twisted versions of this tale). Then, in an earlier version, the wolf ordered the girl to strip and throw her clothes on the fire (Mom DEFINITELY never told me this version). The wolf then ate the girl, which is the end of the story unless it’s the version where a hunter shoots the wolf with an arrow, or cuts its belly open allowing the girl and her grandmother to escape. Amazingly, in some versions, the wolf even survives this. There is even a version where the girl gets away from the wolf by saying she has to go outside and relieve herself (my personal favorite).
Now, all I remember wondering about as a child when being told this story was simply “Would I react so calmly to a talking wolf?” However, it appears that what we’re REALLY supposed to wonder about is if the red hood was a sign of sin and the devil, menstruation, or of withcraft and evil. Or was it just a plain hat? And as for the wolf, HE has been interpreted as the Id, the pleasure principle, the predatory male, the phallus, an outlaw, a demon, the animal in all of us, and/or the inherent dangerousness of a cruel (and unusual, filled-with-talking-animals) world.
So Freduians, feminists, and literary critics have a field day. Some say the girl brings on her own “rape” by straying from the path; some say the tale tries to show that only a strong male (e.g., the hunter) can rescue foolish girls from their lustful desires; and Erich From, writing WAY back in 1951, says the red cap represents mensturation, the mother’s warning to Red not to drop a bottle refers to losing her virginity, and the view of sex as a cannibalistic act performed by ruthless males is “an expression of hate and prejudice against men.” All I can say to that is, “Uh, what?”
This is why they don’t write fairy tales anymore. Can you imagine any of the stories being told to children today becoming timeless classics? Well, maybe if McDonald’s or Nike sponsors them and pays for them to be serialized. “Mommy, mommy, can we read the story of ‘Little Red-Haired Ronald McDonald’ or ‘Deion Prime-Time Sanders and the Three Pairs of Nikes?” But back to Little Red Riding Hood.
Sex, sex, sex. In most every interpretation it’s sex. Why do we get to hear this supposedly lusftul story when we’re young and thinking only “candy, Mommy is good, candy, grandma lets me do what I want, candy” instead of when we’re teenagers and thinking, “sex, Mom is evil, sex, if I have to visit grandma again I’ll scream, sex”? I still think that unless I’d been told otherwise, I would NEVER think of Little Red Riding Hood in the ways some of these people do (let us be thankful the same attention hasn’t been paid to implications of bestiality in “Goldilocks and the Three Bears”). I always thought the moral of the story was simply, "Don’t let talking wolves know where grandma lives.”
In the end, my favorite analysis comes from a Professor Vidler from Princeton who claims that the real problem in the tale was a design flaw: the weak lock on grandmother’s door. Hmmm, this must mean grandma was subconsciously “asking for it.”
9/21/09
Deep thoughts, cheap shots, and bon mots - the second
So whose clever idea was it for me to move back in to the City, start grad school back up again, and start a new job back at Director level, all within the course of a month? I mean, I do like keeping busy, but....
Anyway, as a result, my blogging is going to be scaled back to twice a week--at least for now. Yeah, I know, boo hoo! :)
In other news, for some reason--so far, at least--I have yet to be capable of writing about what's going on with Kyle. I guess it's just so appalling I want to escape thinking about it as much as possible. What's wild is I'm hearing from quite a few people that his/our story is not really so unusual--at least in regards to Kyle's...er...um...."lack of succes." Can't decide if that makes me feel better or not.
Saw "The Hoax" the other night and am struck at another example of the decline and fall of the American Empire. In "the old days" we had much more interesting crazy rich people like Howard Hughes - which makes the descent to Paris Hilton that much more deplorable.
Although I'm a little late to the party, I have to agree that "Mad Men" is an excellent show. The acting, the sense of place (NYC), and especially time (1960)....and my GAWD the smoking! It's amazing to think people used to smoke like that! And the sexism! Unbelievable!
So I've finally come up with a good, simple, and yet comprehensive, driving rule that will address a myriad of issues--from people not utilizing the left lane on the highway properly, to taking corners too slowly, to not turning right on red, to not accelerating on hills to maintain their speed, etc. The new rule is this: Just Get The Fuck Out of My Way! Look for it soon in the CA DMV manual.
Have to give a shout out to District 9 - definitely one of the more original Sci-Fi movies I've seen in some time. And also has some telling lessons on compassion, bigotry, and just what it is that makes us human.
Finally, I don't know if it's the worsening civility in this country, but I find myself considering turning vigilante. As most of you may know, parking in the City is a challenge at best. So it is all the more frustrating and annoying to see the losers who park right in the middle of a space between two driveways, when if they'd just pulled forward or backwards, another car could fit in front or behind. I saw just such a scenario tonightright across the street from my apartment.
I was in such a rage I wanted to either let the air out of a tire or even key the effing car! Instead, I left a snitty note on their windshield "thanking" them for being so considerate and warning them that if I saw them parked like that again, I wouldn't be so "forgiving" next time.
So here's my question: technically, what they did is not illegal--and yet, they have a neghborhood parking sticker, they have to know how difficult it is to find parking and now they've been--granted, not so politely--chastised; so would I be justified in "punishing" them if I saw them do it again? Discuss.
I honestly feel like part of why people are so selfish and clueless nowadays is because no one is called on their shit and we've been "psyched out" of using shame anymore. When I was young, I was definitely made to feel ashamed when I did something wrong. There was none of this "validation of my feelings" and/or concern to not send one into a "shame spiral." And that's probably why people like Venus Williams and Kanye West and that dick of a SC congressman pull the shit they do.
Word.
Anyway, as a result, my blogging is going to be scaled back to twice a week--at least for now. Yeah, I know, boo hoo! :)
In other news, for some reason--so far, at least--I have yet to be capable of writing about what's going on with Kyle. I guess it's just so appalling I want to escape thinking about it as much as possible. What's wild is I'm hearing from quite a few people that his/our story is not really so unusual--at least in regards to Kyle's...er...um...."lack of succes." Can't decide if that makes me feel better or not.
Saw "The Hoax" the other night and am struck at another example of the decline and fall of the American Empire. In "the old days" we had much more interesting crazy rich people like Howard Hughes - which makes the descent to Paris Hilton that much more deplorable.
Although I'm a little late to the party, I have to agree that "Mad Men" is an excellent show. The acting, the sense of place (NYC), and especially time (1960)....and my GAWD the smoking! It's amazing to think people used to smoke like that! And the sexism! Unbelievable!
So I've finally come up with a good, simple, and yet comprehensive, driving rule that will address a myriad of issues--from people not utilizing the left lane on the highway properly, to taking corners too slowly, to not turning right on red, to not accelerating on hills to maintain their speed, etc. The new rule is this: Just Get The Fuck Out of My Way! Look for it soon in the CA DMV manual.
Have to give a shout out to District 9 - definitely one of the more original Sci-Fi movies I've seen in some time. And also has some telling lessons on compassion, bigotry, and just what it is that makes us human.
Finally, I don't know if it's the worsening civility in this country, but I find myself considering turning vigilante. As most of you may know, parking in the City is a challenge at best. So it is all the more frustrating and annoying to see the losers who park right in the middle of a space between two driveways, when if they'd just pulled forward or backwards, another car could fit in front or behind. I saw just such a scenario tonightright across the street from my apartment.
I was in such a rage I wanted to either let the air out of a tire or even key the effing car! Instead, I left a snitty note on their windshield "thanking" them for being so considerate and warning them that if I saw them parked like that again, I wouldn't be so "forgiving" next time.
So here's my question: technically, what they did is not illegal--and yet, they have a neghborhood parking sticker, they have to know how difficult it is to find parking and now they've been--granted, not so politely--chastised; so would I be justified in "punishing" them if I saw them do it again? Discuss.
I honestly feel like part of why people are so selfish and clueless nowadays is because no one is called on their shit and we've been "psyched out" of using shame anymore. When I was young, I was definitely made to feel ashamed when I did something wrong. There was none of this "validation of my feelings" and/or concern to not send one into a "shame spiral." And that's probably why people like Venus Williams and Kanye West and that dick of a SC congressman pull the shit they do.
Word.
9/17/09
Cruising
WARNING: This blog was done while watching the "notorious" gay serial killer flick "Cruising" with Al Pacino. You may want to skip this if you're, um, "sensitive" regarding gay S&M matters.
Starts right off with some good old fashioned police oppression. Kinda gross, actually. So much for the cop fantasy.
Wow, the first cruise/pick-up was a hoot. "Cool. I never made it with a Martian before."
OMFG the first kill was VERY bloody/graphic. The killer has a creepy, almost unreal voice.
Wow, Al Pacino looks really young.
Ooooh, goin' undercover: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHjFxJVeCQs
OMG, it's shopkeeper Powers Boothe explaining the hanky code to Al Pacino. Too. Fucking. Weird. (and this performance is from the same year that "Guyana Tragedy" came out--which totally traumatized me)
Okay, I can't wait to see what the "psychological payoff" is going to be for this stupid sounding, "You made me do that" line. (it turns out there wasn't one--or I missed it/didn't get it! anyone?)
Oooh, Ms, Thing getting into it now - shaking her ass at the leather bar, sucking on an ether-soaked rag, snap snap snap. :) Didn't he also play gay in "Dog Day Afternoon"?
Okay, so Al Pacino was just able to call the Columbia University Registrar, not as a cop, and get the street address of a student w/o even providing a reason. Oh, such innocent, blood-drenched, S&M, gay killing days we used to live in. Sigh.
WTF? Pacino is quite the bossy little sex bitch!
I don't know which is weirder--Karen Allen as Al Pacino's wife, or a young James Remar as the pissy gay dancer neighbor (he's done a million things - inlcuding playing Dexter's dad).
Hmmm, I'm guessing the ending is supposed to be ambiguous.
Well, it's no "French Connection" or even "The Exorcist," but it wasn't as awful as I thought it'd be.
Outrageously fun/creepy fact on the movie/director to end with:
In 1972, director William Friedkin - huge after The French Connection (1971) - is shooting his spiritual/psych-horror The Exorcist (1973) in downtown New York. For a scene requiring mock brain-scans of the possessed lead character, Friedkin films a real-life radiologist and his assistant, Paul Bateson. Flash ahead to 1979. Friedkin is planning an adap of Gerald Walker’s novel ‘Cruising’, inspired by a real-life serial killer carving up leather boys in the city's underground gay-bars and dumping their body parts in the Hudson River, wrapped in black plastic bags. When he learns that his Exorcist radiologist assistant Bateson is currently awaiting trial for the post-coital slaying of gay film critic Addison Verrill, Friedkin decides to pay him a visit to do a little research into the psyche of his cruising killer. Bateson is later imprisoned for life - for the Verrill murder - but not before dropping hints while in custody that he was also the body bag killer. The latter cases remain unsolved, but there's every chance that Friedkin had not only inadvertently consulted the actual killer at the heart of Cruising while planning the film, but had also cast him in a film he made years before it.
Starts right off with some good old fashioned police oppression. Kinda gross, actually. So much for the cop fantasy.
Wow, the first cruise/pick-up was a hoot. "Cool. I never made it with a Martian before."
OMFG the first kill was VERY bloody/graphic. The killer has a creepy, almost unreal voice.
Wow, Al Pacino looks really young.
Ooooh, goin' undercover: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jHjFxJVeCQs
OMG, it's shopkeeper Powers Boothe explaining the hanky code to Al Pacino. Too. Fucking. Weird. (and this performance is from the same year that "Guyana Tragedy" came out--which totally traumatized me)
Okay, I can't wait to see what the "psychological payoff" is going to be for this stupid sounding, "You made me do that" line. (it turns out there wasn't one--or I missed it/didn't get it! anyone?)
Oooh, Ms, Thing getting into it now - shaking her ass at the leather bar, sucking on an ether-soaked rag, snap snap snap. :) Didn't he also play gay in "Dog Day Afternoon"?
Okay, so Al Pacino was just able to call the Columbia University Registrar, not as a cop, and get the street address of a student w/o even providing a reason. Oh, such innocent, blood-drenched, S&M, gay killing days we used to live in. Sigh.
WTF? Pacino is quite the bossy little sex bitch!
I don't know which is weirder--Karen Allen as Al Pacino's wife, or a young James Remar as the pissy gay dancer neighbor (he's done a million things - inlcuding playing Dexter's dad).
Hmmm, I'm guessing the ending is supposed to be ambiguous.
Well, it's no "French Connection" or even "The Exorcist," but it wasn't as awful as I thought it'd be.
Outrageously fun/creepy fact on the movie/director to end with:
In 1972, director William Friedkin - huge after The French Connection (1971) - is shooting his spiritual/psych-horror The Exorcist (1973) in downtown New York. For a scene requiring mock brain-scans of the possessed lead character, Friedkin films a real-life radiologist and his assistant, Paul Bateson. Flash ahead to 1979. Friedkin is planning an adap of Gerald Walker’s novel ‘Cruising’, inspired by a real-life serial killer carving up leather boys in the city's underground gay-bars and dumping their body parts in the Hudson River, wrapped in black plastic bags. When he learns that his Exorcist radiologist assistant Bateson is currently awaiting trial for the post-coital slaying of gay film critic Addison Verrill, Friedkin decides to pay him a visit to do a little research into the psyche of his cruising killer. Bateson is later imprisoned for life - for the Verrill murder - but not before dropping hints while in custody that he was also the body bag killer. The latter cases remain unsolved, but there's every chance that Friedkin had not only inadvertently consulted the actual killer at the heart of Cruising while planning the film, but had also cast him in a film he made years before it.
9/15/09
Hey, Let's All Talk About It, Since Apparently It's So NATURAL...
Another "retro blog" featuring my old roomie David.
There are inherent differences between myself and my roommate. He has two sisters, I have two brothers; he grew up in a small town in a large state, I grew up in a large city in a small state; his mother tells him about her yeast infections, mine does not.
We--that is, my roommate and I--were watching TV not too long ago when a commercial for Product Y suddenly appeared. I say "suddenly" because no matter how well prepared you are for a commercial, it always seems sudden when said commercial spits out the words "vaginal yeast infection."
I like to think I'm open minded. I like to think a have a strong stomach. But when one of these commercials comes on, I feel like a censorious little piggy on the verge of blowing chow. The problem (for me) is that they start off so INNOCENTLY. A pretty maiden strolls down a country lane after a spring shower. Or maybe it's a spring lane after a country shower. In any case, said maiden smiles beatifically while idly twirling a daisy between thumb and forefinger.
"I love days like this," she sighs, still smiling, while sniffing the daisy. Then--SUDDENLY--she screams, "Unless I happen to be suffering from a VAGINAL YEAST INFECTION!" (caps mine) Okay, so maybe she doesn't scream--but I always jump, so it seems like she's screaming.
I remark, to no one in particular, "That's gross."
"Oh, please," responds my roommate in particular, while rolling his eyes.
I know he's rolling his eyes, even though my back is to him, because he's using that rolling-his-eyes tone of voice.
Anyway, rolling my eyes right back, almost to the very top of my head, I say to my roommate,
"Well, honestly! What if I had been eating?"
"What if you had?" he retorts. "These commercials are no worse than the ones for hemorrhoids.”
"Exactly," I wince, and the meal I finished almost an hour ago creeps up another few inches from my stomach.
"Hasn't your mother ever talked about it before?"
"With ME?" I respond/shriek. "My mom talk about a yeast infection with ME?" I couldn't have had a more incredulous look on my face if he'd just told me that HE had a vaginal yeast infection.
His rolling eyes tone is back. "It's perfectly natural."
But further discussion is hampered by the fact that I remain rooted to my chair, shivering, with a glazed look on my face while mumbling, "His mother tells him about her yeast infections, his mother tells him..."
My roommate shuffles into the kitchen to cook something really smelly, hoping to make me throw up.
A few days later, as luck would have it (and it always does), was my monthly obligatory call to mom. She starts telling me about her new boyfriend. "I like him all right," says mom. "Just not enough to sleep with him."
I chuckle good naturedly. Moms say the darndest things. "Well how do you get out of it?" I ask politely (how else would you ask such a question, but politely?).
Mom says, "Oh, I manage." Dramatic pause here. "Last time, I just told him I had a yeast infection."
She laughs. I scream. And tell her I have to go because lunch is coming up.
Later, the irony overwhelms me and I repeat the conversation to my roommate, bracing myself for a smug, “I told you so.”
But his mouth is agape. He looks shocked beyond measure. Finally, he sputters, "Oh, my GOD! I can't believe your mother talks to you about her sex life!!"
I can't wait to see the commercials for it.
There are inherent differences between myself and my roommate. He has two sisters, I have two brothers; he grew up in a small town in a large state, I grew up in a large city in a small state; his mother tells him about her yeast infections, mine does not.
We--that is, my roommate and I--were watching TV not too long ago when a commercial for Product Y suddenly appeared. I say "suddenly" because no matter how well prepared you are for a commercial, it always seems sudden when said commercial spits out the words "vaginal yeast infection."
I like to think I'm open minded. I like to think a have a strong stomach. But when one of these commercials comes on, I feel like a censorious little piggy on the verge of blowing chow. The problem (for me) is that they start off so INNOCENTLY. A pretty maiden strolls down a country lane after a spring shower. Or maybe it's a spring lane after a country shower. In any case, said maiden smiles beatifically while idly twirling a daisy between thumb and forefinger.
"I love days like this," she sighs, still smiling, while sniffing the daisy. Then--SUDDENLY--she screams, "Unless I happen to be suffering from a VAGINAL YEAST INFECTION!" (caps mine) Okay, so maybe she doesn't scream--but I always jump, so it seems like she's screaming.
I remark, to no one in particular, "That's gross."
"Oh, please," responds my roommate in particular, while rolling his eyes.
I know he's rolling his eyes, even though my back is to him, because he's using that rolling-his-eyes tone of voice.
Anyway, rolling my eyes right back, almost to the very top of my head, I say to my roommate,
"Well, honestly! What if I had been eating?"
"What if you had?" he retorts. "These commercials are no worse than the ones for hemorrhoids.”
"Exactly," I wince, and the meal I finished almost an hour ago creeps up another few inches from my stomach.
"Hasn't your mother ever talked about it before?"
"With ME?" I respond/shriek. "My mom talk about a yeast infection with ME?" I couldn't have had a more incredulous look on my face if he'd just told me that HE had a vaginal yeast infection.
His rolling eyes tone is back. "It's perfectly natural."
But further discussion is hampered by the fact that I remain rooted to my chair, shivering, with a glazed look on my face while mumbling, "His mother tells him about her yeast infections, his mother tells him..."
My roommate shuffles into the kitchen to cook something really smelly, hoping to make me throw up.
A few days later, as luck would have it (and it always does), was my monthly obligatory call to mom. She starts telling me about her new boyfriend. "I like him all right," says mom. "Just not enough to sleep with him."
I chuckle good naturedly. Moms say the darndest things. "Well how do you get out of it?" I ask politely (how else would you ask such a question, but politely?).
Mom says, "Oh, I manage." Dramatic pause here. "Last time, I just told him I had a yeast infection."
She laughs. I scream. And tell her I have to go because lunch is coming up.
Later, the irony overwhelms me and I repeat the conversation to my roommate, bracing myself for a smug, “I told you so.”
But his mouth is agape. He looks shocked beyond measure. Finally, he sputters, "Oh, my GOD! I can't believe your mother talks to you about her sex life!!"
I can't wait to see the commercials for it.
9/11/09
Medical Marijuana, Maher Mayhem, & More!
So as of the day I'm writing this, September 11th, I am "legal" to buy medical marijuana. I celebrated by finishing off the last of my "illegal" dope. But as I was leaning out the window, overlooking Hyde, and blowing smoke out, an older man across the street, middle-Eastern (irony alert!), stopped from walking up Hyde towards Sutter to look across the street where it seemed he looked right at my window/me.
So I just stood there, looking around, and of course assuming he's a terrorist because Rush says he fits the profile, and blah blah blah, before he slowly starts to walk off, but he keeps pausing to look across the street, and of course I could just be paranoid, but it did seem like he was looking at me/my window.
But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. :)
He turned east up Sutter, and went (skulked!) around the building on that corner, but I waited to see if he would pop back around to try and "catch" me or whomever he was gawking at. I decided, if he did that, I'd have to call the FBI on him.
But seriously, what's sad is, if I were someone like, say, Peter Krause in Civic Duty, I could probably make a big deal out of it. Which is just gross. Awful movie, BTW--and not just because of the stereotyping; I was actually embarrassed for Peter Krause. Anyway, as the movie does show very well, tho, this country is still very, very ill--despite Obama's optimistic speech.
Like with medical marijuana. I know for a fact that it helps me with my glaucoma--as well as the band that's still around my eye. And, also, lately, it has helped me from sliding into too deep of a depression worrying about Kyle.
But somehow, it's preferable to "medicate" those symptons with either chemicals in my eyes on a daily basis, and then Xanax or Paxil or Zoloft, blah blah blah--rather than something that grows naturally. I mean, I don't get it.
And, luckily, for all of its other problems, I'm fortunate enough to live in a state that allows for it. It's ludicrous that the Republicans can't get behind this coz then they can help control how it's taxed. And of course it'd bring in a buttload of money, and seriously curtail violence here and in Mexico over the trade. I mean, honestly, what century are we living in?
Why are we letting, why did we ever let, a slack-jawed, dimwitted, electorate outmanuever "us?" (i.e., the 70% of the country that's NOT crazy--although I think Bill Maher might be generous using that percentage figure; see link at end).
Yeah, Obama won, and maybe he'll get something done on health care, but where's the big symbolic gesture that could be made, that would cost nothing but a "stamp of approval" from him or an executive order? I'm not even suggesting it had to be in support of legalizing marijuana or gay marriage; I'm just saying that moments like this in history don't come around that often.
And the moment never proves to be more important than the follow-through. I mean, how could it? If he wanted to embrace the idea that he came in facing as great a challenge as FDR, then he should have been better prepared to move like FDR did when he took office--to immediately put the Republicans on the defensive reacting to policy change announcements, drafts of legislation, executive orders, bully puplit speaking, etc.
And I'm only angry because of how badly--how very badly--Bush responded/took all the universal goodwill felt toward the United States after 9/11 and not only squandered it, but beat it to a pulp and fed it to jackals and crows. Word.
Freaky coincidence. The day after I wrote the above, a friend forwarded me the following video--Maher said it almost as well as I did! :) Click here.
So I just stood there, looking around, and of course assuming he's a terrorist because Rush says he fits the profile, and blah blah blah, before he slowly starts to walk off, but he keeps pausing to look across the street, and of course I could just be paranoid, but it did seem like he was looking at me/my window.
But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. :)
He turned east up Sutter, and went (skulked!) around the building on that corner, but I waited to see if he would pop back around to try and "catch" me or whomever he was gawking at. I decided, if he did that, I'd have to call the FBI on him.
But seriously, what's sad is, if I were someone like, say, Peter Krause in Civic Duty, I could probably make a big deal out of it. Which is just gross. Awful movie, BTW--and not just because of the stereotyping; I was actually embarrassed for Peter Krause. Anyway, as the movie does show very well, tho, this country is still very, very ill--despite Obama's optimistic speech.
Like with medical marijuana. I know for a fact that it helps me with my glaucoma--as well as the band that's still around my eye. And, also, lately, it has helped me from sliding into too deep of a depression worrying about Kyle.
But somehow, it's preferable to "medicate" those symptons with either chemicals in my eyes on a daily basis, and then Xanax or Paxil or Zoloft, blah blah blah--rather than something that grows naturally. I mean, I don't get it.
And, luckily, for all of its other problems, I'm fortunate enough to live in a state that allows for it. It's ludicrous that the Republicans can't get behind this coz then they can help control how it's taxed. And of course it'd bring in a buttload of money, and seriously curtail violence here and in Mexico over the trade. I mean, honestly, what century are we living in?
Why are we letting, why did we ever let, a slack-jawed, dimwitted, electorate outmanuever "us?" (i.e., the 70% of the country that's NOT crazy--although I think Bill Maher might be generous using that percentage figure; see link at end).
Yeah, Obama won, and maybe he'll get something done on health care, but where's the big symbolic gesture that could be made, that would cost nothing but a "stamp of approval" from him or an executive order? I'm not even suggesting it had to be in support of legalizing marijuana or gay marriage; I'm just saying that moments like this in history don't come around that often.
And the moment never proves to be more important than the follow-through. I mean, how could it? If he wanted to embrace the idea that he came in facing as great a challenge as FDR, then he should have been better prepared to move like FDR did when he took office--to immediately put the Republicans on the defensive reacting to policy change announcements, drafts of legislation, executive orders, bully puplit speaking, etc.
And I'm only angry because of how badly--how very badly--Bush responded/took all the universal goodwill felt toward the United States after 9/11 and not only squandered it, but beat it to a pulp and fed it to jackals and crows. Word.
Freaky coincidence. The day after I wrote the above, a friend forwarded me the following video--Maher said it almost as well as I did! :) Click here.
9/10/09
The Return of Excalibur's Parking Spot
Freak show! Exactly one week later, almost the exact same space is open around 8:30 in the evening, on Hyde, right outside my dining room window.
First, this land cruiser kind of thing pulled paralell with it, and deja vu, he was almost exactly the same size as the space--possibly a bit bigger; but it turns out he was just dropping someone off. BUT, rather than being a Highlight's Magazine "Gallant," he was an evil "Goofus," who didn't realize the car sitting behind him wanted the space, and finally, falsely (unfortunately), assumed the land cruiser guy was going to try and cram his thing in there (huh huh huh), so takes off.
And then, right then, the guy drives off. By this point the woman he dropped off could be 4 blocks away. Loser. It's just amazing to me how clueless people are "these days" about anything outside of their own little bubble/world. But it does make life easier for judgmental people like me! So, um, thanks?
So anyway, almost immediately, a smaller, almost perfect-sized-for-the-spot car shows up. And, surprise, surprise, just like last week, ANY decent parallel parking skills are in complete absence--and again it's a stick shift that's involved.
What's different is, this driver mucks it up by being overly cautious. There's no bashing back and forth like last week--it's more wildly ill-timed wheel-cutting that was obviously brought on, at least in part, by an apparent concern for the other cars! I figure, with the crappy driving, and this unheard of concern for something that doesn't belong to you, it's got to be an alien that's "driving" the car.
But, instead, it was a woman. So now we've observed the difference in how men and women try to "finesse" their way in to a parking space. The winner? Me for having this free entertainment slash sociological experiment right outside my windows! :)
And for those of you who didn't get the "Goofus & Gallant" reference (which would mean you never went to the dentist as a child), and for those who just miss the rascals, here's a couple of classics:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/theblog/archive/GoofusGallant_Oct1980.jpg
First, this land cruiser kind of thing pulled paralell with it, and deja vu, he was almost exactly the same size as the space--possibly a bit bigger; but it turns out he was just dropping someone off. BUT, rather than being a Highlight's Magazine "Gallant," he was an evil "Goofus," who didn't realize the car sitting behind him wanted the space, and finally, falsely (unfortunately), assumed the land cruiser guy was going to try and cram his thing in there (huh huh huh), so takes off.
And then, right then, the guy drives off. By this point the woman he dropped off could be 4 blocks away. Loser. It's just amazing to me how clueless people are "these days" about anything outside of their own little bubble/world. But it does make life easier for judgmental people like me! So, um, thanks?
So anyway, almost immediately, a smaller, almost perfect-sized-for-the-spot car shows up. And, surprise, surprise, just like last week, ANY decent parallel parking skills are in complete absence--and again it's a stick shift that's involved.
What's different is, this driver mucks it up by being overly cautious. There's no bashing back and forth like last week--it's more wildly ill-timed wheel-cutting that was obviously brought on, at least in part, by an apparent concern for the other cars! I figure, with the crappy driving, and this unheard of concern for something that doesn't belong to you, it's got to be an alien that's "driving" the car.
But, instead, it was a woman. So now we've observed the difference in how men and women try to "finesse" their way in to a parking space. The winner? Me for having this free entertainment slash sociological experiment right outside my windows! :)
And for those of you who didn't get the "Goofus & Gallant" reference (which would mean you never went to the dentist as a child), and for those who just miss the rascals, here's a couple of classics:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/theblog/archive/GoofusGallant_Oct1980.jpg
9/9/09
Obama's Health Care Speech
I wanna know what he just said to Hillary, coming in, coz she busted out laughing. Did anyone hear?
You know, seeing Biden up there, I actually like him more now than in the past when he was a boring old Senator. His supposed “gaffe problem” at least means he’s more genuine than most of the liars in office these days.
Can’t decide if I like that brooch thing at Michelle’s neck or not, but I know I don’t like Obama’s striped tie.
I have to say, it is still weird/cool to see him up there as President of the United States, to see the sycophantic ovations over his very basic opening remarks, etc.
Okay, I do like the line, “I’m not the first president to take up this cause, but I am determined to be the last.” Good luck with that, Barack!
Cool fact about John Dingell (D-MI) and his dad (google them if you missed it; although you;ll also disover an unpleasant fact about the dad if/when you do).
Oh, crap - getting insurance on your own costs 3X what employers pay for your coverage?? I have to get my own coverage for my new job; gotta change that! J
The stories are appalling! And people have the gall to trash the British, Canadian, French, etc. systems as something to fear? Gawd!
Haha--Pelosi smiled when Obama said “no one disputes these facts.”
Gotta admit, he just made a compelling argument for “a middle way.” Dammit!
Nice little bit of scolding on the bickering. Boehner looks unhappy over that; of course, he still looks orange, too - I wonder what health issue HE has? Oh yeah, George Hamiltonism!
Ah, the pre-existing condition thing; THAT is a biggy. Oooh, dropping you when you’re sick; that’s another one. It’s ludicrous we have to even fight for things like this.
Nice graphic showing the link to the details of what he wants: http://www.whitehouse.gov/issues/health_care/plan/
Snap! Give Americans the same oppt’y Congress gives itself!
Awww, he threw a bone to McCain. Cute.
Oooh, called out that….that….oooh, I’m trying to keep this PG….that Palin woman on her stupid “death panels” thing.
Key point: it’s outrageous beyond belief that health care should be a profit-driven enterprise. Disgusting!
Good comparison re: the public option with public vs. private colleges.
Oooh, called out the Repubs to quit making up shit and to work together to address “legitimate” concerns.
Choice. Keep working that word, Mister Man! :)
Snap again on “making sure no insurance company bureaucrat or government bureaucrat gets between you and the health care you need.”
Wow, some loser congressman sitting next to Boehner is texting! Showed him again and he‘s still doing it! Gawd!
Talk about a miracle - for the first time probably ever Feinstein is one of the few women in the audience not wearing a red “power” outfit.
Interesting that the repubs in the house can’t even bring themselves to applaud protecting Medicare. They make me sick. But then so do the Democrats, in general. Ha.
You know, I do have to say that even tho it’s a “conservative” issue, I’m down with reforming our medical malpractice “problem.” Gasp! He said something the Bush administration proposed on this issue that he thinks is a good idea!
EXCELLENT point about those who feel “it’s better to kill this plan than improve it.”
“We will call you out.” He’s so hip! :)
Biden and Pelosi are tearing up over Teddy. I am too, a bit.
Ha! CNN doesn’t know who Chuck Grassley is!
Excellent finish. He needs to do this, be like this, more often. I’m back on board!
Hmm, dare I listen to CNN’s “analysis”??? I think not.
Wait, wow, I didn’t hear the inappropriate Congressman saying, “You lie” Jeez, how do these freaks get into office? Way to harsh my buzz, CNN.
Click.
You know, seeing Biden up there, I actually like him more now than in the past when he was a boring old Senator. His supposed “gaffe problem” at least means he’s more genuine than most of the liars in office these days.
Can’t decide if I like that brooch thing at Michelle’s neck or not, but I know I don’t like Obama’s striped tie.
I have to say, it is still weird/cool to see him up there as President of the United States, to see the sycophantic ovations over his very basic opening remarks, etc.
Okay, I do like the line, “I’m not the first president to take up this cause, but I am determined to be the last.” Good luck with that, Barack!
Cool fact about John Dingell (D-MI) and his dad (google them if you missed it; although you;ll also disover an unpleasant fact about the dad if/when you do).
Oh, crap - getting insurance on your own costs 3X what employers pay for your coverage?? I have to get my own coverage for my new job; gotta change that! J
The stories are appalling! And people have the gall to trash the British, Canadian, French, etc. systems as something to fear? Gawd!
Haha--Pelosi smiled when Obama said “no one disputes these facts.”
Gotta admit, he just made a compelling argument for “a middle way.” Dammit!
Nice little bit of scolding on the bickering. Boehner looks unhappy over that; of course, he still looks orange, too - I wonder what health issue HE has? Oh yeah, George Hamiltonism!
Ah, the pre-existing condition thing; THAT is a biggy. Oooh, dropping you when you’re sick; that’s another one. It’s ludicrous we have to even fight for things like this.
Nice graphic showing the link to the details of what he wants: http://www.whitehouse.gov/issues/health_care/plan/
Snap! Give Americans the same oppt’y Congress gives itself!
Awww, he threw a bone to McCain. Cute.
Oooh, called out that….that….oooh, I’m trying to keep this PG….that Palin woman on her stupid “death panels” thing.
Key point: it’s outrageous beyond belief that health care should be a profit-driven enterprise. Disgusting!
Good comparison re: the public option with public vs. private colleges.
Oooh, called out the Repubs to quit making up shit and to work together to address “legitimate” concerns.
Choice. Keep working that word, Mister Man! :)
Snap again on “making sure no insurance company bureaucrat or government bureaucrat gets between you and the health care you need.”
Wow, some loser congressman sitting next to Boehner is texting! Showed him again and he‘s still doing it! Gawd!
Talk about a miracle - for the first time probably ever Feinstein is one of the few women in the audience not wearing a red “power” outfit.
Interesting that the repubs in the house can’t even bring themselves to applaud protecting Medicare. They make me sick. But then so do the Democrats, in general. Ha.
You know, I do have to say that even tho it’s a “conservative” issue, I’m down with reforming our medical malpractice “problem.” Gasp! He said something the Bush administration proposed on this issue that he thinks is a good idea!
EXCELLENT point about those who feel “it’s better to kill this plan than improve it.”
“We will call you out.” He’s so hip! :)
Biden and Pelosi are tearing up over Teddy. I am too, a bit.
Ha! CNN doesn’t know who Chuck Grassley is!
Excellent finish. He needs to do this, be like this, more often. I’m back on board!
Hmm, dare I listen to CNN’s “analysis”??? I think not.
Wait, wow, I didn’t hear the inappropriate Congressman saying, “You lie” Jeez, how do these freaks get into office? Way to harsh my buzz, CNN.
Click.
9/8/09
Anality
This is another piece I wrote some years ago, when I came to "embrace" my "anality." :)
For some reason, many people seem to think that being anal-retentive is a BAD thing. No, seriously! I just recently discovered this. I have been a proud, card-carrying anal retentive for, well, for as long as I can remember (please put that tape dispenser back on the left-hand corner of my desk and at an angle, thank you).
Imagine my surprise, then, when I heard two girls talking on the bus the other day and one of them said: “Oh, WAY. But he is, like, SO anal!” Then she actually shivered! Like it was a bad thing!
While I am perfectly aware that there are people who don’t have the talent for organization and orderliness that I do, I never assumed they would be so petty, so consumed with jealousy that they would actually try to make it seem like being methodical and systematic would be anything other than something to be proud of. PROUD, I tells ya!
Although I wasn’t aware of the term for it at the time, I was being derided for my comprehensive approach to everything early in life. When I was about 12, I recall making sandwiches with my cousin. We were both having salami & cheese with mustard. Well, my cousin spread his mustard on his bread before passing said mustard to me (if you want to call it “spreading,” he actually kind of just globbed some in the middle of his bread), and I, very smoothly and evenly, covered my own bread with a nice, level layer of mustard. As I reached for the salami, my cousin looked at me, grinning ear to ear, and said, “You missed a spot.” He was pointing at my newly-mustarded bread which I didn’t even have to look down at to know that I had NOT missed a spot; thus, very confused, I replied, “Um, no I didn’t.”
He then proceeded to laugh uproariously, while I debated whether or not he was insane. Looking back, I now realize that he was actually trying to make fun of me for ensuring that I would get mustard in every bite of my sandwich! Um, excuse me, but WHY put mustard on your sandwich if you’re only going to run into it occasionally during the course of eating it? (Yes, Sharon, there is a reason I’m having the class sit boy/girl, boy/girl. Because it just MAKES SENSE.)
Nowadays, though, our society has become so SLOPPY and DISORDERLY and, yes, LAZY, that they have to make fun of us organized folk to cover for the pell-mell, helter-skelter, lack of control they have over their own chaotic lives.
Of course, some people don’t understand the difference between managed, correct harmony and simple obsessiveness. My old roommate Sean, for instance. He used to think that HE was the one who knew all the correct “life’s rules.” HA! Like it really MATTERS that the back of the couch be aligned along one of the floorboards instead of simply straddling it. Is that not a STUPID thing to worry about? And this from a guy who could not get it into his head that when you’re done showering you pull the shower curtain closed! I mean, why would you leave it bunched up, exposing the bathtub? Not only does it incite mildew growth, it just LOOKS WRONG.
Finally, he would also actually group a soundtrack under the artist’s name even if he/she only sang 50% of the songs on the soundtrack, when most any NORMAL person would agree that the soundtrack is only alphabetized under the artist’s name if he/she sings at least 75% of the songs!
So then you can imagine, what with my fondness for ship-shape symmetry and orderly goodness, how fascinated and, yes, thrilled, I was to come across something so wonderful in a co-worker’s office as a color-coded filing system (for, you see, not only am I proudly anal-retentive, I REALLY like it when there’s some color involved--providing, of course, that the scheme “makes sense.”).
ME (your anal super hero): “Ooooooh,” I cooed admirably. “Love that color-coded filing system, Heather!”
CO-WORKER (Heather): “Oh, that?” she laughs. “That was Rob’s anality, not mine.” (Rob being Heather’s predecessor at work)
I had to scoff and shake my head at this charming little vixen (and you should see Heather, she is indeed a charming little vixen) for making up such a word. For, if anyone would know if anality were truly a word, it would be I.
So, in my best scoffing/”aren’t you cute?” voice, I said, “Oh, Heather, you silly, there’s no such word as ‘anality.’” And of course, with this, I rolled my eyes and patted her paternally on the shoulder.
But she smiled brightly at me, laughed herself in an almost patronizing way (humph!), and said, “Anality isn’t a word? I’m pretty sure it is.”
I gawked, open-mouthed, at her impudence. “Are you trying to tell ME whether or not a word relating to anal retentiveness exists?” My eyes bulged incredulously as--gallingly--she laughed again.
“Let’s just look in the dictionary,” she trilled and headed off for the Webster’s. Imagine my horror/surprise when she found this:
anality: the psychological state or quality of being anal
“See?” She smiled and shrugged, put the dictionary back, and then walked away as if it didn’t matter!
For some reason, many people seem to think that being anal-retentive is a BAD thing. No, seriously! I just recently discovered this. I have been a proud, card-carrying anal retentive for, well, for as long as I can remember (please put that tape dispenser back on the left-hand corner of my desk and at an angle, thank you).
Imagine my surprise, then, when I heard two girls talking on the bus the other day and one of them said: “Oh, WAY. But he is, like, SO anal!” Then she actually shivered! Like it was a bad thing!
While I am perfectly aware that there are people who don’t have the talent for organization and orderliness that I do, I never assumed they would be so petty, so consumed with jealousy that they would actually try to make it seem like being methodical and systematic would be anything other than something to be proud of. PROUD, I tells ya!
Although I wasn’t aware of the term for it at the time, I was being derided for my comprehensive approach to everything early in life. When I was about 12, I recall making sandwiches with my cousin. We were both having salami & cheese with mustard. Well, my cousin spread his mustard on his bread before passing said mustard to me (if you want to call it “spreading,” he actually kind of just globbed some in the middle of his bread), and I, very smoothly and evenly, covered my own bread with a nice, level layer of mustard. As I reached for the salami, my cousin looked at me, grinning ear to ear, and said, “You missed a spot.” He was pointing at my newly-mustarded bread which I didn’t even have to look down at to know that I had NOT missed a spot; thus, very confused, I replied, “Um, no I didn’t.”
He then proceeded to laugh uproariously, while I debated whether or not he was insane. Looking back, I now realize that he was actually trying to make fun of me for ensuring that I would get mustard in every bite of my sandwich! Um, excuse me, but WHY put mustard on your sandwich if you’re only going to run into it occasionally during the course of eating it? (Yes, Sharon, there is a reason I’m having the class sit boy/girl, boy/girl. Because it just MAKES SENSE.)
Nowadays, though, our society has become so SLOPPY and DISORDERLY and, yes, LAZY, that they have to make fun of us organized folk to cover for the pell-mell, helter-skelter, lack of control they have over their own chaotic lives.
Of course, some people don’t understand the difference between managed, correct harmony and simple obsessiveness. My old roommate Sean, for instance. He used to think that HE was the one who knew all the correct “life’s rules.” HA! Like it really MATTERS that the back of the couch be aligned along one of the floorboards instead of simply straddling it. Is that not a STUPID thing to worry about? And this from a guy who could not get it into his head that when you’re done showering you pull the shower curtain closed! I mean, why would you leave it bunched up, exposing the bathtub? Not only does it incite mildew growth, it just LOOKS WRONG.
Finally, he would also actually group a soundtrack under the artist’s name even if he/she only sang 50% of the songs on the soundtrack, when most any NORMAL person would agree that the soundtrack is only alphabetized under the artist’s name if he/she sings at least 75% of the songs!
So then you can imagine, what with my fondness for ship-shape symmetry and orderly goodness, how fascinated and, yes, thrilled, I was to come across something so wonderful in a co-worker’s office as a color-coded filing system (for, you see, not only am I proudly anal-retentive, I REALLY like it when there’s some color involved--providing, of course, that the scheme “makes sense.”).
ME (your anal super hero): “Ooooooh,” I cooed admirably. “Love that color-coded filing system, Heather!”
CO-WORKER (Heather): “Oh, that?” she laughs. “That was Rob’s anality, not mine.” (Rob being Heather’s predecessor at work)
I had to scoff and shake my head at this charming little vixen (and you should see Heather, she is indeed a charming little vixen) for making up such a word. For, if anyone would know if anality were truly a word, it would be I.
So, in my best scoffing/”aren’t you cute?” voice, I said, “Oh, Heather, you silly, there’s no such word as ‘anality.’” And of course, with this, I rolled my eyes and patted her paternally on the shoulder.
But she smiled brightly at me, laughed herself in an almost patronizing way (humph!), and said, “Anality isn’t a word? I’m pretty sure it is.”
I gawked, open-mouthed, at her impudence. “Are you trying to tell ME whether or not a word relating to anal retentiveness exists?” My eyes bulged incredulously as--gallingly--she laughed again.
“Let’s just look in the dictionary,” she trilled and headed off for the Webster’s. Imagine my horror/surprise when she found this:
anality: the psychological state or quality of being anal
“See?” She smiled and shrugged, put the dictionary back, and then walked away as if it didn’t matter!
9/6/09
Deep thoughts, cheap shots, and bon mots - the first
Okay, WTF is up with the way they package things like, say, thumb drives. Not only is it in an outrageous amount of plastic for its size, but it's really thick plastic - AND it's hermetically sealed AND crimped EXTRA tight around the edges!
You have to use scissors, really, to open these packages, and of course that ruins the scissors. But I’m guessing it aids in the prevention of shoplifting--which is, of course, a significantly more important issue than our impending environmental catastrophe (insert obligatory reference to the 12/2012 Mayan calendar thingy)
Speaking of catastrophes, check it out from Harper's Index:
Percentage change since 2002 in average premiums paid to large U.S. health insurance companies: +87; Percentage change in the profits of the top ten insurance companies: +428; Chances that an American bankrupted by medical bills has/had health insurance: 7 in 10
Let me give a shout out to Harper's Magazine, too. Best. Magazine. Ever.
Speaking of health care, I just saw "As Good As It Gets" again the other day and forgot about the strong health care access component to it. Interesting.
In another movie I saw, a woman made a very compelling argument about how after we had our post-WWII and Cold War "education push" to keep up with the Russkis, everyone got smart, questioned things, and the 60s happened. The guv'mint learned its lesson and has slashed education ever since. A few days after seeing that movie (which is about 5 years old), I read a strikingly similar theory/essay in Harper's magazine. Plausible or not? Discuss.
I've decided I would have no problem whatsoever living in a "Christian nation" if all these hypocrites actually did honestly base policies on "What Would Jesus Do?" I mean, any doubt on which side Jesus would be on re: health care? Or gay marriage for that matter? Or treating corporations as people?
It was disgusting beyond belief to see the outrage among the "Christians" when Obama “played the God card” for not helping the least among us--they actually got all huffy and many southern churches started advocating against health care just coz they were so outraged. Seriously, are these people truly that selfish and deranged?
I read this great letter to the editor in the Chronicle the other day wherein someone pointed out that conservatives always attack progress by flipping the script. "Extending civil rights to blacks means our rights are under attack." "Granting marriage rights to gays is an attack on marriage." "Extending medical coverage to all is an attack on health care."
As this letter writer mentioned: "There seems to be a steady pattern in which conservatives can't seem to enjoy a legal, social, or economic benefit without the added thrill of knowing that it's being denied to someone else." Word.
You have to use scissors, really, to open these packages, and of course that ruins the scissors. But I’m guessing it aids in the prevention of shoplifting--which is, of course, a significantly more important issue than our impending environmental catastrophe (insert obligatory reference to the 12/2012 Mayan calendar thingy)
Speaking of catastrophes, check it out from Harper's Index:
Percentage change since 2002 in average premiums paid to large U.S. health insurance companies: +87; Percentage change in the profits of the top ten insurance companies: +428; Chances that an American bankrupted by medical bills has/had health insurance: 7 in 10
Let me give a shout out to Harper's Magazine, too. Best. Magazine. Ever.
Speaking of health care, I just saw "As Good As It Gets" again the other day and forgot about the strong health care access component to it. Interesting.
In another movie I saw, a woman made a very compelling argument about how after we had our post-WWII and Cold War "education push" to keep up with the Russkis, everyone got smart, questioned things, and the 60s happened. The guv'mint learned its lesson and has slashed education ever since. A few days after seeing that movie (which is about 5 years old), I read a strikingly similar theory/essay in Harper's magazine. Plausible or not? Discuss.
I've decided I would have no problem whatsoever living in a "Christian nation" if all these hypocrites actually did honestly base policies on "What Would Jesus Do?" I mean, any doubt on which side Jesus would be on re: health care? Or gay marriage for that matter? Or treating corporations as people?
It was disgusting beyond belief to see the outrage among the "Christians" when Obama “played the God card” for not helping the least among us--they actually got all huffy and many southern churches started advocating against health care just coz they were so outraged. Seriously, are these people truly that selfish and deranged?
I read this great letter to the editor in the Chronicle the other day wherein someone pointed out that conservatives always attack progress by flipping the script. "Extending civil rights to blacks means our rights are under attack." "Granting marriage rights to gays is an attack on marriage." "Extending medical coverage to all is an attack on health care."
As this letter writer mentioned: "There seems to be a steady pattern in which conservatives can't seem to enjoy a legal, social, or economic benefit without the added thrill of knowing that it's being denied to someone else." Word.
9/3/09
Excalibur's Parking Spot
So tonight there's this small parking spot on Hyde, right out the dining room window where I sit with my laptop. I happened to glance out and saw a van trying to get in it and I scoffed just before they gave up and took off.
It stayed empty for awhile until a jeepish kind of car/thing tried very hard to get in it. Of course, from my vantage point, I could tell they were just this much too big--and I don't mean much. And, in the end, if they had spent another 20-30 minutes, they might have gotten in there, but by gawd they gave it the old college try. I've never seen a Jeep crab like that!
But the sad thing is, if they had finally made it in there, the pickup truck in front of them would have never been able to get out if they tried to leave first--as they were bumper to bumper with the car in front of them. But do you think those guys would have cared if they'd been able to get in? I'm guessing not.
Anyway, after a while, the two jeep boys gave up (and it took them awhile to get back out!), and another car, smaller finally, made the effort. It was a fairly tight fit, but anyone with any decent parallel parking skills (c'est moi!) woudn't have a problem.
This dude had a problem.
A serious problem.
His buddy got out to "help" direct him, but all he basically ended up doing was comically clapping his hands to his head and shrieking when his buddy backed--repeatedly--into the van parked behind. Then, at the end, and for good measure I suppose, he rammed the bumper of the pick up in front of him. Moral of the story: Drive a MINI.
It stayed empty for awhile until a jeepish kind of car/thing tried very hard to get in it. Of course, from my vantage point, I could tell they were just this much too big--and I don't mean much. And, in the end, if they had spent another 20-30 minutes, they might have gotten in there, but by gawd they gave it the old college try. I've never seen a Jeep crab like that!
But the sad thing is, if they had finally made it in there, the pickup truck in front of them would have never been able to get out if they tried to leave first--as they were bumper to bumper with the car in front of them. But do you think those guys would have cared if they'd been able to get in? I'm guessing not.
Anyway, after a while, the two jeep boys gave up (and it took them awhile to get back out!), and another car, smaller finally, made the effort. It was a fairly tight fit, but anyone with any decent parallel parking skills (c'est moi!) woudn't have a problem.
This dude had a problem.
A serious problem.
His buddy got out to "help" direct him, but all he basically ended up doing was comically clapping his hands to his head and shrieking when his buddy backed--repeatedly--into the van parked behind. Then, at the end, and for good measure I suppose, he rammed the bumper of the pick up in front of him. Moral of the story: Drive a MINI.
8/20/09
Bob Dole & the Price of Bull Semen
Blogging has made me look through my older writing, and I had to share this one just for the weirdness of the bull catalog. This was written around 2001:
I must be on every junk mail list in the country, and I mean EVERY SINGLE ONE. Oh, I know other people say, “Oh, look at me, poor me, I’m on so many junk mail lists!” But what they really mean to say is, “Oh, look at me, poor me, I’m on almost as many junk mail lists as David Wallace.”
What has landed me on so many lists, I think, is cross-pollination. That, or someone is having a great deal of fun at my expense. Which I can respect; don’t get me wrong. Some of the best fun you can have is usually at someone else’s expense--not a pretty fact of life, but as those boozy old smoking redheaded waitresses say in shithole diners, "Life ain’t always pretty, ain’tcha mama ever told ya that?"
Anyway, you know how when you subscribe to certain types of magazines, you then get all kinds of junk from similarly-aligned groups and what not? Like, you subscribe to “Mother Jones,” and you start getting stuff from the ACLU, the Sierra Club, Greenpeace, etc. You subsribe to “National Review” and you start getting stuff from the NRA, Charlton Heston, and those Michigan Militia groups.
Anyway again, I used to belong to the former category solely, and got lots and lots of fun stuff; at least what I considered fun stuff. Then, either someone read the little “D” on my voter’s registaration card as an “R” or, as I mentioned earlier, someone decided to have a little fun with me , coz I was suddenly getting stuff from BOTH sides of the fence.
Guns & Ammo catalogs. Trial subscriptions to conservative magazines so unspeakably vile they burned my hands. Invitations to join the NRA. Letters from Bob Dole! As most of you know, my “political sympathies” lie somewhat to the left of Ted Kennedy; so I was quite distressed by this recent twist to my junk mail woes.
I mean, sure, it’s fun filling Bob Dole’s business reply envelope with sand and sending it back to him to pay the mailing costs; but once you’ve crossed into the land of getting mail from both sides, you seem to hit junk mail warp speed and stuff flies out of your mailbox like, well, like hateful epithets flying out of Bob Dole’s mouth.
I also get those fun puzzles from clearing houses. “Add these three columns of numbers in this ‘skill’ test and you can win $10 gazillion dollars! And it’s okay to use a calculator!! Reply within ten years and you’ll get this pewter armadillo ABSOLUTELY FREE (all you pay is the $9.95 shipping and handling charges).”
But the best came today. The best came in a large manilla envelope with a return address from a place called ABS. I thought I was getting some wonder booklet, “free just for ordering,” on how to get one of those stomachs-of-death everyone but me seems to have these days.
I couldn’t POSSIBLY have been more off.
ABS in this case stands for the American Breeders Society. At first, I thought, “Mom will be so pleased,” but then I saw what was inside. A brochure listing “Fall 2001 Beef Semen Prices;" the 2001 Holstein AND Protein Breeds Sire Directories; a Dairy Semen Price List; and, best of all, the “2001 Beef Sire Directory.” This last item is like a yearbook for cows. Excuse me, BULLS. It’s filled with pictures and bios of the ABS “Superior Sire Lineup.” Of course the photos of these fine potential-sire specimens comes AFTER the shot of the family of four gathered around the dining room table at home about to enjoy a big steak dinner (“Mom, who are we eating tonight,” asks Junior, flipping through the 2001 beef sire directory, “Sir Duke’s son or Flying Magnum’s daughter?”)
Let me stress that I am not lying. The 2001 Beef Sire Directory lists the potential sire’s name, stats, and “plusses.” The names are fun; like racehorses. We have Spade Flush, Merlin, Stemwinder, Bootjack, and Performer.
Performer.
Could you ask for a better name for a sire? Also, just like in the yearbook when they mention your accomplishments (Glee Club, Editor of the School Paper, Class Clown, etc.) and run fun quotes under your photo like “Still Waters Run Deep,” The 2001 Beef Sire Directory lists little extras and plusses for each potential sire.
For instance, High Time “sires stylish calves”; FCC Epinal has “extra muscle with good eye appeal”; the owners of Husker suggest him for “use on small to medium sized cows” (???); fortunately, the owners of the sire Iose promises to “sire correct feet and legs” (whew!); from Black Hockeye you’re promised that “daughters have excellent udders and small teat size”; and, for all of you Republicans out there who are sire hunting, Skyway promises “pigmentation and CONSERVATIVE markings”!! (emphasis mine).
But if *I* were choosing a sire, I’d have to go with Coirneal. Not only does this bull have long hair, making him look kind of like a wooly mammoth without the trunk, he is sired by the popular bull, Jock 26th of Leys!
But wait, there’s more!
His maternal grandsire is used in the queen's own herd! Awesome! Sign me up (as soon as I find a cow that needs a sire, that is--where's that teacher I hated now, when I need her?).
Needless to say, after receiving a gem like this in the mail, I am no longer quite so upset over being on so many junk mail lists. In fact, I’m hoping to do a little cross-pollinating of my own in regards to the mail I’m getting. For instance, maybe I can forward Bob Dole’s next letter on to ABS and they can find him a nice sire. Perhaps Rocky, who is “recommended for mature cows only.”
I must be on every junk mail list in the country, and I mean EVERY SINGLE ONE. Oh, I know other people say, “Oh, look at me, poor me, I’m on so many junk mail lists!” But what they really mean to say is, “Oh, look at me, poor me, I’m on almost as many junk mail lists as David Wallace.”
What has landed me on so many lists, I think, is cross-pollination. That, or someone is having a great deal of fun at my expense. Which I can respect; don’t get me wrong. Some of the best fun you can have is usually at someone else’s expense--not a pretty fact of life, but as those boozy old smoking redheaded waitresses say in shithole diners, "Life ain’t always pretty, ain’tcha mama ever told ya that?"
Anyway, you know how when you subscribe to certain types of magazines, you then get all kinds of junk from similarly-aligned groups and what not? Like, you subscribe to “Mother Jones,” and you start getting stuff from the ACLU, the Sierra Club, Greenpeace, etc. You subsribe to “National Review” and you start getting stuff from the NRA, Charlton Heston, and those Michigan Militia groups.
Anyway again, I used to belong to the former category solely, and got lots and lots of fun stuff; at least what I considered fun stuff. Then, either someone read the little “D” on my voter’s registaration card as an “R” or, as I mentioned earlier, someone decided to have a little fun with me , coz I was suddenly getting stuff from BOTH sides of the fence.
Guns & Ammo catalogs. Trial subscriptions to conservative magazines so unspeakably vile they burned my hands. Invitations to join the NRA. Letters from Bob Dole! As most of you know, my “political sympathies” lie somewhat to the left of Ted Kennedy; so I was quite distressed by this recent twist to my junk mail woes.
I mean, sure, it’s fun filling Bob Dole’s business reply envelope with sand and sending it back to him to pay the mailing costs; but once you’ve crossed into the land of getting mail from both sides, you seem to hit junk mail warp speed and stuff flies out of your mailbox like, well, like hateful epithets flying out of Bob Dole’s mouth.
I also get those fun puzzles from clearing houses. “Add these three columns of numbers in this ‘skill’ test and you can win $10 gazillion dollars! And it’s okay to use a calculator!! Reply within ten years and you’ll get this pewter armadillo ABSOLUTELY FREE (all you pay is the $9.95 shipping and handling charges).”
But the best came today. The best came in a large manilla envelope with a return address from a place called ABS. I thought I was getting some wonder booklet, “free just for ordering,” on how to get one of those stomachs-of-death everyone but me seems to have these days.
I couldn’t POSSIBLY have been more off.
ABS in this case stands for the American Breeders Society. At first, I thought, “Mom will be so pleased,” but then I saw what was inside. A brochure listing “Fall 2001 Beef Semen Prices;" the 2001 Holstein AND Protein Breeds Sire Directories; a Dairy Semen Price List; and, best of all, the “2001 Beef Sire Directory.” This last item is like a yearbook for cows. Excuse me, BULLS. It’s filled with pictures and bios of the ABS “Superior Sire Lineup.” Of course the photos of these fine potential-sire specimens comes AFTER the shot of the family of four gathered around the dining room table at home about to enjoy a big steak dinner (“Mom, who are we eating tonight,” asks Junior, flipping through the 2001 beef sire directory, “Sir Duke’s son or Flying Magnum’s daughter?”)
Let me stress that I am not lying. The 2001 Beef Sire Directory lists the potential sire’s name, stats, and “plusses.” The names are fun; like racehorses. We have Spade Flush, Merlin, Stemwinder, Bootjack, and Performer.
Performer.
Could you ask for a better name for a sire? Also, just like in the yearbook when they mention your accomplishments (Glee Club, Editor of the School Paper, Class Clown, etc.) and run fun quotes under your photo like “Still Waters Run Deep,” The 2001 Beef Sire Directory lists little extras and plusses for each potential sire.
For instance, High Time “sires stylish calves”; FCC Epinal has “extra muscle with good eye appeal”; the owners of Husker suggest him for “use on small to medium sized cows” (???); fortunately, the owners of the sire Iose promises to “sire correct feet and legs” (whew!); from Black Hockeye you’re promised that “daughters have excellent udders and small teat size”; and, for all of you Republicans out there who are sire hunting, Skyway promises “pigmentation and CONSERVATIVE markings”!! (emphasis mine).
But if *I* were choosing a sire, I’d have to go with Coirneal. Not only does this bull have long hair, making him look kind of like a wooly mammoth without the trunk, he is sired by the popular bull, Jock 26th of Leys!
But wait, there’s more!
His maternal grandsire is used in the queen's own herd! Awesome! Sign me up (as soon as I find a cow that needs a sire, that is--where's that teacher I hated now, when I need her?).
Needless to say, after receiving a gem like this in the mail, I am no longer quite so upset over being on so many junk mail lists. In fact, I’m hoping to do a little cross-pollinating of my own in regards to the mail I’m getting. For instance, maybe I can forward Bob Dole’s next letter on to ABS and they can find him a nice sire. Perhaps Rocky, who is “recommended for mature cows only.”
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