Okay, we're all in agreement that George Bush is a moron. Everytime he opens his mouth something stupid escapes. Imagine being Laura and having to listen to him all the time. I'd have killed him by now. But aside from being a famous idiot, or maybe because if it, he's coined a few phrases that have become part of the national lexicon: the Decider, fool me twice...I won't get fooled again, and a bunch more.
Lori and I were talking about phrases we picked up from our kids that have become part of our family lexicon. Here are of some of Katie's greatest hits:
1. There's no "I" in "can't", but there's an "I" in "I can't"
2. He's a sexaholic. He's addicted to sexahol.
3. There's no "me" in "team." Oh wait...yes there is.
What are yours? What phrases belong to your family alone, and make you laugh every time you use them?
Friday, March 21, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Isn't That What You Women Want?
I had a conversation a few weeks back (and forgive me if I've already told this story...I've been hit on the head) with a coworker from Nigeria, which obviously makes him black. Okay, not entirely obviously, since I'm sure there are white people in Nigeria, but he isn't one of them.
So my Nigerian Coworker says to me, "Well, Evelyn? Are you supporting Mrs. Clinton?" and I said no, I was leaning more towards Obama. Then he said, "I don't understand you women. You all say you want a woman in the White House, but then you don't support her."
I asked him who he was supporting, and he said Mrs. Clinton. So I got to say, "I don't understand you black people. You say you want a black man in the White House, but then you don't support him."
Clearly it's not as simple as that. I do feel a little like a gender traitor by not supporting Hillary, but a lot of that visceral guilt is at least offset by the fact that at least I'm not lining up behind yet another white guy. Although I did originally like Kucinich, it wasn't because I believed that his commie views had a chance in hell of inspiring the electorate to shuck off the last eight years of creepy reactionary totalitarianism; instead, I supported him with the same hopeless affection I'd feel for my son in a pick-up game against Michael Jordan. "Come on, Dennis! You can score at least once before you get crushed!"
But now, in the race between Hillary and Obama, I'm supporting Obama. Partly because I think he's a straightforward guy with sound ideas and a willingness to see more than one perspective, and partly because I just have Clinton fatigue. I think Hillary would probably make a fine president, and I'll completely support her if she's nominated, but I'm just tired of the Clintons.
I know more about the Clintons, both professionally and personally, than I do about members of my own family. I know the fairytale story of Hillary's misguided beginnings as a Goldwater Girl before her political epiphany. I know the story of the Clinton's troubled marriage, their unstoppable political ascendancy, their endless scandals, perceived scandals, and non-scandals. Since yesterday, I now know about Hillary's secret association with a right-wing religious group that combines bible study with shadowy political manipulations (And how secret can it be if I know about it? I'm not exactly roaming the halls of the Capitol building swapping dirt with the power elite).
The national media has spent the last 16 years studying and dissecting the Clinton family, teasing out personal facts about their lives that might titillate conservative radio hosts and sell a few papers. Want to know how many days a year the Clintons sleep in the same bed? How about the history of Hillary's hair? Bill's flings? It's all there, in respectable media outlets like the New York Times as well as the tabloids. Since 1992, so many whispered allegations and conspiracy theories have emerged that it's become somewhat of a family joke in our house. But even assuming that 75% of what's written about the Clintons is either political spin or outright lies, I'm tired of hearing about it. I'd like to have a fresh start, someone new in the White House who at least has a chance of passing some progressive legislation.
I have no doubt that were Hillary Clinton elected President, the Republican party would start a four year long campaign of smear tactics, stonewalling, false accusations of wrongdoing, and various other acts of political mayhem that would paralyze the government and keep Bush's insane policies untouched for another term. And boy-howdy, can we not afford that.
Whether she would be a skillful President is a moot point. She has virtually no chance of being an effective one. She'll never be able to create bipartisan cooperation on any issues. She is the poster child for partisan gridlock. If Hillary Clinton were to propose legislation that said that hacking up puppies with a machete was bad, I have no doubt that the Republican Party machine would be able to produce 15 experts in puppy-hacking that would repudiate her, while implying that she actually has a sordid secret association with an underground Satanic puppy-murdering group that wants to increase your taxes and abort your grandchildren.
We don't have time for that foolishness. We need someone in the White House that can actually get something quickly moving to get us out of Iraq and Afghanistan, heal our battered economy, restore the Constitution and regain our respect in the rest of the world.
That's the second best thing Obama brings to the table. He's not Hillary Clinton.
So my Nigerian Coworker says to me, "Well, Evelyn? Are you supporting Mrs. Clinton?" and I said no, I was leaning more towards Obama. Then he said, "I don't understand you women. You all say you want a woman in the White House, but then you don't support her."
I asked him who he was supporting, and he said Mrs. Clinton. So I got to say, "I don't understand you black people. You say you want a black man in the White House, but then you don't support him."
Clearly it's not as simple as that. I do feel a little like a gender traitor by not supporting Hillary, but a lot of that visceral guilt is at least offset by the fact that at least I'm not lining up behind yet another white guy. Although I did originally like Kucinich, it wasn't because I believed that his commie views had a chance in hell of inspiring the electorate to shuck off the last eight years of creepy reactionary totalitarianism; instead, I supported him with the same hopeless affection I'd feel for my son in a pick-up game against Michael Jordan. "Come on, Dennis! You can score at least once before you get crushed!"
But now, in the race between Hillary and Obama, I'm supporting Obama. Partly because I think he's a straightforward guy with sound ideas and a willingness to see more than one perspective, and partly because I just have Clinton fatigue. I think Hillary would probably make a fine president, and I'll completely support her if she's nominated, but I'm just tired of the Clintons.
I know more about the Clintons, both professionally and personally, than I do about members of my own family. I know the fairytale story of Hillary's misguided beginnings as a Goldwater Girl before her political epiphany. I know the story of the Clinton's troubled marriage, their unstoppable political ascendancy, their endless scandals, perceived scandals, and non-scandals. Since yesterday, I now know about Hillary's secret association with a right-wing religious group that combines bible study with shadowy political manipulations (And how secret can it be if I know about it? I'm not exactly roaming the halls of the Capitol building swapping dirt with the power elite).
The national media has spent the last 16 years studying and dissecting the Clinton family, teasing out personal facts about their lives that might titillate conservative radio hosts and sell a few papers. Want to know how many days a year the Clintons sleep in the same bed? How about the history of Hillary's hair? Bill's flings? It's all there, in respectable media outlets like the New York Times as well as the tabloids. Since 1992, so many whispered allegations and conspiracy theories have emerged that it's become somewhat of a family joke in our house. But even assuming that 75% of what's written about the Clintons is either political spin or outright lies, I'm tired of hearing about it. I'd like to have a fresh start, someone new in the White House who at least has a chance of passing some progressive legislation.
I have no doubt that were Hillary Clinton elected President, the Republican party would start a four year long campaign of smear tactics, stonewalling, false accusations of wrongdoing, and various other acts of political mayhem that would paralyze the government and keep Bush's insane policies untouched for another term. And boy-howdy, can we not afford that.
Whether she would be a skillful President is a moot point. She has virtually no chance of being an effective one. She'll never be able to create bipartisan cooperation on any issues. She is the poster child for partisan gridlock. If Hillary Clinton were to propose legislation that said that hacking up puppies with a machete was bad, I have no doubt that the Republican Party machine would be able to produce 15 experts in puppy-hacking that would repudiate her, while implying that she actually has a sordid secret association with an underground Satanic puppy-murdering group that wants to increase your taxes and abort your grandchildren.
We don't have time for that foolishness. We need someone in the White House that can actually get something quickly moving to get us out of Iraq and Afghanistan, heal our battered economy, restore the Constitution and regain our respect in the rest of the world.
That's the second best thing Obama brings to the table. He's not Hillary Clinton.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Earth Calling Hillary ...
I just finished telling Ev why I don't blog about politics, and then I ran across a blog entry by CBS News' Ryan Corsaro that's going to make a big fat blogging liar out of me. I can't leave this one alone.
While Obama was giving a landmark speech in Philadelphia on race in America, Hillary Clinton was posing for a photo-op with Philadelphia Mayor Joe Nutter, former ambassador Joe Wilson and his wife, Valerie Plame and fielding questions from the media. They asked her the obvious question ... what did she think of Obama's speech?
"I did not have the chance to see or to read yet Senator Obama's speech,” said Clinton. “But I am very glad he gave it. It's an important topic. Issues of race and gender in America have been complicated throughout our history and they are complicated in this primary campaign,” continued Clinton. “There have been detours and pitfalls along the way.”
With that pithy summation of the issue of race in America, she moved on, hoping to discuss the economy, the Bear-Stearns bailout and the war in Iraq, but those pesky reporters kept harking back to The Speech. This is my favorite passage from Cosaro's article:
Clinton appeared to entertain the idea of making her own speech on these issues, but repeated that she would not agree to make a similar speech until she had viewed the one he made today, also in Philadelphia. “I’ll take a look at it,” Clinton assured members of the press.
Just read that over and over again and think about it.
This is the woman who is running for the Presidency of the United States, and she wants to study the front-runner's speech so she can "make a similar one" of her own. Now there's some leadership for you.
And I just love "I'll take a look at it." Like she took a look at the intelligence reports before voting to invade Iraq? Don't do us any favors at this late date.
Kwach
While Obama was giving a landmark speech in Philadelphia on race in America, Hillary Clinton was posing for a photo-op with Philadelphia Mayor Joe Nutter, former ambassador Joe Wilson and his wife, Valerie Plame and fielding questions from the media. They asked her the obvious question ... what did she think of Obama's speech?
"I did not have the chance to see or to read yet Senator Obama's speech,” said Clinton. “But I am very glad he gave it. It's an important topic. Issues of race and gender in America have been complicated throughout our history and they are complicated in this primary campaign,” continued Clinton. “There have been detours and pitfalls along the way.”
With that pithy summation of the issue of race in America, she moved on, hoping to discuss the economy, the Bear-Stearns bailout and the war in Iraq, but those pesky reporters kept harking back to The Speech. This is my favorite passage from Cosaro's article:
Clinton appeared to entertain the idea of making her own speech on these issues, but repeated that she would not agree to make a similar speech until she had viewed the one he made today, also in Philadelphia. “I’ll take a look at it,” Clinton assured members of the press.
Just read that over and over again and think about it.
There's a lot I could say about Obama's speech in Philadelphia, but it's been said already by better political minds than mine. What I will say is that, if I were running against Barack Obama, I'd sure as hell be paying attention to what he's saying. How do you get too busy for that?? When she gets around to watching it on YouTube, I hope it will be painfully obvious that it hardly needs the "me, too!" candidate to "make a similar speech" even if she could. It's not as if she's going to improve on it, any more than she improved on the borrowed "Yes, We Can!" slogan by changing it to "Yes, We Will!"
This is the woman who is running for the Presidency of the United States, and she wants to study the front-runner's speech so she can "make a similar one" of her own. Now there's some leadership for you.
And I just love "I'll take a look at it." Like she took a look at the intelligence reports before voting to invade Iraq? Don't do us any favors at this late date.
Kwach
Happy Birthday, War.
This morning, as I drove through a blinding rainstorm that's in the process of devastating huge chunks of the midwest, it dawned on me that I was driving through a blinding rainstorm in Oregon exactly five years ago, listening to the same radio pundits discuss the same war, which has now devastated huge chunks of the mideast. That morning they were waving flags and triumphantly broadcasting the opening shots of Operation Iraqi Freedom. This morning they were much more subdued in their praise.
I thought it was wholly appropriate that the heavens should be crying buckets on both occasions.
Sometimes I think there really might be a god, even if all he can do at this point is cry and regret ever playing in that mud puddle.
Kwach
Our Adventure In The Land Of Sky Blue Waters, But Without Any Crappy Beer
In no particular order, this is my life this week:
We've gotten somewhere between six and ten inches of rain in the last two days. Like the snow and ice, it's an interesting thing to see, but not so interesting if you have to actually leave the house and do anything...like work, for instance.
Lori and I went to Wisconsin to pick up the new eBay truck this weekend. It was in the mid-60's here when we left Saturday morning and in the 20s when we arrived in Racine eight hours later. We stayed overnight outside of Chicago and came home Sunday, to temps in the mid-60s again.
Racine was a nifty place. We picked up the truck, loaded it on the car dolly and detoured to the lakefront before going home. Lori had never seen the Great Lakes before and was having trouble wrapping her mind around a landlocked lake that looks like the ocean. It was freezing by the lake, of course, and ungodly windy. But the lake itself was impressive, and so were the hardy little ducks bobbing in it. If I could speak duck I would have told them that the bobbing is much nicer in temperate Southern Illinois.
We had foolishly driven up on the 294 tollway, which cost us $15 in tolls just to get around the city of Chicago with a car dolly. Hello IDOT? Have you considered changing your acronym to IDIOT? The tollroad was that kind of teeth-jarring, suspension-breaking, surface-of-the-moon roadway that leaves you wondering why they don't take some of the bazillion dollars they extort from us downstate rubes and apply it towards a little road maintenance.
On the way home from Racine we made the obligatory stop at a roadside cheese store for cheese curds. Then I was REALLY mad about the $15 in tolls. Think of all the extra curds that would have bought! We bought some cheeses and sausages, tried on some cheesewear (cheese-wedge hats, a cheese fez, cheese slippers. You know...all of life's necessities), and headed back towards Illinois. but we were smarter on the way home. The nice tollbooth lady who was shaking us down for $4.25 at the last booth before we left the tollway told me that we should come back on Route 41, which is free.
She was right. It was free, and therefore much more pleasant. It was also fun to drive past the snooty rich folks in the northern 'burbs. At least, I'm told there were snooty rich folks. When you've achieved a desirably high level of snoot, you get to live in a house that's not visible from the street. We did, however, get to see their gates, which are undoubtedly worth more than our entire family compound, with the cats thrown in.
The weather was fine, the drive was nice and for once, I was actually able to go 65 mph pulling something. I was totally proud of myself until I got pulled over outside of Effingham. The cop said to me, "Did you know the speed limit is 55 when you're pulling a trailer?"
Well, crap. I didn't know that. This was one of those rare times when I wasn't actually making the decision to do something stupid. I told him that no, I didn't know. Actually, I was proud of myself for keeping up with the flow of traffic for a change. I had no idea I wasn't supposed to.
He said, "Look. I've got you on the speeding, and the seatbelt violation. I'm going to write the seatbelt violation up and leave the speeding alone. That way you won't get points on your license." In a moment of rare self-restraint, I didn't say, "I wouldn't get points on my license and I wouldn't be out $55 for the seatbelt violation if you hadn't pulled me over in the first place, Asshole."
Instead, I signed the ticket (Which I threw in the glove box with my other three seatbelt tickets. Don't fence me in.), laughed at his joke, and drove away. Slowly. Really slowly, since he'd pulled me over at the bottom of a hill and I had no momentum to carry me up the next one. I sort of halfway expected him to pull me over again at the top for going below the 45 mph minimum. Look at this thing. Does it actually look like it could speed?
I expect to end up in prison someday for my seatbelt violations, which will be fun because I can get Melon's likeness prison-tattooed on my neck and I'd have an excuse to shave my head and lift weights all day. And I could have conversations like this:
"What are you in for?"
"Murder. You?"
"Seat belt violations. Lots of them. I'm crazy. Don't fuck with me. Oh...and touch the red blankie and I'll shank you."
So...We were home by 4pm. Life was good. We'd gone out into the English world...wait, we're not Amish...We'd gone out into the civilized world, interacted with strangers, and successfully nabbed another truck. And it's a pretty one for a change.
Now I need a weekend to recover from my weekend.
We've gotten somewhere between six and ten inches of rain in the last two days. Like the snow and ice, it's an interesting thing to see, but not so interesting if you have to actually leave the house and do anything...like work, for instance.
Lori and I went to Wisconsin to pick up the new eBay truck this weekend. It was in the mid-60's here when we left Saturday morning and in the 20s when we arrived in Racine eight hours later. We stayed overnight outside of Chicago and came home Sunday, to temps in the mid-60s again.
Racine was a nifty place. We picked up the truck, loaded it on the car dolly and detoured to the lakefront before going home. Lori had never seen the Great Lakes before and was having trouble wrapping her mind around a landlocked lake that looks like the ocean. It was freezing by the lake, of course, and ungodly windy. But the lake itself was impressive, and so were the hardy little ducks bobbing in it. If I could speak duck I would have told them that the bobbing is much nicer in temperate Southern Illinois.
We had foolishly driven up on the 294 tollway, which cost us $15 in tolls just to get around the city of Chicago with a car dolly. Hello IDOT? Have you considered changing your acronym to IDIOT? The tollroad was that kind of teeth-jarring, suspension-breaking, surface-of-the-moon roadway that leaves you wondering why they don't take some of the bazillion dollars they extort from us downstate rubes and apply it towards a little road maintenance.
On the way home from Racine we made the obligatory stop at a roadside cheese store for cheese curds. Then I was REALLY mad about the $15 in tolls. Think of all the extra curds that would have bought! We bought some cheeses and sausages, tried on some cheesewear (cheese-wedge hats, a cheese fez, cheese slippers. You know...all of life's necessities), and headed back towards Illinois. but we were smarter on the way home. The nice tollbooth lady who was shaking us down for $4.25 at the last booth before we left the tollway told me that we should come back on Route 41, which is free.
She was right. It was free, and therefore much more pleasant. It was also fun to drive past the snooty rich folks in the northern 'burbs. At least, I'm told there were snooty rich folks. When you've achieved a desirably high level of snoot, you get to live in a house that's not visible from the street. We did, however, get to see their gates, which are undoubtedly worth more than our entire family compound, with the cats thrown in.
The weather was fine, the drive was nice and for once, I was actually able to go 65 mph pulling something. I was totally proud of myself until I got pulled over outside of Effingham. The cop said to me, "Did you know the speed limit is 55 when you're pulling a trailer?"
Well, crap. I didn't know that. This was one of those rare times when I wasn't actually making the decision to do something stupid. I told him that no, I didn't know. Actually, I was proud of myself for keeping up with the flow of traffic for a change. I had no idea I wasn't supposed to.
He said, "Look. I've got you on the speeding, and the seatbelt violation. I'm going to write the seatbelt violation up and leave the speeding alone. That way you won't get points on your license." In a moment of rare self-restraint, I didn't say, "I wouldn't get points on my license and I wouldn't be out $55 for the seatbelt violation if you hadn't pulled me over in the first place, Asshole."
Instead, I signed the ticket (Which I threw in the glove box with my other three seatbelt tickets. Don't fence me in.), laughed at his joke, and drove away. Slowly. Really slowly, since he'd pulled me over at the bottom of a hill and I had no momentum to carry me up the next one. I sort of halfway expected him to pull me over again at the top for going below the 45 mph minimum. Look at this thing. Does it actually look like it could speed?
I expect to end up in prison someday for my seatbelt violations, which will be fun because I can get Melon's likeness prison-tattooed on my neck and I'd have an excuse to shave my head and lift weights all day. And I could have conversations like this:
"What are you in for?"
"Murder. You?"
"Seat belt violations. Lots of them. I'm crazy. Don't fuck with me. Oh...and touch the red blankie and I'll shank you."
So...We were home by 4pm. Life was good. We'd gone out into the English world...wait, we're not Amish...We'd gone out into the civilized world, interacted with strangers, and successfully nabbed another truck. And it's a pretty one for a change.
Now I need a weekend to recover from my weekend.
Friday, March 14, 2008
The Drive By, and How It can Improve Your Life.
I haven't blogged in a week. Not because of my recent brain woe or anything similarly dramatic, but because I've been busy driving by our eBay trip to Wi-SCAH-nsin. Towards that end I've invested in a stereo for my favorite truck that, in fact, cost more than I paid for the truck. I also checked out the tow dolly situation with my favorite U-Haul guy, Josh (What? You don't have a favorite U-Haul guy?), and went to HowTo.com to learn how to remove the drive shaft of the eBay truck for transport. I've decided to check it out by removing my own drive shaft and see if it seems pretty straightforward. I even got up early to give it a whirl...but it's raining. A lot. Like Hemingway famously opined, "Why did the chicken cross the road? To die. Alone. In the rain."
So I can't practice my drive shaft removal project unless I'm willing to lay in the freezing mud (I'm not.), and I'm experiencing..surpise!...a little anxiety about that. Which brings me to my two topics for today:
1. I have a not-so-secret longing to go to Auto Mechanic's School.
2. The importance of the Drive-By to any new project.
Auto Mechanic's School
I love messing around with the truck, but my knowledge is limited to whatever I've fixed during it's previous disasters. What I would like is a comprehensive knowledge of how to repair all the structural parts. I know I can't ever do anything with the computer-driven stuff, but I ought to be able to replace a tie rod or a drive shaft or an oil pump without dragging out the book and studying up on it like it's open heart surgery or flying the airplane after the pilot dies.
My theory of everything is that other people do it, whatever "it" is...and I'm as smart as other people, ergo, I ought to be able to do it. In general this works well, however the theory goes a little awry when I'm confronted with the fact that I'm old, small and weak. Sometimes I go track down the Man Friend to loosen things, or the Heating & Cooling guys next door, who are both big and friendly. What I really need is a set of air tools. Then I'd be unstoppable. I'd have this whole place reduced to it's component pieces in minutes!
I want someone to go to Auto Mechanic's School with me so that I'll have someone to help me take shit apart and laugh with when it won't go back together, and someone who'll help deflect the stares of the burly 20 years old guys who'll wonder why their moms have invaded their sacred place. I'm taking applications for the position of Auto Mechanic School Buddy. If anyone is interested, the requirement for the position is pretty much anyone with a pulse. It doesn't even have to be a particularly strong pulse. If you can survive the class with me, you're hired.
My other topic for the day?
The Drive-By
In our family lexicon, the drive-by is not the one most people think of, in which one can shoot the person or persons one deems most deserving of a bullet hole or two from the comfort of one's car, without needing to leave the car in the case of inclement weather or in the middle of a good NPR segment.
The drive-by in our family is part of the decision making sequence that follows:
1. Think about it.
2. Study up on it, usually via the Internet.
3. Drive by it.
4. Go in.
5. Process the experience, and whether it might ever be worth doing again.
The drive-by is a critical step, because it's the bridge between the intellectual part and the physical part. For instance, someone I know has a ticket (or two or three) for seatbelt violations. Since that particular someone has a fondness for driving around enjoying the Southern Illinois countryside, she has acquired her tickets in three different counties. Although I...uh...she has not actually paid the tickets, she has located all three courthouses and driven by them, thus paving the way for the day she actually enters them and pays the tickets.
See? The step between deciding to do something and actually doing it requires a careful examination of the outward appearance of the thing and psychological preparation for any potential pitfalls.
Using the Drive-By Method of decision making, one can make a variety of decisions that initially seem too ludicrous to consider, like driving to Wi-SCAH-nsin for an eBay truck, for instance. But without my drive shaft removal drive-by experience, I'll be anxious about whether I've brought the right tools, whether I'm strong enough for the project or whether it's beyond me for some other reason.
And you know what that means: extra processing at the end. And you, my Internets pals, will be the lucky recipients of that. Right here. Stay tuned.
So I can't practice my drive shaft removal project unless I'm willing to lay in the freezing mud (I'm not.), and I'm experiencing..surpise!...a little anxiety about that. Which brings me to my two topics for today:
1. I have a not-so-secret longing to go to Auto Mechanic's School.
2. The importance of the Drive-By to any new project.
Auto Mechanic's School
I love messing around with the truck, but my knowledge is limited to whatever I've fixed during it's previous disasters. What I would like is a comprehensive knowledge of how to repair all the structural parts. I know I can't ever do anything with the computer-driven stuff, but I ought to be able to replace a tie rod or a drive shaft or an oil pump without dragging out the book and studying up on it like it's open heart surgery or flying the airplane after the pilot dies.
My theory of everything is that other people do it, whatever "it" is...and I'm as smart as other people, ergo, I ought to be able to do it. In general this works well, however the theory goes a little awry when I'm confronted with the fact that I'm old, small and weak. Sometimes I go track down the Man Friend to loosen things, or the Heating & Cooling guys next door, who are both big and friendly. What I really need is a set of air tools. Then I'd be unstoppable. I'd have this whole place reduced to it's component pieces in minutes!
I want someone to go to Auto Mechanic's School with me so that I'll have someone to help me take shit apart and laugh with when it won't go back together, and someone who'll help deflect the stares of the burly 20 years old guys who'll wonder why their moms have invaded their sacred place. I'm taking applications for the position of Auto Mechanic School Buddy. If anyone is interested, the requirement for the position is pretty much anyone with a pulse. It doesn't even have to be a particularly strong pulse. If you can survive the class with me, you're hired.
My other topic for the day?
The Drive-By
In our family lexicon, the drive-by is not the one most people think of, in which one can shoot the person or persons one deems most deserving of a bullet hole or two from the comfort of one's car, without needing to leave the car in the case of inclement weather or in the middle of a good NPR segment.
The drive-by in our family is part of the decision making sequence that follows:
1. Think about it.
2. Study up on it, usually via the Internet.
3. Drive by it.
4. Go in.
5. Process the experience, and whether it might ever be worth doing again.
The drive-by is a critical step, because it's the bridge between the intellectual part and the physical part. For instance, someone I know has a ticket (or two or three) for seatbelt violations. Since that particular someone has a fondness for driving around enjoying the Southern Illinois countryside, she has acquired her tickets in three different counties. Although I...uh...she has not actually paid the tickets, she has located all three courthouses and driven by them, thus paving the way for the day she actually enters them and pays the tickets.
See? The step between deciding to do something and actually doing it requires a careful examination of the outward appearance of the thing and psychological preparation for any potential pitfalls.
Using the Drive-By Method of decision making, one can make a variety of decisions that initially seem too ludicrous to consider, like driving to Wi-SCAH-nsin for an eBay truck, for instance. But without my drive shaft removal drive-by experience, I'll be anxious about whether I've brought the right tools, whether I'm strong enough for the project or whether it's beyond me for some other reason.
And you know what that means: extra processing at the end. And you, my Internets pals, will be the lucky recipients of that. Right here. Stay tuned.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Now What Am I Going To Do For A Living?
Well, there...now that my worst nightmare, the most embarrassing moment, the thing I've dreaded for years has actually happened...now I'm ready to change my name (What do you think of Evie-Lou Cummins-Goins? Too much?), move away and become an alpaca herder in Wyoming.
Last night I had a temporal lobe seizure at work. And let's remind ourselves of what that involves, shall we? Uncontrollable weeping, hallucinations, paranoia. Sort of a cross between schizophrenia and a panic attack. It's awful on the inside, and it looks awful on the outside.
This is how Wikipedia describes temporal lobe seizures:
Simple Partial Seizures (SPS) involve small areas of the temporal lobe and do not affect consciousness. These are seizures which primarily cause sensations. These sensations may be mnestic such as déjà vu (a feeling of familiarity), jamais vu (a feeling of unfamiliarity), a specific single or set of memories, or amnesia. The sensations may be auditory such as a sound or tune, or gustatory such as a taste, or olfactory such as a smell that is not truly present. Sensations can also be visual or involve feelings on the skin or in the internal organs. The latter feelings may seem to move over the body. Dysphoric or euphoric feelings, fear, anger, and other sensations can also occur during SPS. Often, it is hard for persons with SPS of TLE to describe the feeling. SPS are often called "auras," and are sometimes thought to be preludes to more severe seizures.
So what does that mean to our Evie? It means that I start with a small headache, and quickly progress to a kind of weeping, fearful confusion in which I hear whispering voices, smell odd and inappropriate things, and see strangers lurking in the periphery of my vision. I'm completely overwhelmed: nothing looks familiar or safe, the lights are too bright, the analyzers are too loud, people keep moving erratically, and I have to fight the impulse to curl up in a ball under the bench and hide. All of this, while unpleasant at home, is truly mortifying at work. It feels insane, it looks insane, and I'm sure it does considerable damage to my credibility as a Laboratory Professional.
So after an hour or so of weeping, Lori came to get me and we dropped by the E.R. We actually spent so long waiting there that I felt pretty much back to normal by the time I was seen and released. I went back to the lab, gathered my stuff, and went home.
But the worst of all? I'll have to go back today.
On the bright side, TLE is supposed to be associated with creativity :
As Eve LaPlante discusses in her book, "Seized," the intense emotions, sensory experience including vibrancy of colors, and particular mental state provoked by temporal lobe abnormalities may have contributed to the creation of significant works of art. A number of well-known writers and artists are known, or in many cases suspected to have had temporal lobe epilepsy, aggravated, in some cases, by alcoholism. They include Charles Dodgson (a.k.a. Lewis Carroll), Edgar Allan Poe, Fyodor Dostoevsky (whose novel The Idiot features an epileptic protagonist, Prince Myshkin), Gustave Flaubert, Philip K. Dick, Sylvia Plath and the contemporary author Thom Jones. Peter O'Leary also discusses this in his book "Gnostic Contagion: Robert Duncan and the Poetry of Illness."
Unfortunately, I've never shown any inclination in that direction. Nor, sadly in this one:
In some modes of presentation women can feel orgasms when suffering a temporal lobe epilepsy episode. No cases have so far been reported for men.
Last night I had a temporal lobe seizure at work. And let's remind ourselves of what that involves, shall we? Uncontrollable weeping, hallucinations, paranoia. Sort of a cross between schizophrenia and a panic attack. It's awful on the inside, and it looks awful on the outside.
This is how Wikipedia describes temporal lobe seizures:
Simple Partial Seizures (SPS) involve small areas of the temporal lobe and do not affect consciousness. These are seizures which primarily cause sensations. These sensations may be mnestic such as déjà vu (a feeling of familiarity), jamais vu (a feeling of unfamiliarity), a specific single or set of memories, or amnesia. The sensations may be auditory such as a sound or tune, or gustatory such as a taste, or olfactory such as a smell that is not truly present. Sensations can also be visual or involve feelings on the skin or in the internal organs. The latter feelings may seem to move over the body. Dysphoric or euphoric feelings, fear, anger, and other sensations can also occur during SPS. Often, it is hard for persons with SPS of TLE to describe the feeling. SPS are often called "auras," and are sometimes thought to be preludes to more severe seizures. So what does that mean to our Evie? It means that I start with a small headache, and quickly progress to a kind of weeping, fearful confusion in which I hear whispering voices, smell odd and inappropriate things, and see strangers lurking in the periphery of my vision. I'm completely overwhelmed: nothing looks familiar or safe, the lights are too bright, the analyzers are too loud, people keep moving erratically, and I have to fight the impulse to curl up in a ball under the bench and hide. All of this, while unpleasant at home, is truly mortifying at work. It feels insane, it looks insane, and I'm sure it does considerable damage to my credibility as a Laboratory Professional.
So after an hour or so of weeping, Lori came to get me and we dropped by the E.R. We actually spent so long waiting there that I felt pretty much back to normal by the time I was seen and released. I went back to the lab, gathered my stuff, and went home.
But the worst of all? I'll have to go back today.
On the bright side, TLE is supposed to be associated with creativity :
As Eve LaPlante discusses in her book, "Seized," the intense emotions, sensory experience including vibrancy of colors, and particular mental state provoked by temporal lobe abnormalities may have contributed to the creation of significant works of art. A number of well-known writers and artists are known, or in many cases suspected to have had temporal lobe epilepsy, aggravated, in some cases, by alcoholism. They include Charles Dodgson (a.k.a. Lewis Carroll), Edgar Allan Poe, Fyodor Dostoevsky (whose novel The Idiot features an epileptic protagonist, Prince Myshkin), Gustave Flaubert, Philip K. Dick, Sylvia Plath and the contemporary author Thom Jones. Peter O'Leary also discusses this in his book "Gnostic Contagion: Robert Duncan and the Poetry of Illness."
Unfortunately, I've never shown any inclination in that direction. Nor, sadly in this one:
In some modes of presentation women can feel orgasms when suffering a temporal lobe epilepsy episode. No cases have so far been reported for men.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
An Open Letter to Barack Obama
Barack,
If you're reading, I have some urgent campaign advice you really need to hear. (And if you're not reading, why not?!?)
First, I want to let you know that you're doing well down here in Southern Illinois, and I'm behind you all the way, but after tonight's primaries I'm a little worried. You're not carrying rural Americans, and I know you want to fill in that gap in your campaign strategy. I've been watching the polls and the primaries, and I don't think your campaign advisors are on top of this. The good news is, it can easily be fixed, so listen up.
I was looking at the state by state results tonight and I couldn't help but notice that in virtually every primary, if you look at the results by county and precinct, there's an undeniable pattern. Hillary takes the rural votes and you takes the cities. The pattern stays true whether you win the state or not. The Obama precincts look like little walled fortresses of urban-hood, strategically placed to fortify the three or four cities in every state from an unwashed peasant uprising.
So far the Team Obama strategy has been working, at least as far as the delegate count goes, but you've taken some hits this week and ... crappola ... you lost Ohio and squeeked out a tie in Texas. You've got to increase your appeal to the folks out there in the hinterlands. There's nothing wrong with what you're saying ... your speeches are a thing of beauty. But, despite the sell-out crowds at your big-venue rallies and the support of virtually every college-aged kid in America, there are too many people who are connecting with Hillary instead of you, and since no one on your payroll will tell you why, I will.
If you're reading, I have some urgent campaign advice you really need to hear. (And if you're not reading, why not?!?)
First, I want to let you know that you're doing well down here in Southern Illinois, and I'm behind you all the way, but after tonight's primaries I'm a little worried. You're not carrying rural Americans, and I know you want to fill in that gap in your campaign strategy. I've been watching the polls and the primaries, and I don't think your campaign advisors are on top of this. The good news is, it can easily be fixed, so listen up.
I was looking at the state by state results tonight and I couldn't help but notice that in virtually every primary, if you look at the results by county and precinct, there's an undeniable pattern. Hillary takes the rural votes and you takes the cities. The pattern stays true whether you win the state or not. The Obama precincts look like little walled fortresses of urban-hood, strategically placed to fortify the three or four cities in every state from an unwashed peasant uprising.
So far the Team Obama strategy has been working, at least as far as the delegate count goes, but you've taken some hits this week and ... crappola ... you lost Ohio and squeeked out a tie in Texas. You've got to increase your appeal to the folks out there in the hinterlands. There's nothing wrong with what you're saying ... your speeches are a thing of beauty. But, despite the sell-out crowds at your big-venue rallies and the support of virtually every college-aged kid in America, there are too many people who are connecting with Hillary instead of you, and since no one on your payroll will tell you why, I will.
It's the suit.
Don't get me wrong, it's a great suit. I'll bet you paid a lot of money for it, and it makes you look very dignified and polished and Presidential, but it's gotta go. People are talking about it, and not in a good way. Some have taken to calling it the funeral director suit.
Dude. We totally love this picture of you riding the ferris wheel with your girls at the Iowa State Fair. We loved the khaki pants and the blue shirt you were wearing in the infamous "Obama doesn't salute the flag" photo. The swimsuit photo? Also fun and spontaneous. As Ev says, when you aren't wearing the suit you look approachable. Approachable is good.
The suit worked great in the beginning of the campaign. It was easy to picture you giving your Inauguration speech or a State of the Union Address. Why not save it for one of those occasions? For one thing, you talk about change in every speech, but if a man never even changes his suit, how is he going to change the country and the world? These are the questions rural Americans are asking. How will you answer? More to the point, what will you wear when you do?
And I'm sorry we even have to bring this up in America in the 21st century, but the unfortunate fact is, there is an evil faction in this country ... a small but loud-mouthed collective of tiny-brained, hate-mongering, near-illiterate bigots and fear-mongers who are saying you dress like a Black Muslim. Or worse, a Civil Rights leader from the 1950's. Nothing scares the be-jesus out of a racist like a black man in a dark suit. Barack! You've got to put out some of these fires! Wear some jeans and a colorful shirt! Besides giving the bigots less ammunition you'll be sending a message to Joe and Jane Average that you're a guy who can come out from behind the desk, roll up his sleeves and do a day's work.
Consider your formidable opponent. Hillary is the Great Feminist Hope. She came into the race with the admiration, respect, and support of an overwhelming majority of women. She's a savvy politician who knows her strengths, and every day she sits down with her strategists and then goes to her closet. She emerges and takes the stage exuding confidence, just as you do, and displaying her considerable grasp of policy ... in a veritable rainbow of colorful pantsuits that say, 
"I may be a successful woman, but underneath all the fame and money and power I'm just like you. I'm a wife and mother. I've taken some hits. I've been cheated on and I survived. I've cleaned up puke, changed diapers, dragged myself to dance recitals and school pageants and stayed up half the night building a diorama depicting the Fall of the Roman Empire out of paper mache and Tempera paint. And right after this speech we're all headed over to the Cracker Barrel for Sunday Brunch!" And don't think the couture homage to Ann Richards is completely coincidence, either. She's getting a lot of subliminal messages in there while you're showing up every day in the suit.
(The truth is, she's got as much in common with a farmer's wife in Ohio as a wolf has with a wounded rabbit, but she looks like plain folks and they like it. I refer you again to those county by county maps. )
So here's the deal. We're getting down to the wire, and this could go either way. I'm still believing in you to win the nomination, and sending in donations when I can, and I don't want a thing in exchange for this advice except your promise to lose the suit. Put on the khaki pants or a pair of jeans and a colorful shirt and roll your sleeves up. Show the farmers and beef ranchers and small-town rural folks that you aren't just going to stand around in a suit being a politician. I, and millions of other Americans, really need you to win this presidency. Don't you own some grubbies??
Yours truly,
Kwach
Don't get me wrong, it's a great suit. I'll bet you paid a lot of money for it, and it makes you look very dignified and polished and Presidential, but it's gotta go. People are talking about it, and not in a good way. Some have taken to calling it the funeral director suit.
Dude. We totally love this picture of you riding the ferris wheel with your girls at the Iowa State Fair. We loved the khaki pants and the blue shirt you were wearing in the infamous "Obama doesn't salute the flag" photo. The swimsuit photo? Also fun and spontaneous. As Ev says, when you aren't wearing the suit you look approachable. Approachable is good.The suit worked great in the beginning of the campaign. It was easy to picture you giving your Inauguration speech or a State of the Union Address. Why not save it for one of those occasions? For one thing, you talk about change in every speech, but if a man never even changes his suit, how is he going to change the country and the world? These are the questions rural Americans are asking. How will you answer? More to the point, what will you wear when you do?
And I'm sorry we even have to bring this up in America in the 21st century, but the unfortunate fact is, there is an evil faction in this country ... a small but loud-mouthed collective of tiny-brained, hate-mongering, near-illiterate bigots and fear-mongers who are saying you dress like a Black Muslim. Or worse, a Civil Rights leader from the 1950's. Nothing scares the be-jesus out of a racist like a black man in a dark suit. Barack! You've got to put out some of these fires! Wear some jeans and a colorful shirt! Besides giving the bigots less ammunition you'll be sending a message to Joe and Jane Average that you're a guy who can come out from behind the desk, roll up his sleeves and do a day's work. 
Consider your formidable opponent. Hillary is the Great Feminist Hope. She came into the race with the admiration, respect, and support of an overwhelming majority of women. She's a savvy politician who knows her strengths, and every day she sits down with her strategists and then goes to her closet. She emerges and takes the stage exuding confidence, just as you do, and displaying her considerable grasp of policy ... in a veritable rainbow of colorful pantsuits that say, 
"I may be a successful woman, but underneath all the fame and money and power I'm just like you. I'm a wife and mother. I've taken some hits. I've been cheated on and I survived. I've cleaned up puke, changed diapers, dragged myself to dance recitals and school pageants and stayed up half the night building a diorama depicting the Fall of the Roman Empire out of paper mache and Tempera paint. And right after this speech we're all headed over to the Cracker Barrel for Sunday Brunch!" And don't think the couture homage to Ann Richards is completely coincidence, either. She's getting a lot of subliminal messages in there while you're showing up every day in the suit.(The truth is, she's got as much in common with a farmer's wife in Ohio as a wolf has with a wounded rabbit, but she looks like plain folks and they like it. I refer you again to those county by county maps. )
So here's the deal. We're getting down to the wire, and this could go either way. I'm still believing in you to win the nomination, and sending in donations when I can, and I don't want a thing in exchange for this advice except your promise to lose the suit. Put on the khaki pants or a pair of jeans and a colorful shirt and roll your sleeves up. Show the farmers and beef ranchers and small-town rural folks that you aren't just going to stand around in a suit being a politician. I, and millions of other Americans, really need you to win this presidency. Don't you own some grubbies??
Yours truly,
Kwach
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Because I've Been Asked...
I have a friend who's very gay-friendly, but not a native speaker of English. She was reassuring me once about her gay-friendliness and mentioned that her uncle is also The Gay.
Okay...how much do we love this?
Subsequently, we've gotten to be closer friends, and have moved from discussion gayness in the abstract to discussing it in some detail. In those conversations, we refer to the actual sex act as The Sex. My friend is also having The Sex, but she has it with The Husband instead of The Girlfriend.
Therefore: Lori and I are The Gay. We have The Sex. The Gay Sex. We both speak English fluently, but we have come to prefer this slightly butchered phrasing to the more technically correct but soulless kind found in Standard English.
So...Sassy Pants? Enjoy The Sex. With The Boy. Or The Girl...hell, I don't care. Just come back and tell your lascivious Aunties about it afterwards, okay?
Okay...how much do we love this?
Subsequently, we've gotten to be closer friends, and have moved from discussion gayness in the abstract to discussing it in some detail. In those conversations, we refer to the actual sex act as The Sex. My friend is also having The Sex, but she has it with The Husband instead of The Girlfriend.
Therefore: Lori and I are The Gay. We have The Sex. The Gay Sex. We both speak English fluently, but we have come to prefer this slightly butchered phrasing to the more technically correct but soulless kind found in Standard English.
So...Sassy Pants? Enjoy The Sex. With The Boy. Or The Girl...hell, I don't care. Just come back and tell your lascivious Aunties about it afterwards, okay?
Guess Who's Got Another eBay Truck?
After a week off from the ice? It's back. We're once again fully engaged in the scraping, slipping, fishtailing part of winter. I have a little post-holiday letdown in the wake of Pulaski Day, the new eBay truck is bought, and now the logistical challenge of picking it up in Racine, Wisconsin is before us. This is the eBay truck:
It's a '91 Ranger with an extended cab. Like all eBay trucks, it'll need some work, but we paid $592 for it, so I can afford to put some money into it.
I haven't been to Wisconsin in 15 or 20 years, and Lori's never been at all, so this will be another eBay adventure trip. We will, of course, have pictures and narrative to share when we get home.
I'd love to go up Friday, but I think Lori's working, and then I work the weekend. We're both off next weekend, so that'll give all you Northerners plenty of time to give us good touring advice between Effingham, IL and Racine, WI. And if we wait for the weekend we can stay over in Chicago and see that, although I can't imagine where we'd go if we just had a few hours.
Ah, but that's why we have you, our Internets friends. Where should we go if we have a single evening and morning in Chicago?
Monday, March 03, 2008
Happy Pulaski Day!
We're all wearing our traditional Pulaski Day leiderhosen, drinking pilsner beer, and singing Pulaski Carols! Gather 'round, kids. I'll read you "The Night Before Pulaski Day."
Well...no. You're obviously a clever bunch. None of that is actually true. I'm actually at work...no leiderhosen, no pilsner...just a bronchial lavage culture waiting to be set up and the warm homey hum of the analyzers.
However, I'll still wish you the traditional Pulaski Day greeting:
Everybody have fun tonight! Everybody Wang Chung tonight!
Now drop the Pulaski Ball over Times Square, and let's get started with the fireworks and the polish sausage hunt.
(That Casimir Pulaski...he was an odd man, wasn't he?)
Well...no. You're obviously a clever bunch. None of that is actually true. I'm actually at work...no leiderhosen, no pilsner...just a bronchial lavage culture waiting to be set up and the warm homey hum of the analyzers.
However, I'll still wish you the traditional Pulaski Day greeting:
Everybody have fun tonight! Everybody Wang Chung tonight!
Now drop the Pulaski Ball over Times Square, and let's get started with the fireworks and the polish sausage hunt.
(That Casimir Pulaski...he was an odd man, wasn't he?)
Happy Casimir Pulaski Day!
That's right, it's Casimir S. Pulaski Day here in Southern Illinois! Woohoo!
Lest you mistakenly think this is a non-event just because you can't buy a Casimir S. Pulaski Day card at the Hallmark store, you should know that every year, on the first Monday in March, we close the schools and celebrate the birthday of this Revolutionary War hero.
Kazimierz, as he was known in his native Poland, was a nobleman and soldier who valiantly fought the Russians in his homeland and then immigrated to America, where he served as a General in the Continental Army. He was shot in the groin at the Battle of Savannah, died of his wounds, and was buried at sea (or possibly in Savannah -- there is conflicting evidence) without ever setting foot in Illinois.
In fact, he has nothing at all to do with Illinois, except that there's a large Polish-American community in Chicago and they like a nice parade up there.
Downstate we named a town AND a county after him (take that, Chicago) and the Pulaski Store makes some damn fine bbq sandwiches, which could easily be enjoyed while watching a parade on a school holiday if you wanted to.
There are songs written to commemorate General Pulaski ... sort of. Sufjan Stevens wrote this one about his adolescent girlfriend who died of bone cancer on Casimir Pulaski Day. The noise band Big Black has a track called "Kasimir S. Pulaski Day" on their 1987 album "Songs About Fucking" which isn't about Casimir Pulaski, either. It's about a car bombing on Pulaski Road in Chicago. It's not as heartwarming as this one ... even less so if you can understand the lyrics.
You may have gathered from previous posts that we aren't big holiday celebrants, but we did celebrate this one by taking a drive through Pulaski County in the rain this morning. Along the way we passed a long line of cars slowly following a garbage truck down Main Street. We're not sure if it was a parade, or if there was a Casimir Pulaski Day Queen on the truck, but we waved just in case.
Parade or not, we didn't want to miss this opportunity to wish our readers a happy holiday. Everybody Wang-Chung tonight!
Kwach
Friday, February 29, 2008
Your Call Is Important To Us...
I'm thinking my call is not important to them, since I've been on hold now for more than half an hour. I'm sure my call would be much more important if I owed them money instead of the other way around.
In the meantime...what's up with y'all?
In the event that my call becomes important enough to actually pick up the phone, I'll have to go, but there doesn't seem to be much danger of that. So this would be an excellent time to say that finally the sun has come out and I can sort of imagine that life might be worth living again. Oh...and it's Friday. What's not to love about that?
I think I may have found a good truck on eBay, but there's still five days until the auction ends, and you know how that goes.
Okay...apparently my call is NOT important to them, since they just hung up on me. I don't think I'm up for another half hour worth of classical music and empty promises. If I were, I'd have stayed with my last girlfriend.
Just kidding...she didn't play classical music.
In the meantime...what's up with y'all?
In the event that my call becomes important enough to actually pick up the phone, I'll have to go, but there doesn't seem to be much danger of that. So this would be an excellent time to say that finally the sun has come out and I can sort of imagine that life might be worth living again. Oh...and it's Friday. What's not to love about that?
I think I may have found a good truck on eBay, but there's still five days until the auction ends, and you know how that goes.
Okay...apparently my call is NOT important to them, since they just hung up on me. I don't think I'm up for another half hour worth of classical music and empty promises. If I were, I'd have stayed with my last girlfriend.
Just kidding...she didn't play classical music.
Our Hearts Were Light and Gay
Ha! I found out today that there's someone who reads us that:
a) Neither of us gave birth to.
b) Neither of us slept with.
c) Neither of us ever will, or will even potentially sleep with. What with him being...uhhh...penile. Like someone from a penile colony. Maybe he's Australian. Isn't Australia a penile colony?
We were informed, without solicitation or any money changing hands, that someone who could be doing important things instead chooses to read our homey little gay blog. On purpose. Not because we're pestering him at work, saying, "Hey! Read this! Do you think I'm brilliant??" Although he's actually the husband of Lori's friend, which sort of makes him a distant relative, so I think we may lose points for that.
Although we're both still vying for the rights to the Feral Mom fantasy, (but not the guitar nightmare...eeek!) any husbands of our friends will be safe from us, and not just because we're a pair of middle-aged dykes with no social skills. But as a consolation prize, all incompatible man-people will receive a "get-out-of-a-potentially-awkward-interaction-free" pass from us, some dubious medical advice, and a lovely parting gift...maybe a cat or two. Because we're neighborly here in Nowhere.
(Heh? Who's your favorite gay blog? Remember, members of the academy, when it's election time...vote early and vote often.)
a) Neither of us gave birth to.
b) Neither of us slept with.
c) Neither of us ever will, or will even potentially sleep with. What with him being...uhhh...penile. Like someone from a penile colony. Maybe he's Australian. Isn't Australia a penile colony?
We were informed, without solicitation or any money changing hands, that someone who could be doing important things instead chooses to read our homey little gay blog. On purpose. Not because we're pestering him at work, saying, "Hey! Read this! Do you think I'm brilliant??" Although he's actually the husband of Lori's friend, which sort of makes him a distant relative, so I think we may lose points for that.
Although we're both still vying for the rights to the Feral Mom fantasy, (but not the guitar nightmare...eeek!) any husbands of our friends will be safe from us, and not just because we're a pair of middle-aged dykes with no social skills. But as a consolation prize, all incompatible man-people will receive a "get-out-of-a-potentially-awkward-interaction-free" pass from us, some dubious medical advice, and a lovely parting gift...maybe a cat or two. Because we're neighborly here in Nowhere.
(Heh? Who's your favorite gay blog? Remember, members of the academy, when it's election time...vote early and vote often.)
Thursday, February 28, 2008
eBaying At The Moon
I'm back on eBay shopping for trucks. This time it's for Carrie's Man Friend, but really...I'd look for anyone. I love the strategy. I'm not a hunter or a fan of hunting but eBay has a sort of hunting feel to it. You go out and stalk a truck, then follow it through the woods until you can shoot it and drag it home.
What's not to love about that??
Anyway, when I find one, I'll post a picture in all it's crappy glory.
What's not to love about that??
Anyway, when I find one, I'll post a picture in all it's crappy glory.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Election Fun From Nowhere
I don't normally blog about politics. Pandagon, Feministe and a few others do such a fantastic job that I'd be embarrassed by the comparison. But I do following it closely. I'm concerned about all the usual policy issues that liberal pinko lesbian mommies care about: our various wars and potential wars, health care, abortion, gay marriage, etc ... but I also follow it for the psychology. I love the psychology; it's a people-watching project at it's finest.
Part of the fascination is the marathon aspect of a two-year election cycle. American elections aren't won and lost in a single moment (with Howard Dean's scream being the possible exception), they're generally decided by a couple of candidates jockeying for an advantage, looking for a toehold, hoping to find some little something that will push them ahead long enough to gain that elusive momentum. Candidates get tired and accidentally speak candidly. They say things that sound human instead of presidential. Or they try to change directions, with disastrous results. Think of Hillary's "Yes, We Will" Obama ripoff. Now think of New Coke. Bad ideas. Go back to what was working for you.
Part of the process of electioneering is good campaigning, and part of it is strategic smearing by proxy. The polls say Americans don't approve, but it generally works like a charm. Karl Rove, for instance, speaking off the record about an illegitimate biracial McCain baby, can be more effective than a comprehensive healthcare policy at getting the public engaged. Swiftboating, Whitewater, plagiarism ... those buzzwords might be the lever that prys the election loose. Many voters don't know or care much about the stories behind those labels, they're just pretty sure that they're incriminating. And any lie repeated enough becomes the truth. If you can get the words to stick in people's minds with a negative connotation, it might be enough to put one or the other over the top.
I love the psychology, the sports parallels, the strategizing, the history. It's fun to view the sport of electioneering through a long lens and watch it evolve, or not, over centuries. The Founding Fathers were as vicious in their campaigning strategies as any Karl Rove. Allegations of sexual misconduct, racketeering, and outright treason are as old as democracy itself.
By a hair-thin margin, I think I'm for Obama. His platform is almost exactly the same as Hillary's, but I think he might be able to restore our international credibility somewhat better than Hillary can. He's fresh and new, and he's black, which might help cause the rest of the world to give us a second look after the eight long dark years of fascist White Guy domination.
Even though I support Obama, I like Hillary Clinton. I admire her toughness and intelligence, but I think a Clinton presidency would be a grim business. She'd be working hard trying to restore our nation and the Clinton family's personal legacy. I don't see a lot of joy emanating from a Clinton White House.
And that's too bad. I think Bill Clinton must have been one of those guys who knew how to think and work and strategize when he was "on", and then knew how to relax and laugh when he was on his own time. Hillary will be the sort of president who's up every night until 2a.m., poring over position papers and memos until she has a heart attack at her desk. She's a hard worker. She's like the kid who's number one in her class and isn't about to lose that spot by staying out late and skipping a homework assignment.
In the end, I'll be happy with either Obama or Clinton. I think both of them will dedicate themselves to undoing the last eight years of shameful American foreign and domestic policy and digging us out of this massive debt sinkhole Bush has created.
In fact, the biggest advantage either of them has is that they're not Bush. The only good thing about George Bush is that he set the bar so low, virtually anyone looks good in comparison.
Part of the fascination is the marathon aspect of a two-year election cycle. American elections aren't won and lost in a single moment (with Howard Dean's scream being the possible exception), they're generally decided by a couple of candidates jockeying for an advantage, looking for a toehold, hoping to find some little something that will push them ahead long enough to gain that elusive momentum. Candidates get tired and accidentally speak candidly. They say things that sound human instead of presidential. Or they try to change directions, with disastrous results. Think of Hillary's "Yes, We Will" Obama ripoff. Now think of New Coke. Bad ideas. Go back to what was working for you.
Part of the process of electioneering is good campaigning, and part of it is strategic smearing by proxy. The polls say Americans don't approve, but it generally works like a charm. Karl Rove, for instance, speaking off the record about an illegitimate biracial McCain baby, can be more effective than a comprehensive healthcare policy at getting the public engaged. Swiftboating, Whitewater, plagiarism ... those buzzwords might be the lever that prys the election loose. Many voters don't know or care much about the stories behind those labels, they're just pretty sure that they're incriminating. And any lie repeated enough becomes the truth. If you can get the words to stick in people's minds with a negative connotation, it might be enough to put one or the other over the top.
I love the psychology, the sports parallels, the strategizing, the history. It's fun to view the sport of electioneering through a long lens and watch it evolve, or not, over centuries. The Founding Fathers were as vicious in their campaigning strategies as any Karl Rove. Allegations of sexual misconduct, racketeering, and outright treason are as old as democracy itself.
By a hair-thin margin, I think I'm for Obama. His platform is almost exactly the same as Hillary's, but I think he might be able to restore our international credibility somewhat better than Hillary can. He's fresh and new, and he's black, which might help cause the rest of the world to give us a second look after the eight long dark years of fascist White Guy domination.
Even though I support Obama, I like Hillary Clinton. I admire her toughness and intelligence, but I think a Clinton presidency would be a grim business. She'd be working hard trying to restore our nation and the Clinton family's personal legacy. I don't see a lot of joy emanating from a Clinton White House.
And that's too bad. I think Bill Clinton must have been one of those guys who knew how to think and work and strategize when he was "on", and then knew how to relax and laugh when he was on his own time. Hillary will be the sort of president who's up every night until 2a.m., poring over position papers and memos until she has a heart attack at her desk. She's a hard worker. She's like the kid who's number one in her class and isn't about to lose that spot by staying out late and skipping a homework assignment.
In the end, I'll be happy with either Obama or Clinton. I think both of them will dedicate themselves to undoing the last eight years of shameful American foreign and domestic policy and digging us out of this massive debt sinkhole Bush has created.
In fact, the biggest advantage either of them has is that they're not Bush. The only good thing about George Bush is that he set the bar so low, virtually anyone looks good in comparison.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
It's New, It's Blue, Get Used To It
I've been in a deep blue funk for the last few weeks. I'm tired of ice and snow and short days. I'm tired of looking at my pale, pasty coworkers. I'm tired of leaden skies, wet feet, stuck cars, heavy outerwear, slushy roads and broken trees.
Today Lori and I went for a walk, thinking that maybe a brisk walk in the bracing slush would lift our spirits. We walked down Kaolin road for a while and enjoyed the winter scenery. BTW...Kaolin, for those of you who are remiss in your education, is a slippery kind of clay that's used as the principle ingredient in Preparation-H. The walk was nice, and I felt a little more engaged, until we got to the curve in the road where the county animal shelter is located.
I stopped to pet a couple of the dogs in the outside enclosures. They were glad for the attention...lots of licking and snuffling and trying to press their noses through the wire. Then Lori and I noticed one laying very still. Like, deadly still. Like...dead. Bastards!
I don't know that the dog actually died from exposure, but if it was sick, I'll bet the cold didn't help it's chances any.
Let's think about this. We round up dogs...strays, runaways, neglected and abused...to protect them from the harsh world. Then we store them in wire pens in February. Then they die. See? No more need to save them from the world!
Clever, eh?
I went home and called the Sheriff's office, but really what I want to do is bitch someone out. Maybe at the next County Board meeting. I'm not much of a dog person; I prefer cats and their "screw you" attitude to dogs and their "please, please, please"-ing. But really, I still prefer the company of dogs to that of most humans. And nothing deserves that sort of treatment.
So...the walk would have helped with the funk. But the Universe and the County conspired against me.
Oh...and my friend Mark just called and told me to let it go. I'll consider it.
Today Lori and I went for a walk, thinking that maybe a brisk walk in the bracing slush would lift our spirits. We walked down Kaolin road for a while and enjoyed the winter scenery. BTW...Kaolin, for those of you who are remiss in your education, is a slippery kind of clay that's used as the principle ingredient in Preparation-H. The walk was nice, and I felt a little more engaged, until we got to the curve in the road where the county animal shelter is located.
I stopped to pet a couple of the dogs in the outside enclosures. They were glad for the attention...lots of licking and snuffling and trying to press their noses through the wire. Then Lori and I noticed one laying very still. Like, deadly still. Like...dead. Bastards!
I don't know that the dog actually died from exposure, but if it was sick, I'll bet the cold didn't help it's chances any.
Let's think about this. We round up dogs...strays, runaways, neglected and abused...to protect them from the harsh world. Then we store them in wire pens in February. Then they die. See? No more need to save them from the world!
Clever, eh?
I went home and called the Sheriff's office, but really what I want to do is bitch someone out. Maybe at the next County Board meeting. I'm not much of a dog person; I prefer cats and their "screw you" attitude to dogs and their "please, please, please"-ing. But really, I still prefer the company of dogs to that of most humans. And nothing deserves that sort of treatment.
So...the walk would have helped with the funk. But the Universe and the County conspired against me.
Oh...and my friend Mark just called and told me to let it go. I'll consider it.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Ice Storm '08 - 1/2
Here we go again.
They've been predicting another ice storm in our area for the next couple of days, so when I looked outside this morning I was relieved to see just a light sprinkling of tiny ice pellets on the grass. Whew!
I got dressed and headed out to work. No. The tiny sprinkling of ice pellets is on top of the 1/4" of clear ice that has been falling since 2 AM. The cars are once again encased, the roads are once again ice rinks and it's only just begun. It's supposed to get worse and keep doing this off and on through tomorrow night without ever getting above freezing.
We were smarter this time and brought in LOTS of wood and stacked it all over the living room. Well, it looked like a lot last night. It doesn't look like enough now. Before it gets any worse out there I'm going to bring in more so it can be thawing BEFORE we need it this time. We never did get the emergency non-electric coffee pot or the kerosene lamps or the firestarters because the stores are still sold out of all of those, but so far we still have electricity. That probably won't last, since the trees are already icing and the ones that were stressed and mostly broken last week will probably go down this time. If I worked for the utility company I'd be suicidal about now.
So that's the news from Nowhere, IL ... (sigh).
Kwach
They've been predicting another ice storm in our area for the next couple of days, so when I looked outside this morning I was relieved to see just a light sprinkling of tiny ice pellets on the grass. Whew!
I got dressed and headed out to work. No. The tiny sprinkling of ice pellets is on top of the 1/4" of clear ice that has been falling since 2 AM. The cars are once again encased, the roads are once again ice rinks and it's only just begun. It's supposed to get worse and keep doing this off and on through tomorrow night without ever getting above freezing.
We were smarter this time and brought in LOTS of wood and stacked it all over the living room. Well, it looked like a lot last night. It doesn't look like enough now. Before it gets any worse out there I'm going to bring in more so it can be thawing BEFORE we need it this time. We never did get the emergency non-electric coffee pot or the kerosene lamps or the firestarters because the stores are still sold out of all of those, but so far we still have electricity. That probably won't last, since the trees are already icing and the ones that were stressed and mostly broken last week will probably go down this time. If I worked for the utility company I'd be suicidal about now.
So that's the news from Nowhere, IL ... (sigh).
Kwach
Friday, February 15, 2008
Dude! Can You Push My Car?
Now that I've been to work one day in a row (and spent most of it talking about the repeal of the Texas dildo law), I'm worn out. Luckily it's not the work that's worn me out, since if my work was any more sedentary I'd be able to do it in an iron lung. I'm worn out from spending the week in a state of hypervigilance. Make sure the cars don't get squished. make sure everyone's got a warm, dry place to sleep, make sure we all have enough beer and cigarettes to survive an Armageddon...
At this point I've pretty much had it, and it's only been 4 days since our ice storm began. I think I wouldn't have made a very good Katrina survivor. If I were a Katrina survivor I'd have saved the girlfriend, the pets and the children, then climbed up on the roof with a six pack of beer and a book and tried to pretend this wasn't my life. The National Guard could save me or not, I don't care. As long as they regularly air dropped care packages of books and beer, I'm cool with sitting up there as long as I need to. Good luck to the rest of you.
So we survived our flirtation with Arctic living, and although I still haven't got my truck unstuck from the ice, I want to reward myself with a nice long drive this weekend. Maybe the weather will settle down enough for a trip somewhere. I think I can justify it if I say I'm going to Memphis for hurricane lamps and kerosene. I was in our local Wal-Mart last night and the camping aisle was wiped out of stovetop coffee makers, hurricane lamps, sterno stoves and candles. Like everyone else in Southern Illinois, we've made a solemn vow to stock up on those things for next year's ice storm, but if we don't get started buying them now, we won't think of it again until we're sitting in the house watching Mrs. Undrfoot, our yard cat, glaze over again.
I'm officially tired of winter now. I'm ready to tool around on the mower again. And sweat. And complain about sweating instead of complaining about freezing.
Maybe Memphis isn't far enough. Maybe the Yucatan. I remember now...we need sombreros and Bohemia beer from street vendors in Mexico more than we need candles. And a talavera toilet. Nothing says "Ice storm? What ice storm?" like a talavera toilet.
At this point I've pretty much had it, and it's only been 4 days since our ice storm began. I think I wouldn't have made a very good Katrina survivor. If I were a Katrina survivor I'd have saved the girlfriend, the pets and the children, then climbed up on the roof with a six pack of beer and a book and tried to pretend this wasn't my life. The National Guard could save me or not, I don't care. As long as they regularly air dropped care packages of books and beer, I'm cool with sitting up there as long as I need to. Good luck to the rest of you.
So we survived our flirtation with Arctic living, and although I still haven't got my truck unstuck from the ice, I want to reward myself with a nice long drive this weekend. Maybe the weather will settle down enough for a trip somewhere. I think I can justify it if I say I'm going to Memphis for hurricane lamps and kerosene. I was in our local Wal-Mart last night and the camping aisle was wiped out of stovetop coffee makers, hurricane lamps, sterno stoves and candles. Like everyone else in Southern Illinois, we've made a solemn vow to stock up on those things for next year's ice storm, but if we don't get started buying them now, we won't think of it again until we're sitting in the house watching Mrs. Undrfoot, our yard cat, glaze over again.
I'm officially tired of winter now. I'm ready to tool around on the mower again. And sweat. And complain about sweating instead of complaining about freezing.Maybe Memphis isn't far enough. Maybe the Yucatan. I remember now...we need sombreros and Bohemia beer from street vendors in Mexico more than we need candles. And a talavera toilet. Nothing says "Ice storm? What ice storm?" like a talavera toilet.
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