Innovations in Dental Hygiene

In keeping with the spirit of the day, herewith my new year's resolutions:

1. Floss more*
2. Figure out what it means to add more fiber to one's diet, without actually eating Uncle Sam cereal
3. "Develop an interest" (This means "hobby", not "lover")
4. Stay politically idealistic in this election cycle until at least South Carolina, possibly all the way until February 6
5. Devise a system for organizing all the crap on my desk at home
6. Get other adult members of my household to join me in more assiduously disposing of compostables in a receptacle from whence, or within which, composting can occur**

That's about all I can think of.


*Me hubby and I are often (at least after either of us has a dentist's appointment)musing how much dental priorities have changes since even just our young adulthood. Flossing and "deep cleaning" are the rage now. Do you ever remember them doing that 3-4-3, 4-5-6 measuring five years ago? It suggests that Dental Medicine is more art than science, or is at least 50% alchemy and 20% guesswork. My certainty about this were heightened when my new dentist offered me a glass of wine to ease the anxiety of getting a filling recently (sub-footnote: I really like my new dentist).

** This gives me an idea: Mr. Scobie, I will abide by any system of organization you impose on me, for BOTH my desk and my dresser, if you agree to put all food waste in the green bin. Think about it. You have until January 6 (The Twelfth Day of Christmas) to accept or, less likely, reject my offer. (sub-footnote: I know you are wondering why I don't just wander around the manor property to find Mr. S and ask him myself. It's a good question, but mainly it's because it isn't worth the 20 steps that it entails, and I won't remember to ask him when I am done typing this.)

What Have I Been Doing?

It's not like y'all have been clamoring for me, but a neighbor did say the other day, "Hey, you remind me of a blogger I used to read," so I thought I would try to get back on the horse. Things have been very very very busy. How, exactly? Not sure. Here's an incomplete list of the things I have been doing for the past few weeks:

1. Working

2. Throwing up (no, I am not pregnant. We all had the stomach flu last weekend)

3. Avidly following the "Mess in Mississippi". Basically the WSJ Law Blog and several other blogs know when Mr. Scobie is traveling to the Deep South before I do. I am not linking to them because I don't want any of them finding their way back to me. I won't be commenting on it, and if Mr. S objects to this paragraph, I will take it down.

4. Following the Writers' Strike:



5. Following the upcoming caucus with growing glee.

6. Preparing for Christmas.

7. Researching soup recipes.

That's about it. If I ever have anything interesting to say again, I will let you know.

Cracking Myself Up

Enjoy the family Christmas greetings by clicking HERE.

For the Unenlightened

Non-University of Chicago graduates are probably scratching their heads slightly at the comment by Steve after the post below. What is it with these Chicago people? So proud of their nerdiness. Geesh, I was a nerd in college too. (Thought balloon does not count if you were not a nerd. But since I don't know any non-nerds, I am not sure what you people think when you read Steve's comment). Let me give you a little taste of the ambrosia that draws the nerds in. Here's an admissions essay for the U of C:

Modern improvisational comedy had its start with the Compass Players, a group of University of Chicago students, who later formed the Second City comedy troupe. Here is a chance to play along. Improvise a story, essay, or script that meets all of the following requirements: It must include the line “And yes I said yes I will Yes” (Ulysses, by James Joyce).

• Its characters may not have superpowers.
• Your work has to mention the University of Chicago, but please, no accounts of a high- school student applying to the University—this is fiction, not autobiography.
• Your work must include at least four of the following elements:
• a paper airplane
• a transformation
• a shoe
• the invisible hand
• two doors
• pointillism
• a fanciful explanation of the Pythagorean Theorem
• a ventriloquist or ventriloquis
• the Periodic Table of Elements
• the concept of Jeong
• number two pencils

I went there and I am not even sure what all those things are (but ventriloquis is not a word). However, I feel reassured that I can stop grousing that Chicago has gotten easier to get in to.

The Nerdling

I really thought my first kid would be the nerdy (nerdier?) one. With his encyclopedic knowledge of military aircraft and paleo-historical creatures, his better-than-strong vocabulary has fully bloomed. But Thing 2 is sure giving Thing 1 a run for his money in the nerd department. At 16 months, the Q-ball is a complete bookworm. This is a common site (sorry about the photo quality - he's hard to sneak up on):


In case you are wondering what's going on in this picture, Q is "reading" a book on the couch. Every day, one by one, he pulls all the books off the shelf and leafs through them, sometimes humming or "talking" to himself. He chases us around the house, thrusting books at us, saying "mmm....mmm....mmmm....mmmm" until we finally stoop to read him something. Here's a better picture:
Dig the sweater vest?

Barely Holding It Together

That title of this post could refer to a number of things, including my weekend. I won't dwell on my weaknesses as a parent (holding it together until I dropped a full mango lasse on my foot and then almost crying like a baby), but rather discuss The One Show To Rule Them All. Yeah, The Wire.

Today, Season 4 was released on DVD. I pre-ordered it, so y'all will have to buy me something different for Christmas. I thought I could let it pass without mentioning, but UBM pointed out that there's at least one Wire "prequel" on Amazon. Pretty inside joke, probably improvised. There are two others you can get from the Season 4 DVD page.

Season 5 comes out January 6. You haven't heard the last of this. Please just watch it. Sheesh.

UPDATE: Okay, so I watched all three of them. They are like little love letters to Wire fans. Pure insider stuff, just meant to give us more about our favorite characters.

So This Is What's Come To

NBC will be debuting a show called Clash of the Choirs, in lieu of new shows written by actual writers.

You can't tell me that strike ain't working.

Oh.My.God

Barack Obama is a fan of The Wire. (swoon)

Oh, and my cuz has seen Andre Royo twice recently, just motoring around LA. I am wicked jealous.

Pretty Funny

Thanksgiving menu

“What?! Are you kidding? Can we roast a chicken? No, we can’t roast a chicken! How about fajitas? Or a chili bowl from Wendy’s? We’ll gather ‘round the Thanksgiving chili bowl from Wendy’s. Don’t talk on the phone with me while you’re typing. Talk to you later.”

 

- Mr. Scobie’s answer to a question I asked about the Thanksgiving menu

 

Even More Irritating!

As I mentioned a few days ago, I don't keep up much on the BPN Newsletters these days. But today, something caught my eye. A poster complained that her local precious market uses a marker to mark their organic produce. She is outraged by the ignorance and toxicity of this method of identifying produce. My first thought was, get over it. But of the seven responders, only one said, "Frankly, I think you're going way out on a limb on this one."

The other six people chimed in with various suggestions for community action, "vote with your dollar" nonsense. Seriously, has anyone in the entire world traced an illness, or even a bad taste in their mouth, to a dot of marker on the outside of their melon?

This one's even better:

The other thing is that at Monterey Fish market they use a very strong smelling, seemingly toxic magic marker to mark the outside of the fish package. I'd like to just pop the wrapped package into the freezer but always feel compelled to ditch the paper as soon as possible. I don't even like it being there during the trip home. This has always bugged me. I would be all for instigating a change if there was a community friendly way to do it.

So Irritating

Despite what amounts to cautionary advice from my buddy Seamus, I went ahead and took a candidate matching poll. My love matches are, inexplicably, Mike Gravel, John McCain and Dennis Kucinich. Hunh?

Okay, I admit there was a time in my young democratic socialist days when I defended the boy genius of Wherever, Ohio. But who is Mike Gravel? Why can't I be matched to someone cute, like Edwards or Obama? Or at least Richardson? He's not really my type, but he has his Bill-Clinton-swaggering-excesses way about him. I'd have a beer, act a little goofy. John McCain? I once admitted to a friend of my mom's, a veteran of the Korean War, that my boyfriend had made me a quilt for Christmas, and I got 45-minutes of gay-bashing, Army recruitment love advice. I sort of imagine that sort of conversation with McCain, even though I admire his fake evenkeeledness. So much what you think Kurtz might be if he came out of the jungle.

Fortunately, I was able to get what I wanted over at Select Smart (yeah, I don't know what it is either). Phew. My top three are DK, Barack and someone named Alan Auguston, whose campaign has already been suspended. That sounds about right for my success rate, candidate-wise.

Bigs Up to The JC

And by that, I mean Jed Caesar. My cousin-in-law is one of the artists in the Whitney Biennial 2008 (page 4). Boo yah. And Kate has not one but two shows next year, in LA and NYC. Their shows overlap in New York in May. See you there!!

Escalating Stupidity

I was thinking the other day that I hadn't posted about inanities of Berkeley lately. I don't have to go there very often now that L doesn't go to Broccoli Montessori. I can't even bear to read the Berkeley Parents Network Advice newsletters because they are all so long and redundant (does every new mother need to despair that her 3 week old nurses too much/little, poops too much/little, sleeps too much/little? and can't every new mother just read the voluminous back issues for their answer?).

That leaves only the mainstream local press as a source of Berkeley news, and I don't see much of that. Oh, except for the tree sitters. Here's the latest. Several folks were arrested yesterday. According to a man named "Ayr" (it took me a sec to get that too):

"We went to deliver sage and tobacco and water to the tree-sitters, because we had heard earlier that (police) were denying them food and water and threatening people helping them with arrest," Ayr said. "We got the stuff up to them and we were doing some chants and songs when one of the tree-sitters came down and started cutting the fence."

Ayr said the group included Native Americans who believe that the grove was a burial ground for Ohlone Indians. UC anthropologists have said there is no evidence that is true.

I don't think we need an anthropologist to tell us how the grove grows, if I can paraphrase. Remember:

All but a few of the trees were planted by the university after the stadium was built in 1923.

This is all such a tremendous waste of trust fund dollars. These tree sitters could be planning their next Burning Man project if they weren't busy spilling buckets of urine and feces all other eachother. Or (*snap*) maybe that's IT! This will be great at Burning Man! I mean it's no suicide, but it could really work! (whisper whisper) They've already spilled buckets of urine and feces on eachother at Burning Man? Hmmm. Okay, back to Ye Olde Oak Grove. . .

Chasing My Own Tail

Today I googled “Problem Focusing On Work” and “Procrastination” while at work, trying to avoid starting something. Not anything specific. I just have a really hard time starting whatever pile of crap is next on my desk to be dealt with. Now that I have avoided work by googling these terms, and then blogging about it, what do I do next? Are there any experts out there who can recommend what I should next do to avoid work?

Missed Opportunities

One thing about me that has annoyed Mr. Scobie since we first met is my willingness to form an opinion about something before I have ever read or seen it. I made it through college by learning about many books in the following fashion:

1. Develop a theory about a book based on its cover, back cover, first chapter or overheard conversation in the "C" Shop.

Note: I also read whole books, but since the UofC is a Great Books school, many of those books were totally opaque and impossible (for me) to comprehend. Thus my opinion of the book or author is still based on this applied technique.

2. Confidently extol this theory to Mr. Scob (after the first week of college he was the only one who had the patience to endure my "theories").

3. Have "theory" eviscerated by listener, who cites the actual content of said book or movie as "evidence" that I am mistaken.

4. Revise "theory" based on new "evidence" and test on new listener.

5. Repeat 3 - 5.

By the time an exam rolled around, I'd have a firm grasp of the subject matter. The downside, of course, is that while I may now remark that something is "Aristotelean" or "Kantian" or "straight out of Kierkegaard", I'm in the right universe but I can't get more specific than that.

This tendency of mine is a time saver, money saver, and a shield to struggling with anything that might be intellectually or emotionally challenging. For example, in 1996, a bunch of kids wanted to see Crash, the creepy Cronenberg movie, which was basically a snuff movie. I refused to go see it on the basis that the movie would be sensational, violent and upsetting to me. B confronted me with the fact that I knew nothing more than what had been written in the NY Times about it. I said, "I don't need to see a movie to have an opinion about it." I have, to the annoyance of many, stood by that proposition (and likely will forever).

B saw the movie, hated it and has declined to confront me so directly about my cultural . . . prejudices? foresight? since that time.

Why am I going on about this? Because it turns out that instead of seeing this an annoying quirk of my personality, he should have recognized it as a money making opportunity! There is a new book out called How To Talk About Books You Haven't Read, which I DID NOT WRITE, to my consternation. (Here's a review)

Worse, I don't even have an opinion of this book yet.

My Heart Swells

I gotta get my brag on.

This morning at breakfast, Li told us this: "There are some kids at my school who used to live in England. There was a mean king who would not let them hold meetings, so they moved to Holland. Then they came here on The Mayflower. They are called Pilgrims." (My son did not verbally link to Wikipedia. I added that so that you can check the fuzzy details of your memory against what is ostensibly the history of the Pilgrims).

*sigh* He is so cute.

Other Things from Montgomery That I Miss

Whew! Our long national nightmare is over. T&A Lady is back in the saddle, tackling offensive Halloween costumes and offensive social movements, all in a day's work. Check it out!

I also remembered some other excellent things about Ms. Kirkpatrick last night. She wore a seersucker suit almost every day, even though she was in a wheelchair, and she and her husband were accomplished recorder players. Yeah, recorders, the plastic wind instrument you briefly learned in fourth grade. Only hers weren't plastic.

Goodbye, Ms. Kirkpatrick

For no discernible reason, I wandered over to the Montgomery Advertiser just now, and it made my wonder about an old friend. Literally, an old friend and probably Liam's oldest. By sad coincidence, it turns out that Margaret Blake Kirkpatrick died on October 22. She was 94 years old. Ms. Kirkpatrick, or Mahh-gret, as I thought of her, was our neighbor in Montgomery. She was one of the best people I ever met. She was crazy about Li, and would always say, "Ewwwww, let me squeeze that beautiful little baby boy. I do love little boys, you know. I had two of my own. I always wished I'd had a little girl, too." She was funny, smart, talkative, an active reader, an integrationist, anti-homophobic ("I joined the Episcopalian Church for their toleration. Why would we exclude homasexuals?") and very supportive. "You still nursin' that little baby? Good for you!"

Once, she was taking a class at ASU, an all-black college, and some Klan members who had learned she was there, pulled the fire alarm and then ambushed her and a black student. Photos of her running out of the school were published in the newspaper, along with the "news" of her "race mixing", in an effort to embarrass her. It didn't work. When a racist neighbor of hers learned that she was helping a young black woman to get a teaching degree, he and some other men from some White "Christian" group sprayed water from high powered hoses into her windows while the young woman was visiting. Her home was vandalized repeatedly. Margaret's response to all this was, and this is just how they treat the white people. She knew that her views exposed her to very little danger compared to the dangers faced by Blacks who were fighting to end segregation and racism in Alabama.

We were crazy about her. It's silly that her passing made me cry, because she had lived such a full life. We last saw her in October 2005, when we went down to Montgomery for something else. She had moved into a nursing home, and missed being able to email (her computer had been stolen by someone else's guest) but was reading voraciously. She gave L an American flag she had, because, she said, she wasn't feeling particularly like she wanted it, what with things being the way they were. I have missed her since we moved, and will miss her more knowing that she's gone.

Here's her obituary:

Margaret Blake Kirkpatrick Departed this life October 22nd in Montgomery, Alabama. She loved friends and family, lifelong learning, educating the young, playing music and enjoying humor. She adored a good joke -even a clean one if it was smart. Born June 15, 1913 in Randolph County, Alabama, the youngest of three daughters, to Judge Stell Blake and Exa Sticklen Blake. At a young age, her parents fell on hard times, forcing Margaret and her mother to live with her sister Martha and brother-in-law Charles ''Doc'' Thigpen in Tuscumbia, Alabama. Margaret made many friends in North Alabama, becoming especially close to her niece Martha Thigpen McLemore and cousin (Senator) Howell Heflin. She received her Teacher's Certificate from Florence State Teachers College in 1933 and took her first job in Jones, Alabama. Married to Robert F Kirkpatrick in 1934, she and Kirk lived thereafter in Montgomery, and raised two sons, Robert F. Kirkpatrick, Jr. and John B. Kirkpatrick. Back to school in 1952, she earned her Bachelor's with a double major in English and Education in 1955 from Huntingdon College, followed by her Masters in Education from Auburn University in 1958. She taught fourth and fifth grade at Bear School, retiring in 1976. Never one to give up learning, she studied Jungian analysis in Switzerland, became Mentor for the Education for Ministry program at Church of the Ascension, and began the adult education program at Huntingdon College. For the latter she was awarded an Honorary Doctorate by Huntingdon in 2001.

Oh, And

I managed to write something over at The Union Lawyer today, in case you are catatonically bored and in need of some digression.

Catholic humor

I guess it shouldn't come as any surprise that it exists. What else is Benny Hill if not Catholic humor? Or at least little c catholic. Anyway, enjoy:



Thanks to the good deacon of Our Lady of Guadalupe for this.

A couple of observations

There is a 1:1 ratio between people who forward urban legend emails and people who do not know how to delete headers. Or the sender realizes that they are being suckers for a dumb story and want to share the blame.

Novelty t-shirts do not, standing alone, constitute Halloween costumes. Sorry, chubby dude in the Vote For Pedro t.

Umm, What?

I am not, by nature, an apocalyptic soul. That lil' tremble we just had? Ain't no thang. I am okay with it. How about that suicide on the BART tracks that delayed Mr. Scobie from making it home from dinner? Well, tragic, but not the end times. But Naomi Campbell pilgrimaging to Hugo Chavez? If that isn't the end of the world, well then, Chavez needs better celebrity friends. If Naomi Campbell and Kevin Spacey visited me, I would assume that I had been Left Behind, and that my only chance for redemption was to battle it out with those demon spawn.

Sheesh. What a day.

L's reaction to the earthquake: "I need to KILL the tectonic plates." His proposed solution involves some kind of Lego drill that launches the tectonic plates into space. It's better than my solution, which was to get under the dining room table and ask B to go look at Q, as if looking at him were a sufficient prophylactic to The Big One.

A Man of Action

Q is quite thrilled with his Halloween costume.

This picture hurts my eyes, with all the bursts of color in that room. Doesn't he look exactly like the little football player behind him?

Ya Got No Creep To Ya

- Kima Greggs, episode 2, season 1.

Yeah, that's right. The Wire is back, On Demand. It does not matter that we have it on DVD. I watched two episodes tonight making Liam's Halloween costume. Which costume does NOT include the following:

Heh heh.

And then finally, have you wondered what you might hate more than Blackwater USA, the mercenary contractor responsible for untold numbers of Iraqi civilians deaths and Godknowshowmany propped-up dictatorships? And how about those irritating sound effects in NPR stories? You know, the laughing children on the playground, the birds chirping, and then you have to change the station before you lose your mind? Do you hate that more, or less, than military contractors in Iraq? Well, I briefly got an answer to that question the other day when I heard a story about protests at Blackwater's training center outside of San Diego. The owner of Blackwater came out to address the protesters, but was quickly shouted down. He got back into his vehicle, and the tape catches a protester angrily yelling, "Oh, you drive a HUMMER?? What about the environment? You gas guzzler!!"

Like the owner of Blackwater gives a shit. Like he should be driving a Prius.

And for a brief moment, I felt . . . I don't know what. Sorry for how lame the protesters are. Sorry that I have to listen to NPR's pitiful filler-in-lieu-of-news every day. Sorry that the best argument that can be summoned to yell at the owner of Blackwater, just hours after 17 Iraqi citizens were killed, is that he's a gas guzzler.

Down with the Baby Boomers

I got an email from the Social Security Administration today. It was a press release trumpeting the fact that the "first baby boomer", Kathy Casey-Kirschling, applied for her Social Security benefits "online".

"Filing for Social Security benefits online is easy and convenient," said Kathy Casey-Kirschling, who turns 62 on January 1, 2008. "I urge my fellow Baby Boomers to give Social Security's online services a try. Save a trip and do business with Social Security from the comfort of your home or office."

I did not realize that Baby Boomers had been given free access to the SSA email database to communicate with one another, and frankly, I don't think its a good use of our tax dollars. I also think that KCK should hold off on applying for benefits for a few more years. Hasn't she heard that the whole system is going down the toilet?!? No matter WHAT Paul Krugman says?? And that you can get a lot more money if you wait until you are actually old to apply? I am not going to school her.

A different topic: Yesterday and today I watched The Revolution Will Not Be Televised (video here), about the coup attempted against Hugo Chavez. It's edge-of-the-seat good: two Irish filmmakers happened to be present (literally in the Presidential Palace) during the April 2002 coup attempt. They were there when the coup happened and they were there when it fell. It's really compelling to watch, and raises a few interesting issues. The private media in Venezuela were complicit in the coup, refusing to broadcast honest information about Chavez's whereabouts, and the massive demonstrations against the coup, among other things. They explicitly participated in the coup planning, which they explained in a celebratory post-coup news interview. By reference to contemporaneous U.S. news reports, you realize that the American media buys the Bush administration view of Chavez uncritically, and that its "neo-liberal" perspective is almost as bad as the private media in Venezuela.

The problem that detracts from this well-done expose is the filmmakers' assertion that the CIA and the Bush administration are behind the coup. While I don't doubt it - the U.S. can't not meddle in South and Central American politics - the filmmakers have no evidence at all that this happened. Here's the information they allege supports this conclusion: Pedro Carmona and Carlos Ortega, leaders of the opposition to Chavez, may have gone to the White House the year before; an airplane with U.S. registration may have been sent to take Chavez out of Venezuela when his government was restored. And I say "may" because Chavez didn't report that happening. The viewer learns it from some random person in the movie relating it as a rumor. So the movie is great, unfiltered news, it isn't hard journalism.

Another interesting problem the movie raises: Chavez was clearly thoughtful, passionate, articulate about both socialism and democracy in 2002, scaring the shit out of the upper class. He's done a lot of good things, and much of the things he is blamed for doing in the American media are not entirely true. For example, there is supposedly a constitutional basis for him refusing to renew the license of the TV station that participated in the coup against him, and they kept broadcasting on cable. Not exactly grossly offensive censorship, particularly since the FCC here is giving the green light to complete media monopolies. But I got into an argument with a guy I work with who is very pro-Chavez on the question about Chavez extending his term limits for 14 more years. (Supposedly he's just extending them until 2021, not indefinitely). He said that this extension was the will of the people. My view was, there is no exception to the rule that power corrupts, and that if Chavez does not have underlings (Vice President, cabinet members) capable of sustaining the programs he has created, then they don't have a democracy. And while I am ranting, I think socialism without democracy is, at best, paternalism, and at worst, dictatorship. I won't say fascism because I think JFB and I once may have argued about THAT word (or was it totalitarianism?).

The final analysis is: I wish I knew more about Hugo Chavez, and about nearly everything else in the world. When I learn new things - like about this coup - it makes me feel so dumb and naive. I feel like I know almost nothing when I learn anything at all.

Day Waster

It's only 10 a.m. and I can already tell that the day is shot. Concerned as I am about TK's musical dry spell, I followed one of his commenter's recommendations over to Pandora. And like that, the day is gone. Over. Nothing will get done today, while I surf through and rate new music. Proceed at your own risk.

Other things I like: Mr. Scobie and I got the hell out of Dodge this weekend and languished in Bodega Bay, reading, eating and watching Red Sox games. I read Cannery Row. Great. After this, and my little Jane Austen binge a few months back, I realize that what we were supposed to be reading in high school really is the best stuff ever written. What should I read next?

On Language

If you think SCOTUS sounds dirty, how about POTUS and FLOTUS? Don't they sound like caricatures of twin Southern buffoons? I guess in a sense they are.

And since I've been on the topic of words, M just put me on to Websters on-line dictionary. It's pretty amazing. It goes way beyond a typical dictionary. For example, transmutation (M accedes to using it for the meaning "change one substance into another): This on-line dictionary includes a multilingual translation and includes alternative orthographies, including how the word is spelled in semaphore, dancing man, Braille, American Sign Language, British Sign Language, HTML and Hexadecimal. Whatever that is.

You will notice the fatal flaw of this gem from the very start: the Pig Latin translation is incorrect. I sent this note to the editor:

Your Pig Latin translations are incorrect, I think. I understood pig latin to take the first consonant of each syllable, move it to the end, and add –ay. Or:

Ouryay igpay atlayinay anstrayalayionshays are-ay inayorrayectay, Iay inkthay.

Sorry to be nerdy but it popped right out at me.

Falling on My Sword - Sort Of

At least 14 years ago, possibly more, I had an argument with the author of Executive Orc House about either the word “holocaust” or the word “apartheid”. I can’t remember which word it was but the word had been used in a Vanity Fair article to apply either to the conditions under which Muslim women live or the conditions under which Palestinians live in Israel. JFB’s position was that those words have specific meaning relating, respectively, to the conditions under which Jews suffered at the hands of the Nazis and to the conditions under blacks suffered at the hands of whites in South Africa, and that they could not be bandied about to apply to just any situation of oppressiveness. I said words of that power SHOULD be applied to other occasions of oppression to import their meaning and give gravitas to newer situations of oppression.

In the past 14 years, “we” (not JFB and I, but culture generally) have struggled with how to name oppressive regimes, but generally holocaust and apartheid have stayed off limits, per J. “Genocide” is used now.

A back-and-forth with another reader about the word “transubstantiation” (from the last post) reminded me of this discussion. Here’s why. I have always understood transubstantiation to have only one meaning: the theological meaning. That bread and wine literally become the body and blood of Christ. You can mock it as concept, but I never thought the word had any other meaning. It turns out it also means “changing one substance to another.” Who knew? So then why this flash back to 1994, sitting in the lobby of the Shoreland, waiting for the campus bus, getting heated and pissy about a Vanity Fair article? Because I thought, “Some words have only one meaning, even if they in fact have other meanings. G--D--- it.” Doh. I thought JFB deserved an apology after all these years. Its just as easy to say “change one substance to another” as it is to say “transubstantiation”, if that is all you mean. The T word seems reserved for its ecclesiastical meaning, not its alchemical meaning. Big ups, JB.

Also I agree that hardcore is tough to take now that we are old. Ska doesn’t hold up too well, either, sad to say (but you probably aren’t sad to hear).

Nino, Dios Mio, and Opus Dei

I cut my teeth on the Supreme Court nomination of John Roberts when I was a wee blogger, so it gives me some pleasure to return to my roots. I just finished reading The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court by Jeffrey Toobin. I highly recommend it, even to non-lawyers. Although there are gaping holes in Toobin's coverage (he seems to have missed Roberts enthusiasm for dancing), he manages to bring up Lil Jack's performance at the nomination press conference. But I didn't mention The Nine just so I can talk about Jack Roberts again.

I won't bother you with the "salacious" details (there aren't any, unless you are a SCOTUS nerd). Toobin does make a few interesting observations about conservatives that caused me to reflect on that species. Toobin notes that there are now five Catholics on the Court. He mentions it in the context of the idea that there is no longer a category of individuals who cannot get on the Court (Women, Jews, Blacks, Catholics - no reason to believe that a Hispanic couldn't get on board). But what interested me more was the fact that some of these Catholics are absolutely beloved by conservative, evangelical Christians. Scalia, Alito, Roberts, and Thomas are Catholic. Kennedy is Catholic too, but since he's proven to be such a disappointment to conservatives, with his Lawrence v. Texas and his foreign law "proclivities", he doesn't really help my point.

And that point is, the Catholic Church I grew up in neither loved, nor was beloved by, evangelical Christians. Recall my years at PTL. Although we were Catholic, people (okay, kids) I met there were pretty unabashed in their accusations that Catholics worshipped false idols (the saints), and engaged in Mariolatry, both of which were akin to paganism. Transubstantiation did not go over well either. "You mean, you actually think that you EAT Jesus? And drink his BLOOD?? That's so stupid!" My mother was, at times, involved in Pentacostal Catholic prayer groups, but I don't recall a particular political fervor, even around abortion. My Mom was, in fact, more of a social justice/Catholic Worker-type Catholic, and consequently so was/am I.

I know that the personal is not actually political, and that I cannot generalize from my childhood interactions with evangelical Christian children in 1985 to questions about the Supreme Court's realization as a conservative outpost in the federal government. But I am curious how a nearly rabid right-wing got into bed with Catholics, particularly in light of Toobin's other information, which is that the conservative movement's vetting of Supreme Court nominees is as awful and dark as the self-criticism exercises of Communist cells, or the Stasi. Nearly anything can brand someone as "not conservative enough". For example, Harriet Miers and Dick Cheney were skeptical of John Roberts! They thought he might not be conservative enough. And then conservatives turned on Miers like wolves. The fact that she had made explicit references to opposing Roe v. Wade during her political career in Dallas did nothing to assuage conservative fears that she was "squishy". Alito and Roberts, meanwhile, refused to address Roe v. Wade during their confirmation hearings. These two are the golden boys of the conservative revolution, the fruition of Federalist Society longings for 25 years.

Sorry

I have been feeling heat from some corners about my lack of blogging. Apologies. I had a hilarious (to me) entry about Marcel Marceau, but *someone* (who can stand behind my chair when I am blogging at home) thought it was "in poor taste". So, I tabled it, and now its stale.

Anyway, I have been way too busy to think of anything funny to say. My sister's wedding, lots of travel, and lots of work have kept me observation-free (other than, "geez, what's all this traffic?" and "SNOT? On my new blouse?? SHIT!") and basically humorless (not the wedding - it was a laugh riot).

I will try to repent, write some hilarious and poignant bon mots. Failing that, you will get your tasteless, late, off-brand Marcel Marceau post.

It's That Time of Year Again

With all the work I have, and the excitement and planning for the Impending Nuptials, I ALMOST forgot: tomorrow is International Take Like A Pirate Day! Gosh, it just comes so close to equinox and Rosh Hashanah, it can really slip right past you.

In case you find yourself without a pirate name, you can find it here. I am Joan Thieving Arse, which is cool. Me pirate's vessel is The Madness of The Manta. Me favorite poet is ARRRchibald McLeish. Me favorite disease is SARRRS. I like MARRRRshmellows. Me sister is an ARRRchitect.

Okay, you get the picture. Assume your eye patches.

In Case You Missed This

The 2007 Air Guitar World Championship is over. Can there really be a "winner" of such a thing?

I think the guy in the overalls there looks a bit like a neighbor of mine. Not that I have seen him play air guitar, but he reads this blog, so he can expect to be called upon to perform a little Yngwie Malmsteen next time I see him.

This Is It?

So that's it then? Freeze a pitbull and call it Chupacabra? I don't know, I expected it to be scarier. More Satan than Spuds McKenzie.

Like many from Mexico, this chupacabra was found in Texas. (Is that offensive?)

I am suspending my normal "meh" attitude towards Dave Matthews because this is a pretty good song, but more importantly because Zoe choreographed the video and dances in it.

Cool!

And lest you think my sister and I are the dullards of the family, think again. Lorin is the project manager on the retro-fit and re-design of Casa Zimbabwe, a housing collective at Berkeley. Thus her irritation at not being permitted to install nuclear exit signs. I can't find any pictures of the C.Z. architectural changes, but you can see from the outside that they are probably very dramatic, since this is what they are working from.

Perhaps Lorin will share some photos with us so I can sing her praises as well.

Funniest Brain Fart Ever

Today I was talking to somebody about an Alabama Supreme Court case and I inadvertantly referred to the former Chief Justice as Rudy Ray Moore. I immediately corrected myself (its Roy Moore) but it sent me into a whirlwind of giggles at the idea of it. Herewith, some Rudy Ray Moore:

Black Hole for Your Soul

I hate Burning Man so much that I usually don't even write about it. But a guy committed suicide by hanging this week at Burning Man this week, and revelers below him didn't tell officials for two hours because they assumed that it was an art piece. That festival is such a complete vaccuum of humanity.

I realize that I am sounding more conservative with each post but the squandary* of energy and morality that is pwogwessive politics and culture these days irritates me beyond explanation.

Speaking of "Art", there's a group of artists who have a web project "which aims to buy Google with funds generated via Adsense." Now THAT'S Art.

*I made up this word.

What Else Can You Do?

I cannot imagine the frustration of being a bureaucrat in Berkeley. It is a town where protests are their own form of bureaucracy, something to be endured to obtain the public benefit of "enjoying" (if you can call it that) Berkeley.

Because of Berkeley protesters, I find myself hating causes with which I am otherwise sympathetic. For example, oak groves. I love them. They are great. Good for the environment, good for the children. Only jerks would want to raze them (grrrr) to build a sports stadium. Sports: BOOOOOOO!!!

But then a bunch of people decide to live in them, and enlist droves of other idiots to bring them food and water and High Times magazine, in order to stop the inevitable construction of said sports complex (the old one being probably seismically a fucking mess - which is another thing I hate: earthquakes).

In preparation for The Big Cal Game this weekend, university officials erected a fence around the tree sitters and are prohibiting access by the water-bearing minions. That's an 8-foot chain link fence. You might think that's overkill, but here's what the university is dealing with:

Ground crews supporting the tree sitters alternatively yelled at workers and peacefully strummed guitars as the crew worked.

Asked if the university's action amounts to a move to starve out the tree sitters, Assistant Chief Mitch Celaya — who was spray painted on his neck in the fray — said people can draw their own conclusions.

If I got spray-painted on the neck by a hippie harassing the hardhats and strumming a guitar, I would do more than erect a fence. But of course, Berkeley tried that 30 years ago and all it bought them was more of the same.

Anyway, if you are irate because I have sold out or something, consider this:

"We believe the protesters in the trees are sincere, but misguided," university spokesman Dan Mogulof said. "This is not an ancient grove. All but three of these trees are here because of a 1923 university landscaping project."

The Enduring Popularity of the Plastic Sweatsuit

I hit the gym this a.m. Mmm, invigorating. But if you'll indulge me a little rooney* here, what is up with people still wearing plastic garbage bag-style workout clothes? Wasn't this method of weight loss discredited in 1981? It conjures up such a gross scenario if you dwell for even one second on what is going on inside the bag.

Alright, enough.

* "rooney" = observational humor in the manner of Andy (not Asian stereotyping in the manner of Mickey)

Another Movie Review

M notes in a comment below that I would have known that drug dealers have submarines if I had watched the Miami Vice movie last year. Coincidentally, we watched it this weekend, and it was one of the worst movies I have ever seen. I am not sure that I would have deduced that drug dealers have submarines, because that movie was the most opaque and boring piece of crap ever made.

When it came out, I remember reading that the budget of the movie exceeded the Miami Police Department budget by an outrageous amount. So. Stupid.

Don't forget the survey.

Don't Forget

the survey.

Stuff I Didn't Know

Drug cartels have submarines. Which suggests that street level busts ("rip and runs" in the parlance of The Wire) are probably not going to fix the problem of drugs.

Another thing I don't know: What you call the old cable boxes where you slid a thing along the numbers to change to channel. Here's why I was trying to figure that out yesterday.

In a comment to my post about Leona Helmsley, my sister said that she may have thought I was the Queen of Mean, but she could not remember if she said it out loud. Here's why she thought I was so mean:

I'm thinking of the hours I spent watching TV sitting next to it so I could
change the channel for you. Who needed a remote when you had a little sister?

In my own defense, we didn't have a remote. We had the aforementioned box (at least while we lived at my grandparents), and if we got caught watching MTV, or even the video show on Nickelodeon, we would get in trouble. So someone had to sit under the TV ready to change the channel in case my grandfather came in. At the time, it seemed obvious who that "someone" "had to" be.

Another Wicked Talented Cuz

I've already blogged about lovely and brilliant cousin Kate. Now you need to meet her also lovely and also brilliant sister Zoe. Zoe is the female in this duet, and, I believe, the choreographer.



She's very awesome to watch. Catch her before its $5463 to get a ticket to her shows. (I hear that's the going rate for dance performances these days).

NFL Players and Pigeon Poop

Whew, I have a lot to say today.

First of all, I read this article which sent me a mini-bender, so much so that I sent a letter to Howard Bryant, the columnist. Here's what I said:

Mr. Bryant: A friend forwarded your column to me today, wondering what I thought. I am an attorney representing unions, but not the NFL Players Association. Here’s what I said:

He’s wrong:

“The responsibility of a union is to defend its membership -- every time, all the time, if for no other reasons than to send a dissenting vote to management that its membership always will be protected by a strong union and to alert the commissioner that his powers always will be checked by an advocate for the players. The union's message should be that a commissioner cannot simply do whatever he wants.”

The union represents all of its members, not just individuals. Without a union, a worker, including a football player, is an at-will employee. With a union, a worker is not guaranteed absolute job security. The restriction on the employer is that disciplinary action will be taken “for just cause” and not out of favoritism, personal animosity or discriminatorily. But “just cause” has some meaning, and in the context of the NFL, the employer may have decided that Vick’s actions are so abhorrent that they warrant termination for just cause. Criminal behavior certainly hits that mark. The decision then rests with the union whether to grieve that disciplinary action or not. The union’s duty is a duty of fair representation, which means that their decision cannot be arbitrary, discriminatory or in bad faith. This is a low standard that gives a union a great deal of discretion about which issues they wish to pursue on behalf of their members as a whole. Clearly the union can agree not fight a losing battle, in the interest of protecting a good and open relationship with an employer (which is in fact a goal of mature labor relations) and in the interest of protecting their other members. NFL players have a lot of impunity, rarely being called to task for their criminal conduct, but that could change, in the media, in culture on a hot dime. By staking a position that there is some behavior which is too terrible to protect, the union softens the blow for other players who are under scrutiny for “lesser” offenses (putting aside how many of these “lesser” offenses involve domestic violence), and lets the union defend them without a public outcry.

Not exactly Mencken, I know. Maybe I will put this over at The Union Lawyer so no one will have to read it.

In other news, pigeon shit may be a contributing factor in the Minneapolis bridge collapse. There is SO MUCH to worry about in this world.

Navel-Gazing 2.0

Sorry that I have been acting like I just discovered the internets with all my dumb and slightly annoying links. Before you stop reading, can you take my survey?

Please take my Blog Reader Project survey.

Thanks. I will keep posting a link to it for as long as I can stand not having the survey results. Like say two days.

Supercrack

This is brilliant. The Red Cross has a new ad campaign to raise awareness about earthquake preparedness, because 83% of Bay Area residents have no plan and no supplies in case of The Big One.

Earthquake preparedness nags at me. Its the thing I worry about after I have exhausted the following topics: L's obsession with dinosaurs, the amount of sleep/fresh fruit that Mr. Scobie doesn't get/eat, my work, my grandmother, my student loans (not necessarily in that order).

Anyway, the other day I was going to order some extra food and water because I was having the groceries delivered, and I figured it would save me a lot of hassle. And then I just forgot to do it. But I also thought: well, we have some cans of soup, I don't really need to get food. How dumb is that? We have possibly two cans of soup. We have lots of breakfast bars too. That's basically it. Neither flashlight has good batteries, and the embarrassment of batteries in the fridge aren't the right size for the flashlights. Meeting plan? Not there yet.

So I will move earthquake worrying to higher on the list. What meager supplies have you laid in, or what other self-justification have you indulged in?

UPDATE: In an attempt to make some use of my utter procrastination, I did a bit of on-line shopping for our earthquake preparedness kit. Ten gallons of water, cans of Chef Boyardee ravioli, Ramen, peanut butter, canned fruit cocktail, Jolly Ranchers. If it weren't for the canned peas and condensed milk, I would be psyched for the earthquake, just so I could eat all that gross stuff.

Don't Call It A Comeback

Don't forget to check in on Ryan.

Also, I am making a half-hearted stab to keep The Union Lawyer current-ish again. This urge may pass once I get something interesting to do.

And speaking of current-ish, Executive Orc House has some excellent movie reviews today. Since I don't actually get to see new movies, I am glad to live vicariously.

Good Night, Your Majesty

With Tammy Fay Bakker and Leona Helmsley dying within weeks of eachother, I strangely feel like my childhood is over.

Granted, my childhood has been over for a long time, but those two were my anti-role models or something.

Sister who is reading this: Did you used to call me Leona Helmsley?

New World Order

FINALLY, someone has put all the pieces together. Jonathon Lee Riches has identified what must surely be a comprehensive list of all the Major Players in The New World Order. I can breathe a little easier knowing that Jessica Alba, Skittles Candy, Nobel Peace Prize, Ken Jennings, Planet of Pluto, POW-MIA, Gangs in Hong Kong, "VERN MINNI ME", Ming Dynasty, Wu Tang Clan, Nordic Gods, Medieval Times, Eglin Air Force Base, Elizabeth Smart, Meals on Wheels, Fruit of A-Loom, and Tsunami Victims* are finally being called to account for their crimes against humanity.

In less interesting news, but in keeping with my mass market children's sci-fi interest, I am reading the final Harry Potter book right now. I am about 500 pages in, and I have this to say: It sucks. It may be casting a pall over the whole series, which I have liked. This book is too long and yet Nothing happens. Most other books/series of this ilk involve A Journey or A Quest, and things move along at a decent pace. In this one, Our Heroes sit inside a tent decorated like a penthouse, and wait for the stuff they need to show up outside the door. Mostly they argue or make really bad decisions. Its derivative of good books (The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Chronicles of Narnia) and unique in how much irritating bickering and brooding there is. I suspect Ron Weasley will be the ultimate hero of this one, because he, at least, leaves rather than navel-gazes, and then has actual epiphanies and emotional growth.

Maybe it picks up in the last 60000 pages.

* I am not even sure that I picked the funniest ones.

Meet Leonidas the Gibbon

Or just kill some time. I am nerdy enough to be psyched for The Golden Compass movie (even though it stars, gag me, Nicole Kidman), so go ahead and see if you can change my Daemon for me.

Yes, I do work.

Buh-bye

When was the last time you saw a man-hug that was this awkward?

McKinley's Thumb

Our office has a case in Crescent City, CA next week with which we've all played a bit of Hot Potato/Not It/(juvenile avoidance game of your choice). My excuses for not doing this case have run the gamut from "I have a case in San Ho the next day" to "I'm still nursing". Those are legit excuses, except the San Ho thing got pushed back til October. So then I thought, When will I be at Pelican Bay again? Why not take the family?

Actually, I want to go to National Redwood Park and its surroundings, and I figure we could kill two birds with one long-ass drive north. So, I was researching things that my hubs would find interesting enough to buy this crazy idea, and lo! I learned that Arcata's statue of William McKinley is missing its thumb. Apparently, "pinheads" stole it. It was eventually recovered, with the mayor making this criticism:

I just think it was a stupid, selfish, unjustifiable act. It's public property. I don't care if you don't think it was art. Get drunk and pierce your nose, but leave McKinley's statue alone.

True THAT.

Props

A friend sent me this website. Apparently weight loss blogs are all the rage, but when you actually see a good one, it makes you want to run out and, well, run. Ryan is pretty inspiring.

And now, a couple of corrections:

To say that Fran Boyd spirals into drug addiction in The Corner is almost totally inaccurate, because Fran Boyd, at the beginning of the book and mini-series, is already deep in the throes of addiction. The spiralling is over and she's in the rabbit hole. ("Deep in the hole, in the hole, in the hole....").

Second, I understand that technically one cannot "quaff" a lobster. And yet I cannot think of a more descriptive term for when you basically inhale a pound-and-a-half insect's innards from its butt and arms.

Clumsy

In an attempt to do I don't recall what I accidentally flagged my own blog for objectionable content, so if I disappear from the World Wide Web then wander over to Smile Rockridge to find me. That's where I will be camping out, waiting for the Blogger Police to come find me.

Speaking of Po-leese, somehow I found the comsummate Wire website. It might get me through to Season 5.

And speaking of The Wire (come on, its been a few weeks), check up on the inspiration for Omar Little and a woman whose spiral into drug addiction is the basis of The Corner. Very sweet.

Home Again Home Again

We got home last night and while there's lots to tell, I am too tired to start with the anecdotes. The long ones, at least. Two shorties: At one point in the car, L requested The Smiths, which both warmed the cockles of my heart and chilled me to the bone, if I can mix metaphors. And between last Saturday and this past Thursday (6 days), I had lobster five times. Mmm good. I took lots of photos, too.

Here's L driving a boat. (Good idea?)




Q relishing his birthday celebration (or at least the card):



And the quaffing of the final lobster (I didn't eat them all) at MIL's birthday dinner:

My First Wine Review

We had the "good" fortune to try to Longball Winery's Manny Being Merlot last night and I have this review: Manny's red socks. That's essentially what it tastes likes. The post-game footwear of a major league baseball player, albeit one who stargazes/navelgazes for much of each game.

Otherwise, our trip to Boston has been action-packed. We have driven all over God's own northeast (Western Mass, New Hampshire, the Noh-th Sho-ah, Maine this weekend) and visited all the summer camp field trip hot spots, with B and I playing the role of testy camp counselors (Science Museum, Childrens Museum, Aquarium, Faneuil Hall, Fenway). Not much to report, other than my kids' temperament is controlled less by genetics or environment, and more by proximity to a meal. Which is technically environment, I guess, but strongly genetic, given how cranky their parents get when they don't eat.

More soon, I am sure. I have managed to take some pictures on this outing, mirabile dictu.

Gimme A Break

Now that scandal has rocked my blog for the first time, I understand just a tiny bit of the pain the recently deceased Tammy Faye Messner must have felt in her life. Okay, not really. Having my dentist's wife leave anonymous comments on my blog is nowhere near as bad as having my televangelist husband's very public affair with Jessica Hahn and subsequent shaming and imprisonment for fraud become "a symbol for the wages of greed and hypocrisy in 1980s America."

Let me tell you a little about my "history" with the Bakkers. Before I was born, my parents were part of a millenarian/apocalyptic Christian "community". Although they left before I was born, my mother* stayed in touch with many of the folks she knew there. One couple went to work at PTL for Jim and Tammy Bakker.** The husband worked on the TV show (among other ventures), and the wife was, for a time, Tammy Faye's personal secretary.*** My mom took my sister and I to visit this family (who lived at Heritage USA for a while) at least 3 times that I can remember. I have a lot of memories I would like to share about that time, in honor of Mrs. Messner's passing.

1. My mom gave her friend a pair of fake eyelashes tipped with silver balls, which were passed on to Tammy Faye, who reportedly loved them.

2. Their kids, especially their son, seemed awful. Jamie Bakker's an evangelist now himself, although of the variety adored by the New York Times Magazine (See The Punk Christian Son of A Preacher Man in the Jan 23, 2005 edition).

3. One Easter, a premium you could get for donating to PTL (supposedly to support missionary work in China), was this Chinese doll, slanted eyes and coolie hat included, that sang, "Jesus takes a frown and turns it upside down, and UP there comes a smile!" My sister and I found this endlessly hilarious (still do, actually).

4. My impression - not memory - of the whole scene was that very good people were very taken in by a lot of phoniness, but also that, in all the hypocrisy, there was a deep desire to be right about how the whole thing worked. I.e., there was a deep desire among the evangelicals that I met there to believe that Jesus wanted them to prosper in precisely the manner they were prospering as a reward for their devotion to Him. That they were prospering in a manner that was totally alien to the most basic Christian principles was besides the point. They weren't bilking people, really, they were the recipients of largesse precisely because they spoke the Word of the Lord to Orientals. If the money was mishandled or misspent, that was only because accounting standards, fiduciary obligations, the law, were the work of man, and not the work of the Lord. Very early on (probably before PTL) I became skeptical not of Jesus but of anyone professing publicly to be working in his name. I think the Gospels address exactly this point, in the parable of the sinner who prays at the back of the church/temple while the rich man goes to the front and prays loudly his thanks for his prosperity. Camel. . .eye of needle. . .I'm getting preachy but you get my point.

Anyway, I hope Tammy Faye's in heaven, if there is one, because she was part of hell down here.

*While they were still married, my dad stayed friends with a lot of them too, but this crowd "took my mom's side", so to speak, after the divorce.

** Another couple went to work for Jerry Falwell.

*** This didn't last long, because the wife/secretary was very beautiful and TF was a bit threatened by her beauty. At least that's the impression I formed when I was 11.

ADDENDUM: I will be away on vacation for a couple of weeks. I will try to blog but since I won't be evading work, I may be unmotivated. Check back occasionally and fo' shizzle after August 5.

P.S. When I got into law school, my mother's friend sent me Judge Judy's autobiography Don't Piss on My Leg and Tell Me Its Raining, inscribed with a note along these lines, "A book about one woman in the law for another! You've come so far despite your father's sins." My reaction, after being upset and then laughing hysterically, was to wonder how my mom had ever been friends with these people.

My Dental Defender

I have a defender against Anonymous! Here is the comment of the Other Anonymous, as I will call him or her:

Oh, I so agree with Andrea and read her well-written tongue-in-cheek blog with delight. Having known Dr. McKinzie when he was in Tucson, I found no hate-filled or ugly untruths stated. The finish line pictures are there, aren't they? Why, I believe Dr. McKinzie had a wall-size mural of himself on a bicycle custom-painted in an exam room in his Tucson office. The man does sweat profusely and is always attempting his humor at some new trend, i.e., American Idol. And being on his third wife, he probably does need to charge in excess of what the average dentist would charge. Given the choice, I myself would prefer to visit a dentist who offered parking spaces and lip balm, and who kept his wife and her little dog, Toto, too, out of his office and his billing practices.

I have no idea how this person found me, but I appreciate their support. These posts suggest that there are a pair in Tucson locked in endless battle over McKinzie and his place in the world. I know how I feel about the whole thing, but I also feel a little wierd that my musings about my dentist have sparked this discussion.

Seriously Enjoyable

This is awesome. I could watch this all day and not get bored.




Thanks UBM.

Crazy People Visiting; and, My New Favorite Band

First, I want to welcome Anonymous*, a commenter on Breaking Up Is Hard to Do, who has this to say about my antipathy for my dentist:

Hum....interesting timing for such an angry and hate-filled letter. To go to such length and detail to write such ugly untruths; one might think that the writer (and perhaps interested others) were trying to hurt Dr. McKinzie's reputation?...For those of you seasoned souls who have read about "Andreas" devastating experience, I invite you to reconsider. Trust me, there's more than meets the eye here. I pity those desparate individuals who feel compelled to stoop to this level.

Mr. Marans, is that you?

The other day I heard Somehow at Sea on KALX. I liked them. Check them out. They have a GREAT song called Perfect Game that is inexplicably not on their MySpace page. So call KALX (642-KALX) and ask them to play.

* A different Anonymous, I assume, than the one who accosted me about my AndyRooneyness

I Am A Naughty French Pirate!

Oui Oui!!

Mmmm, Pork

As you may recall, when I was pregnant, I craved Taylor Ham Pork Roll. (I never satisfied that craving, by the way.) That desire was an off-shoot of a more general love I have of pork, and specifically of salami. McSweeneys has a meditation on salami today that I really enjoyed reading. The only reason I am not currently craving salami is because I already had some for lunch today.

Help Me Remember

To those of you who attended my wedding: Did our vows include anything like, “Thou shalt not call thy spouse Andy Rooney, no matter how banal his/her observational humor.”? I am almost sure that it did, and yet . . .

Rock Bottom Blues, Pt. 2

I wasn't drunk when I wrote that post. I sent it off prematurely and then was too annoyed with myself to fix it. But it piqued your interest, didn't it?

Before I get to the BK ads that annoy me, a couple other things that annoy me:

1. Custom license plate: Outta my way, I need a latte!
2. Vanity plate: LOOKN41 - looking for what? A man? A miracle?
Okay, so these BK ads. There basic jist is that you now do not need to scrounge for change from the couch cushions because you can pay for food at BK with your Visa. But if you are down enough in the dumps to be buying fast food with credit, how do you even still have credit?

Unrelated: I heard a piece on NPR this morning about how Florida might start restoring its beaches with pulverized glass, which has all the same properties as sand. Not once was it mentioned that glass IS sand. I expected that to be the punchline of the story but it wasn't said. At first I thought that was funny, but then it annoyed me.

Rock Bottom Blues

Burger King has this promotion

Happy Birthday to Scobie

Well, Scobie's Mock Whiskey at least. I forgot to mention that this blog "celebrated" its 2-year birthday on Friday. Techically, the blog did nothing to celebrate, and neither did I. At least not until I caught this on camera. Embarassing photos of one's sibling are always cause for celebration.

Bridezilla Shower

Tomorrow, I am hosting a bridal shower for my younger sister, who is not the referred to bridezilla of the title of this post. In researching what types of party games one has at a bridal shower, I have come to the disturbing conclusion that possibly the friends of bridezillas deserve their mistreatment, or at least have an outlet to respond to the vagaries of their awful soon-to-be-wed. *Just so it's clear, I did NOT write the text describing these games, I cut and paste it from the sites I linked to.* Check these out:

Hunk-in-a-Balloon: You take a total of 25 balloons, [more or less depending on the amount of guest arrive] and put either a picture and/or description of a man inside the balloon. After the balloons have been blown up and passed around, each lady pops her balloon with a provided pin. The lady who finds the hunk or groom is the winner!

Bachelorette Party Pinata: This is for a bridal shower/bachelorette party. The person planning the party buys an empty pinata, or makes one, and fills it with dirty little favors, instead of kiddie candy, such as condoms, hershey kisses, loliipops (lil suckers), a lace garter (for bride), and other kinky toys and items. When the bride hits the pinata and breaks it, out pops out these dirty little surprises that will make a memory of a lifetime!

Truth and 'Tare: After you have the attention of the guests, you show them a role of toilet paper, and walk around to each person and have them be truthful and tear off the amount of paper they use during one bathroom visit. The ladies at this point get shy so everyone takes a different amount as all eyes watch! After each person has a wad of paper, tell them all to be making anything out of the paper that has anything to do with a wedding, the best finished product wins a gift! I made a pillow with two rings on it, but my daughter won with her thong panties she so cutely crafted! This is fun! Everyone can be making something as the "Bride to be" is opening her gifts.

Honeymoon Adventure: When the bride is opening the presents for the shower, have someone discretely jot down the phrases she says. For example, "oh...this is wonderful," or "oh, this is so big!", or "I've never seen this before." Then you take all these phrases and put into phrases or like a story of how their honeymoon is going to go. This is the funniest thing I have ever seen, and everyone can't help but laugh!!!

Okay, sorry, I am almost done. These two are the best:

Penis Pin Game: Purchase some clothes pins and fuzzy balls. Draw a penis on the clothes pins and hot glue 2 fuzzy balls onto the end. As the guests arrive, pin the clothes pin on them and tell them they can not do something (such as touch their hair). When someone does this, tell the guests they may take the person's "penis". The one with the most "penises" at the end of the party wins.

Penis Perfection: Playdough is inexpensive, so the hostess buys each guest their own container. With the timer set for 1-3 minutes(depending on your opinion) each guest tries to shape their playdough into the best penis, and when the timer goes off, each penis is set on the floor in the middle of the room, and the bride to be judges the best looking one, and possibly maybe a prize for the worst looking one (but don't tell your guests that, or they will try hard to make it look bad). It is also neat as they lay on the floor to take a picture of all of them together, and to see how colorful they look with the different color playdough.

ADORABLE!!

Tristadecaphobia

It means fear of the number 13. In honor of today.

 

I knew a guy who was afraid of the number 23. This is long before the Jim Carrey movie 23. It was because of the band Psychic TV, which apparently intended to release 23 live albums (one per month) but, according to Wikipedia, “mysteriously” stopped after “only” 17. Not exactly fear-inducing, but of course I am not a freaked-out, long-haired skater-boy art student from Florida. 23 is also the number of the Illuminati. Still not scary, but getting closer.

 

 

The Republican Type

I just saw a picture of Sarah Taylor, former White House political director whose brilliant refusal to testify fully about the DOJ firings will win her a pardon in December 08, bears a strikingly blonde resemblance to Monica Gooding. Who are all the Girls Gone Mild? Is DC just crawling with blond Bob Jones and Liberty grads? T&A Lady, what say you?

I will add links in the am, when I am not blogging via blackberry.

Damn You, Graphite Camo Jacket, Damn You!

I may be returning the jacket to L.L.Bean soon. According to my son, the jacket can only be worn with a pair of gray camo shorts because the jacket does not match jeans or even gray cords. Au revoir, Reversible Graphite Camo/Hunters Orange Jacket, it was nice knowing you.

Is There a There There?

For fans of small-scale legislative hoo-ha, the Oakland City Council meeting yesterday must have a been a thriller. With Keenan Ivory Wayans in attendance, two local development advocates almost got into a physical scuffle, disrupted by the intervention of Councilman Larry Reid. Its not quite as great as the food fight in the Taiwan legislature, but it will do.

What's the verdict?

Just saw a bumper sticker that says "Canadian girls kick ass". Funny or stupid?

UPDATE: I think it's funny.

Here's a new one: Temp in our office has spent her entire lunch hour reading various Harry Potter websites (or possibly porno/terrorist sites using Potter and Dumbledore photos as a front). I can tell from walking past her desk repeatedly. Cute or annoying?

We saw Breach on video this weekend. Ryan Phillippe carries his lusty pouting to a new level in this taut, spy-vs.-spy-with-a-dash-of-Opus-Dei thriller. This movie had the suspense that The Good Shepherd should have had, and made way more sense than The Departed. See it.

JFB speaks truth to power. Teach!

Blogspot won't let me enter a title today. What's up with that?

NY Times has Wineries Gone Wild article. Which reminds me, since this is a "movie review" post, I can't believe I never blogged about how much I hate Sideways. Maybe I have never written about it because I don't even know where to start. In fact, I have writer's elbow or whatever it's called when you can't write because I am festering with so much hatred for that movie. All those people were immature slobs, petty, lying, half-hearted alcoholics. The sex scenes were sickeningly gratuitous and I still regret I didn't leave the theatre when my instincts told me to go. I could go on in this vein but I think you get the picture.

It's Here!

It's Coming!

It's 7:05am and The Jacket is in Emeryville! I can almost smell it!

UPDATE:

07/06/2007 08:37 AM
On FedEx vehicle for delivery EMERYVILLE CA

OH NO!!!

The jacket is still in Indianapolis!

Jacket Update

Camo Jacket Fever has reached critical levels. The fear (of theft of the package by marauding neighborhood children) and excitement (to wear it every day, notwithstanding the soaring temperatures) are palpable.

But the FedEx Tracker is not doing its part to quell the insurgency. It continues to say that the jacket Arrived at the Sort Facility in Indianapolis, IN on July 4, 2007 at 9:00 a.m.

Graphite Camo/Burnt Orange Reversible Down Jacket, where are you now!!!???

Dumb-ass bumper stickers

If the people lead, the people will eventually become leaders too.

- on a car in Berkeley.

You are shocked, I'm sure.

I Am Unpersuaded

I just got an email from MoveOn.org which attempted to excite me into giving someone money just because Scooter Libby’s prison sentence was commuted. One of the arguments marshalled: He’ll serve less time that Paris Hilton! Mon dieu! Say it ain’t so, Joe!

 

Look, why is anyone even vaguely surprised that this happened? I am actually pleasantly surprised that it was not a full blown pardon, and I have to give Bush props for being only so loyal to Scooter. Bush really does not give a shit about anything: public opinion, his proxy (Scooter), nobody. And using Paris Hilton as a decoy? Now we’re going to pretend that liberals really give a shit about her? We are not that lumpen, MoveOn.

Happiness Is A Warm Coat

For awhile, L was obsessed with a Bob the Builder jacket that he had borrowed from a friend. "Miss Lisa said I could borrow it forever," I was told repeatedly. He wore it to bed, and on hikes in 75 degree weather. It was a little wierd. Then it went into the closet, and then back to the friend's house, and it hasn't been missed.

Yesterday, I showed him the LL Bean catalog and told him to check off things he might like. He made check marks next to everything, and drew some dinosaur bones and then some boats. Until he found this:

And his heart apparently stopped, and then it began racing. He immediately brought the page to me and said he wanted it. Now. I said, Sure we can get that in the winter, it's nice. And he just kept asking for it and I said, Yes, he could have it. We then went to the grocery store. When we got home, he asked, "Is the jacket here yet?" We had to delay leaving for a birthday party so that we could order this.

He has since asked, on the quarter hour, if the jacket has arrived. This morning he told me he was too sick to go to school, and that he needed to stay home to make sure no other kids steal his jacket when it gets to our house. Only upon being reassured that mail tampering and theft is a federal crime was he willing to leave.

I just got an e-mail from LL Bean that the jacket has left Freeport and is on the FedEx dock in Portland ME, waiting for pick-up. I am so excited, I can barely stand it.

Only in Cali - July 2 Edition

It's hard to summarize this one. Basically, this secretary claims that her former boss asked her to be a surrogate mother for her, and then was harassed after she refused the (female) boss's request. WTF?

Remarks on the Immigration Debate

This is about as far off topic of the "immigration debate" as a person can go and still be technically remarking on that debate, but here goes:

1. Based on Flight of the Conchords, which is HIL-AIR-EE-OUS, we need to issue more green cards/visas to the good people of New Zealand.



2. What if, in our* haste to complete the border fence between The U S of A and Mexico, we build the fence too far north? Does Mexico get to keep the land we leave on the other side of the fence? If we want it back, what is the venue for filing a lawsuit to recover it? The Hague?

* I use the plural in this comment to denote The United States, not me and some other person.

Finally, and this has nothing to do with immigration, I saw a bit of Paris Hilton on Larry King Live (actually Taped) this morning, and she is walking this fine line between "I was scared straight" and "I'm hard, I've been on The Inside." She also used the words spirituality and audacity, which makes me think she assigned herself a little presidential candidate biography to make the time go slower On The Inside.