It's Not the End of the World

[warning: mild profanity on the way]

Damn kids, I need to get my shit together. Because, it's not. My shit is not together. It's not even in a trial separation. My shit is divorced, and no one has custody of the sanity. But this will change. It takes small steps.

In the meantime, let's talk about you. How are you doing? Have you been eating right? Getting enough sleep? How's your job? What about your love life? Oh, I get it, you don't mind hearing about how much my life sucks, but you don't want to share. That's fine. You probably have friends you can tell all your troubles to. Actually, I have a nice group of friends who listen to me kvetch in person, and they often give me really good advice. Sometimes the people you least expect will look right into your heart and help you see what you've missed. And those people will take their own time to help you, just because they care about you. It's wonderful. It makes you feel like you can change your path, that when it's your friend -- close by or on the phone, not some distant Oprahesque television deity -- the advice is more real, it's personalized, it's something special. And knowing that your friends have faith in you, even when they see you crumbling, can be just the boost you need to shore up your walls and stop the backsliding.

Finally, A Tool For The Rest Of Us

Lore strikes again. I never have to think up things to blog about again.

Today was a complete loss, but whatever. Such is life. I feel like an empty room, but it's not important. Pretty much nothing seems worth bothering with. I just don't have anything to say recently.

Let's Go Play the Slots!

Hooray for the anti-smoking people. They win another one. Whoop-dee-do. Thankfully, "[e]xemptions include private residences, personal cars, Indian casinos and ‘'cigar bars'." I sure am glad they haven't passed a law that would restrict me from smoking in MY OWN FREAKING HOUSE. And no one cares about the tribal Americans either, so that's fair game. I guess it's an even trade. We take your land, kill your men and propogate alcoholism among your people, you get to have legal gambling and public smoking. Oh yeah, that makes everything okay. Sure, I want to quit smoking, but I don't want to fold to these... these... fascist bully-boys! That's right! I said "bully-boy"!

Um, Really?

What the hell? How can I be just a few blocks from some massive protest that gets national media coverage as it's happening and not even realize it? This town is just too big.

Better Than 10-10-220

So, the Christian Coalition is pretty scary. Hey, maybe they're behing these "Coalition Forces" I keep hearing so much about!

...

God I'm bored. I never can fit in all the things I want to do in an evening, but I sit here on my ass all day, bored out of my freaking mind. Like, tonight, I have voice lessons, and after that I can either try to rush home and either fit in a karate class or watch Angel, or I can stay in the city and go to karaoke at Crazy Nanny's, but not too late, because I have more sitting on my ass to do tomorrow. Plus, I'm trying to negotiate time to volunteer for the AIDS Walk while fitting in karate, not missing my programs, and last minute happy hours with friends who need my ear. I'm invited to these parties during the week which I usually miss. Weekends are alway packed, so I never get a chance to do my laundry or whatnot. And then sometimes I just want to chill out on the couch and work on my latch-hook rug. What with all that stuff, I don't have the time to really date, either. But here I sit, practically wasting eight hours of my day. It's not that I don't have things to do, or there aren't things for me to do, but I do them and then what's left? I'd love to do a few more things, but they won't let me have any money to do them. It all just seems so counter-productive. Don't get me wrong, I like the money and all, but I much rather spend my time on something else. I'm sure many people feel that way, but don't we have the right to want to spend our time differently?

I'll keep working on this problem.

Where Have All The Flowers Gone?

Hey kids! Did you know that musicians have been releasing protest songs over the internet to get around radio censorship? I realize I should have figured this out already, and I almost recall reading something about it, but it flew under the radar. Let's see what we've got, shall we?

Lenny Kravitz - "We Want Peace" Wow, mindless and stupid. "We want peace/we want it/Yes, we want peace/and we want it fast/Do do do do do do do do...." Very pop-sounding. Leave it to the guy who covered "American Woman."

REM - "The Final Straw" Kind of like a letter to W. Very reminiscent of the folky protest songs of the 60s, vague enough to be played outside of this conflict. It's got that "make love not war" attitude.

Beastie Boys - "In A World Gone Mad..." Ooh, the best one so far. Completely tells it like it is. The boys are educated on the issues, but make them accessible. Favorite line: ""George Bush you're looking like Zoolander/Trying to play tough for the camera."

John Mellencamp - "To Washington" Super country-folksy. Fiddles and everything. Outright anti-Bush, even bringing up the 2000 election. I like it, except for the Jesus reference.

Zack de la Rocha (of Rage Against the Machine) and DJ Shadow - "March of Death" The most vehemently anti-Bush, anti-war of the lot. de la Rocha even recalls the ex-governor's big execution numbers. This is fierce, just what I've been looking for.

If you check out these tunes, look for the lyric sheet as well. Peace.

I Remember Like It Was Yesterday

As someone who has a family history of Alzheimer's Disease and expects to develop it should I live long enough, I still think treating it with gene therapy is creepy. What does that entail? Injections? Surgeries? You think at 80 years old I'll want to be spending my last few years of clarity getting medical treatment that might or might not work? When the main machine stops working, I think it's time to unplug. The problem is knowing when it's the right time, not letting it get too far along, because then you can't stop it. Hubris is an amazing thing. Stem cell research, human genome project, artificial hearts; we think that we have some sort of right to stay alive as long as possible. We can't bear the thought of not thinking or doing anymore. Sure, I'm guilty of it as well, but if so many people believe in an afterlife, as they claim, why are they so het up to keep patching up the leaky hoses and crashed hard-drives of the human body?

Breaking News!

There is SAND in the desert. Shocking!

Momentary Outburst

I said this would be a war-free space for a while, but hey, I lied.

So there I am, innocently reading the news about the war, and WAM! Hypocrisy and Jingoism jump me! Those bastards!

How can you blithely talk about killing 500 Iraqis one minute, then turn around and write touching bios about 4 American soldiers in a POW camp? Oh yes, boo hoo, I'm so sad that IN A WAR, our soldiers got captured. And considering everything Bush has been telling us about his sadistic torture methods, I'll bet their families are really shitting bricks right now. But when some "We're Number One!" general casually mentions that most Iraqi soldiers just seem like they want to go home after estimating that we've killed 500 of them in two days, you have to wonder if the troops even see the Iraqi soldiers as human. It just makes me want to puke, is all.

Back to your regularly scheduled blogging.

Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

If you think the time I spend blogging is a waste of time, or that you yourself might spend too much time reading crap on the internet, just check out some other people's blogs sometime. Especially unemployed writer types. They all link to each other. Then you, too, will be sucked into the sphere of time wasting. It's like sitting at work with your feet up, reading a book. You'd never do that. But the internet can make it look like you're actually working, so you don't work, ever. You just read other people's blogs and download homestarrunner cartoons and look at endlessly long photo essays and try to prove that the latest virus warning your dad sent you was a hoax and look up links for your own stupid blog. The internet has replaced water-cooler chatter and coffee breaks. Why eat lunch with your co-workers when you can eat at your desk and read The Onion? You stop having standards and find yourself reading recaps of some stupid MTV reality show that you'll never actually watch, and then one day you end up watching the stupid MTV reality show just to see what it's really like and you realize that the internet has ruined your life.

Damn you, internet! I thought you were my friend!

Missing In Action

Concerned about my lack of war commentary at this time? Don't be. I'm still keeping up with the events that I need to know about, but what good does it do to bitch and grouse about something that's not even half finished yet? Sure I could make fun of people who are surprised that there was any Iraqi resistance, mock our Army's lack of readiness for war, roll my eyes at soldiers with "attitude problems," fake surrenders, and the apparent naivete about armed conflict the American public is showing (not unlike its collective thong), but what's the point? I'm so offended by the extensive nature of the coverage, the details that do nothing but frighten and work up Americans, that I don't want to add to it. Look for more local politics, pop culture, and personal kvetching in this space for a while. I'll have a reason to get my war on again sometime soon, I'm sure.

Liberal Media? No Way!

Kids, if you haven't guessed it already, I watched the Oscars last night. I paid particularly close attention to Michael Moore's acceptance speech. At several points, when he wanted to use the word "fiction," he used the word "fictitious." It was a quick speech met with boos and jeers, so I'm not surpised he made that slip, but I am surprised that the AP has chosen to report it in the grammatically correct form, essentially fixing Moore's mistakes. They report W's every "uh" and "misunderestimate," but the Left's loudest voice gets a pass. I guess that's supposed to make up for the silence of our elected left-wingers. What a great trade-off!

Kissing Adrien Brody

Oh, momma. If I was never jealous of Halle Berry before, I sure am now. Fellas, that's how you kiss a woman. Tape Access Hollywood tonight, and study that smooch. It was enough to make me forget about Colin Farrell's very presence on the stage earlier. Look, I'm not some giggly girly-girl, but that Colin Farrell just smolders in place. Surely he's an arrogant, semi-literate actor boy (shut up, it's what I have to believe), but sometimes it's just not about that, you know?

What else? Obviously flesh-tones are in. Diane Lane and Halle were both sporting purty dresses that made them appear naked, and Bloomingdale's has windows full of the nude look. I do hope that Marcia Gay Harden isn't inspiring anyone to bring back aquamarine, yeeesh. Sean Connery and his frills... all I have to say is, I would have liked it better had it been paired with a kilt. Michael Moore without a baseball cap, but still with a big mouth, god bless 'im. Kudos to Mrs. Tim Robbins for her pointed looks and delivery (and great dress!). Steve Martin, honey, if you don't like the joke, don't read it off the teleprompter, 'kay? And don't dis Secretary if you know what's good for you. The BDSM scene has whips and they know how to use them.

I guess I'll have to get out there and see Chicago one of these days, but I'll probably get to Bowling for Columbine first. Peter Jackson got screwed this year, but just wait for the 2005 Oscars. I predict that Return of the King will kick some Hollywood booty.

Selma Hayek, as the singing guys on the subway say, "Smile! It won't mess up your hair." If Diane Lane is dating Josh Brolin, would that make Barbra her future step-mother-in-law? Nicole Kidman seriously needs to take a couple of Ativans before the ceremony next year. I didn't understand anything she was talking about! And then her dress just fell apart before our very eyes... ah, this is why they get paid the big bucks, not for the acting, but for the public humiliation.

Major props to the Academy for giving Oscars to Eminem and Roman Polanski. After last year's out-of-control PC-fest (Denzel? Please. And get a shave.), it was a welcome surprise. Kathy Bates is amazing, in general and as an Oscar presenter. Michael Douglas and Harrison Ford need to suck it up, lay off the Grecian Formula and get hair cuts. Guess what guys, YOU'RE OLD! It doesn't matter how young your date is.

The big question is, how can these people make these mistakes? Don't they hire people to tell them how to look good?

Oh wait, the big question is probably something about war, but I was distracted by the shiny foreheads and overtight bodices and forgot what it was.

Sesame Street Will Save Us All

Okay, I think I'm going to have to renew my PBS membership soon. They just sent me an e-mail assuring me that although they would occasionally interrupt evening programming with news about the war, daytime TV would be war-free so as not to upset younger viewers. I think that's cool. Not only that they are doing it, but that they are informing their members of it. Go Channel Thirteen!

In other news, ConEd actually finished the job yesterday. I am ecstatic. Well, at least I'm no longer making little meter-reader voodoo dolls.

Also, it's been nearly two years since I've had a boyfriend. I am so over this.

One Thing About War

You know what I hate? Yes, people who talk on their cell phones in restaurants and presidents who mispronounce "nuclear," but that's not all. I also hate it when people say, "Nobody wishes for war," because that's just not true. Plenty of people in this world are just itching for the legal opportunity to kill other people. Scads of world leaders look forward to the day when they can have ultimate control of their subjects and be victorious. There are people who wish for war and people who like it. Otherwise, guess what? THERE WOULDN'T BE ANY WAR. If, as our government keeps telling us, war is sometimes inevitable, then someone wants it to happen. It's not like a tornado, which, really, most people don't want but have no way to stop. So, Dick Gephardt, you can stuff your "nobody wishes for war" where the sun don't shine (and that would be up your chicken-shit Democrat ass, if you don't know), because it's a load, man. Some people do want war. And they're the ones who get what they want.

Throw Me a Bone

OK, if we have to deal with war, can't we at least see all of Angel? At 9:53 last night, just as Faith was calling Connor a punk and the episode had maybe three minutes left to go, the WB 11 News breaks in to tell us that stuff is happening in Iraq and the President is about to give an address. At 10:15. Is there a reason they had to break in at 9:53? Why not 9:58? Everyone knows there is an ominous, telling scene in the final moments of a non-filler Joss show. Why make me miss it so you can simulcast CNN for five minutes? Whyyyyyyyyyyy? Grr. Even PBS kept on their regular programming until 10:15 on the dot. Go WNET! Down with WPIX!

What the...?

Dude, am I crazy, or didn't I post something yesterday? I can't remember what it was exactly, but I feel like I did.

Anyway, today sucks. It was the last show of my favorite morning radio host, Harry Harrison, the Morning Mayor on WCBS 101 FM. I overslept big time and ConEd woke me up TO CHECK MY METER. Later the other ConEd guy came to tell me that they'd be back in an hour. I just don't want to go into the whole ConEd thing anymore. My throat hurts, and the phlegm is starting, which means I've smoked myself into being sick and I have voice class today. All I've eaten since 7 pm yesterday was a bunch of little pretzel sticks, because I don't have any food in my house. Ugh.

I dreamed that Angelus was menacing me, and I gave him the "Piss Off!" fingers, then warded him off by crossing my two pointer fingers. He bit me on the hand and started, well, that thing that vampires do, and I reached with my other hand into my jewelry box for my grandmother's rosary to smite him with. There were also trained, talking monkeys, a street all messed up and rubbly called William Street (not Williams, Jesus Christ, Tom Robbins, I expected better), a school at which I volunteered, some Spike, stakes, and one of those things you light a Bunsen Burner with, but made of plastic. It was all very weird. But of course, I'm on a full blown early-Buffy kick right now.

Speaking of, "Innocence" is probably one of the best episodes of Buffy ever. Angel loses his soul, Willow catches Xander and Cordelia kissing, Oz gives the famous "freeze frame" speech in the van, Spike and Drusilla assemble the Judge, Angelus menaces, Buffy realizes Miss Calendar knows something and stalks into her classroom, grabbing her by the throat and pushing her down on the desk(!!best scene ever!!), Miss Calendar's creepy uncle (Calderash people! Jenny's a gypsy!) is killed by Angelus, Xander gets Buffy a rocket launcher for her birthday, they use it on the Judge at the mall, Buffy and Angel fight for the first time, and Buffy, rather than staking Angel and ruining any chance for further angst, pain, and spinoff, kicks him in the groinal area, while the mall sprinklers are soaking everything. It was like three episodes rolled into one. As far as excitement and surprise, I can only think of one episode that comes close, and that's "Becoming Part II," where Buffy sends Angel to hell after his soul has been restored. I loved "Graduation Day" and I sure was surprised when Buffy jumped off that big tower, but for an all around wonderful episode, "Innocence" is it. Did I mention Oz?

The Wearin' O' Your Own Vomit!

Yes, kids, today is Saint Patrick's Day, the day people of Irish ancestry, so long as they're not gay or Protestant, celebrate in the name of some guy who drove out the snakes that time. Also a traditional day for inexperienced binge drinkers to go all out, otherwise known as "Amateur Night." Other Amateur Nights include New Year's Eve, Mardi Gras (or any holiday in New Orleans), Halloween and college football Saturdays. Now, being one-quarter Irish Catholic and a semi-pro binge drinker myself, I have the undeniable right to go out and tie on a little alcohol poisoning, but the good sense to go to karate class this evening instead. If I wanted to join the crowd I would have started back in kindergarten. I prefer to take the "fuck the mainstream" approach to life. Bleach my hair in the winter and dye it red in the summer. Wear legwarmers without irony. Stay the hell home on St. Patrick's Day, that sort of thing.

So, wanna be like Alexia, kids? Of course you do! Then decrease the surplus bar population tonight and do something else Irish. Like clog dancing! Or that other thing. What can I say? You can't get much more assimilated than the Irish. Except for the German. God, I'm white.

Sorry, digression. As I was saying, if you must join the foam-hat-adorned, naughty-button-wearing, reeling masses this evening, I have one humble request. Don't drink the green beer. You should respect your liver more than that. God knows what it's gone through for you.

Oh yeah, and that New York parade? Fuck those guys. If it's a parade about ancestry, than that comes first. Irish is Irish. Hell, Heritage of Pride lets cops march, and that's not been the most savory group for the New York gay community. Well, let those old micks have their parade. Just because ILGO isn't marching with them, they must be pretty dumb if they think there aren't quite a few homos marching side by side with them. Watch out! Those queers are sneaky that way! Just like those herbs.

Don't Make Me Laugh

"Bishop David Hamblin said despite anything that may have happened during the ordeal, [Elizabeth Smart] is 'pure before the Lord. People who are in the control of others are not accountable.'"

Oh, I didn't know she was kidnapped by Svengali! I guess rich little white girls have to be brainwashed in order to run away and become child brides. I totally don't buy the armed kidnapping story anymore. And now they want to play the Stockholm Syndrome card? Give me a break.

"'As a doctor, it's amazing to me that you can become so brainwashed that you identify with your captor,' [grandfather] Charles Smart said."

Too amazing to be true, you might say.

Don't Hold Your Breath

When I was working for the Lower Manhattan Business Improvement District (which, for some reason, wasn't even called that), one of the main questions I heard post-9/11 was "Is the air safe?" Many people wore masks in the first few weeks, because the particles in the air were actually visible to the naked eye, and, you know, duh. We had the EPA report that told us the air was reasonably safe. I don't think anyone believed it was healthy to walk around digging in the rubble at the WTC site without a respirator mask, though. This whole stink over the initial report is all about lawsuits. Debris removers are complaining of respiratory ailments, which doesn't surprise me. They want to punish the EPA for telling them the air was safe. OK, I feel for them, it sucks to be ill, but what good does it do to spend all this money and time fighting over an old report? The fact is, people would have been working down there cleaning up, rescuing, and recovering even if the EPA had said that breathing the air around "Ground Zero" would cause you to spontaneously explode. You couldn't keep them away. It's not the residents or area workers who are making mass complaints, but the people who were actually sifting through the broken remains and, sorry to say, ashes of the victims. If the EPA was too light on the hazards of the air, maybe it was because we needed to believe it was safe, that we were safe.

Don't Mess With Texas

I knew I liked those Dixie Chicks.

There But For the Grace of AAA Go I

So, I read three blogs. Rabbit's, Dave Barry's and Sweat Flavored Gummi. The third one is written by this girl named Rebecca who has an amazing writing style. She's also just very odd. Anyway, I read the other day that she had a car accident right after picking up her car from the body shop where they had fixed it for two previous accidents. I felt so bad for her. I thought about what I would have done if that had happened to me. I probably would have just sat down on the ground and cried. I mean, that's pretty much what I did every other time I had a car accident.

Cars. They're so weird. My experience with them has been pretty limited. I didn't learn how to drive until I was a senior in high school. I took driver's ed my second semester, and my stepfather used to let me drive (with him in car) to and from rehearsals for The King & I. It always seemed to be raining on those nights, and the roads were long and curvy, without much traffic. I got my license shortly before going to college. Then I only drove during the summer, to work, in Madisonville. I liked tooling around the country roads in my 1978 Ford Fairmont station wagon (after I wrecked the 1979 Ford Fairmont station wagon). The Christmas break before my last semester in college, my folks gave me the Fairmont. I got a job and used the car to drive there. I had parking issues. I drove the car while intoxicated once or twice, something I would never repeat (seriously, drinking and driving is just stupid). After college I drove the car up to Cape Cod and was scared to death by the rotaries and aggressive drivers. It was nuts. Drove back to Madisonville and used the car to commute two hours round trip to work in Knoxville, until I moved to Knoxville and experienced more parking issues. You know, I really didn't like driving. Then drove it up to Ithaca, and it spent most of the time just moving from one side of the street to the other, because I walked to work. Finally, I sold it. It did this thing where it didn't want to start or stay started, and sometimes it would stall at a light. It made me very angry. So I sold it to a developmentally disabled boy who was going to use it to learn. I cried. I loved the car, itself. I scraped all 26 stickers off, removed my dice, compass, fuzzy seat covers, etc., and sent it on its way.

We had good times, me and Griswald.

I drove a few more times after that, for moving, and once last fall on a road trip, but I generally don't like driving. I freak out. I get very nervous. Recently, when my friend needed me to steer her dead car while she pushed it backwards, I couldn't do it. I was so afraid I would do something wrong and end up running into a bridge abutment. Cars intimidate me. Other drivers scare the hell out of me. And in New York, pedestrains are just plain evil.

So, when I read about someone else hitting another car, I just think about how glad I am I live in a place with available public transportation. I'm just afraid that one day I'll want to leave, and I'll have to drive again. It really fills me with mortal fear. I guess the goal for me is to become very rich so I can have a car and driver. Yes, that's a plan.

Honey, Have You Seen My Keys?

Somebody stole the keys to heaven. That's pretty badass, right there. I don't even believe in heaven, but I still don't think I'd have the balls to defile a statue of St. Peter in Vatican City, you know? Cree-pee. Like, why would you steal that? Witchcraft? Divine visions? Ransom? I bet Jessica Fletcher could solve that one pretty fast. In at least an hour.

Building a Case for Mass Hysteria

Here it comes. It's just like the anti-ephedra craze after the Herbal Ecstacy deaths. People who are irrationally opposed to a natural substance will overlook the fact that this guy abused diet pills in the Florida heat while exercising and focus right on the "ephedra" part of the story. Oh, that ephedra. It's a killer. Better stay alert, it likes to creep up on you at night, with a knife. Slash, slash, it's all over, and your precious life is ended by that nasty, evil herb. Hmm, reminds me of another plant the squares are so crazy about.

Anyway. So, it says here that 100 total deaths have been linked to ephedra. Here's a funny fact: There are over 500 deaths per year in the US that are caused by (not linked to) aspirin (one source goes as high as 10,000, but I'm dubious). Hey, FDA, instead of banning ephedra, why not study it, regulate it, place proper warning labels on it and see if it kills as many people as a medicine we commonly give to children? The fact that supposedly intelligent people don't see how illogical banning ephedra is really freaks me out. Am I alone in a bubble of reason, here? You know, I am all for electing smart people to public office. Anyone who supports politicians like Quayle and Bush and Jess Ventura and jokes about knowing they're not that bright should be ashamed of themselves. If you know a politician is stupid, don't elect the dumbass! Hell, don't you think people smarter than you should be running the government? And if you don't, how did you live this long without being able to tie your own shoes?

I've Been Wrong Before

Oh, that crazy Elizabeth Smart. I love the new details of her rescue, retrieval, whatever. Didn't seem like she was in a big hurry to leave her scruffy captors. And speaking of gross hyperbole: "'Her heart was beating so hard you could see it through her chest,' [Sandy Officer Bill] O'Neal said." Sure, it was. Is that even possible?

Now That's New

I'd pretty much forgotten about Elizabeth Smart. I find the following quote very misleading and sensationalistic: "Elizabeth's kidnapping was part of a frightening string of child abductions that included the slayings of 7-year-old Danielle van Dam of San Diego and 5-year-old Samantha Runnion of Orange County, Calif." (AP) The fact that those abductions all happened in a short time frame is merely coincidental, not a "string." It also implies that Smart's kidnapper was predisposed to kill her. I think the whole thing sounds kind of fishy. Usually the media likes to report the horrid details as soon as they get them, but there are no horrid details here. Maybe there were none. Maybe her kidnappers were nice to her, or she went with them willingly. I'll bet the real story is interesting, but I also bet I'll forget all about Elizabeth Smart again before it's revealed.

It's Not So Easy

How do you go back? Once there is the momentum of legislation, how do you extract the government from the issue? Once you start down the road of bans and laws, how do you get back on the path of decriminalization and legalization? Is it even possible? Was the repeal of the 18th Amendment an anomaly? It seems like everyday, the government infects more and more of our lives; everything is subject to a law. Everything we do, say, or even think is subject to scrutiny, judged, found lacking and punished, or found worthy and ignored. How have we let this happen to our society? How have we gotten to the point where 100 people (mostly men), who are not doctors, can sit around in a room and make decisions that affect every American woman's medical health? The more we fight it, the more entrenched the abortion opponents become, pushing for more and more restrictions, little by little making it a losing cause for the libertarian, the pro-choice advocate, and the very real person who is a woman in crisis who needs anything but the government telling her how to handle that crisis.

Whatever

"If it were not for the strong support of the Jewish community for this war with Iraq, we would not be doing this," said [Rep. Jim] Moran [D-Virginia], whose remarks were first reported by the Reston Connection newspaper. "The leaders of the Jewish community are influential enough that they could change the direction of where this is going, and I think they should." --CNN.com

Maybe I'm actually some kind of bigot, but I don't see how this can be called anti-Semitic. Replace the words "Jewish community" with "oil lobby" or "Republican party" and see what you get. You could call in uninformed or oversimplified, and it's certainly an opinion rather than a fact. I can see people saying, hey that's not true and you should make some statement that retracts what you said. I can also see him saying, screw you, I think it's true and I'll stand by what I said. These things would be okay with me. With the proper discourse in the papers and other news, people could decide if they think he's the man they want representing them. But to ask him to resign for stating a political opinion, just because it offends someone, and for him to actually backpeddle... well, doesn't it seem to you that the "Jewish community" might have some kind of power then? These days it seems like there's Jewish, the religion, and Jewish, the political party. And I think making political comments about the power of political Jews cannot be called anti-Semitism. That be like if my boss said to me, "Alexia, we don't like you because you're unattractive," he'd be anti-Alexia. If he said, "Alexia, I question your judgement on this month's expenditures," I couldn't say he was anti-Alexia. Now, were he to say, "Alexia, I question your judgement on this month's expenditures because you're so unattractive," that's an anti-Alexia attitude. Get it?

George Washington Carver Would Be Proud

I know that you are as excited as I am that they have found a treatment for peanut allergies. My first question is, "How soon will we get peanuts back on commercial airlines? I don't like those little snack packs."

We Need More Chicks

Did you know that the US comes in 59th in the world for percentage of women in national legislatures? That's just stupid. Where are the women? Come on, ladies, step up to the plate and fill up that Senate. Forget being a governor or a city councilperson. We need more female Representatives. I would take a crack at it, but you don't see a lot of Senators with advertising degrees and heavily documented histories of drag queen obssession. You know, in Italy, they elect former porn stars to office. Why can't America be more like Italy?

More Evidence Of Human Self-Absorption

If we lived in some science-fiction reality where man lived in hives and had to adhere to a very strict code of behavior (wash hair at exactly 8 am, check into headquarters every 12 hours, etc.) the sentient robots would be taking away people left and right. Oh, it wouldn't be because of rebellion, but because people are stupid and don't pay attention. It would be all, "I'm supposed to wash my hair when? Nobody told me. Oh, I can't be bothered to read the giant glowing screen of rules in front of my bed. I get to the third one and I get distracted. I mean, have you ever had a hangnail? Those things'll drive you crazy! Hey, what's that big, sharp, metal thing?" People either don't listen or think they are too good for the rules. That the rules that apply to everyone else don't apply to them. Ever wonder why there are so many people in prison in America? Sure, the sentencing laws are ridiculous, but still people just do whatever the hell they want to or are to stupid to know what's acceptable. This is why communism isn't more successful, and also why Jeopardy! has gotten so much easier lately.

Northern Man

Um, I'm anti-war, too, but when is someone going to tell Neil Young that he's from Canada? Whether it's writing songs about Kent State or the American South or mouthing off at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony, he gives the apperance of someone speaking for America. Dude! You're not an American! Give it up, already!

And by the way, memo to Tommy Hilfiger (and every other dumbass who uses this song patriotically), the song "American Woman" is an anti-American song by the Canadian band The Guess Who. LISTEN TO THE LYRICS.

Finally, I would like to say that I actually think Canada is great. As are my Canadian friends. Their heads don't flap at all.

Good Morning, Starshine

Well, that was quite a blog entry on Saturday, wasn't it? Everything went great at the event, I got a couple of hours of sleep around 3:30 pm, then went to see my vocie teacher in a recital and went out bar hopping in Williamsburg until 4 am. I was amazed by my body's ability to keep up. The thing is, I chalk it up to the fact that I was drinking beer. Yes, it's true, Alexia drank beer. And I'll do it again. It's cheaper, and you can hold onto one longer, and I never got drunk enough to want to flash my tits. That's a good drink.

More later. Oh yeah, the template is still fucked. I'm reading Killshot by Elmore Leonard, listening to Awesome80s (Johnny Hates Jazz!), wearing the python loafers, loving energy reserves and hating ethical dilemmas.

Whuh?

So, I haven't slept since yesterday morning. I went out after work and just drank until 4 am. Then I went home, took a shower and got ready for work. I am so very, very tired. Spelling is hard.

In an hour and a half I'll be setting up lunch. I can't take a nap in my office, because at this point, I'd never wake up. This is so very hard. But I'm hardcore. Remember when we were, like twenty and could go days without sleep, just eating acid and hanging out in the smoking room at the campus library, eating Krystals (Southern White Castles) and just talking shit all night? I am a bad, bad, person. All I think about is what I want. Well, I was still kick-ass this morning work-wise. Got the coffee made, set up the nametags, registered 75-odd people, all that good stuff. And pleasant. I don't think anyone realizes that I'm actually drunk right now. Wow, such a bad employee. But the lunch will be set up, then I have to travel downtown and have a freaking serious talk with someone. Like I can handle that right now. I just want to take a nap. Like an eight-hour nap, you know? I'm seriously just typing to stay awake. Forgive me if I repeat myself. Thank heavens for the water cooler and the cool library staff. This is bad news, yo. uhhhhhhhhhhhhnnnnnnnnnnzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I Dreamed a Dream

Very strange dream last night. I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom so that's why I remember it (usually I only remember the morning dreams). I was living in a house with a bunch of other people. The Beast from Angel was coming to get us. We had done the sanctuary spell, but it must not have worked. We were running all over the house, trying to let everyone know what was happening. There were blankets and towels and sweaters everywhere. The top floor had dozens of bedrooms, off of the main house in small wings that were two or three steps down. I found a little girl in a crib and I knew she was a twin, and I told her to be very quiet and covered her up. But then The Beast had come, and everyone in the world was subjugated to him. It was very strange. Then I was in a sort of stadium, forced to watch The Beast's show or something. Metallica was there. They were chatting it up with him. I was very sad. Everything was terrible. The boy sitting with me kissed the inside of my elbow and it made me happy. I said, "I can't believe I'm smiling. I never thought I would smile again." Then I started looking at this strange map that had hair growing out of it and I realized that there was no reason to be happy, because we were all doomed to be slaves to The Beast, even if it didn't seem so bad yet, it was going to be terrible and nothing would ever be right again. Then I cried. I don't know what happened next, but it involved my recurring dream confrontation with a toilet set out in the middle of a room with no privacy. That's probably why I got up to pee.

I think I had the dream because of Bush's press conference last night. He sure didn't disappoint. He still can't say "sacrifice" or pronounce "nuclear." One reporter even asked him if he could tell Americans what to expect economically from an invasion -- as in, if there is war, what should we expect to sacrifice? -- and he answered it very defensively, not actually answering the question at all, but repeating that any economic costs of an attack on America would outweight the cost of attacking Iraq. Dude! That's not what he asked! He wasn't questioning the validity of an attack on Iraq, but asking a question many Americans would like the answer to, because this thing is inevitable, and I want to know if I should start buying store brand shampoo. Other people might question if they should put off buying a new car or new home. I mean, duh! He said the same thing that was in his opening remarks over and over, until I was screaming so loud that I couldn't even understand what I was screaming. And W, people pray for Pat Sajak and Derek Jeter, so don't be so flattered that people pray for you, m'kay? Also, show a little deceny and stop smiling flirtatiously at every female reporter you call on and holding a look of smug superiority when you're listening to a question. Hey, way to answer a question about US arrogance with and arrogant reply! And reporters, next time, ask this question: "Mr. President, for the american people, so they understand, what exactly do you mean by disarmament, and how long should it take to disarm all of the weapons you believe Iraq has, if everyone who could worked day and night on it? Because you seem to talk as if it is an instantaneous action."

In the imomortal words of Morales, "Jesus Christ!"

Sombody Saaaaaaave Me!

Or help me, whatever. I've heard the song "Band of Gold" twice today, and I was struck by how little sense it makes. I love the music; it's fun and catchy, but the story of the song confuses the hell out of me. So, she was married but never consummated her marriage or even got to be with her husband after the wedding. Why? What does it mean, "love me like you tried before"? The only clue comes from the first verse, which alludes to a mother she's "never known." But. What. The. Hell. Does. It. All. Mean?

Also, no matter how much I love Tom Jones, if I never hear "She's A Lady" again, that will suit me just dandy. Sure, I love hearing songs about a woman who "always knows her place," is "never in the way," and can be left "on her own" without the fear of "messing," but I have the draw the line at such lyrics as, "Help me build a mansion from a little pile of clay," and the implication that it's okay for him to act like an ass (while she must act like a dainty fleur), because "she can take what [he] dish[es] out, and that's not easy." Fuck you Tom Jones. This song is misogynist crap. I can only hope that the producers of Miss Congeniality were going for super-irony when they used the song in their movie. Every time I hear it I want to punch someone. Like the DJ.

Random Notes

Oy, the template is still broken and they don't give service to us free users. So, just ignore the side panel, 'kay?

Human shields: Bad idea.

Google: How cool is it that they celebrate Michelangelo's birthday?

Hey, Stephen Downs, now you know what it feels like for kids who get kicked out of the mall just because they're wearing black lipstick. Malls: Still irrationally bigoted after all these years.

Metropolitan Transit Authority of New York City: Blows goats. How ridiculous is a 50 cent fare hike? That's $1 a day for most people. If I'm not mistaken, that's enough to feed a starving child in Africa! We're talking a shitload of money, yo! But what choice do any of us non-Manhattanites have? I sure as hell can't hop on a bicycle and ride to work. If I didn't get killed in traffic or keel over from exhaustion, I'd have to leave at 6 in the morning to get to work on time, and then I'd be all sweaty. It's not an option. I hate you, MTA, you money-grubbing assholes.

Angel was awesome last night. Eliza Dushku is back and she kicked ass, bay-bee! I pointed and laughed and jumped around, clapped my hands and yelled "woo!" It reminds me of the old days, when Joss used to be able to inspire that in me on a monthly basis. Faith: A shot of adrenaline, a shot of tequila and mmm, mmm, good.

Template Update

You know that stuff to the left that tells what I'm reading and listening to and such? It's now registering what I posted on Monday, so do with that information what you will.

Blogged For No One

Oh, what's the point? I've gotten nothing but spam this week (even the mail from friends was the mass kind), about three people read the blog, and no one ever calls me. Now the freaking template won't update, so all three of you reading think it takes me a week to read a 60-page book and whatever else the damn thing said on Thursday. Plus, it's raining. If you've read the ConEd saga, you'll know that means that, as I type, there is water seeping into my apartment through the electrical box. I only pray it stops before the bucket gets full. And there's nothing you can do, you know. You can't refuse to pay your electric bill until they fix the problem, because they'll just turn off your power. You can't get anyone on the phone who's in charge, and trying to go over the customer service rep's head is laughable.

"Can I speak to your superviser?" "Sure! [deepens voice] Yes, this is the superviser, can I help you?"

I know how the game is played. So I just rolled up my rug, put an old towel in front of the closet door and crossed my fingers.

And I was considering moving to Jersey City, but that would add $2 a day to my transportation costs. Forget it.

Something's got to give here, people.

Huh

I feel like I really missed something. Yesterday was 03/03/03 and I completely failed to realize it or attach any significance to it. Not that I'm some numerology freak, but that is neat, isn't it? I mean, we have to wait a whole year, month and day for it to happen again. an extra day, even, because of leap year. I need to be more prepared for these things. Oh yeah, happy Mardi Gras. Please refrain from flashing your tits for beads, but if you have any King Cake, I'd be down for that. Enjoy yourselves tonight, for tomorrow you start all that depriving and stuff. All you Catholics, that is. I'll probably just keep doing the same thing I always do, bereft of spiritual anchor, floating through life without grasping its meaning, until I die without blessing and burn for eternity in a pit of something really icky.

Whatever, I have to do laundry tonight. Religion will have to wait until I have more (post-office-drudgery) time.

Someone's In The Kitchen With Alexia

Feeling bored and impotent at work today, so I thought I'd share my clever money and fat-saving method of cooking meat. So, I got me a George Foreman grill. It's awesome. Cleaning is a little bit involved, because you can't immerse it, but it's mostly the rinsing that's the tricky part. This thing grills anything, and fast. I don't recommend grilling hot dogs, though, as they just don't get hot enough. Anyway, last night I stopped by the grocery store before I went home and picked up a box of quart-sized freezer bags, six (mostly) boneless pork chops, two big old boneless chicken breasts, a $3 steak ("Outback" was the cut, who knows), and two 99 cent bottles of salad dressing, "Robusto" Italian and balsamic vinaigrette. I cut all the fat off the pork chops and put them in the bags, two per bag. I cut the chicken breasts in half and did the same. I poured about two tablespoons of dressing in the bags (one each meat -- one pork stayed plain), sealed them up, and stuck them in the freezer. The steak got a quick shot of Worcestershire, and half went to my dinner while the other half went to my lunch. That's the plan with the rest, too. Cook up one bag of meat, and it's enough for two meals. Add whatever leftover starch/veg I have from dinner to the handy Rubbermaid container, and it's an easy microwaveable lunch. I picked up some cous cous and some Ramen noodles (both so very fast and easy) too, so the whole thing came to about $24 or a little more than $3 a meal. I call that good home economics!

Oh, did I mention that I skipped karate to cut up meat? It all seems so very wrong.

This Pop-Up Book Has Been Rated NC-17

Madonna is writing children's books. Now, I read some of her past work, in Sex, and of course, there are her lyrics. The bitch can't write. I can see it now...

[wavy dream sequence]

Madonna sits in her Versace rocking chair, a Gaultier afghan draped over her knees (which are folded into the lotus position). Little Lourdes and Rocco sit before her, rapt, having been taught from birth that their mother is, in fact, the Messiah. They know she can't be human, because when she speaks, her voice sounds so very odd, almost like a glorious melange of all the world's accents. God bless these little children.

Anyway, after making sure the light isn't highlighting her lengthening crow's feet, Madonna begins to read from her book.

"In a secret garden of the heart, there once lived two bunny rabbits who would never part. Although he constantly abused her, Mopsy Rabbit was chained to the side of Flopsy Rabbit by a twisted kind of love. She knew it wasn't right, but her father had never shown her the kind of love she needed after her poor, sainted mother died, so she turned to Flopsy. She knew that his controlling and manipulating ways were just his way of showing love, and she loved him back for it. She felt so strong, because she knew the Kaballah and also had rejected the Church of her youth.

"Mopsy also understood the importance of self-love."

At this, Madonna displays her illustrated pages to her progeny, glowing with a pride so delusional that it nearly burns their retinas. Unfortunately, the children do not go blind, as their eyes grow wide at the picture before them. Their mother is a revolutionary artist, you see, and she chooses to push the envelope, go beyond conventional methods of writing and illustrating for children, critics be damned. What Madonna does not know is that most children, even her own, are not ready to see Mopsy the little white bunny clutching a Hitachi Magic Wand in one paw and skinhead lesbian in the other.

[wavy dream sequence]

Yeah, I'm picturing it something like that.

More Proof of Epidemic Moron Behavior

When we are dumbing down child car-seat installation instructions to a fifth-grade reading level, we've got to admit that something's wrong. Seriously, if you can't read above a fifth-grade level, what the hell are you doing with an infant? Sure, some people may say that it's not reading skill that makes good parents, but it is a lack of reading skill causing parents to improperly install safety devices, so to me, it's relevant. Because we live in an age where the written word is everywhere, and generally used to convey warnings and directions, I think people who are charged with the care of an infant human, helpless little larva that it is, should know how to freaking read. Hey, I never claimed to be politically correct, especially when it comes to people who think they have the right to breed without consulting their betters. Ha ha! Just kidding. That did crack me up, though.

Homophobia Makes a Comeback

Maybe it's just me, but I don't think Cuba Gooding, Jr. is going to be winning any awards from GLAAD this year.

Meh

I am utterly uninspired at work. After attending a lovely party this Saturday in a gallery filled with "terrible toys" -- being surrounded by artists, comedians, bootleggers, persons of ambiguous gender in all manner of costume, and random freaks -- sitting in this little room, trying to conduct sensible negotiations with people stuck in the 1970s is personally defeating. I just want to say, "Shut up and listen to me! I don't care how you've done it for 15 years, this is 2003, and my way is better!" But that's not very diplomatic. Then someone calls up looking for a freelance position marketing my venue. Sister, that's my job, and you don't want it. It's only been 7 months, but I can barely take it anymore. If only I can tough it out for another year, I know it will be worth it. I just wish I could work in a record store. Where do all those people live who work in record stores? I bet they have roommates. Feh.

It's true, I'm just lazy. But you know, I'm not a machine. I don't think that being "productive" and "giving 100%" is really the point of living. I've gotta believe there's something more to it than developing a stellar resume and putting away enough dough to retire at 45. That all just seems like too much work to me. This is my way of rationalizing the fact that I haven't been proactive about marketing since the beginning of January. Hey, I'm still getting returns on the mailer. I need good data, right?

Maybe I should have a stoop sale. Eh, I don't have anything I'm willing to part with, except for a few shirts that I could wear someday. Yet I seem to have a whole bunch of stuff. Maybe boxing everything up in Rubbermaid bins will make me feel more at peace with my belongings. I can't stand it when there are things just hanging out in places without a holder of some kind, yet I have these stacks of magazines and videos on my floor. I just want to contain everything so I feel like I can just pick it all up and move it. I've got ants in my pants. Maybe I'm just premenstrual. No, it's ants.

Maybe it's my own fault, but I can't remember the last time I had a job and felt like I really fit in, like I got it, like I didn't feel like I could get fired at any time. I've never actually been fired ( I was laid off once), but I never feel all secure and happy. Here, especially, I don't really have any friends, and although I like being alone, and I like eating my lunch by myself, it's just boring. The only time things are happening, I'm being annoyed by people acting like I can't figure out easy shit or asking my opinion and just doing what they want to anyway. All this passive-aggressive bullshit. But I wouldn't have the first idea how to work for myself. I'd always rather just have someone tell me what to do, and do it, because when you have to make the shit up yourself, people are always second-guessing you and you have to prove yourself. Again, far too much work. At least I can go to karate. They don't mind bossing me around.

Those Good Old College Days

What the hell is up with women in college? What is it about a little freedom, a little education, and exposure to women's studies classes that drives some women insane? If you look at a sculpture of an erect penis, and you think "male domination," you need some serious therapy. I can understand a little, "ew, gross!" or even some "can't wait till the thaw" comments, but, really now. The worst thing about the sculpture seems to be proportion. I can appreciate that the medium wasn't exactly the most friendly, but that's one giant scrotum. I find it telling that many feminists are so narrow-minded and sexually repressed. It's an age old story: when it comes to porn, the feminists link arms with the religious right and sing "Kumbaya." Maybe a little humanism is in order. In any case, these two women are not the next radical feminists. One can only hope that, after some time in the outside world, each can look at a picture of a penis (or even a real one, should that the way of the swing) and see a part of the male human body, not a symbol of power. The humanist approach would be to divest the phallus of anything outside sexual power (which is good!) by ceasing to link it to socio-economic power (which is bad). In other words, ignore it and it will go away. Or something like that. Hey, I just made this shit up right now, what do you want from me?

White Crosses, Ma-Huang, Same Dif

Once again, our ignorant leaders have jumped on a "protect the stupid" bandwagon without doing the research. I'll be writing my senator, who is supporting a ban on Ephedra, and filling him in on the legitimate medical uses for the herb, known as Ma Huang in Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM). Ma Huang is the main ingredient in herbal prescriptions for asthma, bronchitis, and other respiratory ailments. Sure, it's the natural basis for speed, but isn't regulation of an abusable drug better than an outright ban? Ma Huang is an important herb for Chinese doctors, and an FDA ban would make it impossible for them to import it from China and use it in their practices. In case you were unaware, TCM has been practiced for 4,000 years, so they kind of know what they're doing. Thank goodness the FDA stopped at warning labels, for now. They could do more positive things, for all herbs.

Currently, because the FDA does not test "herbal suppplements" for effectiveness in treating ailments, the labels cannot make any medical claims. They simply say what dosage to take and call it a dietary supplement. The problem here is that many people hear about a dietary supplement from a TV show or magazine, and don't think of it as medicine. They don't ask their doctors (many of whom don't know the first thing about herbs anyway) if herbs will interfere with current medication or their unique conditions, and they take the herbs the wrong way. They take the wrong herbs. They take them too often or for too long. Echinacea is touted all over the place as the best cold preventitive, but how often do you hear that long term use can cause liver damage in some people (it can)? If the labels on herbs could display indications, contraindications, warnings, and more complete dosage information, people would be armed with the knowledge to protect themselves, without needing the government to ban perfectly safe and effective medicines.

If people are taking Ephedra to get high or to perform better at sports or to lose weight, well, I don't care. I've done it myself. But knowing the risks can make this use safer as well. I'm for the warning labels, but a ban would just be the worst manifestation of xenophobia.

Holy Crap

" 'If the U.S. imperialists ignite a war on the Korean Peninsula, the war will turn into a nuclear war,' [North Korea's official] Rodong [Sinmun newspaper] said. 'As a consequence, the Koreans in the north and south and the people in Asia and the rest of the world will suffer horrifying nuclear disasters.' "

and

" 'Crushing the U.S. plot to attack North Korea is a very important issue related to peace and safety of Asia and the world, the existence and future of mankind,' Rodong said. "

Does North Korea know something we don't? Are the threats against Iraq a smokescreen for an attack against North Korea? Or is it really just a case of North Korean propaganda? Either way, the casual mention of the obliteration of mankind bothers me somewhat, you know? I read Hiroshima. I'll tell you one thing, in the event of nuclear war, I'd rather be right in the center of the first strike zone, because anything other than instant death is a nightmare. Maybe I'm crazy and paranoid, but the US's apparent lack of concern about nuclear proliferation in North Korea mixed with its obvious zeal to thump Iraq for mustard gas violations seems dangerous. I mean, priorities, people?

Oh, You've Got to Have Friends!

Who would have thought that the US would need the cooperation of other countries, and thus good foreign relations, to carry out a successful war? It's unheard of, I say.

The Box, Part Three

Not to be flip about terrorism, but I bet if the CIA had the Scary Asian Dentist Torture Guy working for them, they'd know everything they want about al-Qaeda.

Public Service Announcement

Don't be like Alexia, kids. Don't stay up until 1 am reading old love letters and capping it off with notes from your dead mother. You have to get up in the morning, kids. That kind of nonsense just leads to the excessive thinking, the tossing and the turning. Then you end up having realistic dreams after your alarm has gone off about being in college and having missed every anthropology, math and gym class so far this semester. The dreams will be so realistic, you'll think you've gotten into the shower already, but you'll actually be curled up in duvet-meatball at 7:52 am. This is not a good way to start the day, kids! Just say no!

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.]

Welcome Back, Eighties!

I need this, in every color. and don't give me the old, "well, you won't even go out during the week, when will you wear it?" line, because I'll be back, eventually. And I'll have me some periwinkle eyelashes, too.

Morons on Parade!

Look, kids, I'm no angel. I'll admit that I have been keeping up with Joe Millionaire. I'll admit that I was annoyed that I skipped karate to watch what I thought was going to be the finale. But I got over it, especially since I had a remote in my hand and was able to watch something else. Unfortunately, for some it is not that easy. My favorite quote in this story -- perhaps the quote of the day? -- is: "Fox has lied to us, and I feel that they should be punished for that. ... Bad move, guys. It will be a while before I put my trust back into Fox."

Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha... Gosh, yes. I often put my trust into the megaconglomerate companies that run television networks. And I am so seldom disappointed. This just hit too close to home! Give me a break. Even when the WB made the awful, awful mistake of not throwing all of its money to Buffy, sentencing it to a pathetic, lingering death on UPN, I didn't feel anything like a betrayal of trust. Pissed off, yes. Irritated and confused? Definitely. But these are kind of Alexia default settings anyway. My point is, IT'S JUST TV. Stop watching TV and posting to message boards at the same time. Stop saying things like "Why would [character name] do that?" Um, because the writers made him do it. The real question is, "What are the writers smoking?" Enjoy television, but don't invest your trust in the FOX network. Rupert Murdoch would rip your heart out of your chest as soon as look at you. And Jesus Christ, people, if you want to get upset about a TV show, how about something with a little more worth than freaking Joe Millionaire?

More examples of rampant moron behavior:

A) The New York City Council is wasting time and taxpayer money pushing through a bill that it admits the police will not be spending any time enforcing. What is this new NYC ban, you ask? No cell phones at the theater. If your phone rings at a movie, play, ballet, museum, library or a concert, you may face a $50 fine. How stupid is that? Sure, it's common sense to be polite, but you can't fine someone for being rude. Seriously, that's the height of stupidity.

B) In Iran, even though many people seem to want to celebrate Valentine's Day, the government has said no way. In this case, I can't figure out if it's the people or the government who are more stupid here. On one hand, the "hard-line clerical" government should be more in touch with its people, but on the other hand, Valentine's Day is just a made up holiday to sell cards, candy and flowers. Oh, and trashy lingerie that will only be worn once, but I don't think that applies in Iran.

C) OK, ladies, if you're husband is having an affair, don't try to surgically improve yourself, be the perfect housefrau and offer him more sex. He'll just be excited that he's got two dopes willing to sleep with him and you'll get so pissed off you'll run him over with your big German car. Say it with me if you know the words, D-I-V-O-R-C-E. It seems like no one wants to get divorced anymore! What is this country coming to?

D) The Democrats still haven't figured out that they need to present a united front to defeat George W. Bush in 2004.

2003. The Year of the Moron.

I Understand, It's Not You, It's Me

Since no one cares to help me make my decision, I made it on my own. There will be more opportunities for me to prance about half-nekkid at a dance club when I have more money. I just love the theme idea of wearing that red lace bloomer-bodysuit with my new panties with the heart on them. Aw, no one would notice it amongst all the latex anyway.

And, yay, my voice teacher told me that she thinks of me, and is training me as, a soprano. I haven't thought of myself as a soprano since I was a freshman in high school! Woo hoo! Bring on the high girly songs!

The Libra Gives Up

I just wrote some whole paragraph about my stupid money thoughts and choices for Thursday evening. It was so boring and simpering that I deleted it. I'll put it to a vote.

Irresponsible partying in red panties or good-girl TV-watchin'?

Just send me an e-mail telling me which way I should go!

More?

Prince can't catch a break from The Onion today.

The Onion: Who could you take in a fight?

Trey Parker [of South Park]: I could take a lot of people. I could take Prince. He's a little bitch, although he is God.