Ahoy, hoy!

Check me out: I've been working all morning, which has kept me from the blog. How I love the end of the month, what with the billing and all. A nice, monthly task that requires organization and patience. Too bad it doesn't take very long. Then I have to convince colonial dames to clean up after themselves.

Anyway, to the topic. Telephones! I asked Verizon to turn off my land line service, and they complied without comment. It was great. They're even leaving a change of phone number message for me. It's hard to believe that a year ago I didn't even own a cellular phone, and now I'm going strictly wireless. I have a tendency to fiercely resist new technology, until I try it and then embrace it fondly, stroking technology's shiny hair and murmuring sweet nothings into its ear. It happened with the Internet, the PDA, and now the mobile phone. I'm still not crazy about CDs, but I don't openly disparage them anymore.

The second telephone issue: I have an old phone in my junk drawer, and Verizon told me I might as well give it to charity as its technology (it's not quite a year old, remember) is obsolete. So, I found this site, and I'm going to donate my old cell phone to help victims of domestic abuse. Hmm, there has to be a better term. I hate the term "victim" applied to someone who is obviously removing herself from a dangerous situation. How about, "survivor"? Nah, that conjures images of Jeff Probst menacing a woman with grubs. Well, whatever. I guess if I was in the situation myself I could come up with a better term, which begs the question, who's doing the marketing for these organizations? Maybe "victim" really is the preferred term. Okay, victims, I'm giving you my phone. Duck!

There Is a God

Unless Sarah Michelle Gellar is a big old liar (and she's had to retract similar statements in the past), this wretched excuse for a season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer is the final one. The only thing that sends a shiver of fear up my spine is the use of the word "spin-off." What a bad, bad, bad idea. Angel is working. It was a little shaky there last year, but it's been much stronger this season than Buffy. Trying to create a non-SMG, non-Boreanaz Buffy spin-off is just a disaster waiting to happen. What are we looking for here? Dawn the Vampire-Dater? Willow the Poorly Drawn Lesbian Stereotype? Xander the Construction Foreman? Where's Giles? The Scooby Gang? Spike: The Other Vampire with a Soul? It's just stupid. Hear me now, Joss Whedon: Break free from the evil clutches of Marti Noxon and quit while you're not too far behind. Sure, you've got crazy cult fans, but as soon as Buffy left the WB it was all over. Spend time on Angel. Craft it. Make it Emmy-worthy. Show those punks at NBC that it's not the network that makes the art, but the all-powerful executive producer and creator. Make me proud, Joss!

More Ground Zero Nonsense

So, a committee made up of the Lower Manhattan Development Corporation (LMDC), the Port Authority, the governor and the mayor have chosen a plan for what will be built on the site of the former World Trade Center. Yippee. I sure feel sad for Larry Silverstein, who held the lease on the World Trade Center. He gets no say. He just signed that 99 year lease right before the attack, too. How depressing.

This whole process of listening to the public and the victim's families and everyone who has a mouth has been a great big train wreck. This plan is really ugly. It includes a bunch of angular buildings that will clash big time with the aesthetic of Lower Manhattan (a German architect? sheesh), the tallest spire in the world (*cough*phallic symbol*cough*), and a wall exposed in the process of debris removal (for the cult of grief). Pretty gross. There's also a plan to put a bus depot in, and part of it actually touches the oh-so hallowed land in which some people unfamiliar with the concept of physics think their loved ones are still buried. I've got a news flash for them; the ashes of their loved ones got taken out with the rest of the rubble. I'm not happy that anyone lost a family member or friend in the attack, but these people on television act like they are the first people to have ever lost someone, either in an act of war or otherwise. Their insistence that everyone prioritize their personal grief over the common good is completely irrational. At this point, I couldn't care less about your husband, lady. Leaving that much land undeveloped will cripple the economy of Lower Manhattan, and I don't think your inability to get past your husband's death is worth that. While you're thinking about that, check some land records and find out if your house -- which is in the most densely developed are in the US -- is built on land that was once an Indian burial ground or a colonial graveyard. Yeah, that's what I thought.

Cough Syrup Crackdown

Obviously the FDA doesn't have much going on. They're pulling cough syrups until they test an ingredient that has been used for decades, with no extraordinary ill-effects, recommended by physicians as the best way to treat a productive cough, just so they can be the ones to say that it works. I don't take a lot of medicines, but I love guaifenesin (they're only pulling the one-dose-a-day kind, not the multi-dose sort). I learned a handy way to remember which cough medicine to take for which kind of cough. The other kind has an active ingredient that starts with a "d," but I can't remember what it is. Anyway, you think, "g for gunk" and "d for dry" to determine which cough syrup to buy. It's genius.

Oh, yeah, the FDA seems to be doing the equivalent of a secretary sorting through her files from 1998 because she doesn't have anything else to do. I think the FDA should take up blogging if it wants to kill some time. The worst part is that this process takes money away from the other 66 companies currently producing one-dose guaifenesin products. This seems like some sort of favoritism for Adams Laboratories. It makes me so mad. I hate the FDA.

Revert to Defcon 3

Well, I'm certainly relieved to know that due to "unspecified intelligence," we are probably more safe from a possible terrorist attack now that the hajj period is over. I'm glad anecdotal evidence proved to be incorrect about the threat of a somewhat imminent attack on U.S. soil, and that now the threat is somewhat less imminent. Come on, does anyone else think this is just stupid?

Goodbye, Good Neighbor

Fred Rogers died this morning. He only knew he had cancer for a couple of months. My sister always says nasty things about Mr. Rogers, but I think he was really cool. He taught his young viewers to be creative and caring, and he was a great role-model for equality and tolerance. Sure, he was more square than Sesame Street, but watching the two shows now, Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood is much calmer and more even than the manic, ADD-influenced animation and Muppets. Plus, Mr. Rogers had cool fish and a train in his house, and a movie screen in his living room. I'll miss Mr. Rogers. He was a good neighbor.

"It's such a good feeling, to know you're alive, such a happy feeling..."

Earworms... Don't Break Out The Duct Tape

I had a weird episode of having a song stuck in my head the other day. It wasn't just one song, but several songs with similar elements. It went from "And I am Telling You I'm Not Going" to "I am Changing," both from Dreamgirls, to "I Have Nothing" by Whitney Houston, to "Love Will Lead You Back" by Taylor Dayne. It was weird. It was like a loop where one part of one song just becomes part of the other song, I couldn't separate them, or get past the point of the loop. It was very disturbing. Maybe if I knew how those Dreamgirls songs went all the way through...

Onion Shout Outs

Oh yeah, I'll take 'em as shout outs. First, they use the name Henke in a story, then they mention The University of Tennessee. The best thing about a good shout out is that I know people who read The Onion and know me will notice that. And you thought reading your favorite online newspaper was a safe space. Bwahahahaha! You'll never be free of me! I am omnipresent!

Bitches Love Me

I saw Mindless Self Indulgence last night at Irving Plaza. For the record, I saw one of their first shows, when they had one fewer member, different names, and just as much energy, back in 1998 at Click + Drag (Mother). I was thanked on the liner notes of their first two CDs. In the early days, I used to stand right in front of the stage with the three other people who liked them, and I'd often get spit on or hit with some flying object. I loved it. Now, the average fan is too young to drive, and they pack themselves like sardines, pressing and surging against the stage, like a sea of adolescence with funny colored hair. They jump up and down in unison, and scream the lyrics (those they can understand) to every song. I didn't hear as many insults (You suck! I fucked your mom! Learn to sing, faggot!) as we used to sling in the lden days, but I was upstairs in the "grownup" section. My friend and I weren't interested in standing shoulder to shoudler with those fabulous hormone-racked, acne-riddled balls of energy, but we were still into enjoying the show. We stood on chairs to see the left sideof the stage and peeked at the monitors to catch the drummer and bass player.

A lot of people upstairs seemed to be there to observe or to wait for their kids (the only bar pen was upstairs, and no booze could go downstairs, pretty smart), but Lola and I yelled the lyrics, yelled at the band, and shook our booties to the ground. A couple of times I caught the woman in front of me throwing me a look, but I didn't care. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed their music. When they played such gems as "Dickface" and "Panty Shot," I hooted and howled and almost fell off my chair (we were all surprised I didn't fall, considering my history). The show itself was your standard MSI fare: Steve (Steve Righ?) jumped into the audience and crowd surfed while playing, James (Jimmy Urine) climbed up the balcony and sang while running through the crowd and having his clothes rended by adoring fans, instruments were destroyed at the end of the set. The surprising thing was that James stayed around to sign autographs for quite some time after the show was over. In the past, I've always seen the band run out of the building at the end of a show. Maybe they have less fear of their fans now.

The key points of this story to remember: I drank beer. Although I am old, I can still shake it. A big group of teenagers is an awesome spectacle. Bands who sing filthy, unintelligible lyrics are my favorites. Never wait in line when you can drink beer in a pool hall next door until the line is gone and still get a good spot in the grownup section.

Better Blogging Bureau

Gosh, I know I've been posting some garbage lately, but I promise to mend my ways!

For instance, I was watching the Caroline Rhea show last night, er, early this morning, and Laura Linney was on. I vaguely remember her from The Truman Show, but I haven't seen her in anything else, so I had pretty much neutral feelings about her. I was just flipping around, eating pizza, getting ready to pass out ( I drank beer last night!), so I wasn't being much of a discriminating TV watcher. Caroline talks about what a great actress Linney is, and starts showing stills from her movies. First, her with Matthew Broderick in You Can Count On Me. What does she say? "He's a great kisser." Her with Liam Neeson in The Crucible on Broadway. "He's in the best shape of his life." Her with Richard Gere in Primal Fear. "I've done two movies with him and I've never gotten to kiss him." Her with Jim Carrey in Truman. "One thing you never notice about Jim Carrey is how handsome he is." And Caroline Rhea is just egging her on, being all giggly about the cute leading men; I mean, come on! Gag me with a spoon. Way to set women actors back about 100 years. In a year when women have had amazing roles in movies (The Hours, Chicago, Secretary), do we really need some supposedly serious actress sitting on a chat show gossiping about boys? What load of horseshit. I hope she sees the show and is embarrassed for acting like such an ass. Also, way to denegrate your fellow actors by treating them like pieces of meat. Slag.

Alexia's Ark

Did you miss me yesterday? Well, I was at home, suffering through daytime television and afraid to take a shower. It's a long story.

And it goes something like this. Saturday afternoon, I came home to find my front door mat all squishy and water slowly moving across the floor. It was coming from my storage closet, which also houses the gas and electric meters and the breaker boxes. I freaked out. The first thing I did was roll up my rug and stash it in the corner. Thankfully, it hadn't been hit. But I could see the water flowing. I opened up the storage closet door and freaked out some more. All my stuff is stored in cardboard boxes, because I am a genius. I called the landlord, who acted like he couldn't understand what I was trying to tell him. In his defense, I was freaking out. Totally useless. His daughter-in-law came over and took control of the situation, while I helplessly wandered around, picking up clutter. I pulled almost everything out of the closet and we found the source of the water.

Water was pouring out of a silver box in the wall, which ended up being the conduit box for the electricity. That means that wires from the street go through a big pipe into this box, then into the rest of the building. So, see, water was coming through from the storm drains (because rain + snow = flooding), through a break in the ConEd pipes, into my apartment. At a steady rate. Firemen were called. For some reason, five of them, with axes and things, came stomping and splashing into my living room, while I attempted to push water away from my couch. Go, linoleum! They turned off our power and called ConEd. Then everyone else called ConEd some more. Then the landlord's daughter-in-law showed more ingenuity than I could have possibly mustered at the time. She had her young son fetch two buckets, unscrewed the broom handle from the broom, and used it and the towels to mop up the floor while her son started the process of catching the water and dumping it. When they left, I had a dry and somewhat clean floor, most of the room had been moved into the kitchen, and I was left alone to empty the buckets.

The good news is that the distance from the storage closet to the storm drain right outside my front door is only about ten feet, but the bad news is that while it rained, and for two hours after, the rate of filling the buckets was one every four minutes. When it finally stopped around 7 pm, I was ecstatic. I lit a bunch of candles, ordered dinner, read by candlelight, then took a nap until about 10. ConEd hadn't shown, but I thought they might, so I stayed up. Good thing, too, because around 1 am, it started again. It was pouring outside, and it didn't let up for hours. The last few drips came in around 7 am. I figure that I emptied those buckets about 90 times, that round. My back hurt so much. Every time I got up to change the bucket, I would think, "I can't do this anymore, I'm losing my mind." As I got more and more tired, the candlelight played tricks on my mind, and I started seeing things out of the corners of my eyes. I had a lot of time to think, although most of it was consumed by one song going over and over and over, and I came up with this analogy: Imagine you're in a rowboat in the ocean, and it has a small hole in it. In order to keep from sinking, you have to bail it out every four minutes. That's all you can do. Bail, wait, bail, wait, bail. No end in sight.

Jump ahead to ConEd telling me they've fixed it. Well, they leave, it starts to rain again, and the damn thing is still leaking. Just dripping though, so I never need to change the bucket, but I call to see if they're going to come back and at least put the box cover back on, and they tell me first available crew. That was around noon on Sunday. I sat home all day yesterday, afraid to take a shower for fear they would show up and I wouldn't hear them. They never showed up. I hate them so much.

Let Your Fingers Do the Walking

Hey, I'm doing this! You should, too! Inundating our legislators' offices with phone calls protesting military action in Iraq: It's the armchair activist's dream come true!

Things That Make You Go... Sheesh

The T-Mobile commercial where the guy messes up the words to "Pour Some Sugar on Me" is just wrong, wrong, wrong. There is no way, that anyone who knew how that song went would not know the refrain is the title of the freaking song. How about that part about the "bubble"? I've never been quite clear on those words. Or the part right before the title that he seems to mess up anyway and I've never been able to figure out? How about a different song entirely? I'll tell you why. Some asswipe was sitting around and thought how funny it would be to have a librarian say "I'm hot, sticky sweet" (which is not the upcoming line to that verse, anyway, if you're listening), and worked the joke backwards from the punchline. That is not the way to bring the funny, lame-o copywriter! You sure are earning your $18K!

A baby was born on the expressway yesterday. From the TV report, I noticed it had a whole lot of hair! I also heard the cop say that in these troubled times, it's a really good thing to see a baby born on the expressway. I'm not joking. He said that. I think he meant it was great to witness the "miracle" of birth, or some equally sappy sentiment. As if something that happens thousands of times a day could be a miracle.

Aaron dumped Helene. And she was really surpised. And it happened at Starbucks. See what happens to you when you patronize Starbucks, the Foaming Vestibule of the Beast?

While flipping last night around 7:35 pm, I got to hear a contestant on Wheel of Fortune describe herself as "a Christian." That's nice. Usually people keep their religious and political affiliations to themselves on gameshows, but I guess it's important for everyone to know when there's a Christian around. You have to watch the swearing and the pre-marital sex. Plus, is it cheating to announce your bond with an omnipresent deity?

Okay, if you're "putting [your] daughter in God's hands," why would you have doctors perform a heart/lung transplant? That doesn't seem like "God's" work to me. And I won't be shocked if her body rejects the new organs, considering that she was in a state of rejection when the second surgery started. What kind of chance does she have for a meaningful, enjoyable life? Plus, now she's had two different sets of other people's nasty, used organs in her body. Ugh. The very thought makes me queasy. It makes my blood hurt. Ew.

[Disclaimer: I know I'm using Salon for my AP links, but they have more stories. I don't advocate their new ad-based system, and I don't read their articles anymore. Woo! Breakin' tha honor code!]

Late Breaking News

I finally finished updating the Network TV section of my website. Of course, I didn't realize Kingpin was only six episodes long, and new midseason replacements are arriving any minute, so it's a work in progress. I like the new format, though, as I can rate the programs rather than give a thumbs-up/thumbs-down reaction. I also need to add some fan site links for the creepy touch.

Chevrolet has gone nutty. The right hand Flash ad on my Radio@Netscape Plus bar is alternating between promos and two Chevy ads that quote songs. They are: "Little Red Corvette/Baby you're much 2 fast (Yes U R)" with the TAFKAP symbol; and "Top dollar with the gold flea collar/Dippin' in my light blue Impala" credited to Snoop Dogg. The Chevy logo and the slogan "We'll Be There" appear below the quotes. It's stupid. If there are only two Chevy cars quoted in songs, they you've totally missed the concept of an effective ad campaign. I don't think I'd find it as dumb if they had three or four different ads. You have to have that number for a campaign. It's a must, Chevrolet!

Blogging is So Cool

I know this because I just found out that my all-time favorite humour writer, Dave Barry, has a blog. Also, why do I write "humour" with a "u," but "favorite" in the old-fashioned American way? Is a puzzlement.

Quote of the Day

From an AP story about plans for a liberal-leaning radio network:

"Progressives historically don't run in a pack. There's a kind of independent streak to the left wing in America that there isn't in the right wing." --Tom Rosenstiel, director for the Project for Excellence in Journalism.

Wow, you mean the conservatives aren't free thinkers? Hee.

Arrrrrrrgh!

I can't believe this. All I had to do was take the L train to Union Square and get there by 11:15 am. But does the MTA want to let me? No. Sure, I was running late already, but the L station was packed with people waiting for that Manhattan bound train. I waited for twenty minutes before I finally gave up. I think it's an MTA conspiracy to keep the young Williamsburg crowd from going to the rally. If only I had been staying at my own house, I'm sure I wouldn't have had any problem with the N train coming. I am never housesitting again. There really are no benefits besides cable. Now, instead of being in midtown with (I hope) thousands of people, helping to demonstrate a presence of people who want peace, I'm stuck in fucking Greenpoint, blogging my rage. If I weren't a pacifist, I'd hit something.

The worst part is that I left a friend of mine sitting in a coffee shop, waiting for me, with no idea where I was, because my phone died. I seriously don't deserve to have friends. I ended up coming back to the house rather than just waiting for the train, because I had to call her. I felt so awful!

And why all this tragedy? What could have averted this? I'd say I probably would have been able to charge my phone and get up earlier and gotten there, if I hadn't been out drinking until 4 am. Those of you who buy me drinks, and you know who you are, just stop it. I can't take it anymore. I have no will power. I mean, come on, I smoked at least 35 cigarettes last night. What's that about? Maybe I should start going out for happy hour during the week more so I don't feel the need to run myself ragged on the weekends. Learn some moderation.

Anyway, that's my story. I'm sad because I fucked up and now I can't do the one thing I really want to do. Bad Alexia.

All They Want to Do is Dance

Got this from a friend today:

As the debate over war in Iraq proceeds, the anti-war movement is mobilizing. The following is excerpted from a widely distributed e-mail sent by a group called 'Mobilize New York'. We send this on to you for your information and because it concerns a possible demonstration in Times Square on Saturday afternoon, February 15:

BEGIN EXCERPT:
CONVERGE ON TIMES SQUARE AT 3PM SATURDAY
The NYPD's refusal to grant a march permit is preposterous, if not unpredictable. The NYC Carnival Bloc is responding with some love and rage.
They're calling for a massive street party in Times Square at 3pm after the rally. It will be a peaceful but unauthorized expression of opposition to an impending war on Iraq and the ongoing war on democracy in the U.S.
END EXCERPT

I weep for the state of the 21st century activist. This is your civil disobedience, to clog the streets of New York with a PARTY? This is how you get the government and the rest of the world to take your desire for a peaceful conflict resolution seriously? This group, the Carnival Bloc certainly has a plan for a feeder march to the rally, and that's fine. I disagree with their methods, even though members of their groups have brought me great entertainment and joy in the past, but they have every right to have a feeder march the way they want it. However, I would hate for them to be the focus of media attention, which is exactly what will happen, especially if they go through with blocking the streets of Time Square. I've seen them do it before, in the Lower East Side, but that was Halloween. It's like drag queens and leathermen getting all the press from the Heritage of Pride March (aka "Gay Pride Parade", don't get me started). This is a deadly serious subject and one that, unlike the war in Vietnam, may have immediate and direct impact on our very lives.

I'm a very happy-go-lucky, flamboyant person, but sometimes you have to put down the freaking feather boa and be sympathetic to the mainstream, because the majority rules, kids! How will it look the next day, on the cover of the Times, hmm? How will a big picture above the fold of some alternative performance artist covered in fake blood and sequins, playing an accordian and holding some too-too clever sign above the caption, "Freaks for Peace"? Yes, it's important to be aggressive, it's important to make yourselves heard, but it's also important to be TAKEN SERIOUSLY. Maybe I just don't get it, but maybe I just understand what it means to live in the real world.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Anthrax

Apparently, since I haven't done the world the disservice of breeding, I, along with all the other non-parents out there, worry much less about terrorist threats. Just ask the AP!

"For a parent, I think it's worse than for a single person," said Margaret Geiger of Ambler, Pa., the mother of six. "It's always in our thinking -- the thought of something horrendous happening, and seeing my children suffer or being separated from them."

First of all, plenty of single people are also parents, thank you very much. Secondly, I wouldn't be surprised that someone who has obviously made it her mission in life to produce a litter of progeny, a whole team of children, would be very caught up in their safety. Isn't that the whole point of having the brats anyway? You take care of them. They're your responsibility. So what's new here? Am I supposed to feel sorry for someone because she is actually feeling the weight of her responsibility (and the frustrating inability) to protect her child? Give me a break. Maybe all parents should get special dispensation, you know, they get to buy the plastic sheeting and duct tape (ha!) first, or they get priority spots in line for vaccinations. We all know how hard the freaking parents of this country work. How special they are for allowing their bodies to involuntarily reproduce. (Especially those fine parents who have more than four children, you know, for working the fields. How the hell does a person raise six children? How many will turn out to be sociopaths?)

I knew that my status as a single, unbred woman was inferior to that of the married parent, but now I know for sure where I stand in the American caste system. Let's have a party! We don't have to worry about war! Woo-hoo! After all, it's not like anyone depends on us or like our lives have meaning or anything.

February Rocks!

Last night I was thinking about how much I fucking love sweeps. Angelus, an actually amusing episode of Buffy, Grissom totally doing it with a dominatrix, and the War of the Sexes on Survivor. Add Lionel Luthor being outed (on his not-blindness), and it's been a good week for TV fans. So, I was thinking, "Considering how much February sucks, at least there's sweeps." But then I realized that February is actually pretty cool. To wit:

Pros
1) When you're a kid, the first time you realize that you're consistently spelling "February" correctly gives a nice warm feeling of accomplishment.
2) Groundhog Day. Both the holiday and the Bill Murray comedy have brought so much into our lives.
3) President's Day. Another blessed Monday off work. Plus, sales!
4) Candy markdowns on February 15th.
5) Lupercalia. (More on this later today)
6) Only 28 days, which means the end-of-the-month paycheck comes faster, as does March, the first month of spring.
7) Sweeps!
8) Valentine's Day (if you have a sweetheart).

Cons
1) It's freaking cold.
2) Valentine's Day (if you don't have a sweetheart).

So, February, you're okay in my book.

[By the way, August is bad because it's really hot, 31 days, no holidays, and it signals the end of summer and the beginning of school. Blah.]