The Blatherscope

Writing For Your Life

2009-06-24T14:14:00.000-07:00

A recent study confirmed what We All Knew: gender bias is alive and well in the theatre. However, its most surprising find was the way in which women ADs and agents review the work of women playwrights.

I do not subscribe to beliefs about women's catty behavior to other women. Instead, I wonder about women's protectiveness in the face of norms. Men are still the assumed baseline of civilization; their works are supposedly normative. Women, however, are always Representing Their Gender, rather than an individual view of the world. To find any foothold, the woman writer must be exemplary, not opening the door to criticisms of a woman's inability to write/be funny/command character/etc. Other women professionals are the gatekeepers of excellence; they can't take the chance that their position will be jeopardized by one bad apple.

But perhaps that failsafe has become more of a hindrance than help. Perhaps it is time to trust that others (particularly the males of our species) will not embrace or dismiss a work due to genitalia. Perhaps it is time to quite chaperoning one another. Perhaps it is time to believe in each other, as humans.

I'm Afraid Of Americans

2009-05-21T10:38:00.001-07:00

...As Bowie says.

Well, he didn't win. It sounds so silly, but I feel tired in a way that makes my bones ache. That kind of talent was not enough for people. He didn't fit masculine norms, hetero norms, or Protestant norms.

He was just another Glam-rock gay Jew in eyeliner.

What stuns me is the role that Evangelical Christians played in this debacle. The 3rd Place Contestant's pastor tweeted, "Everyone who voted for @dannygokey should vote for Kris Allen! We need a believer to represent! Kris is an awesome young man from a great…"

And so "Christians" did.

It didn't matter that their new Champ's musical talents lie more in producing than performing; what mattered was that a Christian win. Because, apparently, God is not glorified when someone who's not a Christian attains any sort of influential position in this world, deserved or not.

As if the Creator was not in every aspect of Beauty in this world.

Rock the Vote

2009-05-04T12:04:00.000-07:00

In an age of wussy "singing", one man stands ready to sing with good technique, breath support & control, and mad range manipulation. That man is Adam Lambert. Vote!

*The above is a totally cheesy musical of the Ten Commandments (with Val Kilmer, no less!), but Adam rocks it anyway. The vocal pyrotechnics start about 2:45 into it, fyi.

Make-Up My Day

2009-05-01T09:05:00.000-07:00

The other day I was leaving my coffeehouse, perked up by another perfect latte, and walking with a bit of a bounce to my step. An unshaven transvestite past me on the street and exclaimed, "Oh! Honey! You are so beautiful!" How could I keep from grinning after that?

Flushing With Pleasure

2009-04-27T12:48:00.000-07:00

I am just returned from Californ-I-A. I drove my trip, stopping now and again at various rest stops for various kinds of rest. Something grabbed my attention on the journey: the many ways to flush a toilet. Yes, yes; I appreciated the glorious green trees, the mountains' majesty, the rolling plains...but my thoughts stayed with the toilet.

You can flush a toilet by: pulling a cord from the ceiling, jiggling the tank handle, flashing your nude butt in front of a motion sensor, pressing a button on the tank lid, pressing a button on the back wall, stepping on a lever, and lowering the seat cover.

G*d bless America.

Passionate About "Meh"

2009-03-31T16:05:00.000-07:00

I effing hate this word.

How was this milquetoast sound ever elevated to Word-Status? Is it because the majority of the population can spell it correctly--on first try!--or perhaps it is another causality* of Texting?

*For some reason, I picture cops staring sadly down at the tiny chalk outline of an Alphabet.

HAND-some Is As Handsome Does

2009-03-22T23:27:00.000-07:00

I was puttin' along in Old Town today, when what did my little eye spy? That's right, a giant frackin' hand stemming from the bowels of a parking lot. Who knows why--it's Portland.

Just one of the many things that make me love this town.

Spring Means New Beginnings

2009-03-21T13:15:00.000-07:00

Hello, faithful Blatherscopians. After a year in which I felt like I was enacting a country song, I have safely emerged on the Other Side. During the past year, You may have noticed a distinct lack of the post-age; this lack was due to my upbringing: I had nothing nice to say, so I didn't say anything at all.

And I have delayed restarting the blog-alation due to embarrassment--kinda like the friend you really like, promise to "get together with", delay and delay, and then feel like too much time has gone by to be anything but insulting and decide it is better just to let them fade away. But I don't want You to fade, fade away! So here am I, hurdling my natural reticence, startin' fresh.

Year-of-our-Lord 2009, so far, kicks DONKEY! I will be unleashing the Ramble over the next few days--prepare Thyselves.

Indecent Proposal: VIII

2008-12-05T22:54:00.000-08:00

The passing of Prop 8 (among many other despicable state amendments across the U.S.) in "liberal" California was...well, there aren't really words for it. Thankfully, it makes a Dante's Inferno of a musical.

Necessarily Unnecessary

2008-11-29T13:08:00.000-08:00

Blatherscopians, You know how I love me some random. Well, it doesn't get much randomier than this. Keep clicking for new useless facts--You'll be amazed at how much of this crap You may already know.

Spooky Goodness Headin' Your Way

2008-10-06T20:20:00.000-07:00

It approacheth! The Medium opens Oct. 22nd, kids. This is gonna be one heck of show, 4-reals. I, who know this show like the back of my hand, was blown away by a rehearsal last week (2 weeks out from opening!). It is terrifying. Please come check us out!

It's the End of the World as We Know It

2008-09-10T10:33:00.000-07:00

I always knew Science would usher in Apocalypse! You'd best kiss Your Loved Ones adieu--and hope that they really do Go With God.*

Seriously. Have You hugged YOUR Jesus today?

I know someone who has. She's my new BFF; after all, we're both Vagina Americans, aren't we? (Though not the first.) She's not a Pig**, but is a kind of Pitbull-Barracuda halfbreed***. I know that we're soul mates 'cuz we both think that no one can understand the Lord's Tongue. But what can ya do when the Spirit comes on You?****

*These religions are not approved: see ALL.
**Known for her intelligence.
***Known for her ferocity.
****That is some drrrty.

Can You Contain My Sexy Pulp?

2008-08-27T15:21:00.000-07:00

Some things are always lost in translation.

Nobody Makes It Like Mama

2008-08-14T13:12:00.000-07:00

From the awesome Fail Blog.

Wanna Take A Trip?

2008-08-13T09:12:00.000-07:00

This is some Crazy, folks. The light's direction determines what You'll see.

Joss Is BAAAAACK....

2008-08-02T07:00:00.000-07:00

For all you dear Blatherscopians who, like me, adore anything that comes out of the Jossverse, I am the herald of glad tidings! As we bemoan the passing of Buffy and Firefly, and eagerly await the new Dollhouse, Joss has given us a morsel of joy: Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog.

The Future Is...Past

2008-07-30T13:09:00.000-07:00

Those Ancient Greeks are always blowin' my mind!

Ode To Joy

2008-07-24T09:35:00.000-07:00

Meep.

Becoming A Seeing-Eye Person

2008-06-27T15:44:00.000-07:00

This week, I learned that my beloved little dog, Tazar*, is blind. His vision had apparently been worsening, but so slowly that his knuckle-headed owners couldn't put two and two together until too late. In the past few months we noticed him moving slowly, playing less, snarling when our other dog surprise-pounced him, getting under foot more--but it wasn't until he started walking into walls that we thought there might be anything more than Old Age.

I feel horribly guilty. How could I have missed this?

*In full, he is Tazar The Beastmaster.

I'm Giving A Concert!

2008-05-21T17:02:00.000-07:00

Come hear me sing some pretties Saturday, May 31 at 7pm at Oregon Culinary Institute (1701 SW Jefferson, Portland)! The event is a benefit for the American Cancer Society Relay For Life, so don't grimace at the $25 ticket price.

I'll be singing some of my favorite arias interspersed with some truly beautiful art song cycles, including the haunting "Bachianas Brasilieras No. 5." And, in case you haven't heard me in a while, I'm really frackin' good. [The sound of her own horn is heard blowing in the distance.]

Ticket sales have been sluggish (I can't believe my fame isn't enough to make people flock to me!), and there is the possibility of cancellation--10 more tickets need to be sold by end of day Monday, May 26. So call! The event organizers can be reached at 503-365-7390.

Tuesdays With Zerd...And "A.I."

2008-05-20T23:39:00.000-07:00

Um, have I mentioned how into "American Idol" I've gotten this season? Yup. Totally, nerdily into AI. I like to analyze the singing, the performances, the value of the judges criticisms. But I have never voted. Until tonight.

So, tonight was the final--David Cook vs. David Archuleta. DA is a sweet boy with a sweet voice, but he is not an entertaining or versatile performer; he has a syrupy, old-fashioned taste in music with earnest (sometimes awkward) lyrics. DC, whose vocal timbre is not as immediately beautiful as DA's, has faaaaar more range. DC has some serious musical chops! The boy has a great ear for arrangements that pull You in, in spite of Yourself. DC has stretched himself vocally, musically, and stylistically in ways that DA has not.

But DA, a cutie, nice-boy, 17-year-old, has the teenie-bopper craze going on in a big way.

So I decided to stand up for musical integrity. I have spent the past 3 hours dialing and redialing, voting for DC. I have the phone on my shoulder as I type this. Most of the time I get a busy signal, but I have still managed to log over 60 votes. The AI phone lines close in an hour....

Why I Am So Lame--And Other Interesting Stories For Curious Boys And Girls

2008-05-02T09:06:00.000-07:00

The blogging has been lax. I bet one or two of you has noticed this. I have stored up some blog-worthy thoughts, but have been a titch preoccupado. You see, this is now my universe.* I ascended the throne about a month ago, and that throne is sitting on a mountain of hard work that needs a-doin'. I am trying to establish a rhythm that takes less than 12 hours a day, but so far have failed. Wish me luck!

*Does it thrill You the same way it thrills me to see MY name in the "About Us" section? It kinda does, I know; it's OK to admit it.

This Is Some Inspiring Inspiration, Fellow Artists

2008-04-12T23:22:00.000-07:00

Ach, I am a softy for stories like this. It helps make me feel like I'm not old as Methuselah, like I haven't already missed the boat to Shangri-La.

Et tu, Luciano?

2008-04-09T21:06:00.000-07:00

As if Ashley Simpson hadn't betrayed us enough*, this has just come to light about Pavarotti.

I, for one, am disgusted. Live performance is about The Moment, not pre-recorded perfection! If he wasn't up to it, someone else would have been. The recording industry has done wonders for Historical Preservation--but it is hampering the natural evolution of Serious (aka "Classical") Music to a point of paralysis.

Fuck it.

*Just by attempting to "sing" in the first place.

A Way With Words

2008-04-08T10:39:00.000-07:00

The Persian word "mahj" means that someone looks beautiful after a disease; when pregnant women faint, they get their own verb, "tafarrus." "Nakhur" means "a camel who won't give milk until her nostrils have been tickled."

The Japanese term for the phrase, "to break one's heart" (harawata o tatsu) literally translates as, "to sever one's intestines."

The people of Easter Island delineate the stages of babyhood with "kaukau" (a newborn discovering its hands and feet), "puepue" (when the child begins to recognize people and objects), "tahuri" (when it starts the side-to-side baby roll), "totoro" (crawling), and "mahaga" (standing by itself).

When a Chinese person is so happy with something that they can barely refrain from fondling it, they are experiencing "ai bu shi shou."

The Tok Pisin of Papau New Guinea call a beard "gras bilong fes"--"grass belonging to the face."

After the invention of the computer, the French assigned a translative ("ordinateur") because the English word sounded like "con" and "pute"--meaning "vagina" and "whore", respectively.

Albanains have 27 words for eyebrows and an additional 27 words for mustaches.

For other wonderful words from around the world, check out The Meaning of Tingo and Other Extraordinary Words from Around the World by Adam Jacot de Boinod.

Heartin' Hillary In Hillsboro

2008-04-05T17:44:00.000-07:00

Last night I got the call: Hillary needed me. She was coming to town (my wee hamlet, actually; about 25 minutes west of Portland) to speak. Could I please be on hand at 6:30 the next morning?

I think Y'all know my answer.

I agonized over what to wear--I have red OR white OR blue articles of clothing, but not a lot that mixes the three; I wasn't sure if I should dress to impress or to slop down the hogs. After much mulling, I opted for a classic, no-fuss look: tailored black pants, royal blue empire-waisted blouse, simple silver jewelry, my hair wound into a perfect-for-any-occasion bun. I had fantasies of, after telling organizers what my day-job was, being asked to sing the National Anthem.

Instead, about 60 of us volunteers passed out information request sheets to the waiting crowd. I decided spirit-raising was also part of my duties, so I went around leading impromptu cheers. It was cold and rainy, but the folk kept on comin'; the line twisted around the entirety of Liberty High School and through the back parking lot. One enterprising man hawked silly Hillary buttons while another gal set up a T-shirt shop. The throngs may have grown even longer, but, at 8 a.m. on the nose, all the volunteers were herded through a side-door and given the Secret Security* screening of a lifetime.

I always like to travel lightly when I know I'm about to smooshed into a tightly confined space for several hours, so I had only a black leather wallet (with wrist strap--take THAT, potential cut-purses!), but You should have seen the way they examined each receipt, card, and zippered cranny! Thankfully, I left my Gin-zu knives at home, so no problems.

I got a grrrreat seat on the aisle, 4th row up on the bleachers facing the camera brigade. Then it was time to wait. I bonded with the three other women around me: two middle-aged professionals who were almost giddy with excitement ("I've waited my whole life for this!" exclaimed one. "What are the chances that another woman with Hillary's qualifications will run in my lifetime?"), and a young Latina girl who will be a month too young to vote in November ("But that's why I'm working so hard for her now; I don't want to be powerless under other voter's mistakes anymore."). We waited so long that the (presumably official) soundtrack started repeating. I was encouraged to see how many men were there, especially young men, but my favorites were the double-row of extremely elderly women wearing t-shirts with shakily hand-printed lettering that read, "Hillary is the change the world needs NOW!" A young mother taped a sign to her newborn's back that proclaimed, "Born a Democrat!" Buttons spouted "A woman's place is in the house, the senate, and the Oval Office!" There was the unmistakable frisson of conviviality.

Suddenly, she was there. Hillary. Rodham. Clinton. There was a rush of emotion in the gym that rivaled the noise; many women around me were wiping their eyes while they continued to wave signs and scream. Hillary was introduced by 6-time elected Oregon Congresswoman Darlene Hooley and 2nd-term Governor Ted Kulongoski, who are wonderful people in their own right, but wisely kept the remarks brief and left the floor to Clinton.

What immediately struck me about Hillary was that she genuinely seemed to be listening to every thing the other speakers said--no upstaging, no fake posing, but an avid respect for everyone around her. For someone with such a chilly reputation, she exuded warmth, compassion, and integrity. Her oration skills are impressive, but even more impressive was the depth, range, and specificity of her knowledge that emerged during the Q/A. She KNEW about Oregon--issues, values, and people--and was able to telescope questions about Health Care, No Child Left Behind, the Energy Crisis, the Economy, even the looming Water Crisis.

She is the Real Deal, folks.

P.S. If You look at the photo from the rally, in the left-hand there is a sign that read, "We need U Hillary"; my face is directly behind that sign. Yup. That lady kept holding that damn sign in front of my frackin' face.

*It was fascinating to watch the Agents work--they really do scan every face in the crowd, evaluate and memorize it, then move on. The one I was watching appeared to be about my age, early 30s. When did I get old enough to be eligible for such grown-up responsibilities!!!??

The First Flower Of Spring Is...

2008-04-05T12:29:00.000-07:00

...A tulip! I am a black-thumb gardener, so whenever something purty pokes its adventurous head from the soil in my yard, I am ecstatic. Absolutely ecstatized!

My tulip is a blushing pink tinged with a milky-whiteness. It makes my heart grow.

Free Hugs! Pass 'Em On

2008-04-04T10:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, strolling down 10th Ave in glorious springy Portland weather, a nice, normal-looking young woman stepped off the streetcar carrying a GIGANTIC orange balloon with the words "FREE HUGS" sharpied onto it. I watched one person grinningly duck away from Balloon Girl before she turned toward me. I stretched my arms as widely as they would reach and hugged for dear life. Neither of us said a word; our smiles said it all.

Consider Yourselves hugged, and pass it on.

Am I Less of a Feminist Because I Fold My Husband's Underwear?

2008-03-20T09:53:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been struggling between Who I Think I Am (Or Want To Be) and Who I Am (In Practice). The Ideal recently espoused, "Women who turn their backs on the higher education and training they received in order to become housewives and stay-at-home mothers are immoral; they are acting to re-enforce the harmful gender stereotypes that Society has built its values upon." The Actual, with multiple diplomas in hand, spends half of everyday doing housework--partly because I enjoy it (well, certain aspects of it), and partly because my Elbow Grease is what I have the most to give to my life with Hubba-Bubba; Hubs contributes primarily through financing this operation we call Our Life Together.

I can sense my Blatherscopians bristling, some of You at the Ideal, others at the Actual, both groups questioning how-on-earth-are-we-friends. I, Your Zerd, am equally perplexed at myself.

I do believe that women too carelessly abandon the Career Path in favor of traditional roles. Wait a minute, some thoughtful person may say. Someone needs to look after the children, right? Someone needs to keep things clean. And Motherhood is not Not Working; it's the hardest job there is! By all means, dear Readers, Parenthood is Important--healthful parenting is vital to Society. I have no problem with any person who makes the active choice to spend their time creating loving relationships* with the Next Generation; what I have a problem with is The Path Of Least Resistance.

I am, however, a Realist. I understand fully that the Structure of modern America does not value Children or Family**; it values Money. The Working World is not family-flexible, and so a Sacrifice is demanded--Your Money or Your Life! You can have a job that supports Your family, but You often have to surrender the better part of Your day, leaving before 7 a.m. and coming home after 6 p.m. That leaves, what, 2-3 hours of Family Time before the bambinos are packed into bed. How frustrating. How alienating. Or You can eschew the Big Bucks and snuggle up to the Wee Ones but have no outlet for Your individual interests. How frustrating. How stifling.

When people are ensnared in this terrible Catch-22 they look for the clearest way out, and Society shines a shiny spotlight on the entrance to The Path Of Least Resistance. Grateful for an option, women and men unthinkingly stumble onward.

It is this lack of thought that breeds immorality. For how can it be moral to perpetuate gender roles that issue from antiquated Property Rights? Is it moral to subconsciously communicate that a woman's proper sphere is domestic? This happens when children witness an inequitable division of labor around the house, rather than a team camaraderie: boys grow up believing they must work outside the home, while girls grow up believing that they may work outside the home, but home-based activities are "natural." That "may" will be tested by Family's economic realities and often crumple in the face of the male imperative of "must." That "must" translates to "money", and those who control the money control the Society.

It is immoral that half of the population is afflicted by the ignorance that comes from dominance, and that the other half of the population is cowed away from any action that challenges dominance. The problem with dominance is that it births complaisance with the status quo which leads to a sense of entitlement which leads to oppression. It is what leads the Money-Makers to think they can impose rules upon the Nurturers; it is what leads the Money-Makers to a sense of ownership.

Women too easily say, "My job won't let me work flexible hours in order to take care of my kids, so I guess I have to quit." Men too easily overlook the responsibility for relationship they agreed to when they decided to help create another human being, returning to the refrain, "It makes sense for her to quit her job; I make more money." Money and Relationship must find balance.

So how can I say all this and yet spend much of my day as a Hillsboro Hausfrau? How can I justify Husband = Breadwinner, Wife = Hearth & Home? I don't know if I can justify it. But I can explain it.

When we decided to try to "spend the rest of our lives together," we faced a choice: how do we live together? As a performer, I was the lowest fiscal denominator; Hubs, wonderful computer wizard that he is, could provide handsomely for himself--AND for me. In his great generosity, Hubbers decided to give me an amazing gift: the gift of true artistic freedom; the gift of eating salad and steak instead of Top Ramen; the gift of not having to work some crap part-time job just to contribute equally to household accounts. He placed no stipulations on his gift; I could accept his gift because of the deep abiding trust I have in him. This way I was free to travel to auditions, to work with the very best coaches and teachers, and to spend hours a day perfecting my [a] vowel.

This also means that I work mostly from home. Surrounded by home everyday, some home cares are likely to creep into the consciousness. A lot of cares, actually. I am a weeeee bit OCD. I like things the way I like them. I have a pretty, graceful home; I need things to be neat and tidy or they disrupt my concentration. This includes laundry hamper smells--and once I have thrown clothes in the washer, I might as well dry them, then fold/hang them. Tackling the daily house tasks alone frees evening time for me and Hubbers to PLAY!

I love Our Life Together.

*But it is bullshit to call Parenthood a "job." That terminology undermines the importance of Relationship and stresses the unreality of Investment Dividend. Marriage is not a job; parenting is not a job; both are relationships, and losing sight of that causes dissatisfaction and strife. I am not saying this is easy; relationships require nurturing, which can be harder than anything One anticipated beforehand.
**It seems, too, like a family is only a Family when children are present; I can't tell you how many times I have had the following conversation: "Well, I need to get home to my family." "I didn't realize you had children!" "Um, I don't. I mean my husband and my dogs." "Oh, your husband. So, you're a Couple, not a Family."

"Half This Game Is Ninety-Percent Mental"

2008-02-27T08:36:00.000-08:00

Thank you, Mr. Yogi Berra, for summing up the World of Physical Activity so beautifully. For me, this is especially true at 5:55 (in der Fruehe, Leute! Jawohl), when my alarm goes off. Each morning I lay wrapped in my faux-downy comforter and debate with Myself [cue The Clash]: should I stay or should I go now? Bed is so alluring...but so are new clothes! That little Promise is just the Carrot that This Horse needs to jog on.

And jog on I have. Since my "I-don't-have-to-be-perfect, but-I-do-need-to-be-healthy" Epiphany, I have lost 14 pounds--a pound a week. This life is proving to be sustainable, and I feel so much healthier, both physically and mentally. However, I am still struggling against rushing the process: I want to see the results of all my work NOW!!! I feel particularly frantic after an audition for which I sang well, performed well, and was funny--but am too "big" for the role. For some reason, this news almost sent me into a Fuck-U Slump--You know, the kind of Slump where You show "The Man" how wrong They were by proceeding to do the very behavior that kept You from Your Goal in the first place. [cue Borat]: Suc-ah-CESS! For me, that Slump looks like a whole lot o' sleepin' and watchin' crappy TV movies.

Thankfully, though, my hatred of ants came to my rescue. Yes, Blatherscopians, I will now admit what many have long wondered: Anger spurs me on! You see, the weather has been sooo warm, sooo sunny, sooo lovely, the ants have come marching 2 x 2 looking for food. I went into Full Freak-Out Mode, cleaned my kitchen from zip to zap, and had enough adrenaline left over to spend at the gym.

It* is a Magical Land: no matter how tired or grumpy or blah I feel going into the gym, I feel exhilarated coming out, ready to face those damn ants.

*I love all the little old ladies at the Rec Center. My favorite moment was watching two biddies walk away from the showers, one with a cane, the other with a wheeled-walker, both with age-dimpled butt cheeks sagging over the tops of their legs. Wonderful!

"Bitch is the New Black"

2008-02-25T10:34:00.001-08:00

I missed the return of SNL this past Saturday, but thank g*d Broadsheet was watching, otherwise we wouldn't have Tina Fey's insightful ribbing of Hillary. Pop on over for the video clip.

A Good Cause

2008-02-21T14:30:00.000-08:00

All this takes is about 3 minutes of Your time; the group Five for Fighting has pledged $1.00 per view to Autism Speaks. Please consider investing those 180 seconds in the future of an autistic child.

Word of the Day--It's A Tie

2008-02-21T14:02:00.000-08:00

Jank
As in:

Jank-ass ride

Craxy
The "X" is for extra crazy.

Thank you, Urban Dictionary, for existing.

Was Jesus White Enough to Be a Christian?

2008-02-20T10:00:00.000-08:00

How to even begin unraveling this tangled snarl of Fear?

As spring approaches, certain conservative Christian groups* are preparing for winter--Demographic Winter! These groups believe that the "Western Europe" is committing Demographic Suicide by permitting contraception ("abortifacients"), by support of GLTB rights (no support for anyone not capable of creating babies!), and by "undermining" women's natural rights: "Above all, we believe in rights that recognize women's unique gifts of pregnancy, childbirth, and breastfeeding."** They have begun major campaigns to "save" society as they see it. And the society they see is predominantly white.

In the current issue of The Nation (brief video summary), Kathryn Joyce examines the issues put forth by the World Congress of Families in her article, "Missing: The 'Right' Babies" (entire article reprinted via AlterNet). Ms. Joyce adroitly juxtaposes Conservative concern over Europe's negative population growth with Europe's xenophobia--no immigrant birthrate data is factored into a country's Total Fertility Rate, despite the fact that unnaturalized immigrants count for 1/8th of Europe's total current population and between 60% and 80% of the inhabitant population growth. Immigrants to Europe are largely comprised of Africans, Middle Easterners, and Asians; and 25-32 million of these immigrants are Muslim. White Christians, those bastions of Western cultural heritage, are dying out.***

So, to sum up, non-Caucasians do not count; there is no real "assimilation" of culture and the melding of different cultures is a ridiculous idea****, so the "melting pot" idea is dead; being born in Europe isn't enough to make you a European, even if your native tongue is the language of the country in which you were born; people who don't want/can't make babies "naturally" are Bad. But we should still let the foreigners come so that no Citizen has to sully themselves by supporting a family on a Shit Job.

What ever happened to Christians believing Jesus when he said: "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?...Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." Or this gem: "Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye."*****

*Such as the James Dobson's Focus on the Family organization, the Catholic Population Research Institute, the non-denominational Alliance for the Family and Family First Foundation, conservative Think Tank The Howard Center, and current Presidential adviser (and Nixon confidante) Chuck Colson.

**Quote from The Natural Family Manifesto -- co-written by Paul Mero, head of the Mormon Think Tank the Sutherland Institute, and Allan Carlson, an evangelical academic.

***Many European governments are doing their best to stimulate the birth of Natural Nationals: Sweden tried to provoke copulation with their "Fuck for the Future" campaign; a province in Russia made September 12 a "Day of Conception" holiday--anyone who gave birth 9 months later won a car or a fridge; Italy is giving monetary bonuses for each child born and offering a "salary subsidy" to women who agree to be stay-at-home mothers--they were embarrassed, however, when they accidentally handed out checks to immigrant families and had to repossess the funds.

****Even though cultures have melded for millenia as various peoples have been forced by famine, wars, etc., to migrate and encounter new groups/languages/customs. Oh well, what kind of proof is that?

*****Matthew 6:25, 34 and 7:1-5

Happy S.A.D.!*

2008-02-14T10:56:00.000-08:00

If only Chaucer knew what he was starting with this 1382 couplet** about couples:
For this was on seynt Volantynys day
Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make.***

Chaucer, horny poet that he was, had no idea that his simple tie-in of the typical February fertility rituals with a feast for St. Valentine of Rome would spawn thousands of cards, millions of roses, billions of chocolates (undiscovered in his time), and trillions of dollars over the next few centuries. He surely would have opted for profit-sharing.

*Singles' Awareness Day.
**Ol' Geoff was just trying to kiss up to the king, Richard II, who was celebrating his one-year anniversary to Anne of Bohemia; Their Royal Majesties were 15.
***In regular English: "choose" his "mate." Even birds were paternalistic.

Yeow! I Feel Good (I Knew That I Would)

2008-02-12T10:37:00.000-08:00

Do You ever have a Day when You just feel GOOD? For moi, that Day is this Day. I am nauseatingly cheerful. I feel like every part of me has been ministered to this morning: I got my Exercise on at a Bright and Early 6 Of The Clock--and my Honey Bun joined me!* As I rode the Chub off my Curves, I read the most delightful children's book, The Family Under The Bridge by Natalie Savage Carlson.** The story is so wonderfully compassionate without being preachy, full of interesting and unusual characters, and a Happy Ending that never feels forced or obvious. When I finished, my heart felt Full.

And then I went to work on my voce.

Vocally, things that I have struggled toward for a Long Time are beginning to happen: my clumsy muscles are gaining Discipline, my tongue has been chastened from the Distortion of Vowels, and I am learning when (and how) to relax.*** These Actions have only been vaguely glimpsed Ideas before now; a sense of Accomplishment, Hope, and Relief are bubbling just under my skin. I feel like I have just been handed The Key to The Secret Garden.****

*I do love to see that man sweat. Hot, hot, hot.
**Which reminds me that I have neglected my Book Reviews shamefully. STBR! (Soon To Be Rectified)
***I apologize to any of my Non-Singer Readers for whom this is Techno-Gibber. If You, poor bored person, desire to gain an Inkling of Insight, let Your Zerd know and I will prat on about Music and the Muse in a Future Post.
****Which is another fine children's book, just in case You didn't know.

Tie Me Up, Big Boy

2008-02-09T10:11:00.000-08:00

'Nuff said.

Be sure to check out all of the action-packed vintage mystery covers--You're in for some doozies!*

*A big thanks to SiLLee for pouring a big helpin' of cheese all over my day.

Diet Soda Makes Us Fat

2008-02-08T08:44:00.000-08:00

Aw, krap. This sux.*

Now that I've depressed You, let me help cheer You up: this video is carb-o-licious fun.**

*Yes, yes; I understand that researchers do not yet know if it is the soda or the lifestyle, but--yeesh!--it is the difference between hell-fire and brimstone to me.

**Much thanks to The Tsipa for enriching my life with this magnificent Work Of Art.

Heartin' Hil All The Way To The Hill

2008-02-07T15:39:00.000-08:00

"I want to thank all my friends and family, particularly my mother, who was born before women could vote, and is watching her daughter on this stage tonight."

-- Presidential candidate Hillary Clinton, Super Tuesday night.

Take A Bow, Piano

2008-02-06T11:19:00.000-08:00

What do You get when You mix fishing line, Popsicle sticks, plumbing tape, ten musicians, and a grand piano? Stephen Scott's Bowed Piano. For centuries the piano has been treated as if--Eureka!--the perfect instrument had been constructed, no changes necessary. It is an unchallenged entity, like gravity. Thus people who look at the world in new ways, who challenge the existing conditions/uses/theories, excite my imagination--the hope of What Could Be trumps the concrete That Which Is.

The variance of sounds in Mr. Scott's bowed piano is amazing: there is a pure adherence to the pitch fundamental usually found in electronically manipulated wave lengths, yet the instrument remains a sustaining percussion piece that reminds One of the classical Chinese qin.*

In other words, it is veryveryvery cool, and I dig it.

*Hop on over to the NPR site for a video clip and 3 music clips of one of only 2 instruments in the world that requires a team to play it. Challenge: if any one can tell me what the other instrument is, I will bake them brownies.

Happy Super Fat Tuesday!

2008-02-05T22:03:00.000-08:00

In honor of Mardi Gras, today was all about Decadent Cuisine in Zerd Werld. Oh! The Yummies! Lamb Osso Buco, anyone? Savory Chicken Salad? Or perhaps a creamy Carmel Pecan Tart? Tomorrow all those boisterous calories will turn to Ash* on my hips, but today is for Richness of Flavor.

I am getting a bit of a workout this evening, however, with all the Election Buzz. Oh! The Excitement! Super Tuesday has never before seemed to This Humble Personage quite so elevated** a competition. [Sound of hunting horns in the distance. In terribly false British manor accent:] What ho! The Game's a-foot!

*And by "ash" I mean "fat, fat, fat."
**I do love my puns, lame as they are.

I'm Glad I Didn't Have Money Riding On It

2008-02-03T22:31:00.000-08:00

I love it when The Underdog wins. I really do. David 'n Goliath-like sports flicks always make me weepy.* But I am much too pragmatic** to have faith in The Little Guy; I would never bet on the chance of an upset. I guess the moral of this story is: don't bet, period, and Your money will always be safely tucked in Your wallet.***

*Once I got carried away and started yelling for "my team" in the theater. My brother punched me in the knee to get me to shut up. To be fair, I was only 8.
**Read: "cynical."
***In case You are so out-of-touch that You have No Idea to what I am referring, see here.

The REAL Super Bowl

2008-02-02T11:52:00.000-08:00

Do You hate football*? Do You like football, but wish it could be cuter, fluffier, and sillier? Animal Planet has the solution for You: Puppy Bowl! Whether You're rooting for Jackson, Bruin, Kala, or Cody, the action is sure to be adorable. Click here for video highlights from past events.

*As do I, Zerd, and all other Readers of Marked Intelligence.

Happy Groundhog's Day!

2008-02-02T11:01:00.000-08:00

Damn that shadow. According to Punxsutawney Phil's very own official website, we are due to 6 more weeks of cccold. As if to prove Phil right, G*d opened the heavens and dumped one whole inch of snow in my backyard.*

But I shall have my revenge...stew-style. Yes, ladies and laddies, step right up! Be the very first** to try our array of groundhog patties, lard-pie, fried groundhog de-lite, and my personal favorite, fricasseed. (It just sounds so French.)

If, however, Your bleeding heart decries the notion of finger-lickin'-good rodent, You can click here to download wallpapers, sound clips, and factoids (which, I warn You, may or may not be true, as we have pretty clear evidence that the creatures have some sort of "in" with G*d, who is a notorious System-Rigger.)

*Scoff if You want, Midwesterners. But snow? In the Willamette Valley? This close to the ocean? That's just crazy talk!

**By "the very first," I imply, "the very first people with college educations." Obviously these recipes have been enjoyed as delicacies by Red-Necks for generations.

Don't Be A (Double) Dip

2008-01-31T21:55:00.000-08:00

Vindication! I have strenuously objected to those communal grazers who, in their haste for more great taste, pollute the pot for the Rest Of Us. I have been scoffed, mocked, snubbed, and given The Eye for voicing my disgust--I'm sorry if I'm crampin' your style, yo, but you are diz-gusting! And now I have proof.

"On average, the students found that three to six double dips transferred about 10,000 bacteria from the eater’s mouth to the remaining dip.

"Each cracker picked up between one and two grams of dip. That means that sporadic double dipping in a cup of dip would transfer at least 50 to 100 bacteria from one mouth to another with every bite."

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day!

2008-01-21T11:28:00.000-08:00

Dr. King is one of my heroes; my words are a poor homage, so I will let him speak for himself (click here to actually hear him speak):
"We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children....

"And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

"I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

"I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

"I have a dream today!

"I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

"I have a dream today!

"I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."²

"This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

"With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

"And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

"And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true."

For more information on Dr. King, click here.

How Can I Keep From Singing?

2008-01-17T12:05:00.000-08:00

I take music for granted; I can sing any time, any place that I want. These Afghan women must secret away their love of song, hide from police when practicing, and perform anonymously (if given a chance to sing at all). Their choice is silence and life, or music and death. They are wiling to risk all for their art. Click here for information on the Afghan Music Project.

Every time I sing from now on, I will be lending my voice to the thousands of women who have none of their own.

The Fantastical Voyage of U.S.A. Enterprise

2008-01-16T17:01:00.000-08:00

Good news! Women now run/own a third of all small business in the U.S.

Bad news: Congress had to pass a law in order to make sure that even a measly 5% of available government contracts would go to women entrepreneurs.

Good news! Government contracts spread $40 billion across 140 industries every year.

Bad news: Female-run businesses have a limited earning potential of $3 million per contract, up to $2 billion total.

More bad news: Out of 140 possible industries, only 4 may be influenced in selection by gender--National Security & International Affairs, Coating & Engraving, Furniture & Cabinet Making, and Motor Vehicles.

Even more bad news: The majority of revenue generated by small business contracts is concentrated in 4 other industries--Manufacturing, Real Estate, Health Care, and Waste Management.

The silver lining: Women are not shut out from competing for contracts in the other 136 industries, they just aren't giving a "helping hand."

What inspired this post: This article in the NY Times.

Other sources: S.B.A., this, and this.

But I Already Threw The First Stone...

2008-01-16T09:53:00.000-08:00

Dearest Blatherscopians, You know how enthralled I, Zerd, am by Language and Words, by the fineness of Meaning teased out from careful reading, and by the heady Power that comes from wielding such precision. I am a stickler for Exactness--a word nerdiness, if You will permit me such levity.

Imagine my chagrin to discover that while I have been saying "plentitude", the word is "plenitude."* I hang my head in shame.

*As in: The overflowing plenitude of my breasts inflames the desires of all who gaze upon them.

Fear and Loathing in D.C., or Is This Person Actually Qualified to Run for President of the USA?

2008-01-15T13:52:00.000-08:00

Copied verbatim from Salon.com's poly blog,War Room:

Huckabee: Amend Constitution for God

A month after Mitt Romney declared that "freedom requires religion," Mike Huckabee is explaining his desire for constitutional amendments outlawing abortion and same-sex marriage in starkly religious terms.
At a campaign event in Michigan Monday night, Huckabee said that he supports such amendments because "it's a lot easier to change the Constitution than it would be to change the word of the living God."
"What we need to do," he said, "is to amend the Constitution so it's in God's standards rather than trying to change God's standards so it lines up with some contemporary view of how we treat each other and how we treat the family."

Wow.

The Wonderful (White) World Of Disney

2008-01-15T13:44:00.000-08:00

This leaves me speechless*. Be sure to read through a smattering of the "insightful" comments.

*Much thanks to Deeluxegal for alerting me and providing a link.

'Atta Girl, Hil!

2008-01-09T11:05:00.000-08:00

As all devoted Blatherscopians know, Hillary is my gal. I firmly believe she is the best leader for our country in the wake of Herr President Bush. She has a mighty mind and clear voice; not only does she have a coherent Plan, but she understands what it takes to accomplish aforesaid Plan.* She is not girly, but don't make the mistake of confusing "girl" with "woman"--'cuz she is the Modern Woman. Anyone** who discounts her as "someone who can't run their own household" because of Bill's promiscuity doesn't know a damn thing about Human Nature, so they sure as hell can't identify what kind of Integrity it takes to not only keep a marriage going, but also heal and truly forgive. She puts the "guts" in "gutsy."

I am so proud of how well she did in New Hampshire and, yes, Iowa. I can't wait to see how she wins the rest of America over. But if I hear one more so-called journalist ask voters if their vote was influenced by the "tears in the diner" incident, [said in terrible faux-Italian accent] I'm-a gon-na scream-a! A) What kind of moron is more influenced by Emotion than by Ideas, Ideals, and Intellect? B) Does such as person have the requisite Mental Power to actively distinguish between Parties, Politicians, and Politicos? Or would they be stumped by a neon-rimmed Hole-In-The-Ground? C) How is this Journalism? Or have Folk been so overwhelmed by News that they can no longer separate the two?***

Okay, enough of the Hillary- and Billary- blather. [Dramatic pause.] For now. I have a salad that won't make itself waiting for me down in the kitchen. Later, skaters!

*Don't get me wrong: every word out of her mouth is not gold to me. But she has convinced me in the past, and may convince me in the future, and that says sumpthin', y'all, 'cuz I am gol-durn stubborn!

**Thank you, Michelle Obama.

***Click here for Tom Brokaw setting Chris Matthews straight on the differences. Suh-nap! It gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling in my innards.

Every Time A Bell Rings, A Walrus-Angel Gets Its Wings

2008-01-05T20:15:00.001-08:00

Because I believe in God 34% more than You do, I thought the least I could do would be to share this Opus comic with You.

Heretics.

Happy New Year!

2008-01-02T10:06:00.000-08:00

Technik'ly I'm a day late for such felicitous wishes, I know. I do apologize. I have been a bit behind lately, as I believe the neglect of my dear Blatherscopians illustrates. But the Universe is righting itself, and humble I am taking my rightful place in it.

Christmas was a blur--sleeping, blowing snot out my nose, more sleeping, drinking tea, streaming snot out my nose, yet more sleeping, singing, even more sleeping. If it sounds like I was sick, then Your powers of deduction have not failed. I did, however, manage to put in a solid 30 hours of singing, 10 hours of fancy-food making, and appear at 4 holiday gatherings. I am pretty sure that I grossed-out everyone I encountered along the way (too much snot; waaay too much snot), but I don't really remember: my head was a-swim in Fuzz.

The Blessing of Sickness at Christmas was that I had no taste buds. None. Therefore, I had no desire for food. And as I have been working out regularly since the week before Thanksgiving, I managed to lose 6 pounds over the vacation. It was a Christmas Miracle! And, as Deeluxegal pointed out, losing weight at a time when EVERYONE gains due to holiday binging is "really" like losing 10 pounds! Deeluxegal, I like the way you calculate.

As most of You know, I am no longer the lithe figure of Ladyhood I was when I was 21; over the course of 9 years I packed 80 more pounds to my poor frame. The first 15 pounds or so might have crept up on me, but in practice I have not been blind to the growing corpulent Bloat swallowing my body. Twice I tried insta-shedding the poundage (to some success), but I had not actually changed ME, and so the Globulence seeped back. I am a bit (ahem) of a Perfectionista. This has been a problem for healthy weight loss, because I could not see some loss of weight as any kind of success--it had to all come off (and fast! 3 hours a day on the treadmill, minimum) or I was just another Fatso, doomed to a life of fatty fatness on my faaaat aaaassss.

And then: Epiphany! Every little bit counts. This is true of food, exercise, and amount of weight lost. I have not been able to believe this, EVER.* I feel so free. Even if it takes me 9 more years to lose all the unhealthy weight I have been carrying around, that's OK, Slow and Steady wins the race. Thank you, Ms. Tortoise.

*Chalk another fracked-up mindset to my Fundie upbringing--failure sends you to Hell! You don't try to be good, you ARE good or you go to Hell! If you can't change your mind/heart/body, you are still letting Sin and Satan control your life and you will go to Hell! If you do not believe EXACTLY the same thing I do at the same time I do, I am more spiritually mature than you are and you might go to Hell! A Christian does not admit doubts or fears, because they shouldn't have any! Go to Hell!

WGA: Fighting Fire With...Holy Water?

2007-11-27T14:19:00.000-08:00

Who knew the production companies really were evil?

Giving Thanks

2007-11-26T18:18:00.000-08:00

It has been quite a week. It began normally and spiraled so far beyond any thing I thought possible. Let me begin with the beginning.

Mondays are Mondays--there is a reason Garfield hates them. Mine, however, are not usually too bad: I have the house to myself by day (ahhh, the quiet!) and Hubbers and I play Bridge with his folks at night. Before You mock me for the "ole fogey" game, I...oh, crap, there's no defense: I'm old. This particular Monday the In-Laws came to our place, so I cooked a chicken dish and boiled up some edamame, and part'ner Father-In-Law (FIL) and I proceeded to get our donkeys kicked by Hubbers and Mother-In-Law (MIL). Hubbers, being the sweet and conscientious man he be, handled the kitchen clean-up. A bit later, I noticed the garbage disposal was just a titch slow and gurgley. Then, as I went to the laundry room to gather my Unmentionables, I stepped in Lake Superiorly Nasty. Being a dog owner, my first thought was to blame the critters, but even they couldn't produce THIS MUCH liquid. The entire laundry room out to the dining table was a Mess. It turns out Hubs got a bit zealous and pushed ALL of the edamame shells down the disposal at once; this, of course, triggered the back-up of water through the washer hose. It took 17 thick towels to sop up the Lake. But it takes more than a Lake springing up in the house to quench our spirits!

Tuesday was Rock Band day. Not a bad day, all told--just loud. Somehow, though, mischievous elves must have broken into the kitchen because, as the sun set that evening, there were dirty dishes piled a mile high and crumbly crumbs scattered on the counters. This was a bit of a shock, as I had cleaned the kitchen thoroughly the night before. Still not daunting, though.

Wednesday evening is when the fun really begins. Brother #1 and SIL came over to rawk. I had too much of a headache to hang with the band, so I worked on din-din in my even messier kitchen--more dishes, crumbs, and towels everywhere. After the food I felt a little better and was just going to tidy a teeny bit (in prep for Thanx Meal the next day) before re-joining the group. And then I stepped in another puddle, this one distinctly doggy-made. My first thought was, "Dammit! I just put on these fuzzy pink toe socks!" The second was, "I'm going to kill those fucking dogs." You see, it has turned wet and my spoiled little pooches do not deign to dip their paws in anything remotely rain-covered. Despite extensive doggy books and doggy training and doggy whisperers, it has become An Issue. I did, however, refrain from killing my fucking dogs; instead, I disciplined them and put them outside while I went to get the carpet-cleaner vac. But I couldn't get the vac out because the washer had been pulled out from the wall so we could towel-up the water pool. And I couldn't reach the towels behind the washer either by hand or by tong, and stabbing at them with the broom handle just pushed them farther from me, so finally I used the handle to shove them as close to the wall as possible, letting me skootch the washer back into place enough to get the vac through the passage way. Now I should tell you about the carpet-cleaner vac: it is broken in two spots, the soap dispenser and the top of the water tank. But both of these problems are easily worked around--we use a spray bottle for the soap and just don't fill the water tank up to the brim. Well, as I went to spray the puppy puddle, the bottle jammed. I ended up carefully pouring a capful of detergent over the spot, then went to fill the water tank. As I filled the tank to its 3/4ths full position, I made a fatal error: I grabbed the tank by its handle. Up by the handle is where the hole is. Yup, You guessed it: tank tumbles to the ground, dumping water all over the kitchen. Now, my head is throbbing, my kitchen is covered in crap through no fault of my own, I have pee soaking into my living room carpet, the group is oblivious murdering songs at the top of their lungs, and I have caused the second Lake in 3 days, but have no towels left to clean it up. I use all my remaining kitchen cloths to wipe up the water, re-fill the tank, and finally clean the piss carpet. While I'm at it, I just clean the shizz out of the rest of the kitchen--after all, I have to do food prep yet that night 'cuz the next morning will be spent at the Cathedral where the Catholics have a service to commemorate a very Protestant holiday. Oh, well. I'm getting paid for it. Yet when I start to tell Hubs about the evening, after BIL and SIL leave, I weep--because there is also a STANK coming from the fridge that I have to find.

Thursday: Thanksgiving Day. The day itself goes well, despite having to be in downtown PDX by 8:30am for Mass, despite the garbage disposal acting up again when Hubs feeds it an orange peel, despite my annoyance at Bro #2 and his wife who try, at the last minute, to get the rest of the family (15 members) to change the time of dinner around their toddler's sudden nap, despite Hubber's Indian co-worker, who, upon meeting me for the first time, blurts out, "You look VERY different from your photos!" Photos which were taken a number of years ago--photos in which I am skinny. But there is joy and laughter and a general feeling of contentment. At home that evening, however, our friend Mt'nMan, a big dude who has been living with us for 9 months while he gets back on his feet, sits awkwardly in our rocking chair and SNAP! It is smithereens. So now I have a gigantic Rock Band box and packaging materials and broken rocking chair bits all over my living room.

Friday is a day for more family outings. The Gals and I see Enchanted (which is absolutely wonderful!) and it lifts my sinking spirits. That evening we are due at the In-Law's to see Coz J and her beau--the first time he is meeting the whole damn fam, poor dude. He was sweet and funny and kind, but upstaged.

And this is where it gets scary. We had to rush MIL to the hospital: she had no feeling or strength in her right hand and leg. For 18 hours, the diagnosis most likely seemed to be "stroke." They gave her a battery of tests, CAT Scans, and MRIs. Her potassium dipped to "critical" levels. The CAT showed a small lesion on the left hemisphere of her brain indicative of a minor past stroke, but the neurologist's reading of the MRI data ruled the "episode" a T.I.A., a kind of mini-precursor stroke. All said, MIL was in the hospital for 48 hours and 2 nights, struggling with potassium and numbness. The effects were not permanent, but she is looking at lifestyle changes.

And this is where I give thanks. I love my MIL dearly; she is one of my very best friends. I love her in a way I don't feel like I can love my own mother. She is a disciplined and creative thinker but indulgent with her affections, warm and effusive. Thanksgiving is a celebration of bounty, of harvest, of the richness of the soil and our toil upon it. I am thankful for the unchecked bounty of my MIL's love, of the wonderful times with her I have yet to harvest, and of the ways she helps me grow my self and my spirit. There is never enough Time, but I am thankful for the More we have been given. I am thankful.

Miss Landmine, 2007

2007-11-19T22:44:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure what I think about this. It certainly draws attention to a Serious Problem, but does it offer a Serious Hope? "Beauty" pageants in general are exhibitionist, but this one feels down right exploitative--the grand prize is a brand-spanking new prosthetic leg.

Still Crazy, Still Loveable

2007-11-19T11:31:00.000-08:00

So Hubbers recently joined an Intel basketball team, of which he is the youngest member by a decade. One of the older gents thought they should give their team a real whiz-banger of a name, something to intimidate the other teams; the gent came up with Super-Heroes In Training.

That's right, beloved Blatherscopians, my husband plays for S.H.I.T.

Maybe Crazy, But Still Loveable

2007-11-18T16:22:00.000-08:00

Overheard while Hubbers (always putting the "hot" back into "hot nerd") was online playing computer games with his bros:

"Dammit, I'm covered in A.T. guns!"

G*d, I hate when that happens to me.

Her Holiness

2007-11-12T19:43:00.000-08:00

Working in a Catholic church, members often ask me if I "would ever consider converting." When I say, "no," the sweet, older ladies persist with, "What is standing in your way?" I politely answer that I see no reason why women cannot be ordained as either deacon or priest. The sweet, older ladies blanch as white as their up-dos and change the subject.

Well, the times, they are a-changin'.

Click here, here, and here for more.

Blisssed Out

2007-11-12T10:41:00.000-08:00

I have seen Heaven, and it is paved with Books.

I spent the weekend at Wordstock, Pdx's annual gathering of Word Nerds. It sprawls over the Convention Center, bon mots handed out like bon-bons, a maze of booths brimming with Publishing's jewels, and authors smiling hungrily at passersby.

There were cool indie publishing houses bragging about award-winners and latest "finds." There were alterna-book pushers and mega-chains representin'. There were workshops on writing, editing, publishing, promoting, and generally beautifying your masterpiece. There was stage after stage of these inventor-philosophers we call writers, each doing their best to discuss, enlighten, entertain, and leave their audience utterly entangled in their work.

I feel full.

Hilarious Or Horrible? You Decide

2007-11-07T13:49:00.000-08:00

What child wouldn't want to enter a Magic Attic through books? And then beg his or her parent(s) for the matching doll? And then become addicted to phone sex?

Ahhh, yes, you read that correctly. Phone sex. Children.

When the Magic Attic series could no longer sustain the magic, their club folded, causing the phone company to re-sell their old telephone number. To a sex hotline.

Ain't English The Bees-Knees?

2007-11-04T22:24:00.000-08:00

Fissilingual /FISS il ING wool/ adj * Possessing a forked tongue.

Lask /LASK/ v * To be afflicted with diarrhea.

Cully /KULL ee/ n * Someone who is easily imposed upon, especially by a woman.

Unasinous /yoo NASS in us/ adj * Equally stupid.

Pilgarlic /pil GAR lik/ n * A sorry-looking bald person.

Agelast /AJ uh last/ n * A person who never laughs.

Challenge: Can you write a story paragraph that ties all of these words together in an artful manner? I will post my attempt later in the week.

*As always, I give reverence to Novobatzky & Shea's Depraved and Insulting English for their collection of the obscure.

Word of the Day

2007-11-02T23:47:00.000-07:00

Osphresiophilia /oss free zee o FIL ee uh/ n * Sexual excitement from smells.

"Being a perfume tester was a dream job for a woman with osphresiophilia, but Nancy's frequent trips to the bathroom began to raise some eyebrows in the lab."

Source: Depraved and Insulting English by Peter Novobatzky and Ammon Shea.

Knowing the eagerness with which my devoted Blatherscopians seek to expand their lingual dexterity, I will, henceforth, present a regular dosing of dialectical delights, straight from the forked tongues of Monsieurs Novobatzky & Shea. Yes, Loyal Readers, until such time as I am sent a cease-and-desist epistle, I shall hold the candle of language aloft in the darkness of a world in which "R U red E 4 2-dayz test?" constitutes a sentence.

And, in case anyone was wondering, that co-worker who constantly sprays saliva when he/she talks is sialoquent.

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!!!

2007-11-01T09:38:00.000-07:00

Joss has a new TV series! Starring Eliza Dushku! There aren't enough exclamation points!!!!!!!!

Beam Me Up, Dennis

2007-10-31T11:14:00.000-07:00

Kucinich's presidency plans just got phasered, once and for all.

I Have Always Hated This Word

2007-10-30T09:58:00.000-07:00

Moist.

Isn't that just...yuk....It makes my skin crawl.

But I am not alone! There are other people as neurotic as I. Maybe we could form some weird cult around our hatred of this word. Just a thought.

Bitchy In Iraq Seeks Annoying Poly-Blogger

2007-10-28T21:24:00.000-07:00

Of all the bizarre news from the front, this takes the sand-covered and explosive-filled cake. Be sure to read the entire thing; it just keeps getting weirder.

I Heart Throwing Sheep

2007-10-26T23:40:00.000-07:00

Facebook has seduced me. Ach, Ninja Vampires and Pirate Cows!

Another Tenor Thinks He's The Messiah

2007-10-20T15:17:00.000-07:00

Am I the only one who thinks all tenors are donkey-holes?* But if I can push aside the mountainous egos of said high-voiced male singers for a moment (woo! That took all my Popeye-muscles), the ideology Mr. Gelb brings to the Met bodes poorly for We hungry, struggling, no-name singers. Me thinks it is a desperate attempt for the "most prestigious opera house in the world" (ahem!) to save face and actually turn a profit.**

*In the spirit of Full Disclosure, I must inform you, sensitive Readers, that Zerd's own BFF is a tenor; however, he already admits to being a d-hole.
**Because, somehow, less prestigious opera houses have managed to keep themselves in the black for years. Lyric Opera of Chicago, this shout out is for you, you sexy Opera Machine!

Happy Hogwarts Wizard Outed

2007-10-20T15:06:00.000-07:00

Dumbledore is gay, but in that very subtle English way. "Oh, the fan fiction!" laughs creator J.K. Rowling.

You Can Sing Along With "Buffy"--Or You Could Until Corporate America Found Out And Staked It

2007-10-15T13:30:00.000-07:00

Why, when someone tries to do something fun and uplifting, does Big Corporate come along and squash it? Oh, Organized Crime is real, mes amis, and (with government blessing) tries to squeeze every cent out of Us that It can.

Happy Take Your Teddy Bear To Work Day!

2007-10-10T11:08:00.000-07:00

This day is one of a handful of days during the year when I wish I worked in an office.

Bearfy the vampire slayer, today is your day.

To Be Filed Under "Are You F*cking Kidding Me?!?"

2007-10-09T10:16:00.000-07:00

"We are no longer doing movies with women in the lead."--Jeff Robinov, Warner Bros. president of production. Mr. Robinov somehow feels Jody Foster (The Brave One) and Nicole Kidman (The Invasion) are to blame for the lackluster monetary performance of the films.

Go here for more.

Ooo! I just found this gem in a January 13, 2004 Time Warner press release: "Robinov is known for having a strong grasp on the taste and pulse of the moviegoing audience, for his team-building management style, his extraordinary work ethic, and for his outstanding relationships with both established and emerging filmmakers and actors. During his tenure as a Warner Bros. Pictures executive, he has overseen such major productions as the Matrix trilogy, "Swordfish" and "Cats & Dogs," and supervised his department's production of such recent and upcoming films as "The Last Samurai," "Starsky & Hutch," "Troy," the Harry Potter series, "Catwoman," "Constantine" and "Ocean's Twelve."" Italics, mine. Notice anything fishy about his "strong grasp on the taste and pulse of the moviegoing audience"? Like the fact that everything but the HP series and the 1st Matrix movie was an absolute bomb?

I'm going to write Warner Bros and then boycott all their shitty, shitty shit they call films.

"Librophiliac Love Letter"

2007-10-06T13:11:00.000-07:00

Excuse me, I'm still wiping the crap out of my pants after looking at these lovelies. Who says Money can't buy Happiness?

Function Of Appendix Found! Unfortunately World Over-Population Makes It Superfluous

2007-10-06T09:26:00.000-07:00

Poor Appendix. Sometimes a weird little body part just can't catch a break.

I Am Radiohead; Could You Be Radiohead, Too?

2007-10-01T10:34:00.000-07:00

There is a Music Revolution birthing, and Radiohead is its dula*.

Correction: It's "doula," not "dula." Thanks, lovely Jenny!

Did You Know Opera Could Be This Adorable?

2007-09-28T09:27:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Craftster and its wonder-site, I stumbled across these cuties. I heart this idea!

Hardly "Irrelevant"

2007-09-27T10:37:00.000-07:00

Marin Alsop, the first female conductor of a major U.S. orchestra, takes the podium at 8pm tonight. After years as conductor of our very own Eugene Symphony, Alsop heads the prestigious Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. Way to go, girl!

I love her comments to the press: "I think the most challenging aspect," she says, "is people's need to focus on the fact that I'm a woman. It's really entirely irrelevant to what I do."

I Think I Can, I Think I Can

2007-09-26T10:47:00.000-07:00

But this is no "Little Engine That Could"--this is a capital-M "Might". The consequences of this study--even if the study is eventually clarified or disproven--will be shattering.

Adios, librería impresionante

2007-09-24T09:19:00.000-07:00

Another--culturally important--casualty in the Store vs. e-Store Wars.

Halloween Came Early This Year

2007-09-24T08:11:00.000-07:00

A host of scary things burst out of the mouths of presidents, administrations, and presidential-hopefuls recently.

Bewitched by President Bush's magical mumbo-jumbo
Republican presidential candidate (and Mormon!) Mitt Romney, July 7, 2007: "I know that it is popular today to be critical of the president. And he is not above making mistakes. But we should thank him for doing everything in his power to keep us safe. Against the objections of Democrats and even some in our own party, he pushed though the Patriot Act.* He made sure that someone was listening in when al-Qaida was calling. He made sure we were interrogating terrorists to learn how we could prevent attacks on our citizens." And then this gem from two days ago, Mitt Romney, Sept. 22, 2007: "We expect our elected officials to be good role models, not bad examples -- thank you, President Bush, for restoring personal integrity and dignity to the White House."

Rudy Giuliani spreads 9/11 over America like Cheez-Whiz on a cracker
Abandoning old ideals left and left, Rudy hopes to avoid the Kerry-esque label of "flip-flopper" by linking his changing "heart" to 9/11 and its aftermath. Most recently, Rudy thinks if he hadn't pushed gun control in NYC, maybe 9/11 wouldn't have happened. "I also think that there have been subsequent intervening events — September 11 — which cast somewhat of a different light on the Second Amendment and Second Amendment rights. It doesn't change the fundamental rights, but maybe it highlights the necessity for them more."

Speaking with a fork-ed tongue
President Bush on the "Jena-6"
"I feel strongly that there ought to be fair justice. And I just spoke out on it." Well said, sir.

President Bush on the economy
Reporter: Do you think there's a risk of a recession? How do you rate that?
Bush: You know, you need to talk to economists. I think I got a B in Econ 101. I got an A, however, in keeping taxes low and being fiscally responsible with the people's money ...
--Later, in the same interview--
Reporter: Mr. President, back to your grade-point average on holding the line on taxes.
Bush: I thought you were going to talk about the actual grade-point average. I remind people that, like, when I'm with Condi, I say she's the Ph.D. and I'm the C student and just look at who's the president and who's the advisor.
Indeed, Mr. President.

How can this not come back to haunt them?
From The Examiner: As for Obama, a senior White House official said the freshman senator from Illinois was "capable" of the intellectual rigor needed to win the presidency but instead relies too heavily on his easy charm. "It's sort of like, 'that's all I need to get by,' which bespeaks sort of a condescending attitude towards the voters," said the official, speaking on condition of anonymity. "And a laziness, an intellectual laziness."

Spooktacular horrors lie ahead.

*Italics mine.

Wii-Zerd!!!!!

2007-09-23T14:00:00.000-07:00

What better way to embrace one's thirties than with an interactive child's toy? Since opening the box, I think the Wii has only been off when we sleep (but even then I have Wii-dreams...). Friday nite was a bash with silly friends playing silly games while drinking themselves silly. Favorite games (so far):

1. Bowling--like the real thing, only without the nauseating foot smell of the bowling alley! Also, with the Wii, I've broken 200 (yes, please adulate me) whereas in reality I average a 75 (awww).
2. Boxing--my flail will make you pale! Not a lot of butterfly, but a ton of bee.
3. Raymond's Raving Rabbids--there aren't enough words: incredibly odd, addictingly creative, cutely freakish, bizarrely buoying. I never thought hucking a cow 100 meters could be so deeply fulfilling. I also enjoy slapping singing rabbits.

Tantalizing, no? C'mon over and play!

Happy Hobbit Day!

2007-09-21T10:19:00.000-07:00

September 21, 1937, Tolkien gave the world The Hobbit. Yahoo! I'm going to celebrate by eating the way Hobbits do: second breakfast, here I come!

Heute bin ich alte

2007-09-19T10:23:00.000-07:00

Ach, du Lieber!

I Always Suspected Musicologists Were A Terror Threat!

2007-09-17T11:01:00.000-07:00

President Bush and his so-called Patriot Act strike again.

Did Your Momma Ever Make Popsicles From Juice When You Were A Kid?

2007-09-14T15:05:00.000-07:00

Mine did; she would make OJ or apple juice from frozen concentrate, then pour it into ice cube trays and re-freeze. Even though the treat was ghetto, we kids looooved it, largely because Mums had these super-fun sticks to put in the "Popsicle." The sticks were plastic, multicolored animals in silly poses. My brother, Bear, always chewed the end of his stick when he was done, then would complain because he had the shortest Popsicle.

At some indistinguishable point, those sticks vanished from our routine. And like so many aspects of childhood, I had forgotten all about them and our mad dash to the freezer every day after school.

Today, however, while poking around a tiny Antiques Mall in Forest Grove, I found the sticks. There is the basset hound with its droopy cheeks as blue as Elvis' suede shoes; the roaring lion safely in his minty green cage; the corn-yellow farmer putting along in his model-T; the foppish lion tamer in all his creamy goodness; and the swash-buckling pirate, fearsome in pink. One hundred and twenty-five pennies later I could take this Piece of my Past home.

I'm going to make juice-sicles tonight:)

Hear, hear!

2007-09-09T16:57:00.000-07:00

Musicians know their art can sometimes cost them their ears, so while this new EU directive may be good-intentioned, it is coming a few centuries too late.*

*Laugh if you will: In the 1990s, opera singers rehearsing in a Copenhagen park apparently caused a rare African okapi at the nearby zoo to collapse and die from stress. If you laughed, you're an asshole. Don't worry, I'm an asshole, too.

Luciano, addio

2007-09-07T21:55:00.000-07:00

Requiem in pace aeternum, Pappa Bear.

Dump Humpin'

2007-09-07T13:57:00.000-07:00

Ok, the post title is cheesy, but definitely dirty, and I needed a title as dirty as la Dump. Why, a reasonable Blatherscopian might wonder, would Zerd be dumpster-diving? Surely her life is not THAT tragic?! Rest assured, beloved Readers: Zerd continues to walk that fine line between Class and Trash that so endeared her Readers to her in the first place. Non, mes amis: I merely needed to dispose of 2.5 cubic yards of nasty black rock. And NO ONE wanted it--I couldn't give it away, I couldn't recycle it--I had to PAY to return the uggo stuff to the beautifying hand of Nature. Whilst a-dumping, a Goodwill semi pulled into the spot next to me and spewed a staggering amount of crap: old sofas, clothes, random wood knicknacks, kitchen sinks. It was as moving a sight as a mother bird pushing her younglings out of the nest for the very first time. I started to get choked up, but then I realized I was just plain choking. G*d, the stench was acute!*

*Why is the stench/pain/misery/etc. never "isosceles"? A snack for thought.

Yo-de-lay-heee-hooo

2007-09-04T11:57:00.000-07:00

Who can resist the ululation of Nature on Labor Day? Hubbers and I sure couldn't--we had to drive our donkeys to the boonies for the sake of Love. A dear friend of ours decided to tie her knot in her ancestral home: The Big K: Klamath Falls: Hell With A Golf Course. Thankfully, some Wonder People from days of yore (aka college) were there and so we could be silly drunks together. Bride-friend looked Gee-Orgeous, and her wedding was truly American Traditional--she had it all: flower girl, fancy food, free booze (!), cloying-and-overly-long photo montage, DJ playing crappy music. Which is all lovely and fine, but it was completely impersonal. The whole shee-bang felt in no way about Bride-friend and her chosen Man-chop. It was textbook perfect, but totally unmemorable. Granted, that is my take on her wedding: what she thinks is faaaar more important.

Anyway, Hubbers and I had a really nice drive; some of our best conversations happen when neither of us can be pulled away by shiny, sparkly distractions. When we stopped for gas at Po-dunk Nowhere, we discovered that the 76 was also the local library/movie rental shoppe. It was the most bizarre juxtaposition of oil cans and books, instant cappuccino machine and books, powerbars and books, and cases of Bud and books. And the books were used (1) John Grishams, (2) Mary Higgins Clarks, (3) Janet Evanovichs, (4) Christian romance novels, and (5) Christian god-helping-you self-help tripe. They also sold T-shirts with slogans mingling pop-culture and holiness, like: Jesus died for MY SPACE in heaven. Ishy. What about being IN the world but not OF the world, you opportunistic business people hiding behind the cross?!?

Now that I am full of un-Righteous indignation, I shall go attack my yard! EEEEEEEEE!

I Dig My Yard!

2007-08-29T10:46:00.000-07:00

No, seriously: I am digging my yard. The previous owners left a stunted jumble of grass, mis-matched stepping stones, river rock, shale rock, a mold-covered wood pile, wood chips mixed into the grass and shale, and the whole shee-bang was rimmed with railroad ties. Oh, and 3-3' strange metal poles cemented into the ground.

Thanks to the miracles of a Craig's List posting, total strangers came to grab all the railroad ties and river rock their grubby little trucks could carry. It is amazing what people will do when you put the word "free" in front of Crap. It was sooo easy*, I got lulled into thinking this whole re-landscaping project would be easy. Ha!

One of the exciting things I've discovered: the bed of shale rock/wood chips is supported by old miscellaneous stones sunken in mud. Who knows what else lurks beneath the bedraggled surface of my yard? It's an adventure! A really hot, sweaty, muddy, groady, blister-making adventure.

*But occasionally annoying. I received more than 300 phone calls in a week and a half--it's a good thing I specified calling hours (9am-9pm), otherwise WHO KNOWS what ungodly hours I would have heard the phone ring.

You Have Been Listening To...

2007-08-28T14:41:00.000-07:00

...The sound of one hand clapping. In a forest. With chickens. Or eggs (we're not really sure which).

Pausa e fini, certo.

La Recipe Du Jour

2007-08-07T15:49:00.000-07:00

How To Cook A Conductor*

INGREDIENTS

1 large conductor, or two small assistant conductors
Ketchup
Crisco or other solid vegetable shortening (lard may be used)
26 large garlic cloves
1 cask cheap wine
1 lb. alfalfa sprouts
2 lbs. assorted yuppie food, such as tofu or yogurt
1 abused orchestra

First, catch a conductor. Remove tail and horns. Carefully separate the large ego and reserve for sauce. Remove any batons, pencils (on permanent loan from the Principal Second Violin), long articulations and discard. Remove the hearing aid and discard (it's useless as it never really worked anyway).

Examine your conductor carefully - many of them are mostly large intestine. If you have such a conductor, you will have to discard it and catch another. Clean the conductor as you would a squid, but do not separate the tentacles from the body. If you have an older conductor, such as one from a major symphony orchestra or summer music festival, you may wish to tenderize by pounding the conductor on a rock with timpani mallets or by smashing the conductor between two large cymbals.

Next, pour 1/2 of the cask of wine into a bath tub and soak the conductor in the wine for at least 12 hours (Exceptions: British, German and some Canadian Conductors have a natural beery taste which some people like and the wine might not marry well with this flavor. Use your judgment.)

When the conductor is sufficiently marinated, rub conductor all over with the garlic. Then cover your conductor with the Crisco using vague, slow circular motions. Take care to cover every inch of the conductor's body with the shortening. If this looks like fun, you can cover yourself with Crisco too, removing clothes first.

Next, take your orchestra and put as much music out as the stands will hold without falling over, and make sure that there are lots of really loud passages for everyone: big loud chords for the winds and brass, and lots and lots of tremolos for the strings. (Bruckner might be appropriate). Rehearse these passages several times, making certain that the brass and winds are always playing as loud as they can and the strings are tremolo-ing at their highest speed. This should ensure adequate heat for cooking your conductor. If not, insist on taking every repeat and be sure to add the second repeats in really large symphonies. Ideally, you should choose your repertoire to have as many repeats as possible, but if you have a piece with no repeats in it at all, just add some, claiming that you have seen the original, and there was an ink blot there that looked like a repeat to you and had obviously been missed by every other fool who had looked at this score. If taking all the repeats does not generate sufficient heat, burn the complete set of score and parts to all of the Bruckner symphonies which should do the trick.

When the heat has died down to that of a medium inferno, place your conductor on top of your orchestra (they won't mind as they are used to it) until it is well tanned, the hair turns back to its natural color and all of the fat has dripped out. Be careful not to overcook or your conductor could end up tasting like stuffed ham.

Make a sauce by combining ego, sprouts, and ketchup to taste, placing it all in the blender and pureeing until smooth. If the ego is bitter, sweeten with honey to taste. Slice your conductor as you would any turkey. Serve accompanied by the assorted yuppie food and the remaining wine with the sauce on the side.

WARNING: Due to environmental toxins present in conductor feeding areas, such as heavy metals, oily residue from intensive PR machinery manufacture, and extraordinarily high concentrations of E.coli, cryptosporidium, and other hazardous organisms associated with animal wastes, the Departments for conductor Decimation (DCD) recommend that the consumption of conductors be limited to one per season. Overconsumption of conductors has been implicated in the epidemiology of a virulent condition known as "Bataan fever." Symptoms of this disorder include swelling of the brain, spasms in the extremities, auditory hallucinations, excessive longevity, and delusions of competence.

*Copied from Sounds & Fury.

Sexy 6

2007-08-04T01:16:00.000-07:00

Today is the sixth commemoration of the date upon which Hubbers and I were Eternally United.

So far, so good.

NPR Song of the Day

2007-08-04T00:59:00.000-07:00

Among NPR's many wonders is the Song of the Day. Today's selection is remake of Tom Waits' Day After Tomorrow (I wasn't familiar--listening-wise--with Waits' style or substance), whose simple melody beautifully serves the poignant lines of a (any) young soldier. The lyrics haunt me, particularly in light of my own brother's experiences as a soldier in Iraq and Kosovo. Here they are (but will be immediately removed, if requested by copyright holder):

I got your letter today
And I miss you all so much, here
I can't wait to see you all
And I'm counting the days, dear
I still believe that there's gold
At the end of the world
And I'll come home
To Illinois
On the day after tomorrow

It is so hard
And it's cold here
And I'm tired of taking orders
And I miss old Rockford town
Up by the Wisconsin border
But I miss you won't believe
Shoveling snow and raking leaves
And my plane will touch tomorrow
On the day after tomorrow

I close my eyes
Every night
And I dream that I can hold you
They fill us full of lies
Everyone buys
About what it means to be a soldier
I still don't know how I'm supposed to feel
About all the blood that's been spilled
Look out on the street
Get me back home
On the day after tomorrow

You can't deny
The other side
Don't want to die
Any more than we do
What I'm trying to say,
Is don't they pray
To the same God that we do?
Tell me, how does God choose?
Whose prayers does he refuse?
Who turns the wheel?
And who throws the dice
On the day after tomorrow?

Mmmmmmm...
I'm not fighting
For justice
I am not fighting
For freedom
I am fighting
For my life
And another day
In the world here
I just do what I've been told
You're just the gravel on the road
And the one's that are lucky
One's come home
On the day after tomorrow

And the summer
It too will fade
And with it comes the winter's frost, dear
And I know we too are made
Of all the things that we have lost here
I'll be twenty-one today
I've been saving all my pay
And my plane will touch down
On the day after tomorrow

First Thursday People

2007-08-03T13:06:00.000-07:00

Wanting to feel cosmopolitan, I made the jaunt into town last evening to attend First Thursday, the monthly unveiling of new art works at area dealers. There was some lovely and playful stuff, particularly at the Augen and Froelick Galleries. One of the most arresting pieces was at the Elizabeth Leach: a pair of gigantic (12') banners with the image of a nuclear smoke-stack traced from composite pictures of fiery clouds; not that I would want that in my house, but as a social statement the piece definitely worked. There was also some crap, including Jeremy Iverson's "collection" of grey-scale collages...WHICH WERE ALL THE SAME!!!

But even more inspiring than the art itself were those who thronged out to see and be seen. Oh, of course there were Bluehairs a-plenty, smacking their gums each time they bent over their half-inch thick lenses to read the title plates, smilingly winding their rubber-wheeled walkers through the crowds. Then there were the Prettypeople: severely skinny women dressed Too-Cool-For-School in short-skirted beachy-bohemian dresses as brightly colored as the art around them, the men in white alligator shoes and black cashmere socks who refused to take off their $$$unglasses indoors. And then there were the Art-isans themselves: a man dressed in cropped pants made from an old canvas sail, tied with sailor's knots and topped off with yellow high-heeled sandals; a woman in a paper-mache dress with a large pink peony in her hair; a chubby dude discussing surrealism on the streetcorner, the several braids of his purpley-blue hair strung up through the top of a doll's head. These are people for whom "art" is not a thing, but a way to interact with the world.

But somehow, they just make me laugh.

Hmmm....

2007-08-02T10:28:00.000-07:00

Read. Discuss.

Fuzzy Math

2007-08-01T14:37:00.000-07:00

Isn't this kind of math just as comforting as a new puppy?
From Salon.com's War Room blogger Tim Grieve:

Asked today about a new Congressional Budget Office report that puts the price tag of the war on Iraq at more than $1 trillion, White House Press Secretary Tony Snow said: "Well, if you take a look at what happened on September 11th, 2001, it's estimated that the aftershocks of that could have cost up to $1 trillion."

As the Boston Globe notes today, former Bush budget advisor Lawrence Lindsey was fired back in 2003 after he suggested that the war in Iraq might cost as much as $200 billion.

Followed up by a good comment from a Salon reader:

"A" has nothing to do with "B", just as the cost of the war in Iraq has absolutely nothing to do with the price tag attached to the 9/11 attacks. Write this on a White House blackboard 100 times, Mr. Snow: "IRAQ HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE 9/11 ATTACKS!"

Incredible. This from an administration that keeps lobbing the claim that Democrats will raise taxes and increase spending.

The Avalanche Continues!

2007-07-30T12:41:00.000-07:00

Dearest Blatherscopians, the Summer thus far has been unkind to me--Sickness has been the chasm dividing Me from My Best Self (aka, all the crap I've been waiting to do when the weather got better). Like so many dark times in my life, I have been heartened by a glimmer: the light of books. As I have vowed since the time of this blog's inception (nigh on four months), I shall discharge my full Reflections herein.

1) Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh--A wistful, yet unsentimental, remembrance of an Age with which modern Americans have little-to-no shared history: the dwindling life of the English Aristocracy in the days between WWI & II. Waugh's bitingly funny and skilled descriptions of this too-recent time of yore succeed when dealing with Humanity, but due to my ignorance of the aristocracy, I am afraid that I missed many of Waugh's intended reflections upon the workings of Grace in such a family. I found the prose elegantly tight, but the story felt lumpy to me--the dichotomy of narrator Charles' love for brother and sister Sebastien and Julia was misshapen , at times under-emphasized only to come to the fore with staggering zeal, then be shunted off again, barely worth commenting on. In this way, his characters were not so much dynamic as re-written every few chapters.Definitely worth the read, but overall it felt more like a visit to a museum than a transforming experience.

2.) Outlander by Diana Gabaldon--This is Book #1 of a (so-far) 7 book series combining historical romance, adventure, and a hint of sci-fi. And the series is HUGELY popular--Over 1,200 folks have taken the time to give their recommendation of this book on Amazon.com, averaging 4.25 stars. But I'm here to tell You, intelligent Readers, this is horrible shite.
General complaints: cardboard characters whose motives are paper-thin, belabored dialogue (alternating between ridiculously flowery and just plain ridiculous), overly descriptive scene setting that veers away from plot propulsion, and a wasteful (not to mention unbelievable) plot.
Specific complaints: I don't know about You, but I, for one, have a hard time believing that (a) a married WWII nurse sucked backed to mid-1700s Scotland could keep her wits in such a situation, so much so that can "move on" with her life, and four weeks later marry another man, and that (b) despite loving her first husband, she can gleefully abandon herself to her new husband (resulting in--I'm not kidding!--over 200 pages of sexual encounters, just during the honeymoon phase), feeling no twinge of regret or pain or loss, and that (c) this so-called marriage is held up to be the union of two souls in a Grand Passion, particularly when new husband is "forced to discipline" her; she fights, but the book graphically describes him overpowering and beating her, and that (d) this "modern" woman understands that this violence is only the result of the clash of two time-cultures, and so she forgives new husband and a day after the beating they are back in the sack; the plot only gets better from here. Suffice it to say, there's a lot of rape and attempted rape and then "healing" by way of cathartic-reenactment-of rape. Oh, yes.
What the popularity of these books means to society: we are all doomed, and too stupid to realize it. How in the hiz-ell can anyone be attracted to this kind of book as an entertainment, a wishful romance of a different life? WHAT IS SO WRONG WITH WOMEN THAT THEY THINK THIS IS THE HEIGHT OF ROMANCE? I think Natural Selection has some work to do.