Forget That Acquaintance, Willya?
Last post before 2003!
Reflection. Worked at the BID, arranged my mom's funeral, went to Hawaii, threw a few events, almost fell in love, saw my friend Betsy get married, got a new niece, went to the best lake ever, saw a few movies and a few plays, caught The Who and Robert Plant in concert, slept around, drank too much, smoked too much, tried a new illegal substance, didn't like it, changed jobs, lost my good perks, took up karate, found a great piano bar, boycotted Pieces, made new friends, started blogging, got sunburned, went to two parades, used the public library, decorated for the holidays, stopped going clubbing (for lack of clubs), bought one new pair of boots, hung out in Ithaca, drove to Cincinnati with Larue and actually drove, gave up red meat, started eating it again, started drinking more caffeine, stopping again, quit smoking, started again, ate far too much food from McDonald's, overslept, went to IKEA, got a couch and a shelf and a bookcase, made my apartment more homey, became a member of PBS, did my fifth AIDSWalk, and generally did the living thing.
Resolutions. To be more positive. To make myself happy. To get to work on time. To be tolerant of stupid people. To get to karate twice a week and voice lessons once a week. To spend less money on cigarettes and booze. To take a vacation somewhere warm and sandy. To sing as much as possible. To visit with my friends more. To see more movies and plays and watch less bad television. To be a nice person. To be nicer to my father.
Hopes for the new year. No war with Iraq or anyone else, for that matter. Improved economy, especially my personal economy. To meet a nice man. Development of some kind of singing project for me. Repeal of the smoking ban. Capture of Osama bin Laden, already. More people voting and becoming politically active. Fewer teenagers wearing thongs and giant pants (too much to ask, I know). A new album from The Who. Happiness and safety and comfort and love.
Have a happy New Year, and a safe New Year's Eve. They don't call it "Amateur Night" for nothing.
Monday, December 30, 2002
Hair Today, Clone Tomorrow
I know all of my readers are waiting with baited breath to find out what I think of cloning.
I caught a little round table discussion on PBS last night and was disappointed to find that that Viera woman from "The View" was on it. I've never understood what she has to offer, but hey, the opinion of regular people is good to hear, too. Seemed that everyone agreed that cloning wouldn't be offered to the average joe who loses a child or can't get pregnant in the near future, but it would someday be a possibility. When the scenario was given to Viera that her child had died and the doctor made the offer of cloning, she responded with the reasonable "Why couldn't we just adopt?" to which some lunkhead said, "But why should you have to?" Aaargh! What a dork.
My take is this: cloning, like in vitro fertilization before it, is unnatural. If you can't get pregnant the old-fashioned way, that's nature's way of balancing. Nature's trying to tell you to adopt, take care of the excess offspring that the overly fertile can't care for. It seems basic to me. Too bad if you can't find a sweet little blond haired, blue eyed baby who looks like your husband. If the only reason you want to have a baby is to continue your bloodline, and you can't do it naturally, nature doesn't want your bloodline. I would think that in an age where bloodline is actually less important that it's ever been, people would be more prone to adopt. If you must have a little baby, get a doll. Raising children shouldn't be a selfish endeavor. Unless you need farmhands, of course. That's a completely different story. Maybe it's my total lack of a maternal instinct working here, but I just don't get why people are so het up about having babies. Yes, it's important to populate (to some extent), but if you can't do it, there are plenty of children who need to be cared for and saved from a life of sociopathic behavior.
Clones are just twins who aren't born at the same time. I think we can all agree that twins are in themselves an aberration, but one that usually turns out okay (except in the case of conjoined twins, which I think proves the aberration theory). Now, an aberration is not necessarily negative, but it's not the optimal result. With fertility drugs and treatments, women are having litters, and not even through cell division, but through multiple embryos. That's just twisted. Of course, I'm also squicked out by organ transplants, so maybe my view is skewed.
To sum up, I'm against human cloning (as I am against in vitro fertilization and other fertility treatments), but I'm also against legislation against it, because I can't see how it could hurt anyone except for the parents and the clone. These kinds of medical issues (read: reproductive issues) shouldn't be legislated as they have less impact on society than they do on personal family dynamics. Genetic selection is a different story, and that just freaks me out. If people start creating more babies that are "perfect," those who aren't will be unjustly persecuted. That's a societal issue and it should be addressed by the government in some way, though I'm not quite sure how at this point. Make sense?
I know all of my readers are waiting with baited breath to find out what I think of cloning.
I caught a little round table discussion on PBS last night and was disappointed to find that that Viera woman from "The View" was on it. I've never understood what she has to offer, but hey, the opinion of regular people is good to hear, too. Seemed that everyone agreed that cloning wouldn't be offered to the average joe who loses a child or can't get pregnant in the near future, but it would someday be a possibility. When the scenario was given to Viera that her child had died and the doctor made the offer of cloning, she responded with the reasonable "Why couldn't we just adopt?" to which some lunkhead said, "But why should you have to?" Aaargh! What a dork.
My take is this: cloning, like in vitro fertilization before it, is unnatural. If you can't get pregnant the old-fashioned way, that's nature's way of balancing. Nature's trying to tell you to adopt, take care of the excess offspring that the overly fertile can't care for. It seems basic to me. Too bad if you can't find a sweet little blond haired, blue eyed baby who looks like your husband. If the only reason you want to have a baby is to continue your bloodline, and you can't do it naturally, nature doesn't want your bloodline. I would think that in an age where bloodline is actually less important that it's ever been, people would be more prone to adopt. If you must have a little baby, get a doll. Raising children shouldn't be a selfish endeavor. Unless you need farmhands, of course. That's a completely different story. Maybe it's my total lack of a maternal instinct working here, but I just don't get why people are so het up about having babies. Yes, it's important to populate (to some extent), but if you can't do it, there are plenty of children who need to be cared for and saved from a life of sociopathic behavior.
Clones are just twins who aren't born at the same time. I think we can all agree that twins are in themselves an aberration, but one that usually turns out okay (except in the case of conjoined twins, which I think proves the aberration theory). Now, an aberration is not necessarily negative, but it's not the optimal result. With fertility drugs and treatments, women are having litters, and not even through cell division, but through multiple embryos. That's just twisted. Of course, I'm also squicked out by organ transplants, so maybe my view is skewed.
To sum up, I'm against human cloning (as I am against in vitro fertilization and other fertility treatments), but I'm also against legislation against it, because I can't see how it could hurt anyone except for the parents and the clone. These kinds of medical issues (read: reproductive issues) shouldn't be legislated as they have less impact on society than they do on personal family dynamics. Genetic selection is a different story, and that just freaks me out. If people start creating more babies that are "perfect," those who aren't will be unjustly persecuted. That's a societal issue and it should be addressed by the government in some way, though I'm not quite sure how at this point. Make sense?
It's That Time of Year Again
The end, that is. Time for retrospectives and soft-focus follow-up reports on the "news" stories of 2002. I think I'll avoid the television just to maintain my good cheer.
Television was very nice to me Buffy-wise this weekend, though. At 2 am on Sunday, I caught one of my all time favorite episodes, "Hush," from Season Four. Fairy tale monsters called The Gentlemen steal the voices of the people of Sunnydale, then visit them at night to cut out their hearts. Sounds basic, but the cast does an amazing job of expressing being speechless. In the beginning of the episode, you (in hindsight) see how talking has been burdensome for our Scooby gang. After the voices are stolen, Riley and Buffy finally kiss because talking isn't in the way, Xander shows his love for Anya, which he can't express verbally, Willow bonds with the stutter-prone Tara through silent magic, and Giles gets a much needed rest from the yammering of the Scoobies( + Spike). My favorite scene has Giles explaining The Gentlemen with an overhead projector and hand-drawn transparencies. He plays Saint-Saens' "Danse Macabre" in the background, which is one of my favorite classical pieces and perfectly fitting for the "presentation." Some of the misunderstandings of non-verbal communication are hilarious. Plus, Giles' drawings are too cute. The final battle scene, wherein Buffy gets her voice back and screams to kill The Gentlemen is intense. This was Emmy-worthy stuff, but did anyone care?
Sunday afternoon UPN ran the final episode of Season Five ("The Gift"), the last season on the WB, what I think of as the last season of the "real" Buffy. It opens with the best "previously" segment ever. Every time I see it, I just stare, mouth agape. Giles' voice says, "Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer," and they show scenes from the beginning of the show, faster and faster, until it's a flickering stream of images, everything, Oz, Riley, Angel, Spike, Dru, the Master, Adam, the Mayor, Faith, Giles in a sombrero, Buffy kicking butt, Willow and magic, Miss Calendar, just everything. It's so cool. I know I have it on tape somewhere. The rest of the episode is actually pretty good, too, for Season Five. The return of Joel Grey; Giles kills Ben after Buffy stomps Glory using the Dagon sphere and the troll hammer (suggested by Anya) and a wrecking ball wielded by Xander ("And the glorified bricklayer picks up a spare."); the Buffybot gives an encore performance; Willow retrieves Tara's mind from Glory and they combine magic to repel the flunkies from the tower; Spike does his best to protect Dawn; and Buffy sacrifices herself to save both Dawn and the world, because she realizes that this is what the spirit guide meant when she said, "Death is your gift." Sure, it makes no sense to you, but to a long time watcher, all of these pieces are important. I'm just happy I got to see two Joss directed episodes within 15 hours. I may be ready to start back on the first season now, since Season Seven is bringing me just slightly more enjoyment than Season Six (aka "The Season of Suckiness"). I think I could even watch Seasons Four and Five with pleasure after the last season and a half of mucking around on UPN. Poor SMG.
The end, that is. Time for retrospectives and soft-focus follow-up reports on the "news" stories of 2002. I think I'll avoid the television just to maintain my good cheer.
Television was very nice to me Buffy-wise this weekend, though. At 2 am on Sunday, I caught one of my all time favorite episodes, "Hush," from Season Four. Fairy tale monsters called The Gentlemen steal the voices of the people of Sunnydale, then visit them at night to cut out their hearts. Sounds basic, but the cast does an amazing job of expressing being speechless. In the beginning of the episode, you (in hindsight) see how talking has been burdensome for our Scooby gang. After the voices are stolen, Riley and Buffy finally kiss because talking isn't in the way, Xander shows his love for Anya, which he can't express verbally, Willow bonds with the stutter-prone Tara through silent magic, and Giles gets a much needed rest from the yammering of the Scoobies( + Spike). My favorite scene has Giles explaining The Gentlemen with an overhead projector and hand-drawn transparencies. He plays Saint-Saens' "Danse Macabre" in the background, which is one of my favorite classical pieces and perfectly fitting for the "presentation." Some of the misunderstandings of non-verbal communication are hilarious. Plus, Giles' drawings are too cute. The final battle scene, wherein Buffy gets her voice back and screams to kill The Gentlemen is intense. This was Emmy-worthy stuff, but did anyone care?
Sunday afternoon UPN ran the final episode of Season Five ("The Gift"), the last season on the WB, what I think of as the last season of the "real" Buffy. It opens with the best "previously" segment ever. Every time I see it, I just stare, mouth agape. Giles' voice says, "Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer," and they show scenes from the beginning of the show, faster and faster, until it's a flickering stream of images, everything, Oz, Riley, Angel, Spike, Dru, the Master, Adam, the Mayor, Faith, Giles in a sombrero, Buffy kicking butt, Willow and magic, Miss Calendar, just everything. It's so cool. I know I have it on tape somewhere. The rest of the episode is actually pretty good, too, for Season Five. The return of Joel Grey; Giles kills Ben after Buffy stomps Glory using the Dagon sphere and the troll hammer (suggested by Anya) and a wrecking ball wielded by Xander ("And the glorified bricklayer picks up a spare."); the Buffybot gives an encore performance; Willow retrieves Tara's mind from Glory and they combine magic to repel the flunkies from the tower; Spike does his best to protect Dawn; and Buffy sacrifices herself to save both Dawn and the world, because she realizes that this is what the spirit guide meant when she said, "Death is your gift." Sure, it makes no sense to you, but to a long time watcher, all of these pieces are important. I'm just happy I got to see two Joss directed episodes within 15 hours. I may be ready to start back on the first season now, since Season Seven is bringing me just slightly more enjoyment than Season Six (aka "The Season of Suckiness"). I think I could even watch Seasons Four and Five with pleasure after the last season and a half of mucking around on UPN. Poor SMG.
Friday, December 27, 2002
Puttin' on the Ritts
Herb Ritts has died. I don't know what to say about him, but I always admired his work. Few photographers could do what he did.
Herb Ritts has died. I don't know what to say about him, but I always admired his work. Few photographers could do what he did.
Hooray for Today
I have great hopes for 2003. That's an odd sounding year, 2003. Speaking of the way years sound, it's "two thousand three," not "two thousand and three." I can't believe it when supposedly educated people -- people who are paid to speak, for goodness' sake -- say "two thousand and two" or "two thousand and one." Numbers aren't said that way. The word "and" implies that a fraction is forthcoming, like "twelve and one half." How do these people write checks, "one thousand and twenty-five and 50/100?" I'm sure the argument is that it's different when it's a year, but I'm not buying it. If it were so, we'd be saying "twenty oh-two" (like "nineteen oh-two"). I guess I'll just have to file these folks with the people who say the current millennium started in 2000 and think it's acceptable to wear white shoes after Labor Day. Even those folks can't bother me right now.
Happiness of happiness, the Showtunes channel has played 1776, "More" from Dick Tracy, Godspell, and Tommy. I can tell I'll like this DJ.
Time moves so quickly. Yesterday's tragedies fade into the past before they can be properly understood. Processed into our popular culture or personal lexicon, things like 9/11, the dot-com bubble burst, and the 2000 election debacle become less real, less tangible. History is important, we must know what has come before and learn from our mistakes, but some things you can't fix. Sometimes, you have to forget the past and move forward, living in the present. It's horrible to live in the past and foolish to live for the future. What's left but the now? Sure, keep your eye out for the consequences, but what's the point of all this agonizing?
I'm going to make myself happy. I'm the only one who can do it, and I hardly ever try! I can't believe that for so many years (even back in high school), I denied what I really want to do because it wasn't sensible, wasn't a sure way to pay the rent. I'm tired of being sensible. I might as well be dead, or worse, living in Knoxville. Consider, I could be married right now; I had the chance. Living in some hick town, slaving away at a sixth-rate ad agency, breeding and baking and driving a minivan. Ew, gag me with a spoon, please. The real hilarity is that I'm here in New York City doing basically the same thing, without the husband. How stupid. How boring! It's taken a few years for me to regain my courage, but maybe it's that old saying, you have to hit rock-bottom first. Well, kids, watch out, because I'm shooting up through the water fast. I'll be sticking around the Big Apple for a few more years, because this is really the only place for me to do what I want.
Speaking of accomplishments, I got my second stripe on my white belt at karate last night. The last ten classes took forever because I was a slacker, but I should get my next stripe before the end of January. I've got tons of excuses for why I didn't go very much in the last two months, but none of them are any good, because they're just excuses. I was sick, I had cramps, I missed the bus, I was depressed. Oh, please. Those are about as good as my excuses for being late to work. The plain truth was I chose not to go, or if I had been less of a lazy bum, I would have made it. So, let's not dissemble.
I just watched Love! Valour! Compassion! again this week. I love that movie, although it does make me cry a lot. Just like Philadelphia, although the latter doesn't have the funny moments that make it worth a second watching. It also doesn't have the fabulous John Glover. I also watched Little Voice, finally. Jane Horrocks was phenomenal. Bubble is one of the best BritCom characters of the 90s, but this is a truly impressive performance. I would have loved to have seen both movies in their stage versions. Last night, the feature presentation was Carmen Jones, Oscar Hammerstein II's all-black musical set to the music of Bizet's Carmen. It was great, although I wasn't clear why Hammerstein emphasized the Amos n Andy style dialect: "dat" instead of "that," "dere" instead of "there," "I's," "You is," etc. It seemed far too old-fashioned for a movie set in the late forties. I also didn't understand why Harry Belafonte and Dorothy Dandridge didn't sing. I guess opera was just a bit out of their ranges. (At least it wasn't Marni Nixon playing Carmen, as she sang for Natalie Wood, Audrey Hepburn and Deborah Kerr!) Dandridge was nominated for an Oscar for that part, and I can see why. I doubt there had been such a strong black female character on screen ever before, much less in a leading lady role. If you haven't seen any of these movies before, go out to your public library and borrow them!
I have great hopes for 2003. That's an odd sounding year, 2003. Speaking of the way years sound, it's "two thousand three," not "two thousand and three." I can't believe it when supposedly educated people -- people who are paid to speak, for goodness' sake -- say "two thousand and two" or "two thousand and one." Numbers aren't said that way. The word "and" implies that a fraction is forthcoming, like "twelve and one half." How do these people write checks, "one thousand and twenty-five and 50/100?" I'm sure the argument is that it's different when it's a year, but I'm not buying it. If it were so, we'd be saying "twenty oh-two" (like "nineteen oh-two"). I guess I'll just have to file these folks with the people who say the current millennium started in 2000 and think it's acceptable to wear white shoes after Labor Day. Even those folks can't bother me right now.
Happiness of happiness, the Showtunes channel has played 1776, "More" from Dick Tracy, Godspell, and Tommy. I can tell I'll like this DJ.
Time moves so quickly. Yesterday's tragedies fade into the past before they can be properly understood. Processed into our popular culture or personal lexicon, things like 9/11, the dot-com bubble burst, and the 2000 election debacle become less real, less tangible. History is important, we must know what has come before and learn from our mistakes, but some things you can't fix. Sometimes, you have to forget the past and move forward, living in the present. It's horrible to live in the past and foolish to live for the future. What's left but the now? Sure, keep your eye out for the consequences, but what's the point of all this agonizing?
I'm going to make myself happy. I'm the only one who can do it, and I hardly ever try! I can't believe that for so many years (even back in high school), I denied what I really want to do because it wasn't sensible, wasn't a sure way to pay the rent. I'm tired of being sensible. I might as well be dead, or worse, living in Knoxville. Consider, I could be married right now; I had the chance. Living in some hick town, slaving away at a sixth-rate ad agency, breeding and baking and driving a minivan. Ew, gag me with a spoon, please. The real hilarity is that I'm here in New York City doing basically the same thing, without the husband. How stupid. How boring! It's taken a few years for me to regain my courage, but maybe it's that old saying, you have to hit rock-bottom first. Well, kids, watch out, because I'm shooting up through the water fast. I'll be sticking around the Big Apple for a few more years, because this is really the only place for me to do what I want.
Speaking of accomplishments, I got my second stripe on my white belt at karate last night. The last ten classes took forever because I was a slacker, but I should get my next stripe before the end of January. I've got tons of excuses for why I didn't go very much in the last two months, but none of them are any good, because they're just excuses. I was sick, I had cramps, I missed the bus, I was depressed. Oh, please. Those are about as good as my excuses for being late to work. The plain truth was I chose not to go, or if I had been less of a lazy bum, I would have made it. So, let's not dissemble.
I just watched Love! Valour! Compassion! again this week. I love that movie, although it does make me cry a lot. Just like Philadelphia, although the latter doesn't have the funny moments that make it worth a second watching. It also doesn't have the fabulous John Glover. I also watched Little Voice, finally. Jane Horrocks was phenomenal. Bubble is one of the best BritCom characters of the 90s, but this is a truly impressive performance. I would have loved to have seen both movies in their stage versions. Last night, the feature presentation was Carmen Jones, Oscar Hammerstein II's all-black musical set to the music of Bizet's Carmen. It was great, although I wasn't clear why Hammerstein emphasized the Amos n Andy style dialect: "dat" instead of "that," "dere" instead of "there," "I's," "You is," etc. It seemed far too old-fashioned for a movie set in the late forties. I also didn't understand why Harry Belafonte and Dorothy Dandridge didn't sing. I guess opera was just a bit out of their ranges. (At least it wasn't Marni Nixon playing Carmen, as she sang for Natalie Wood, Audrey Hepburn and Deborah Kerr!) Dandridge was nominated for an Oscar for that part, and I can see why. I doubt there had been such a strong black female character on screen ever before, much less in a leading lady role. If you haven't seen any of these movies before, go out to your public library and borrow them!
Monday, December 23, 2002
Ho, Ho, Ho... Oh, Forget It
I'm not recovering well from the weekend. Thankfully, nothing is going on at the office today. I have to bake cookies tonight for the two dinners I'm going to this week. Little green butter cookies in adorable holiday shapes. They're so easy, even I can make them. Actually, holiday snacks are my best dishes. I made the family cheese ball for my company party on Friday, and it was a big hit. Cream cheese, crushed and well-drained pineapple, chopped green bell pepper and a little seasoned salt, mixed well and sprinkled with chopped walnuts. Or, if you don't have a nut chopper, you can always put the walnuts in a Baggie and hit them with a hammer, like I did.
It's nice of my friends to invite me to their homes for Christmas dinner. In some way, though, it makes me even more aware of being alone. This is the second Christmas in a row that I've been boyfriend-free for the holidays, not to mention the other thing. Who's going to wake me up with hot chocolate on Christmas morning or stuff my stocking with little candy bars and tangerines? I just realized that this is really the first year I'll be waking up alone on Christmas morning. There's always been someone, at least my Mom. Wow, that's nice and depressing.
I think the song "Boogie Fever" is really underrated. I love a song that includes some reference to heat and dancing, like "Disco Inferno" or "Hot, Hot, Hot." That's good stuff.
I'm not recovering well from the weekend. Thankfully, nothing is going on at the office today. I have to bake cookies tonight for the two dinners I'm going to this week. Little green butter cookies in adorable holiday shapes. They're so easy, even I can make them. Actually, holiday snacks are my best dishes. I made the family cheese ball for my company party on Friday, and it was a big hit. Cream cheese, crushed and well-drained pineapple, chopped green bell pepper and a little seasoned salt, mixed well and sprinkled with chopped walnuts. Or, if you don't have a nut chopper, you can always put the walnuts in a Baggie and hit them with a hammer, like I did.
It's nice of my friends to invite me to their homes for Christmas dinner. In some way, though, it makes me even more aware of being alone. This is the second Christmas in a row that I've been boyfriend-free for the holidays, not to mention the other thing. Who's going to wake me up with hot chocolate on Christmas morning or stuff my stocking with little candy bars and tangerines? I just realized that this is really the first year I'll be waking up alone on Christmas morning. There's always been someone, at least my Mom. Wow, that's nice and depressing.
I think the song "Boogie Fever" is really underrated. I love a song that includes some reference to heat and dancing, like "Disco Inferno" or "Hot, Hot, Hot." That's good stuff.
Thursday, December 19, 2002
It's Too Easy!
Get ready for some AP links...
Erstwhile human being Paul McCartney proves his status as "World's Biggest Git" once again by switching the credits on 19 Beatles songs. This isn't the first time he's tried to weasel out of the "Lennon-McCartney" credit. Yes, Paul, it's very sad that when you made the initial agreement to use that credit that your name came second. Maybe some foresight would have helped there. Also, if it doesn't matter what the credit says, why change it? I like many, many of the Beatles' "Paul" songs, but I think Paul McCartney is a right bastard.
The movie version of Chicago has been nominated for eight Golden Globes. I hear it's supposed to be pretty good, and I'm happy to see musical hitting the big screen, but Renee Zellweger and Catherine Zeta-Jones? I'm appalled that Bebe Neuwirth wasn't cast in the film. She has screen experience and is the Broadway favorite. It reminds me of when Michelle Pfeiffer was cast in the movie Frankie and Johnny after Kathy Bates won a Tony for her work in the role. Speaking of Frankie and Johnny and the Claire de Lune, Rosie Perez is taking over for Edie Falco on Broadway. These are good choices. I know Pfeiffer used to be a smack addict, but I still can't see her playing "run down" very well.
Another celebrity thinks his opinions on world politics are worth as much as his box office returns. Sean Penn took a little trip to Iraq to tag along on the fact-finding mission and was apparently misquoted by the Iraqi News Agency. This one is so weird, it could be reprinted word for word in The Onion and not look out of place.
Anti-Choice Is Not Pro-Life
So, at the UN population conference, Assistant Secretary of State Arthur E. Dewey says, "The United States supports the sanctity of life from conception to natural death," and "There has been a concerted effort to create a gulf by pushing the United States to violate its principles and accept language that promotes abortion." I am so tired of people saying these things in the name of the United States. There is nothing in our Constitution or our laws to agree with the first statement. Our Supreme Court upholds a woman's right to have an abortion, and it's not right for the US delegation to block responsible international reproductive policy. This is scary. How soon will the administration turn within and attack its own citizenry? The reactionary nature of this administration would be laughable if it weren't so frightening.
One Ring to Rule Them All
I saw The Two Towers last night. During a particularly climactic scene, I thought to myself that Lord of the Rings would be our generation's The Ten Commandments. It's truly epic and awe-inspiring. You really have to see the film on the big screen, with the good sound system. Peter Jackson's use of extreme close-ups and unthinkably long longshots just wouldn't play as well on a 13-inch TV. It's a very stimulating series. So far, I've cried at both films, for different reasons. I don't want to give anything away, but I do have to say, "Go, Ents!" I want to put Elijah Wood in my pocket and take him home. I definitely want to go for a second viewing. I can't believe I have to wait another year for the final installment. Incredible casting, awesome directing, impressive special and computer effects, a better than expected adaptation (from what I understand), and beneath it all, heart. These movies were obviously made with everything the contributors had in them to give. Anyone who dismisses them as geek fodder doesn't understand. And the geeks who complain about the minor discrepancies need to get some perspective and maybe a clue a to how movies are made.
Can I buy my tickets for the last film yet?
And Another Thing...
The New York City Council passed the ban on smoking in workplaces. That means bars, restaurants, bowling alleys, etc. It won't take effect until next spring. I'll tell you one thing, in the next few months, I better not hear anyone complaining about how smoky a bar is while I'm around. They'll have their little pristine bars soon enough. Anyone waving their hands, "subtly" coughing, or making that wrinkled-up-nose face will get a face full of Newport smoke from yours truly. That's kind of my guarantee.
Maybe I'll have a party the day after the ban takes effect. It'll be an all smoking, all the time party, with the exception of stinky cigars. Clove and pipe smokers will be positioned strategically to enhance the general aroma. Oxygen masks will be available for those who overdo it.
Or maybe I can organize a rowdy group of smokers to stand outside of a residential bar, then call the police and pretend to be a resident complaining about the decay of their quality of life.
Maybe I could become a gangster, like Al Capone. But I would be smart and pay my taxes.
Most likely, I'll just bitch about it in my blog.
Get ready for some AP links...
Erstwhile human being Paul McCartney proves his status as "World's Biggest Git" once again by switching the credits on 19 Beatles songs. This isn't the first time he's tried to weasel out of the "Lennon-McCartney" credit. Yes, Paul, it's very sad that when you made the initial agreement to use that credit that your name came second. Maybe some foresight would have helped there. Also, if it doesn't matter what the credit says, why change it? I like many, many of the Beatles' "Paul" songs, but I think Paul McCartney is a right bastard.
The movie version of Chicago has been nominated for eight Golden Globes. I hear it's supposed to be pretty good, and I'm happy to see musical hitting the big screen, but Renee Zellweger and Catherine Zeta-Jones? I'm appalled that Bebe Neuwirth wasn't cast in the film. She has screen experience and is the Broadway favorite. It reminds me of when Michelle Pfeiffer was cast in the movie Frankie and Johnny after Kathy Bates won a Tony for her work in the role. Speaking of Frankie and Johnny and the Claire de Lune, Rosie Perez is taking over for Edie Falco on Broadway. These are good choices. I know Pfeiffer used to be a smack addict, but I still can't see her playing "run down" very well.
Another celebrity thinks his opinions on world politics are worth as much as his box office returns. Sean Penn took a little trip to Iraq to tag along on the fact-finding mission and was apparently misquoted by the Iraqi News Agency. This one is so weird, it could be reprinted word for word in The Onion and not look out of place.
Anti-Choice Is Not Pro-Life
So, at the UN population conference, Assistant Secretary of State Arthur E. Dewey says, "The United States supports the sanctity of life from conception to natural death," and "There has been a concerted effort to create a gulf by pushing the United States to violate its principles and accept language that promotes abortion." I am so tired of people saying these things in the name of the United States. There is nothing in our Constitution or our laws to agree with the first statement. Our Supreme Court upholds a woman's right to have an abortion, and it's not right for the US delegation to block responsible international reproductive policy. This is scary. How soon will the administration turn within and attack its own citizenry? The reactionary nature of this administration would be laughable if it weren't so frightening.
One Ring to Rule Them All
I saw The Two Towers last night. During a particularly climactic scene, I thought to myself that Lord of the Rings would be our generation's The Ten Commandments. It's truly epic and awe-inspiring. You really have to see the film on the big screen, with the good sound system. Peter Jackson's use of extreme close-ups and unthinkably long longshots just wouldn't play as well on a 13-inch TV. It's a very stimulating series. So far, I've cried at both films, for different reasons. I don't want to give anything away, but I do have to say, "Go, Ents!" I want to put Elijah Wood in my pocket and take him home. I definitely want to go for a second viewing. I can't believe I have to wait another year for the final installment. Incredible casting, awesome directing, impressive special and computer effects, a better than expected adaptation (from what I understand), and beneath it all, heart. These movies were obviously made with everything the contributors had in them to give. Anyone who dismisses them as geek fodder doesn't understand. And the geeks who complain about the minor discrepancies need to get some perspective and maybe a clue a to how movies are made.
Can I buy my tickets for the last film yet?
And Another Thing...
The New York City Council passed the ban on smoking in workplaces. That means bars, restaurants, bowling alleys, etc. It won't take effect until next spring. I'll tell you one thing, in the next few months, I better not hear anyone complaining about how smoky a bar is while I'm around. They'll have their little pristine bars soon enough. Anyone waving their hands, "subtly" coughing, or making that wrinkled-up-nose face will get a face full of Newport smoke from yours truly. That's kind of my guarantee.
Maybe I'll have a party the day after the ban takes effect. It'll be an all smoking, all the time party, with the exception of stinky cigars. Clove and pipe smokers will be positioned strategically to enhance the general aroma. Oxygen masks will be available for those who overdo it.
Or maybe I can organize a rowdy group of smokers to stand outside of a residential bar, then call the police and pretend to be a resident complaining about the decay of their quality of life.
Maybe I could become a gangster, like Al Capone. But I would be smart and pay my taxes.
Most likely, I'll just bitch about it in my blog.
Wednesday, December 18, 2002
The Laughs Keep on Coming...
Just as I predicted, people are up in arms over the use of the word "lynch" in Lott-related comments. Last night on the news, some group was blaming a state senator from New York for "marginalizing" blacks by using the term, but in fact, he was referring to the statement made by Senator Shelby. I laughed and laughed. I kind of feel sorry for Lott, because Bush is leaving him hanging out to dry, but hey, if you're going to be a politician, learn to watch your mouth. He has to step down as majority leader, but he won't lose his Senate seat, so I don't feel too sorry for him.
One thing's for sure, PC is alive and well.
In other news, New York finally has a gay rights law. Sadly, it does not include transgendered people. I think transgendered people need as much or more protection from discrimination than your average gay person, so this doesn't make sense to me. Also, it's usually a more obvious issue, making discrimination more likely. Well, next go round, I guess.
Just as I predicted, people are up in arms over the use of the word "lynch" in Lott-related comments. Last night on the news, some group was blaming a state senator from New York for "marginalizing" blacks by using the term, but in fact, he was referring to the statement made by Senator Shelby. I laughed and laughed. I kind of feel sorry for Lott, because Bush is leaving him hanging out to dry, but hey, if you're going to be a politician, learn to watch your mouth. He has to step down as majority leader, but he won't lose his Senate seat, so I don't feel too sorry for him.
One thing's for sure, PC is alive and well.
In other news, New York finally has a gay rights law. Sadly, it does not include transgendered people. I think transgendered people need as much or more protection from discrimination than your average gay person, so this doesn't make sense to me. Also, it's usually a more obvious issue, making discrimination more likely. Well, next go round, I guess.
Tuesday, December 17, 2002
Snatched Away
So, Guy Ritchie's new movie (The 49th Gate) is a London gangster film (like his first two), but it's based on Moses' attempt to get from the 49th to the 50th level of holiness, as described in the Kabbalah? Poor Guy. He should just resign himself to being Mr. Ciccone. When I heard the tinny strains of "Lucky Star" pasted onto an inappropriate scene in Snatch, I knew he'd never recover from being married to Madonna.
So, Guy Ritchie's new movie (The 49th Gate) is a London gangster film (like his first two), but it's based on Moses' attempt to get from the 49th to the 50th level of holiness, as described in the Kabbalah? Poor Guy. He should just resign himself to being Mr. Ciccone. When I heard the tinny strains of "Lucky Star" pasted onto an inappropriate scene in Snatch, I knew he'd never recover from being married to Madonna.
Monday, December 16, 2002
Fa, La, La, La, La
Got the Christmas trees and all the other holiday decorations up. My living room (blue room) tree is white with blue and silver ornaments and blue lights. My kitchen (green room) tree is made out of green and gold tinsel and decorated with just white lights. I love the smell of tinsel! That's the real smell of Christmas. It pleases me.
After a brief hiatus, I'm going back to karate tonight. I should be getting the second stripe on my belt after this class. I'm also going to attempt to make it to more than two classes a week for a while, to catch up. Plus, it's cookie season.
Speaking of cookies, I'll soon be making my traditional buttery spritz cookies with my fancy cookie press. OK, it's not fancy, but it is made of plastic and can press cookies in a variety of shapes. I prefer to dye the dough green and make mini-evergreen trees with sugar sprinkles. I know it's lame to make only one kind of cookie, but they're easy, and who do I really have to give cookies to, anyway? By New Year's I'm pushing them on my co-workers. But no, nobody wants to eats sweets. What a bunch of wimps.
By the way, this section is my subtle way of saying I feel better. Of course I'd feel much better with trip to a tropical isle, but who wouldn't?
Got the Christmas trees and all the other holiday decorations up. My living room (blue room) tree is white with blue and silver ornaments and blue lights. My kitchen (green room) tree is made out of green and gold tinsel and decorated with just white lights. I love the smell of tinsel! That's the real smell of Christmas. It pleases me.
After a brief hiatus, I'm going back to karate tonight. I should be getting the second stripe on my belt after this class. I'm also going to attempt to make it to more than two classes a week for a while, to catch up. Plus, it's cookie season.
Speaking of cookies, I'll soon be making my traditional buttery spritz cookies with my fancy cookie press. OK, it's not fancy, but it is made of plastic and can press cookies in a variety of shapes. I prefer to dye the dough green and make mini-evergreen trees with sugar sprinkles. I know it's lame to make only one kind of cookie, but they're easy, and who do I really have to give cookies to, anyway? By New Year's I'm pushing them on my co-workers. But no, nobody wants to eats sweets. What a bunch of wimps.
By the way, this section is my subtle way of saying I feel better. Of course I'd feel much better with trip to a tropical isle, but who wouldn't?
Dance, GOP Monkey, Dance!
This whole Trent Lott thing is cracking me up. Now his own party is undermining him. The funniest part is how Lott was only seven years old when Thurmond ran for president, making the offending comments even more obviously grandiose and hyperbolic. I personally believe it was just a poorly thought out statement, but, since I already disliked Lott, I find the whole thing very amusing. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Oh, and here's another speech impaired Republican: "I have a lot of confidence in [Lott] as the leader and as a senator. And I think we should not lynch him, we should give him an opportunity,” Sen. Richard Shelby, R-Ala., said on CNN's “Late Edition.” Oh my. I'm sure the use of the word "lynch" in that comment won't come back to bite him in the ass. Stop, guys, you're killing me!
Non Sequitur
While walking in Times Square last night I got to see the headline in ten foot lighted letters: Al Gore isn't running in 2004. Hey, that's ok. I'm an Al fan from way back in his Tennessee senator, environmental book-writing, ignoring Tipper days, but he's really too smart to be the President. I'd like to see him do something more important. And possibly more comedy. He was pretty funny on SNL with Stuart Smalley.
Heard through the grapevine that a certain Latina pop diva from the Bronx who is engaged to a white-bread Boston boy of ambiguous sexuality (guessed who I'm talking about yet?) is actually a lesbian. More than idle rumour, two separate sources, one a gossip columnist and one a drag queen hairdresser, are cited in the story, which was passed to me by two separate people in a bar. I ask you, can it get any more concrete than that? Personally, I'm withholding judgement until I find out if she's received any mysterious toasters.
I have no idea what the original story for Flower Drum Song was like, but the new libretto doesn't seemed forced in the Broadway revival, starring a transcendent Lea Salonga. Playbill used the term "shoehorned," but to the inexperienced viewer, the story and music fit together snugly. The dance numbers were to die for, and the simple solos on the spartan stage were inspiring. Great seats at The Virginia Theater didn't hurt, either. The costume designer should be in line for a Tony. What with the traditional Chinese opera robes, 1950s dresses and handbags, and showstopping showgirl costumes, I felt like I do when I see a wall full of Barbies: "I want those clothes!" One leaves the show humming "One Hundred Million Miracles" and "I Enjoy Being a Girl," two of the shows most well-known and catchy numbers. I think Mssrs. R & H would have approved of this production. I sure did.
This whole Trent Lott thing is cracking me up. Now his own party is undermining him. The funniest part is how Lott was only seven years old when Thurmond ran for president, making the offending comments even more obviously grandiose and hyperbolic. I personally believe it was just a poorly thought out statement, but, since I already disliked Lott, I find the whole thing very amusing. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
Oh, and here's another speech impaired Republican: "I have a lot of confidence in [Lott] as the leader and as a senator. And I think we should not lynch him, we should give him an opportunity,” Sen. Richard Shelby, R-Ala., said on CNN's “Late Edition.” Oh my. I'm sure the use of the word "lynch" in that comment won't come back to bite him in the ass. Stop, guys, you're killing me!
Non Sequitur
While walking in Times Square last night I got to see the headline in ten foot lighted letters: Al Gore isn't running in 2004. Hey, that's ok. I'm an Al fan from way back in his Tennessee senator, environmental book-writing, ignoring Tipper days, but he's really too smart to be the President. I'd like to see him do something more important. And possibly more comedy. He was pretty funny on SNL with Stuart Smalley.
Heard through the grapevine that a certain Latina pop diva from the Bronx who is engaged to a white-bread Boston boy of ambiguous sexuality (guessed who I'm talking about yet?) is actually a lesbian. More than idle rumour, two separate sources, one a gossip columnist and one a drag queen hairdresser, are cited in the story, which was passed to me by two separate people in a bar. I ask you, can it get any more concrete than that? Personally, I'm withholding judgement until I find out if she's received any mysterious toasters.
I have no idea what the original story for Flower Drum Song was like, but the new libretto doesn't seemed forced in the Broadway revival, starring a transcendent Lea Salonga. Playbill used the term "shoehorned," but to the inexperienced viewer, the story and music fit together snugly. The dance numbers were to die for, and the simple solos on the spartan stage were inspiring. Great seats at The Virginia Theater didn't hurt, either. The costume designer should be in line for a Tony. What with the traditional Chinese opera robes, 1950s dresses and handbags, and showstopping showgirl costumes, I felt like I do when I see a wall full of Barbies: "I want those clothes!" One leaves the show humming "One Hundred Million Miracles" and "I Enjoy Being a Girl," two of the shows most well-known and catchy numbers. I think Mssrs. R & H would have approved of this production. I sure did.
Friday, December 13, 2002
I Will Survive
I just don't understand why Jan and Helen didn't join forces with Ted to get rid of Clay. I hate that guy. Of course, that's also good strategy, keep the least likable person around the longest so the jury is forced to vote for you. I would be so bad on Survivor. I'd mess up all the challenges and get voted off before you could say "Barramundi."
I do get really sucked into that show, though. By the end of the program, I have a clear favorite and I'm always disappointed to see them voted off. I shout at the TV, "Don't let Brian win immunity!" during challenges. It's sad.
The nice part is, when I'm watching Survivor, I'm not thinking about how miserable I am. So, thank you, Jeff Probst, for delaying the deep sighing and wallowing.
Also, CSI makes me happy. The guts aren't as gross on a black and white TV, either. It continues to be a really impressive show, with clever mysteries and enjoyable character interaction. Plus, The Who.
I really need a sunlamp so I don't have to rely on TV to combat depression! Darn winter.
I just don't understand why Jan and Helen didn't join forces with Ted to get rid of Clay. I hate that guy. Of course, that's also good strategy, keep the least likable person around the longest so the jury is forced to vote for you. I would be so bad on Survivor. I'd mess up all the challenges and get voted off before you could say "Barramundi."
I do get really sucked into that show, though. By the end of the program, I have a clear favorite and I'm always disappointed to see them voted off. I shout at the TV, "Don't let Brian win immunity!" during challenges. It's sad.
The nice part is, when I'm watching Survivor, I'm not thinking about how miserable I am. So, thank you, Jeff Probst, for delaying the deep sighing and wallowing.
Also, CSI makes me happy. The guts aren't as gross on a black and white TV, either. It continues to be a really impressive show, with clever mysteries and enjoyable character interaction. Plus, The Who.
I really need a sunlamp so I don't have to rely on TV to combat depression! Darn winter.
Thursday, December 12, 2002
Bad Modifiers
I found this story on a random blog, and of course, one thing struck me immediately. Why did they have to describe a murderer and his victims as homosexual? I never see "A Brooklyn man has confessed to killing and eating a fellow heterosexual," or "An Ohio man has confessed to killing and eating a fellow redhead." In this case, perhaps a more accurate sentence would have read, "A man has confessed to murdering and eating a fellow insane person who volunteered to be killed." I can't see why it's relevant that both men were gay. I hate the press.
I found this story on a random blog, and of course, one thing struck me immediately. Why did they have to describe a murderer and his victims as homosexual? I never see "A Brooklyn man has confessed to killing and eating a fellow heterosexual," or "An Ohio man has confessed to killing and eating a fellow redhead." In this case, perhaps a more accurate sentence would have read, "A man has confessed to murdering and eating a fellow insane person who volunteered to be killed." I can't see why it's relevant that both men were gay. I hate the press.
Welcome to New York Francisco
Well, Bloomberg is getting his wish. Even though the City Council is having a hearing on the mayor's proposed smoking ban next week, it looks like a done deal, with the mayor agreeing to certain changes. Who is exempt? Owner-operated bars with no employees (yeah, I can think of, let's see, NONE of those); seven existing cigar bars (why? hmm, could it be that the clientele is filthy rich?); fraternal organizations, like the American Legion (because they complained loudly and have influence); a small percentage of the space of outdoor cafes (because you can really set up non-smoking areas outside, right?); and bars that set up super-ventilated smoking rooms that employees don't enter. Bloomberg says we can smoke in the privacy of our own homes, and outside. But hey, not all outdoor areas allow smoking either, like ballparks and, now, 75% of outdoor cafe space. This takes effect in late March or April. There's no way I'm going to sit in a bar and not smoke. What's the point? All or nothing, I say.
I'm hoping that out of this comes some interesting parties, actually. "Smoke-easys," maybe. Flagrant violation of the law by large groups of puffers. Halloween parade marchers dressed like Adolph Bloomberg. Coalitions to buy cigarettes out of state and make lists of the all smoke-friendly establishments in the city. One rule I learned as a teenager that I will never forget: That which is forbidden is most desirable. To quote Catherine Martell in Basic Instinct, "What are you going to do, arrest me for smoking?" No, they'll just fine me $200. How ridiculous is that?
I'm going to open myself a little nightclub with no cabaret license where people can drink and dance and smoke all they want. Too bad it won't be in New York. Maybe France.
Fear of a Black Box
In other anti-government New York news, an "incident" at the Union Square subway station (14th Street, 4th Avenue) shut down the station for a few hours yesterday. It seems some clever-trousers found a way to leave 37 black boxes with the word "FEAR" printed on them (in white) throughout the station. The Post is for some reason trying to tie the "hoax" to the upcoming transit strike, but I don't think so. So-called suspicious packages -- which are actually just the baggage of absent minded people -- have been the cause of many recent shut-downs at transportation centers all over the country. I figure, considering the way the boxes looked (I saw a picture of one on the news last night), that this was actually a guerilla art project. A ballsy move, but so far, there aren't any suspects named.
I don't know what to think about it. On the one hand, it's pretty stupid to mess with the cops this way, considering the stiff penalties for faking terrorism threats, and it's not very nice to shut down a train station, you know, to your fellow New Yorkers with the big giant asses. On the other hand, if they aren't caught, it's a pretty brilliant execution of guerilla art. Considering that the first box reported was actually opened by a civilian, it begs the question of where our fear of terrorism really lies, and how great it is.
I Dream of Alexia With Long Brown Hair
This morning I dreamed I had long hair, past my shoulders, and I was brushing it. I couldn't decide whether to put it up or leave it down. It was very pretty. I also dreamed that I was in a beauty contest and made it to the semi-finals, and that I was swimming with dolphins but it made my lips curl back violently. I carried one of the dolphins on shore and it turned into a husk and some guy broke it. There was also something about towels and stairs and doors.
Yesterday I dreamed that I was watching the end of Stonewall and it became a documentary about parks where bad things happened. Then I was in it, and I was walking through a park in Detroit (where I've never been) and all around me were these big, different colored plastic bags, and I knew that this was a park where people dumped bodies. I started freaking out, because they were everywhere. I tried to find my way out of the park and I spied a little bridge with a small tunnel. A guy who was pushing a kind of sled (like a football sled) with a body bag on it told me I could go that way. For some reason I took his sled and went down the slope to the tunnel, but it tipped over and I had a dead person in a bag on top of me. I pushed it off, and looked through the tunnel. There was a slope down, covered with small, dusty gravel, and a kind of granola-y guy looking at me suspiciously. He and I walked away from the tunnel and we were in a big dormitory-like building, and it seems that we were behind all the guys clearing out the bodies, because it was safe. Then his girlfriend walked up to us and I left the building. That was a weird dream.
Well, Bloomberg is getting his wish. Even though the City Council is having a hearing on the mayor's proposed smoking ban next week, it looks like a done deal, with the mayor agreeing to certain changes. Who is exempt? Owner-operated bars with no employees (yeah, I can think of, let's see, NONE of those); seven existing cigar bars (why? hmm, could it be that the clientele is filthy rich?); fraternal organizations, like the American Legion (because they complained loudly and have influence); a small percentage of the space of outdoor cafes (because you can really set up non-smoking areas outside, right?); and bars that set up super-ventilated smoking rooms that employees don't enter. Bloomberg says we can smoke in the privacy of our own homes, and outside. But hey, not all outdoor areas allow smoking either, like ballparks and, now, 75% of outdoor cafe space. This takes effect in late March or April. There's no way I'm going to sit in a bar and not smoke. What's the point? All or nothing, I say.
I'm hoping that out of this comes some interesting parties, actually. "Smoke-easys," maybe. Flagrant violation of the law by large groups of puffers. Halloween parade marchers dressed like Adolph Bloomberg. Coalitions to buy cigarettes out of state and make lists of the all smoke-friendly establishments in the city. One rule I learned as a teenager that I will never forget: That which is forbidden is most desirable. To quote Catherine Martell in Basic Instinct, "What are you going to do, arrest me for smoking?" No, they'll just fine me $200. How ridiculous is that?
I'm going to open myself a little nightclub with no cabaret license where people can drink and dance and smoke all they want. Too bad it won't be in New York. Maybe France.
Fear of a Black Box
In other anti-government New York news, an "incident" at the Union Square subway station (14th Street, 4th Avenue) shut down the station for a few hours yesterday. It seems some clever-trousers found a way to leave 37 black boxes with the word "FEAR" printed on them (in white) throughout the station. The Post is for some reason trying to tie the "hoax" to the upcoming transit strike, but I don't think so. So-called suspicious packages -- which are actually just the baggage of absent minded people -- have been the cause of many recent shut-downs at transportation centers all over the country. I figure, considering the way the boxes looked (I saw a picture of one on the news last night), that this was actually a guerilla art project. A ballsy move, but so far, there aren't any suspects named.
I don't know what to think about it. On the one hand, it's pretty stupid to mess with the cops this way, considering the stiff penalties for faking terrorism threats, and it's not very nice to shut down a train station, you know, to your fellow New Yorkers with the big giant asses. On the other hand, if they aren't caught, it's a pretty brilliant execution of guerilla art. Considering that the first box reported was actually opened by a civilian, it begs the question of where our fear of terrorism really lies, and how great it is.
I Dream of Alexia With Long Brown Hair
This morning I dreamed I had long hair, past my shoulders, and I was brushing it. I couldn't decide whether to put it up or leave it down. It was very pretty. I also dreamed that I was in a beauty contest and made it to the semi-finals, and that I was swimming with dolphins but it made my lips curl back violently. I carried one of the dolphins on shore and it turned into a husk and some guy broke it. There was also something about towels and stairs and doors.
Yesterday I dreamed that I was watching the end of Stonewall and it became a documentary about parks where bad things happened. Then I was in it, and I was walking through a park in Detroit (where I've never been) and all around me were these big, different colored plastic bags, and I knew that this was a park where people dumped bodies. I started freaking out, because they were everywhere. I tried to find my way out of the park and I spied a little bridge with a small tunnel. A guy who was pushing a kind of sled (like a football sled) with a body bag on it told me I could go that way. For some reason I took his sled and went down the slope to the tunnel, but it tipped over and I had a dead person in a bag on top of me. I pushed it off, and looked through the tunnel. There was a slope down, covered with small, dusty gravel, and a kind of granola-y guy looking at me suspiciously. He and I walked away from the tunnel and we were in a big dormitory-like building, and it seems that we were behind all the guys clearing out the bodies, because it was safe. Then his girlfriend walked up to us and I left the building. That was a weird dream.
Wednesday, December 11, 2002
Whole Lott o' Love
Last night, after I returned home from the theater, I watched Introducing Dorothy Dandridge (Thank you, New York Oublic Library, for all the free movies!). In one scene, Dorothy dips her toes into the pool at a resort in Las Vegas, and the management has the pool drained and cleaned for "health reasons." Disgusting and ignorant, no? Well, not if you ask our new Senate majority leader, Trent Lott, who, at our good buddy Strom Thurmond's 100th birthday party, proclaimed that had Thurmond won the presidential election in 1948, we wouldn't have "all these problems" we have now. What a moron. Doesn't he know that any time he speaks, even if it's just to the paperboy, it will be in the news and people will be deconstructing it? True, at this point, only Al Gore and black leaders seem to care that Trent Lott fucked up and openly (perhaps accidentally) praised segregationist ideals, but that's something.
What I love is that people are still saying, "oh, that's how Strom used to be! He's changed!" Bullshit. Seriously. A man who will run for president at age 46 on a segregation platform does not change. He may not speak the same way, because it's unpopular and could get him bounced out of office, but this isn't some sappy after-school special where the racist realizes through some life-affirming event that blacks are people, too. Supporting Jim Crow on a national level isn't like your old grandaddy using the word "nigger" or not approving of your interracial marriage. Strom Thurmond is a relic, and never should have been in office this long. Yes, his ideas are those of the past, and they have no place in today's government. It's just too bad the American people had to wait until poor health forced him out of it. And I am through.
Last night, after I returned home from the theater, I watched Introducing Dorothy Dandridge (Thank you, New York Oublic Library, for all the free movies!). In one scene, Dorothy dips her toes into the pool at a resort in Las Vegas, and the management has the pool drained and cleaned for "health reasons." Disgusting and ignorant, no? Well, not if you ask our new Senate majority leader, Trent Lott, who, at our good buddy Strom Thurmond's 100th birthday party, proclaimed that had Thurmond won the presidential election in 1948, we wouldn't have "all these problems" we have now. What a moron. Doesn't he know that any time he speaks, even if it's just to the paperboy, it will be in the news and people will be deconstructing it? True, at this point, only Al Gore and black leaders seem to care that Trent Lott fucked up and openly (perhaps accidentally) praised segregationist ideals, but that's something.
What I love is that people are still saying, "oh, that's how Strom used to be! He's changed!" Bullshit. Seriously. A man who will run for president at age 46 on a segregation platform does not change. He may not speak the same way, because it's unpopular and could get him bounced out of office, but this isn't some sappy after-school special where the racist realizes through some life-affirming event that blacks are people, too. Supporting Jim Crow on a national level isn't like your old grandaddy using the word "nigger" or not approving of your interracial marriage. Strom Thurmond is a relic, and never should have been in office this long. Yes, his ideas are those of the past, and they have no place in today's government. It's just too bad the American people had to wait until poor health forced him out of it. And I am through.
There's Always Room for Infanticide!
Last night I was lucky enough to attend the opening night of Medea on Broadway. It was riveting. Fiona Shaw was incredible as Medea, the betrayed and scorned wife of Jason (of the Argonauts fame). I don't have my Playbill in front of me, so I'll just use character names for everyone else. Jason was passable, very passionate and visually stimulating, but few of the other actors looked like much next to Shaw. Aegeus came close, offering a brief appearance as a foreign ruler who would shelter her from the wrath of Corinth. The Greek Chorus was somewhat weakly played by four overzealous young ladies, although I was impressed by the girl who vomited on stage. Stunning set design, great blood work, and two lovely moppets who played dead and bloody remarkably well also added to the overall excellence of the production. If you're afraid of Greek tragedy or don't think you'll be able to understand Euripides, don't worry. Shaw's delivery of a dense text smoothly translates the story for modern ears while revealing Medea's wretched pain, cleverness and, ultimately, her madness. The show is only here for a 12-week run, so I recommend getting tickets now before they sell out.
Last night I was lucky enough to attend the opening night of Medea on Broadway. It was riveting. Fiona Shaw was incredible as Medea, the betrayed and scorned wife of Jason (of the Argonauts fame). I don't have my Playbill in front of me, so I'll just use character names for everyone else. Jason was passable, very passionate and visually stimulating, but few of the other actors looked like much next to Shaw. Aegeus came close, offering a brief appearance as a foreign ruler who would shelter her from the wrath of Corinth. The Greek Chorus was somewhat weakly played by four overzealous young ladies, although I was impressed by the girl who vomited on stage. Stunning set design, great blood work, and two lovely moppets who played dead and bloody remarkably well also added to the overall excellence of the production. If you're afraid of Greek tragedy or don't think you'll be able to understand Euripides, don't worry. Shaw's delivery of a dense text smoothly translates the story for modern ears while revealing Medea's wretched pain, cleverness and, ultimately, her madness. The show is only here for a 12-week run, so I recommend getting tickets now before they sell out.
Tuesday, December 10, 2002
Past Perfect
I watched two period pieces last night, but they sure weren't of the Merchant-Ivory variety. Dick, set from 1972-1974 and offering a fantasy story about Watergate and "Deep Throat," and Stonewall, set in the late sixties and giving us a story that might have happened in New York leading up to the Stonewall riot of 1969. I've seen Dick before, and I think it's super cute. Kirsten Dunst and Michelle Williams do amazing jobs as complete airheads. I felt like I could see the little wheels turning in their tiny minds. Plus, the costumes are great, and the White House cast is perfect.
Stonewall was just fantastic. I recommend this film to anyone who doesn't understand what the gay civil rights movement is about or to anyone who just wants to learn more about it or the scene in New York in 1969. Yes, I know, I have a thing about drag queens, but this flick is no Priscilla. It's real. It's heartbreaking, and it also gives you hope. Why is it that only independent films that don't get seen by the people who need to see them offer this kind of look at the subject matter? Well, I'm not into the politics of film, so whatever. I saw it and I give it ten thumbs up.
I watched two period pieces last night, but they sure weren't of the Merchant-Ivory variety. Dick, set from 1972-1974 and offering a fantasy story about Watergate and "Deep Throat," and Stonewall, set in the late sixties and giving us a story that might have happened in New York leading up to the Stonewall riot of 1969. I've seen Dick before, and I think it's super cute. Kirsten Dunst and Michelle Williams do amazing jobs as complete airheads. I felt like I could see the little wheels turning in their tiny minds. Plus, the costumes are great, and the White House cast is perfect.
Stonewall was just fantastic. I recommend this film to anyone who doesn't understand what the gay civil rights movement is about or to anyone who just wants to learn more about it or the scene in New York in 1969. Yes, I know, I have a thing about drag queens, but this flick is no Priscilla. It's real. It's heartbreaking, and it also gives you hope. Why is it that only independent films that don't get seen by the people who need to see them offer this kind of look at the subject matter? Well, I'm not into the politics of film, so whatever. I saw it and I give it ten thumbs up.
Now, I Hate New York
What the hell is going on with this transit strike? A few points, if you'll bear with me.
Mayor Bloomberg says he will jump on his bike and ride to work in the morning. Plus, he said his old bike was in poor shape, so he was going to go out and buy another one. OK, even if I weren't deathly afraid to ride a bicycle in New York, and even if I could afford to buy one, I live in Bensonhurst, which would get me into work sometime around lunch, and dead. So glad that our Mayor can afford to live in Manhattan and bike to work, but some of us aren't so stinking ri-- I mean, lucky.
I simply have no way to get to any express buses or ferries or trains. The walk would be so far, I'd have to get up at 4 am. Park and ride facilities are great... IF YOU HAVE A CAR. What, am I supposed to ask my friend in Bay Ridge to come east to pick me up then drive west back to the city? Where's he supposed to park when he gets there, anyway? There's no parking in this city on a regular basis, much less when everyone is driving in, 4 people per car or not.
And speaking of that, Mayor Mike thinks it would be a good idea for you to pick up strangers on the street who may need a ride. He assures you that since traffic will be moving slowly, it won't be dangerous. I -- Whu -- The hell?
This is just insanity. I know the city needs to act like it can live without the transit workers so it doesn't have to cave to their demands, but it can't! We need the public transportation system! I can't work from home, and I can't get into the city in a halfway timely manner. Let's all cross our fingers that they settle this thing by Sunday!
By the way, I'm so sick and tired of all the crap going on in this city (largely because Rudy screwed up and left Mike holding the bag), that I'm looking into getting a job on a cruise ship. Something, anything, I can't stand it anymore!
What the hell is going on with this transit strike? A few points, if you'll bear with me.
Mayor Bloomberg says he will jump on his bike and ride to work in the morning. Plus, he said his old bike was in poor shape, so he was going to go out and buy another one. OK, even if I weren't deathly afraid to ride a bicycle in New York, and even if I could afford to buy one, I live in Bensonhurst, which would get me into work sometime around lunch, and dead. So glad that our Mayor can afford to live in Manhattan and bike to work, but some of us aren't so stinking ri-- I mean, lucky.
I simply have no way to get to any express buses or ferries or trains. The walk would be so far, I'd have to get up at 4 am. Park and ride facilities are great... IF YOU HAVE A CAR. What, am I supposed to ask my friend in Bay Ridge to come east to pick me up then drive west back to the city? Where's he supposed to park when he gets there, anyway? There's no parking in this city on a regular basis, much less when everyone is driving in, 4 people per car or not.
And speaking of that, Mayor Mike thinks it would be a good idea for you to pick up strangers on the street who may need a ride. He assures you that since traffic will be moving slowly, it won't be dangerous. I -- Whu -- The hell?
This is just insanity. I know the city needs to act like it can live without the transit workers so it doesn't have to cave to their demands, but it can't! We need the public transportation system! I can't work from home, and I can't get into the city in a halfway timely manner. Let's all cross our fingers that they settle this thing by Sunday!
By the way, I'm so sick and tired of all the crap going on in this city (largely because Rudy screwed up and left Mike holding the bag), that I'm looking into getting a job on a cruise ship. Something, anything, I can't stand it anymore!
Monday, December 09, 2002
I Hate Christmas
Well, I like the music. I found a place to go caroling this Friday, which is nice.
My office is too hot, and I can't stand it. Last Monday it was a bloody icebox. Oh right, I have a desk fan. That's better.
Why, oh, why are the Holiday Barbies so pretty? So enticing, velvety and glittering? Year after year I gaze through toy store windows, longing for the days when I could always look forward to a Barbie or two under the Christmas tree. Now I'm reduced to buying them for myself, and I just can't justify the expense. Even the $12 ones at CVS; it just seems wrong for me to buy toys for myself, especially since I don't play with them nearly as much as I should.
Can I fast-forward to the less confusing and irrational part of my life, please? I'm bored with this part.
Well, I like the music. I found a place to go caroling this Friday, which is nice.
My office is too hot, and I can't stand it. Last Monday it was a bloody icebox. Oh right, I have a desk fan. That's better.
Why, oh, why are the Holiday Barbies so pretty? So enticing, velvety and glittering? Year after year I gaze through toy store windows, longing for the days when I could always look forward to a Barbie or two under the Christmas tree. Now I'm reduced to buying them for myself, and I just can't justify the expense. Even the $12 ones at CVS; it just seems wrong for me to buy toys for myself, especially since I don't play with them nearly as much as I should.
Can I fast-forward to the less confusing and irrational part of my life, please? I'm bored with this part.
Make Love, Not War
I wish I knew someone like Phillip Berrigan. A person with a true conviction that war is unnatural and should be anathema to humans. Someone who wouldn't derisively call me a peacenik, someone who could teach me how to be an activist for peace and inspire me to take that action. People like Berrigan devote their lives to causes, at the expense of leading a "normal" life, but these people are true heroes to humanity. It's a shame, that in a time when worldwide bloodshed is the norm and the US is on the verge of creating more, anti-nuclear and peace movements are weak, characterized as "liberal nuttiness," and sparsely attended. Recently, I read that the new version of the draft ("Conscription 5.0"), if the Selective Service Act is reinstated, may include women. I'm probably too old, but hell, I wouldn't be any good in a war! I'd probably accidentally shoot myself in basic training. There are times when I am honestly bewildered that people don't see war as so much madness, especially in this global era of advanced technology, widespread education, and immigration. Personally, I don't trust anyone who can't (or won't) see that war and murder are the same things. Here's to you, Phillip Berrigan, for not giving up on humanity.
I wish I knew someone like Phillip Berrigan. A person with a true conviction that war is unnatural and should be anathema to humans. Someone who wouldn't derisively call me a peacenik, someone who could teach me how to be an activist for peace and inspire me to take that action. People like Berrigan devote their lives to causes, at the expense of leading a "normal" life, but these people are true heroes to humanity. It's a shame, that in a time when worldwide bloodshed is the norm and the US is on the verge of creating more, anti-nuclear and peace movements are weak, characterized as "liberal nuttiness," and sparsely attended. Recently, I read that the new version of the draft ("Conscription 5.0"), if the Selective Service Act is reinstated, may include women. I'm probably too old, but hell, I wouldn't be any good in a war! I'd probably accidentally shoot myself in basic training. There are times when I am honestly bewildered that people don't see war as so much madness, especially in this global era of advanced technology, widespread education, and immigration. Personally, I don't trust anyone who can't (or won't) see that war and murder are the same things. Here's to you, Phillip Berrigan, for not giving up on humanity.
Friday, December 06, 2002
The Internerd
Sometimes I can't stand the fact that other people with whom I seemingly have nothing in common with read the same things that I do, specifically rabbit blog and The Onion. I mean, how can a guy who enjoys writing a blog about appellate legislation enjoy this stuff? I need more obscure interests. Actually, I need to stop reading other people's blogs ('cept rabbit's), because it makes me crazy. I'm not ready for the world to be this small/big yet. This is why I don't belong to fan clubs or message boards for Buffy or Prince; I get creeped out by lots of other people being really into the same things I'm really into. Especially when they're superfans, because that's just scary. I could never collect anything because that's just a decent into madness waiting to happen. I have some stuff that's the same as other stuff I have, but I'm not nearly a completionist on anything. I haven't even read Stephen King's latest book yet, and that's my big one, though I'm sure there are people out there who have eight copies of each book, signed, and weird eBay stuff like Stevie's used Kleenex. Yikes. Still, at least those people are passionate about something.
Sometimes I can't stand the fact that other people with whom I seemingly have nothing in common with read the same things that I do, specifically rabbit blog and The Onion. I mean, how can a guy who enjoys writing a blog about appellate legislation enjoy this stuff? I need more obscure interests. Actually, I need to stop reading other people's blogs ('cept rabbit's), because it makes me crazy. I'm not ready for the world to be this small/big yet. This is why I don't belong to fan clubs or message boards for Buffy or Prince; I get creeped out by lots of other people being really into the same things I'm really into. Especially when they're superfans, because that's just scary. I could never collect anything because that's just a decent into madness waiting to happen. I have some stuff that's the same as other stuff I have, but I'm not nearly a completionist on anything. I haven't even read Stephen King's latest book yet, and that's my big one, though I'm sure there are people out there who have eight copies of each book, signed, and weird eBay stuff like Stevie's used Kleenex. Yikes. Still, at least those people are passionate about something.
Friday Ruminations
Hey, it's Friday, what do you want from my life?
Is the personal really political? Should it be? Is there a way to separate the two? What's more important, sexual freedom or democracy? I think Western women constantly want to impose "our" ideals of freedom on women of the East, and that's pretty screwy. What have we got anyway? (What the hell you got, 1968, that makes you so damn superior... uh, sorry.) No Equal Rights Amendment. Women still earn less on the dollar than men do, and no one opens the door for us anymore. Forget a man offering a woman (even a pregnant one) his seat on the subway. If we don't work, we're told by "feminists" that there's something wrong with us. Running a household and raising children while the man brings home the paycheck is considered undesirable. So, what's more desirable? Going to college, learning to distrust and disrespect men, going to work to be underpaid and underappreciated, always having to work harder, then returning to a single woman's apartment, putting career first, maintaining independence, until when? Until you're too old to meet anyone to have a passionate relationship with, until the most important thing is how well your furniture works together and that he's not allergic to your five cats? What's the point of all this "feminism," all this independence, if the equality we receive is the superficial kind? "Thank goodness the women want to be equal, now I don't have to pull out her chair at the restaurant or pay for dinner." Also, you know what? Men and women aren't equal. We aren't the same. The Equal Rights Amendment shouldn't be about androgyny, but about, you guessed it equal rights.
OK, I know I'm rambling, but I'm working through a lot of thoughts here. These aren't carefully crafted arguments.
I started thinking about this stuff when I read a letter online reacting to an article about women in Islam. The writer says, "I will respect Islam when I look around and see women able to wear what they want, shake hands with and touch men in public, date and marry whom they want, and yes, sleep with whom they want. It would also be nice to see women and men worshipping side by side. I don't see these things in the U.S., much less in places like Saudi Arabia."
Why do Western "feminists" insist on imposing their values on people from other cultures? In a lot of these seemingly mysogynistic cultures (Hasidism, Islam, et al), the root of the way women are treated is a respect for women. Even if that sounds fishy to you or me, who are we to tell other people how to behave? Besides, shouldn't we be more focused on the rights of these women to vote and to drive? If the women are truly oppressed, that's the freedom they want. Real freedom, not just (or even) sexual freedom. Is dating the most important thing to a woman who feels unable to leave her house or family, if she wants to? What did the sexual revolution ever get American women anyway, besides STDs, emotional baggage and the loss of general respect from men? And speaking of "worshipping side by side," if it's part of your religion that you don't worship beside men, why would you want to? If you want to change basic aspects of your religion, you're in the wrong religion.
[For real. If you insist on being part of a religion or religious movement, unless you're the founder, how can you want to change parts of it? If you don't like all the parts of your religion, why do you need it? Isn't it possible to worship the god or entity you believe in without going into a church or labeling yourself as part of a group? I guess I've just never seen the point of church without the unquestioning acceptance of the dogma. Otherwise you're a free thinker, and you don't need the denominational aspects of your religion. Eh, I guess I really just don't understand it, never having been involved in one, so I probably don't know what I'm talking about. Actually, just ignore the whole religious aspect of this post.]
Maybe what really gets my goat is that it seems like the feminism and civil rights movements both petered out before they got anywhere. They started strong, but without strong follow-through, that is, with the younger generation being complacent about their situation, more and different problems have been created. It reminds me of something I recently read that Bill Moyers said about Bill O'Reilly. He said that O'Reilly's passion was equal only to his "stubborn, ignorant denial of complexity." I think a lot of people deny complexity in political issues. Hell, I certainly use the black/white approach overmuch. I guess no one wants to appear wishy-washy on an issue, so admitting that it isn't necessarily easy to figure out or resolve is undesirable. Maybe we're happier when we can believe that everything is either right or wrong, for everyone. God, is this where that whole Liberal/Conservative nonsense comes from? I never could figure out how a person could seriously label themselves that way, then propose to hold a rational political discussion. Are all our conversations about politics just about trying to convince the other side of or validate our opinions? Is it possible to have a discussion where both sides are willing to admit that they have learned something?
Where the hell is this going? Just thank your lucky stars you're not sitting next to me in a bar listening to me yell this stuff at the top of my lungs.
Hey, it's Friday, what do you want from my life?
Is the personal really political? Should it be? Is there a way to separate the two? What's more important, sexual freedom or democracy? I think Western women constantly want to impose "our" ideals of freedom on women of the East, and that's pretty screwy. What have we got anyway? (What the hell you got, 1968, that makes you so damn superior... uh, sorry.) No Equal Rights Amendment. Women still earn less on the dollar than men do, and no one opens the door for us anymore. Forget a man offering a woman (even a pregnant one) his seat on the subway. If we don't work, we're told by "feminists" that there's something wrong with us. Running a household and raising children while the man brings home the paycheck is considered undesirable. So, what's more desirable? Going to college, learning to distrust and disrespect men, going to work to be underpaid and underappreciated, always having to work harder, then returning to a single woman's apartment, putting career first, maintaining independence, until when? Until you're too old to meet anyone to have a passionate relationship with, until the most important thing is how well your furniture works together and that he's not allergic to your five cats? What's the point of all this "feminism," all this independence, if the equality we receive is the superficial kind? "Thank goodness the women want to be equal, now I don't have to pull out her chair at the restaurant or pay for dinner." Also, you know what? Men and women aren't equal. We aren't the same. The Equal Rights Amendment shouldn't be about androgyny, but about, you guessed it equal rights.
OK, I know I'm rambling, but I'm working through a lot of thoughts here. These aren't carefully crafted arguments.
I started thinking about this stuff when I read a letter online reacting to an article about women in Islam. The writer says, "I will respect Islam when I look around and see women able to wear what they want, shake hands with and touch men in public, date and marry whom they want, and yes, sleep with whom they want. It would also be nice to see women and men worshipping side by side. I don't see these things in the U.S., much less in places like Saudi Arabia."
Why do Western "feminists" insist on imposing their values on people from other cultures? In a lot of these seemingly mysogynistic cultures (Hasidism, Islam, et al), the root of the way women are treated is a respect for women. Even if that sounds fishy to you or me, who are we to tell other people how to behave? Besides, shouldn't we be more focused on the rights of these women to vote and to drive? If the women are truly oppressed, that's the freedom they want. Real freedom, not just (or even) sexual freedom. Is dating the most important thing to a woman who feels unable to leave her house or family, if she wants to? What did the sexual revolution ever get American women anyway, besides STDs, emotional baggage and the loss of general respect from men? And speaking of "worshipping side by side," if it's part of your religion that you don't worship beside men, why would you want to? If you want to change basic aspects of your religion, you're in the wrong religion.
[For real. If you insist on being part of a religion or religious movement, unless you're the founder, how can you want to change parts of it? If you don't like all the parts of your religion, why do you need it? Isn't it possible to worship the god or entity you believe in without going into a church or labeling yourself as part of a group? I guess I've just never seen the point of church without the unquestioning acceptance of the dogma. Otherwise you're a free thinker, and you don't need the denominational aspects of your religion. Eh, I guess I really just don't understand it, never having been involved in one, so I probably don't know what I'm talking about. Actually, just ignore the whole religious aspect of this post.]
Maybe what really gets my goat is that it seems like the feminism and civil rights movements both petered out before they got anywhere. They started strong, but without strong follow-through, that is, with the younger generation being complacent about their situation, more and different problems have been created. It reminds me of something I recently read that Bill Moyers said about Bill O'Reilly. He said that O'Reilly's passion was equal only to his "stubborn, ignorant denial of complexity." I think a lot of people deny complexity in political issues. Hell, I certainly use the black/white approach overmuch. I guess no one wants to appear wishy-washy on an issue, so admitting that it isn't necessarily easy to figure out or resolve is undesirable. Maybe we're happier when we can believe that everything is either right or wrong, for everyone. God, is this where that whole Liberal/Conservative nonsense comes from? I never could figure out how a person could seriously label themselves that way, then propose to hold a rational political discussion. Are all our conversations about politics just about trying to convince the other side of or validate our opinions? Is it possible to have a discussion where both sides are willing to admit that they have learned something?
Where the hell is this going? Just thank your lucky stars you're not sitting next to me in a bar listening to me yell this stuff at the top of my lungs.
Busy Day
Sorry for the incessant posting, but I had to note that Strom "The Devil" Thurmond has turned 100 years old. I'd also like to say that for years I thought Strom Thurmond was in Cool Hand Luke and delivered the famous line, "What we've got here is failure to communicate. Some men you just can't reach." Of course, that was actually Strother Martin, but you can see my confusion, can't you? Regardless of his lack of movie credits, for some reason people like this racist, and actually believe he's changed his ways. Oh, sure, I believe that he, because he saw the light, allowed his daughter to go to an integrated school, not because he saw the way the wind was blowing and wanted to stay in office. Hmph. Well, happy birthday, Strom. Way to keep South Carolina in the Dark Ages.
Sorry for the incessant posting, but I had to note that Strom "The Devil" Thurmond has turned 100 years old. I'd also like to say that for years I thought Strom Thurmond was in Cool Hand Luke and delivered the famous line, "What we've got here is failure to communicate. Some men you just can't reach." Of course, that was actually Strother Martin, but you can see my confusion, can't you? Regardless of his lack of movie credits, for some reason people like this racist, and actually believe he's changed his ways. Oh, sure, I believe that he, because he saw the light, allowed his daughter to go to an integrated school, not because he saw the way the wind was blowing and wanted to stay in office. Hmph. Well, happy birthday, Strom. Way to keep South Carolina in the Dark Ages.
Walking in a Nuclear Winterland: Part Deux
I wish it were still snowing. For some reason, I don't mind the cold if it's actually snowing. Snow makes me happy, even when it's forcing its sleety way into my soft little eyeballs. So, it's not snowing, but there is snow, getting slushy and dirty and yellow and generally yucky. Trudging around in the muck is no fun, but it's nothing compared with the return home. You're outside, wind whipping around your bundled up body, and as soon as you enter your cozy little house, the warm air hits your bladder and guess what? You fumble off your wet snow boots as your glasses fog up. Struggling to remain upright and dry, you hurriedly remove your glasses, gloves, hat, scarf, coat, and if you're me, your blazer and dress, just to get to the zipper on the turtleneck unitard you foolishly chose to wear on a day in which you would ever have the need to urinate. You're lucky if you can fight your way through the gauntlet of beaded curtains and various floor clutter (shoes, Barbies, television sets) before you have an accident. Thankfully, your Kegel practice saves the day. And that's the worst part of cold weather. Except hypothermia.
I wish it were still snowing. For some reason, I don't mind the cold if it's actually snowing. Snow makes me happy, even when it's forcing its sleety way into my soft little eyeballs. So, it's not snowing, but there is snow, getting slushy and dirty and yellow and generally yucky. Trudging around in the muck is no fun, but it's nothing compared with the return home. You're outside, wind whipping around your bundled up body, and as soon as you enter your cozy little house, the warm air hits your bladder and guess what? You fumble off your wet snow boots as your glasses fog up. Struggling to remain upright and dry, you hurriedly remove your glasses, gloves, hat, scarf, coat, and if you're me, your blazer and dress, just to get to the zipper on the turtleneck unitard you foolishly chose to wear on a day in which you would ever have the need to urinate. You're lucky if you can fight your way through the gauntlet of beaded curtains and various floor clutter (shoes, Barbies, television sets) before you have an accident. Thankfully, your Kegel practice saves the day. And that's the worst part of cold weather. Except hypothermia.
Headline O' The Day
"Vatican says gay priests unsuitable"
Other surprising headlines:
"Fish say fishing is environmentally unsound"
"President claims to be pro-Republican"
"Beauty contestant on diet"
"Rich, white people happy"
"Religious Right says no on gays, abortion"
"Lesbian group supports local women's center"
"Environmentalists say recycling is 'ok'"
"Ann Coulter recommends torture and death for known liberals"
"Paleontologists believe in evolution"
"Amish not major consumers of low-rise jeans"
"Experts: Bloggers self-involved, embittered hermits"
"Vatican says gay priests unsuitable"
Other surprising headlines:
"Fish say fishing is environmentally unsound"
"President claims to be pro-Republican"
"Beauty contestant on diet"
"Rich, white people happy"
"Religious Right says no on gays, abortion"
"Lesbian group supports local women's center"
"Environmentalists say recycling is 'ok'"
"Ann Coulter recommends torture and death for known liberals"
"Paleontologists believe in evolution"
"Amish not major consumers of low-rise jeans"
"Experts: Bloggers self-involved, embittered hermits"
Thursday, December 05, 2002
The Soylent Green Solution
Maybe it's PMS, but people are really annoying me lately. It's as if half of the population are simply wandering around, clueless, bumbling through life like big, drooly, wiggly dogs.
Take the guy at Taco Bell last night. He's pointing at a large picture of a Gordita (with the word "Gordita") printed on it, and he can't figure out a) how it's pronounced (I swear he called it a Gorrito and a Gorrata) or b) what kind of food it is ("Is that like a taco, what is it?"). THERE'S A LARGE COLOR PICTURE OF THE FOOD AND YOU'RE POINTING AT IT. How can you not tell what it is? None of the ingredients are hidden. Besides, this is Taco Bell, not brain surgery. Jeez.
Then, there are the big giant fat ass people. Don't get me wrong, I don't care how big a person's ass is, in general. I may boggle at the fact that there are people who are literally twice as wide as I am, but hey, that's not my problem. Until I get on the subway. There I am, on the train, la la la, enjoying my ride home, when I see this enormous ass decending towards me, aiming at a target space on the seat that's approximately half the size of the ass. I cringe and press my body into the metal bars to my right, to no avail. I have been wedged into a space half the size that I was sitting in before, and I'm not supposed to look at big giant fat ass person and say, "My God, don't you know how giant your ass is?" I'm supposed to sit in half a seat while big giant fat ass takes up half of my seat and half of the one next to her. Is this fair? I commute 75 minutes each way, and I'm obliged to have big giant ass's wallet digging into my thigh, then say "It's okay," when she snorts out a half-hearted "Sorry." Seriously, it's only glandular for so many people. I think some people like having big giant asses, because it makes them feel more powerful. They're bigger, they can squash me like a grape if I grouse. Yes, I am afraid of the big giant ass people, just as I am afraid of so many people in this city who just might shoot me if I say what I really think. Wow, how much does that suck? I wish I could find an island of reasonable, intelligent people. And when I say intelligent, I mean not breathing through their mouths while wearing a crappy sweatshirt with a designer's name silk-screened on, ignoring their screaming devil spawn and taking up two seats on the subway with THEIR BIG GIANT FAT ASSES.
Earlier versions of the above rant included much more profanity, so consider yourself lucky.
Maybe it's PMS, but people are really annoying me lately. It's as if half of the population are simply wandering around, clueless, bumbling through life like big, drooly, wiggly dogs.
Take the guy at Taco Bell last night. He's pointing at a large picture of a Gordita (with the word "Gordita") printed on it, and he can't figure out a) how it's pronounced (I swear he called it a Gorrito and a Gorrata) or b) what kind of food it is ("Is that like a taco, what is it?"). THERE'S A LARGE COLOR PICTURE OF THE FOOD AND YOU'RE POINTING AT IT. How can you not tell what it is? None of the ingredients are hidden. Besides, this is Taco Bell, not brain surgery. Jeez.
Then, there are the big giant fat ass people. Don't get me wrong, I don't care how big a person's ass is, in general. I may boggle at the fact that there are people who are literally twice as wide as I am, but hey, that's not my problem. Until I get on the subway. There I am, on the train, la la la, enjoying my ride home, when I see this enormous ass decending towards me, aiming at a target space on the seat that's approximately half the size of the ass. I cringe and press my body into the metal bars to my right, to no avail. I have been wedged into a space half the size that I was sitting in before, and I'm not supposed to look at big giant fat ass person and say, "My God, don't you know how giant your ass is?" I'm supposed to sit in half a seat while big giant fat ass takes up half of my seat and half of the one next to her. Is this fair? I commute 75 minutes each way, and I'm obliged to have big giant ass's wallet digging into my thigh, then say "It's okay," when she snorts out a half-hearted "Sorry." Seriously, it's only glandular for so many people. I think some people like having big giant asses, because it makes them feel more powerful. They're bigger, they can squash me like a grape if I grouse. Yes, I am afraid of the big giant ass people, just as I am afraid of so many people in this city who just might shoot me if I say what I really think. Wow, how much does that suck? I wish I could find an island of reasonable, intelligent people. And when I say intelligent, I mean not breathing through their mouths while wearing a crappy sweatshirt with a designer's name silk-screened on, ignoring their screaming devil spawn and taking up two seats on the subway with THEIR BIG GIANT FAT ASSES.
Earlier versions of the above rant included much more profanity, so consider yourself lucky.
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Rubble, Rubble
Another reason McDonald's fries are the best: They use this super fine salt that sticks to the fries like glitter on spray glue. Hmm, not the most appetizing comparison, but you know what I mean. I've taken to scamming extra packets of the salt for my non-McDonald's fry encounters. You should, too. I guarantee it will improve your quality of life. Unless you have high blood pressure.
Another reason McDonald's fries are the best: They use this super fine salt that sticks to the fries like glitter on spray glue. Hmm, not the most appetizing comparison, but you know what I mean. I've taken to scamming extra packets of the salt for my non-McDonald's fry encounters. You should, too. I guarantee it will improve your quality of life. Unless you have high blood pressure.
I Guess She'll Die
The AP gives us a story on all the items confiscated at airports over the Thanksgiving holiday. My favorite part is where a man at Ronald Reagan Airport in DC tried to carry a brick onto the plane. Said the spokesman for the Transportation Security Administration (is this a new thing?), "I don't know why he would carry a brick." I sure don't either. Why would 20,581 people not realize that sharp objects, like ice picks and meat cleavers and cuticle scissors, are not allowed on airplanes? You've only had 14 months to learn this stuff, people! Put all the sharp stuff in your checked baggage. I mean, who's going to need a meat cleaver mid-flight? Airplane food is bad, but come on. I can only suspect that all of these people are terrorists. If I choose to accept that so many people are really such dumbasses, I may go bonkers. Another pearl of wisdom for all you travelers, in case you didn't know: ‘‘You're not allowed to have a gun at the airport without a permit." For real! Did you know that? That kind of uncommon knowledge is up there with the fact that Madonna's mother died when she was a child and that the sky is sometimes blue. How are we supposed to know these things? I sure am glad the Feds are there to search my bag for me, because what if I went on a plane and some terrorist pickpocketed my handy icepick? Or my welding gun? Not to mention my bat or club. Thank you, federal government!
The AP gives us a story on all the items confiscated at airports over the Thanksgiving holiday. My favorite part is where a man at Ronald Reagan Airport in DC tried to carry a brick onto the plane. Said the spokesman for the Transportation Security Administration (is this a new thing?), "I don't know why he would carry a brick." I sure don't either. Why would 20,581 people not realize that sharp objects, like ice picks and meat cleavers and cuticle scissors, are not allowed on airplanes? You've only had 14 months to learn this stuff, people! Put all the sharp stuff in your checked baggage. I mean, who's going to need a meat cleaver mid-flight? Airplane food is bad, but come on. I can only suspect that all of these people are terrorists. If I choose to accept that so many people are really such dumbasses, I may go bonkers. Another pearl of wisdom for all you travelers, in case you didn't know: ‘‘You're not allowed to have a gun at the airport without a permit." For real! Did you know that? That kind of uncommon knowledge is up there with the fact that Madonna's mother died when she was a child and that the sky is sometimes blue. How are we supposed to know these things? I sure am glad the Feds are there to search my bag for me, because what if I went on a plane and some terrorist pickpocketed my handy icepick? Or my welding gun? Not to mention my bat or club. Thank you, federal government!
Tuesday, December 03, 2002
Walking in a Nuclear Winterland
It's 19 degrees Fahrenheit in New York City this morning. They said that with the wind it should feel like zero. ZERO. What's wrong with this picture? I can barely tolerate it. Maybe it's because it's the first time it's gotten this cold since spring, and I'm not used to it, but I really can't function in this kind of weather. In the morning, the prospect of leaving my down-filled burrito is daunting. Taking a shower requires filling the bathroom with steam before I can even get out of my warm jammies. Hats limit hair options. Turtlenecks, sweaters and pants make me look dumpy and boring. I always lose all the little extras, like scarves and gloves. Trying to retrieve my Metrocard with gloves on is hopeless. Big coats mean more contact with my fellow public transportation passengers, ew. My nose gets cold! Really, really cold! But if I put my scarf over it, the hot air from my mouth causes it to run. Exposing the nose back to the cold creates snotcicles. This is just a no-win situation.
Let's check Monster.com for openings in Honolulu...
It's 19 degrees Fahrenheit in New York City this morning. They said that with the wind it should feel like zero. ZERO. What's wrong with this picture? I can barely tolerate it. Maybe it's because it's the first time it's gotten this cold since spring, and I'm not used to it, but I really can't function in this kind of weather. In the morning, the prospect of leaving my down-filled burrito is daunting. Taking a shower requires filling the bathroom with steam before I can even get out of my warm jammies. Hats limit hair options. Turtlenecks, sweaters and pants make me look dumpy and boring. I always lose all the little extras, like scarves and gloves. Trying to retrieve my Metrocard with gloves on is hopeless. Big coats mean more contact with my fellow public transportation passengers, ew. My nose gets cold! Really, really cold! But if I put my scarf over it, the hot air from my mouth causes it to run. Exposing the nose back to the cold creates snotcicles. This is just a no-win situation.
Let's check Monster.com for openings in Honolulu...
Monday, December 02, 2002
Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fungus
I'm back! Let's see...
Friday's party at Purple Door was as grimy and debauched as it gets, although I felt like I was the only one dancing! Saturday night I stayed in, visiting friends in Bay Ridge and watching clips of the South Park movie and Moulin Rouge. Sunday was laundry and Wizard of Oz day.
Monday, Larue and I drove to Pittsburgh and narrowly avoided going to a strip club. We did find ourselves at a charming little (gay) bar/restaurant called New York, New York (oh, the irony) in Oakland. The Wyndham Hotel was lovely, and the shuttle driver was a godsend. Tuesday we drove to Cincinnati (Larue went on to Indianapolis), and stopped to eat at the Cracker Barrel in Zanesville. It snowed! I met my pretty niece Josie (or "Baba," as her mother calls her) and helped give her a bath. I didn't get hives! No, really, she's a cutie. Wednesday my father drove in to Cincy from Dayton and took my brother and I to a lovely dinner at Jeff Ruby's after a short stop at the new Blue Whisp jazz club.
(In 1982, for my ninth birthday, my father took me to the original Blue Whisp to hear Bob Dorough play. Bob Dorough was very popular in the Garanimals set at the time for "Multiplication Rock," the arithmetic arm of ABC's "Schoolhouse Rock." I'm convinced that my early visits to the Blue Whisp and Dockside VI contributed to my comfort level in bars today.)
Thursday was Thanksgiving, and I helped my sister make combination napkin rings/place cards out of manilla package tags. I was crafty, but not in the Beastie Boys sense. I stamped, I embossed, I pigmented... As my sister said, I was a crafting fool, or just a fool. It was fun! I let my niece Nina help, which seemed to make her feel useful. My stepfather and brother-in-law tempted the wrath of the cooking brother-in-law by showing up late for dinner. Later, we played Scattergories, which I won. Ha! Friday, I rose early to color Nina's hair for her. I was scared that her medium brown, but fine, hair wouldn't lighten up enough to match the highlights she already had. In the end, I would have liked to do another box on Sunday, but it turned out a nice honey blonde. I gave her the benefit of my home hair coloring wisdom, so hopefully she'll be more inclined to tend to her roots now that she knows how easy it really is.
Larue picked me up at my sister's that afternoon and we loaded a box full of Barbies, a sewing machine, and a cappuccino machine into the trunk. That evening we arrived in Pittsburgh at the Omni William Penn. What a fancy hotel! It was covered with chandeliers and bellmen in woolen coats. Our room had lately been occupied by Danny Glover, according to the engineer who came up to turn on our heat (it was cold!). We were in one side of the Governor's Suite, la dee da. Larue did some hunting, and we found a half-used bottle of Johnson's Baby Oil under the sink. It was Danny Glover's baby oil! After we warmed up a little, we stopped by the Liberty Bar, which was fun and divey. The bartender called herself Sprout and I met a guy named Tutu. I think they like nicknames in Pittsburgh. Later we hit the dance club Pegasus, where they played disco and Madonna (yay!). The next day, Larue started to not feel well and asked me if I would drive. I steeled up my nerves and did it. You know what? I didn't do too badly! The last time I drove was in 1998, and that was just from Queens to Brooklyn. I drove for two hours, without incident. This is encouraging me to renew my driver's license. Or get a new copy or something. It was stolen last year and I don't know if it's expired yet (hence the limited driving Saturday). Traffic was great until we hit the New Jersey Turnpike, then what would have been a 20 minute trip turned into and hour and a half. However, we finally made it back to Brooklyn where we dropped off our stuff and jumped in a car service to meet friends at Pieces. Not surprisingly, Sunday was a day of rest, with brief visits from Scott and Larue and the Domino's delivery man.
And here I am! Back at work, done reading e-mail and just about to go to lunch. I love the holiday season! Tonight I have karate, Tuesday is dinner with my visiting cousin and her gaggle of country nurses followed by a re-entry into the Pieces Karaoke Kontest [sic], Wednesday is set aside for buying a new tree stand and setting up the holiday decorations, Thursday is more karate and Friday is Jingle Hell III, which I just found out about, but have to attend. Saturday is my friend Blair's birthday party (as well as Homocorps and Larue's slumber party, but it's first invitation first, you know). I think Sunday will be spent reading my book on sewing essentials and a lot of couch-sitting.
I'm back! Let's see...
Friday's party at Purple Door was as grimy and debauched as it gets, although I felt like I was the only one dancing! Saturday night I stayed in, visiting friends in Bay Ridge and watching clips of the South Park movie and Moulin Rouge. Sunday was laundry and Wizard of Oz day.
Monday, Larue and I drove to Pittsburgh and narrowly avoided going to a strip club. We did find ourselves at a charming little (gay) bar/restaurant called New York, New York (oh, the irony) in Oakland. The Wyndham Hotel was lovely, and the shuttle driver was a godsend. Tuesday we drove to Cincinnati (Larue went on to Indianapolis), and stopped to eat at the Cracker Barrel in Zanesville. It snowed! I met my pretty niece Josie (or "Baba," as her mother calls her) and helped give her a bath. I didn't get hives! No, really, she's a cutie. Wednesday my father drove in to Cincy from Dayton and took my brother and I to a lovely dinner at Jeff Ruby's after a short stop at the new Blue Whisp jazz club.
(In 1982, for my ninth birthday, my father took me to the original Blue Whisp to hear Bob Dorough play. Bob Dorough was very popular in the Garanimals set at the time for "Multiplication Rock," the arithmetic arm of ABC's "Schoolhouse Rock." I'm convinced that my early visits to the Blue Whisp and Dockside VI contributed to my comfort level in bars today.)
Thursday was Thanksgiving, and I helped my sister make combination napkin rings/place cards out of manilla package tags. I was crafty, but not in the Beastie Boys sense. I stamped, I embossed, I pigmented... As my sister said, I was a crafting fool, or just a fool. It was fun! I let my niece Nina help, which seemed to make her feel useful. My stepfather and brother-in-law tempted the wrath of the cooking brother-in-law by showing up late for dinner. Later, we played Scattergories, which I won. Ha! Friday, I rose early to color Nina's hair for her. I was scared that her medium brown, but fine, hair wouldn't lighten up enough to match the highlights she already had. In the end, I would have liked to do another box on Sunday, but it turned out a nice honey blonde. I gave her the benefit of my home hair coloring wisdom, so hopefully she'll be more inclined to tend to her roots now that she knows how easy it really is.
Larue picked me up at my sister's that afternoon and we loaded a box full of Barbies, a sewing machine, and a cappuccino machine into the trunk. That evening we arrived in Pittsburgh at the Omni William Penn. What a fancy hotel! It was covered with chandeliers and bellmen in woolen coats. Our room had lately been occupied by Danny Glover, according to the engineer who came up to turn on our heat (it was cold!). We were in one side of the Governor's Suite, la dee da. Larue did some hunting, and we found a half-used bottle of Johnson's Baby Oil under the sink. It was Danny Glover's baby oil! After we warmed up a little, we stopped by the Liberty Bar, which was fun and divey. The bartender called herself Sprout and I met a guy named Tutu. I think they like nicknames in Pittsburgh. Later we hit the dance club Pegasus, where they played disco and Madonna (yay!). The next day, Larue started to not feel well and asked me if I would drive. I steeled up my nerves and did it. You know what? I didn't do too badly! The last time I drove was in 1998, and that was just from Queens to Brooklyn. I drove for two hours, without incident. This is encouraging me to renew my driver's license. Or get a new copy or something. It was stolen last year and I don't know if it's expired yet (hence the limited driving Saturday). Traffic was great until we hit the New Jersey Turnpike, then what would have been a 20 minute trip turned into and hour and a half. However, we finally made it back to Brooklyn where we dropped off our stuff and jumped in a car service to meet friends at Pieces. Not surprisingly, Sunday was a day of rest, with brief visits from Scott and Larue and the Domino's delivery man.
And here I am! Back at work, done reading e-mail and just about to go to lunch. I love the holiday season! Tonight I have karate, Tuesday is dinner with my visiting cousin and her gaggle of country nurses followed by a re-entry into the Pieces Karaoke Kontest [sic], Wednesday is set aside for buying a new tree stand and setting up the holiday decorations, Thursday is more karate and Friday is Jingle Hell III, which I just found out about, but have to attend. Saturday is my friend Blair's birthday party (as well as Homocorps and Larue's slumber party, but it's first invitation first, you know). I think Sunday will be spent reading my book on sewing essentials and a lot of couch-sitting.
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