Even though I disagree with a lot of his positions, I can’t help feeling bad that Harold Ford Jr. lost in Tennessee, because I think he’d be a hell of a Senator.
Every Tennessean I’ve heard interviewed in the past couple of weeks who did not want to vote for Ford seemed pretty vague on the reasons why. The interviews mostly went like this:
Reporter: Who are you voting for?
Voter: I’m voting for Corker, because I’m for A, B, and C.
Reporter: Harold Ford is for A, B, and C. Why wouldn’t you vote for him?
Voter: I…ah, I don’t…trust him.
The exchanges left me feeling that many Tenneseans’ objections to him might be little more than…um…skin deep. In which case I’d say that the RNC’s “Take me, Mandingo!” attack ad against Ford struck exactly the right note.
Volunteer staters, if you’re out there, feel free to chime in on why you think Ford lost.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
"Send lawyers, guns and money"
--Paul Begala quoting Warren Zevon on the impending VA Senate race count/recount.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Chapter 45: In which I come to the defense of a woman I probably wouldn't even like
I know I should be focusing on the election, but I just couldn't resist commenting on this evangelical peckerhead, who is suggesting that perhaps our favorite ass-fucking tweaker wouldn't have strayed so far if his wife hadn't let herself go quite so much:
Well, if I may take the liberty of speaking for women everywhere, can I just say that Haggard would not exactly inspire me to get my twat waxed and go on the Jenny Craig:
Most pastors I know do not have satisfying, free, sexual conversations and liberties with their wives. At the risk of being even more widely despised than I currently am, I will lean over the plate and take one for the team on this. It is not uncommon to meet pastors’ wives who really let themselves go; they sometimes feel that because their husband is a pastor, he is therefore trapped into fidelity, which gives them cause for laziness. A wife who lets herself go and is not sexually available to her husband in the ways that the Song of Songs is so frank about is not responsible for her husband’s sin, but she may not be helping him either.
Well, if I may take the liberty of speaking for women everywhere, can I just say that Haggard would not exactly inspire me to get my twat waxed and go on the Jenny Craig:
Ew.
First of all, that untucked, vaguely Hawaiian-style shirt is SO hiding a multitude of sins. Plus, I can tell that he is wearing PLEATED KHAKIS. There is nothing less sexy than pleated pants belted under a Hawaiian-shirt-hidden gut. Ugh. I don't care if you have a beer belly, but really guys, you've had like, 5 years to hop on the flat-front pants train. What the fuck are you waiting for? It's like you WANT your woman to start wearing Crocs.
Secondy, let's take a look at the guy who made the disparaging comments above:
This is actually worse than the first picture, because at least Haggard embraces his suburban whiteitude.
This guy, Mark Driscoll, purports to head some kind of punk rocker church. Too bad he looks like he's wearing a bad Death Cab for Cutie Halloween costume.
Serious, Driscoll. The frat boy version of the hipster beard. The frat boy version of the hipster watch. The it's-not-a-Hawaiian-shirt shirt. Are you fucking kidding me with that shit?
And for Christ's sake, take off that pathetic leather cord necklace before I fucking strangle you with it.
Maybe the women in your "Doctrine of Wifely Submission" church are so fucking starving for attention that they think your ass is cool, but I doubt you'd be such a big fish if you weren't swimming in the shallow end of the pool of spiritual desperation.
So take THAT for the team, motherfucker. Oh, and while you're up, get me a beer.
If you want to do less, you're going to have to put an American flag in your car window
Today, Megan reminds us that voting is, in fact, the least you can do. And she prints this awesome quote from Democratic challenger to George "Did I mention that I love macacas?" Allen, Jim Webb:
Well said, Webb. Hope you win.
In a democracy, we are the boss. And George Allen and George Bush work for us. And the more people they can scare away or turn away from politics, the fewer bosses they're having. They don't want participation. They want to just move along with the status quo, lining the pockets of their corporate friends, protecting their own, while your job goes overseas and your kid goes to Iraq.
Well said, Webb. Hope you win.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Your Bells On California Voter's Guide
LA Props:
Prop H: Habit for Humanity, among others, has endorsed this proposition to subsidize affordable housing with taxpayer funds. Sounds good, except this bond was created to kill a plan in the City Council that would force the companies that build homes to make 10% of them “affordable.” So why should we pay to subsidize people’s rent with taxpayer funds, when we can force the moneymakers to just build some units that lower income people can afford? Tough call, this one. I haven’t made up my mind yet.
Prop J: Just vote yes. This prop is stupid, and a fine example of what happens when you govern by proposition instead of letting our overpaid representatives do their job.
Prop R: Laura Chick, our tough-as-nails City Clerk, says we should reject this measure that tries to extend terms for City Council members, and goddammit, that’s good enough for me.
CA Props:
Prop 1A: This prop severely limits the state legislature’s ability to raid gas tax funds for budget items other than the gov’s slew of transportation projects. Wait a minute. Isn’t that the job of our legislators, to fund projects and balance the budget? I vote no.
Prop 1B: In spite of the fact that this huge trasportation prop makes taxpayers responsible for improvements to the Ports of LA and Long Beach – improvements that could have been paid for with the fee we would have collected from shipping lines if our governator hadn’t vetoed it, I am going to kill someone if my commute gets any longer. Also, I want the subway to go to LAX, for chrissake. I say yes.
Prop 1C: This one’s easy, unless you’re a heartless bastard. Yes.
Prop 1D: That’s right, another school bond prop. Again, do our legislators do anything at all? Yes.
Prop 1E: For the love of god, let’s repair our levees before they break and Southern California finds itself WITHOUT WATER. Yes!
Prop 83: GPS bracelets for life for all registered sex offenders, whether they’re actually what you or I would call a “predator” or not…I guess we’re trying to get them to move to another state, huh? I say let the police do their job. No.
Prop 84: Clean water. I’m for it.
Prop 85: NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. Fucking hypocritical no-sex-havin’ assholes.
Prop 86: If only the bill DID pay for the taxpayer costs of taking care of smoking-related health expenses by raising taxes on cigarettes. Then I would vote for it. But this bill is bullshit, and a giveaway to health care corporations. Say no and maybe they’ll write a better bill next time.
Prop 87: This prop does NOT increase the state tax on gasoline, no matter what the commercials have lead you to believe. And anyone who says you should vote no on this one is planting one big wet smooch on the asses of the oil companies, who ARE NOT CHARGED for taking oil out of the ground in California, which makes us unique among oil-producing states, and is the very thing this prop seeks to rectify. No wonder oil companies have spent 90 million to try and defeat this measure. VOTE YES, motherfuckas!!!!!
Prop 88: You know what, my property taxes are already too high, and I just think this is a bullshit way to fund schools. I say no.
Prop 89: Campaign finance reform. Fuck yeah!!
Prop 90: This prop will prevent the government from taking your land unless it is a legitimate case of eminent domain, and not just some land developer’s wet dream. So I gotta say yeah, especially after the recent jaw-droppingly bad decision by the U.S. Supreme Court. Some people say that this bill will cause a lot of law suits by property owners objecting to zoning variances, but I say they can fix that shit in the wash. Vote yes.
For more info (and differing opinions, as if you need THAT), see the LA Weekly Voter’s Guide, and the LA Times Voting Guide.
Prop H: Habit for Humanity, among others, has endorsed this proposition to subsidize affordable housing with taxpayer funds. Sounds good, except this bond was created to kill a plan in the City Council that would force the companies that build homes to make 10% of them “affordable.” So why should we pay to subsidize people’s rent with taxpayer funds, when we can force the moneymakers to just build some units that lower income people can afford? Tough call, this one. I haven’t made up my mind yet.
Prop J: Just vote yes. This prop is stupid, and a fine example of what happens when you govern by proposition instead of letting our overpaid representatives do their job.
Prop R: Laura Chick, our tough-as-nails City Clerk, says we should reject this measure that tries to extend terms for City Council members, and goddammit, that’s good enough for me.
CA Props:
Prop 1A: This prop severely limits the state legislature’s ability to raid gas tax funds for budget items other than the gov’s slew of transportation projects. Wait a minute. Isn’t that the job of our legislators, to fund projects and balance the budget? I vote no.
Prop 1B: In spite of the fact that this huge trasportation prop makes taxpayers responsible for improvements to the Ports of LA and Long Beach – improvements that could have been paid for with the fee we would have collected from shipping lines if our governator hadn’t vetoed it, I am going to kill someone if my commute gets any longer. Also, I want the subway to go to LAX, for chrissake. I say yes.
Prop 1C: This one’s easy, unless you’re a heartless bastard. Yes.
Prop 1D: That’s right, another school bond prop. Again, do our legislators do anything at all? Yes.
Prop 1E: For the love of god, let’s repair our levees before they break and Southern California finds itself WITHOUT WATER. Yes!
Prop 83: GPS bracelets for life for all registered sex offenders, whether they’re actually what you or I would call a “predator” or not…I guess we’re trying to get them to move to another state, huh? I say let the police do their job. No.
Prop 84: Clean water. I’m for it.
Prop 85: NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. Fucking hypocritical no-sex-havin’ assholes.
Prop 86: If only the bill DID pay for the taxpayer costs of taking care of smoking-related health expenses by raising taxes on cigarettes. Then I would vote for it. But this bill is bullshit, and a giveaway to health care corporations. Say no and maybe they’ll write a better bill next time.
Prop 87: This prop does NOT increase the state tax on gasoline, no matter what the commercials have lead you to believe. And anyone who says you should vote no on this one is planting one big wet smooch on the asses of the oil companies, who ARE NOT CHARGED for taking oil out of the ground in California, which makes us unique among oil-producing states, and is the very thing this prop seeks to rectify. No wonder oil companies have spent 90 million to try and defeat this measure. VOTE YES, motherfuckas!!!!!
Prop 88: You know what, my property taxes are already too high, and I just think this is a bullshit way to fund schools. I say no.
Prop 89: Campaign finance reform. Fuck yeah!!
Prop 90: This prop will prevent the government from taking your land unless it is a legitimate case of eminent domain, and not just some land developer’s wet dream. So I gotta say yeah, especially after the recent jaw-droppingly bad decision by the U.S. Supreme Court. Some people say that this bill will cause a lot of law suits by property owners objecting to zoning variances, but I say they can fix that shit in the wash. Vote yes.
For more info (and differing opinions, as if you need THAT), see the LA Weekly Voter’s Guide, and the LA Times Voting Guide.
Friday, November 03, 2006
"Castration" works for me also
"Female circumcision."
While I appreciate the American media's uncharacteristically delicate terminology, every circumcised man I've ever known has still been able to achieve orgasm.
Whereas, women and girls who undergo "female circumcision," a practice common in many African countries, aren't so lucky. Let’s face it, it's pretty hard to orgasm when your clit has been cut off.
An Ethiopian man in Atlanta, Georgia has been convicted by a US court of cruelty to children and aggravated battery for removing his two-year-old daughter's clitoris with a pair of scissors.
He was sentenced to 10 years.
Complete removal of the clitoris is common in many African, and particularly Muslim, cultures. Frequently, the labia are also cut off as well. Sometimes what remains of the labia are sewn shut, leaving only a small hole for urination. Some cultures make a ritual of a man opening up the scar that closes the entrance to his wife's vagina on their wedding night.
Yes, it is hard to imagine a cultural tradition that indicates a more abhorrent and, well, sickening view of women.
To say nothing of the risk of infection, infertility, and other medical complications at the time of the procedure and throughout the female’s life.
And although I think the sentence for this asshole could've been longer (he’s in jail for 10 years, she’s missing a body part for the rest of her life) I applaud the court that convicted him for not falling victim to the pressure to tolerate intolerance.
This practice is inflicted on women to subjugate and terrify them, and for no other reason. I don’t care how ingrained it is in your culture, or for how long your tribe or your village has been practicing it. It attempts to control women by removing their ability to experience sexual pleasure. And whether it be a Massai elder, or an American Christian fundamentalist, anyone who is afraid of a woman’s sexuality is a primitive being.
Oh, and in honor of the 3 MILLION women and girls each year who experience some form of this horror, let’s just call it was it is – female genital mutilation.
While I appreciate the American media's uncharacteristically delicate terminology, every circumcised man I've ever known has still been able to achieve orgasm.
Whereas, women and girls who undergo "female circumcision," a practice common in many African countries, aren't so lucky. Let’s face it, it's pretty hard to orgasm when your clit has been cut off.
An Ethiopian man in Atlanta, Georgia has been convicted by a US court of cruelty to children and aggravated battery for removing his two-year-old daughter's clitoris with a pair of scissors.
He was sentenced to 10 years.
Complete removal of the clitoris is common in many African, and particularly Muslim, cultures. Frequently, the labia are also cut off as well. Sometimes what remains of the labia are sewn shut, leaving only a small hole for urination. Some cultures make a ritual of a man opening up the scar that closes the entrance to his wife's vagina on their wedding night.
Yes, it is hard to imagine a cultural tradition that indicates a more abhorrent and, well, sickening view of women.
To say nothing of the risk of infection, infertility, and other medical complications at the time of the procedure and throughout the female’s life.
And although I think the sentence for this asshole could've been longer (he’s in jail for 10 years, she’s missing a body part for the rest of her life) I applaud the court that convicted him for not falling victim to the pressure to tolerate intolerance.
This practice is inflicted on women to subjugate and terrify them, and for no other reason. I don’t care how ingrained it is in your culture, or for how long your tribe or your village has been practicing it. It attempts to control women by removing their ability to experience sexual pleasure. And whether it be a Massai elder, or an American Christian fundamentalist, anyone who is afraid of a woman’s sexuality is a primitive being.
Oh, and in honor of the 3 MILLION women and girls each year who experience some form of this horror, let’s just call it was it is – female genital mutilation.
Why I love ANTM
"Like, the most famous person we have in North Dakota is Paul Bunyan, and he's dead."
-Caridee, aspiring next top model
-Caridee, aspiring next top model
Fair warning
Hey, even meth-dealing gay prostitutes believe in living happily ever after, Reverend Haggard.
So it pays to remember that, in your cynical quest for political power under the guise of religious piety, that when you try to take that dream away from them, some of them will fight back.
And reveal their three-year glass-smokin' ass-fuckin' affair with you, Mr. President of the National Association of Evangelicals.
So it pays to remember that, in your cynical quest for political power under the guise of religious piety, that when you try to take that dream away from them, some of them will fight back.
And reveal their three-year glass-smokin' ass-fuckin' affair with you, Mr. President of the National Association of Evangelicals.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Los Angelenos - awesomeness alert!
The Watson Twins are opening for Shelby Lynn at the El Rey in LA tonight. Doors open at 7, Twins go on at 8. Tickets are still available, you batshit-crazy fuckers who think you got something better to do.
And for those of you unfortunate enough NOT to live in the City of Angels, if you check their tour schedule, you might find that the Twins, whether flying "solo" or with Jenny Lewis AND opening for Death Cab, are going to be appearing in a city near you soon.
And for those of you unfortunate enough NOT to live in the City of Angels, if you check their tour schedule, you might find that the Twins, whether flying "solo" or with Jenny Lewis AND opening for Death Cab, are going to be appearing in a city near you soon.
I call for 43 to apologize to the troops AGAIN
Our current military is a very different one from the one that represented us in Vietnam.
The fact that the armed services are all-volunteer means that servicemen and women are much more invested in their service. Many are, or are hoping to, make a career out of their service.
Which makes this growing protest movement extraordinary.
Active duty servicemen and women are adding their names to this statement:
Many members of the military are conflicted about whether soldiers should speak out. Retired Lt. Gen. Robert G Gard, senior military fellow at the Center for Arms Control and Non-Proliferation, puts it this way:
Unfortunately, the White House has seen fit to question the patriotism of those servicemen and women who have signed the petition. WH press secretary Tony "dont' worry about me, I sold my soul LONG ago" Snow was asked about the petition last week, when it contained only 65 signatures (it now has over 500):
Hey, at least he said "not unfortunately."
Although you'll notice that he hasn't read their statement very closely. Hey, they put right at the beginning of the thing that they're "proud" of their service.
Asshole.
Why is it that the right never gets dinged for insulting the troops, anyway? This would seem to go against the prevailing wisdom that our media is a bastion of corporate owners and officers with conservative views, and that support Republican politicians, but still, inexplicably, oversee media outlets with far, far left-wing viewpoints and agendas.
Go figure.
The fact that the armed services are all-volunteer means that servicemen and women are much more invested in their service. Many are, or are hoping to, make a career out of their service.
Which makes this growing protest movement extraordinary.
Active duty servicemen and women are adding their names to this statement:
As a patriotic American proud to serve the nation in uniform, I respectfully urge my political leaders in Congress to support the prompt withdrawal of all American military forces and bases from Iraq . Staying in Iraq will not work and is not worth the price. It is time for U.S. troops to come home.
Many members of the military are conflicted about whether soldiers should speak out. Retired Lt. Gen. Robert G Gard, senior military fellow at the Center for Arms Control and Non-Proliferation, puts it this way:
"That is a tough question to come down on," Gard said. "We have a social contract in this country that the military does not question the civilian control over it."
"But the flip side," Gard continued, "is that there is an implicit assumption that they will not put the military into harm's way and accept casualties except in causes that are reasonably in the national interest. In this case, I can't find a rationale that makes any sense."
Unfortunately, the White House has seen fit to question the patriotism of those servicemen and women who have signed the petition. WH press secretary Tony "dont' worry about me, I sold my soul LONG ago" Snow was asked about the petition last week, when it contained only 65 signatures (it now has over 500):
"You get 65 guys who are, unfortunately -- no, not unfortunately -- 65 people who are going to be able to get more press than the hundreds of thousands who have come back and said they're proud of their service."
Hey, at least he said "not unfortunately."
Although you'll notice that he hasn't read their statement very closely. Hey, they put right at the beginning of the thing that they're "proud" of their service.
Asshole.
Why is it that the right never gets dinged for insulting the troops, anyway? This would seem to go against the prevailing wisdom that our media is a bastion of corporate owners and officers with conservative views, and that support Republican politicians, but still, inexplicably, oversee media outlets with far, far left-wing viewpoints and agendas.
Go figure.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
All apologies
I don't know why I'm surprised that Kerry, who seriously cannot tell a joke to save his life, unlike some Democratic candidates I know, has been held to account for the words he spoke, accident or no, in a way that BushCo has never been.
As far as apologizing to the troops goes, here's the latest reason Bush should apologize - our withdrawal from Sadr City:
So, since Bush isn't likely to step and apologize, let me just say it: Sorry missing American soldier, but we've given up on you. And sorry to all the soldiers whose deaths in Sadr City helped make October the 4th most deadly month for troops in Iraq. Sorry. Sorry it was all in vain. Thanks for giving your lives to help find your comrade. And again, so so sorry.
As far as apologizing to the troops goes, here's the latest reason Bush should apologize - our withdrawal from Sadr City:
Prime Minister Nuri Kamal al-Maliki demanded the removal of American checkpoints from the streets of Baghdad on Tuesday, in what appeared to be his latest and boldest gambit in an increasingly tense struggle for more independence from his American protectors.
Mr. Maliki's public declaration seemed at first to catch American commanders off guard. But by nightfall, American troops had abandoned all the positions in eastern and central Baghdad that they had set up last week with Iraqi forces as part of a search for a missing American soldier. The checkpoints had snarled traffic and disrupted daily life and commerce throughout the eastern part of the city.
The language of the declaration, which implied that Mr. Maliki had the power to command American forces, seemed to overstep his authority and to be aimed at placating his Shiite constituency.
So, since Bush isn't likely to step and apologize, let me just say it: Sorry missing American soldier, but we've given up on you. And sorry to all the soldiers whose deaths in Sadr City helped make October the 4th most deadly month for troops in Iraq. Sorry. Sorry it was all in vain. Thanks for giving your lives to help find your comrade. And again, so so sorry.
It's not too hard at my house for a pimp
First of all, I just want to say that this post would look really spiffy with a picture, but Blogger has not let me upload pictures for a couple of days now. Fucking Blogger.
So this kid last night, about 12 years old, shows up at my door dressed in a pimp costume.
And not a homemade pimp costume, but a store-bought kid size pimp costume.
At first I thought, "That's terrible. I am NOT down with the glorification of pimp culture, which preys on economically and emotionally vulnerable women. That's just not funny."
I gave him some Twix, and said to him, "So, you're a pimp, huh?"
He said "That's how I roll." Then he flashed me a sign that I took to mean "thanks for the candy, still-hot older lady" and turned and strolled down my sidewalk.
Then I noticed that the kid with him was dressed as Michael Myers, a horror film serial killer. His costume was really well done. "Nice costume," I said to him as I gave him a large handful of Twix. He sneered at me and disappeared into the night with his pimp friend.
Then I decided that maybe it's not so bad for kids to emulate pimps. Pimps make women feel pretty, and they're funny, and they're always dressed impeccably, even if they do tend to over-accessorize.
Whereas, serial killers - not so much.
So this kid last night, about 12 years old, shows up at my door dressed in a pimp costume.
And not a homemade pimp costume, but a store-bought kid size pimp costume.
At first I thought, "That's terrible. I am NOT down with the glorification of pimp culture, which preys on economically and emotionally vulnerable women. That's just not funny."
I gave him some Twix, and said to him, "So, you're a pimp, huh?"
He said "That's how I roll." Then he flashed me a sign that I took to mean "thanks for the candy, still-hot older lady" and turned and strolled down my sidewalk.
Then I noticed that the kid with him was dressed as Michael Myers, a horror film serial killer. His costume was really well done. "Nice costume," I said to him as I gave him a large handful of Twix. He sneered at me and disappeared into the night with his pimp friend.
Then I decided that maybe it's not so bad for kids to emulate pimps. Pimps make women feel pretty, and they're funny, and they're always dressed impeccably, even if they do tend to over-accessorize.
Whereas, serial killers - not so much.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
By the pricking of my thumbs...
Tonight, Spooney will put on his Halloween Mix, and I might wear some glow-in-the-dark earrings, and we will hand out candy to the kids who show up on our porch. This is what passes for fun in NoHo on Halloween. If this year is anything like the preceding ones, we’ll get maybe 20 trick-or-treaters all night. I’m surprised that we don’t get more kids from the adjacent barrio descending on us, but maybe they’ve been taught by their parents not to take Twix from gabachos.
My scariest Halloween was one I spent in Pittsburgh when I was a grad student. I was single and living in a teeny tiny studio just a stone’s throw from Homewood Cemetery, a freaky-ass graveyard home for the Mellons and the Heinzes and other famous dead tycoons from the area. The monuments there were all huge mausoleums and stupendous marble avenging angels, you know, the kind Christopher Walken plays in the movies. Also, there was this giant pyramid. Yeah, a freakin’ pyramid. It was not a place I relished walking by at night, know what I mean?
So it’s Halloween night and I’m watching Phillip Anglim’s Macbeth on A&E. In those days A&E hadn’t yet become all true crime, all the time, and it was common for them to air taped Broadway productions. And because of the different time zones, or perhaps just due to a dearth of programming, they would usually air the same show back-to-back at least twice a night.
I’d recently played a witch in Macbeth, so I was interested in the watching the show. At the same time, I was aware that watching “the Scottish play” on Halloween was not something a superstitious person would recommend.
When I was in the play, frankly, the “Scottish play” people annoyed the shit out of me. I could never remember not to say the name of the play in the dressing room, and so was sent outside to turn around, spit and swear more times than I can remember. The lead witch was especially hysterical about the superstition stuff, and I’m pretty sure I dropped the name once or twice purely to annoy her.
Nothing calamitous went wrong with the production, although I did step off the back of the 30-foot spider web framing the stage (don’t ask) once after the blackout, and fell waist high into a gap between the risers of the raked stage. I was forced to pull the curtain over me and hide from the audience until someone pulled me out. Oh, and one of the main superstition-flaunting actors did receive a nasty blow to the hand in a sword fight and had to bow out for a week or so. All the “Scottish play” types crowed about that one for a couple of days, but really, the production went pretty smoothly, considering.
So I wasn’t truly concerned about the whole Macbeth curse thing, but all the same, when my upstairs neighbors called and asked if I wanted to come up for a drink, I was more than a little relieved not to have to spend the evening alone. Just as I was pressing the remote control to turn off the television, I heard the opening words of Act IV, Scene I, you know, the ole’ “by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes” witches’ cauldron scene. “Good timing,” I thought, and clicked that shit off.
My apartment was really just a bedroom and bathroom that had been partitioned off from a huge old mansion. Three male grad students lived upstairs from me. Our apartments shared what would have been the back staircase of the house, and we frequently hung out together at their place. That night, however, they decided, against my protests, that they wanted to turn out the lights and tell scary stories. I reminded them several times that I would have to go back downstairs BY MYSELF at the end of the evening, but to no avail.
After they had exhausted their canon of ghost stories, the guys decided that they wanted to go to Homewood Cemetery. Why, I have no idea, because even a child could tell you that that is exactly the kind of behavior that gets you killed in horror movies. But they were intent, and so 3 hours or so after ascending the stairs to their place I descended back to my tiny little room. It was almost midnight.
The first thing I did was turn on the television. Macbeth was on again. The witches’ cauldron scene was just beginning, again. “Wow. Weird,” I thought.
I decided to go to bed and so I got my toothbrush and stood in front of my little kitchenette counter, watching television and brushing my teeth. Suddenly, my eyeglasses fell off my head. And I mean they fell off my head in 3 pieces. They had come apart at the joints where the bows attach to the front piece. Now, it’s not uncommon for the little screw that holds the bow on to fall out, but for both to fall out at the same time?
I stared down at the pieces of my glasses lying on the counter. I remember being just kind of stunned by the whole thing. And as I stared down, I saw a drop of blood fall onto the counter, and then two, and then many drops. I put my hand to my nose, and I was, as you might imagine, sorta terrified to discover that my nose was bleeding rather profusely. It was really fucking bleeding. Now, I hadn’t been picking, or otherwise touching, my nose prior to that moment, so I had no idea on earth why blood was now pouring from it.
“Fuck!” I yelled, and I picked up the remote and changed the channel. MTV would be safe, I thought, and indeed I was immediately comforted by the familiarity of the video for Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf.” Goofy-ass video. No way I can be scared, now, right?
And that’s pretty much the end of the story. I stuck some toilet paper up my nose, repaired my glasses, and threw back a couple of drinks to hasten the sandman. The next day, I wondered if the whole thing had even really happened, but there was the pile of bloody tissue in the trash as proof that it had. Anyway, it just goes to show you that anything can happen on Halloween.
My scariest Halloween was one I spent in Pittsburgh when I was a grad student. I was single and living in a teeny tiny studio just a stone’s throw from Homewood Cemetery, a freaky-ass graveyard home for the Mellons and the Heinzes and other famous dead tycoons from the area. The monuments there were all huge mausoleums and stupendous marble avenging angels, you know, the kind Christopher Walken plays in the movies. Also, there was this giant pyramid. Yeah, a freakin’ pyramid. It was not a place I relished walking by at night, know what I mean?
So it’s Halloween night and I’m watching Phillip Anglim’s Macbeth on A&E. In those days A&E hadn’t yet become all true crime, all the time, and it was common for them to air taped Broadway productions. And because of the different time zones, or perhaps just due to a dearth of programming, they would usually air the same show back-to-back at least twice a night.
I’d recently played a witch in Macbeth, so I was interested in the watching the show. At the same time, I was aware that watching “the Scottish play” on Halloween was not something a superstitious person would recommend.
When I was in the play, frankly, the “Scottish play” people annoyed the shit out of me. I could never remember not to say the name of the play in the dressing room, and so was sent outside to turn around, spit and swear more times than I can remember. The lead witch was especially hysterical about the superstition stuff, and I’m pretty sure I dropped the name once or twice purely to annoy her.
Nothing calamitous went wrong with the production, although I did step off the back of the 30-foot spider web framing the stage (don’t ask) once after the blackout, and fell waist high into a gap between the risers of the raked stage. I was forced to pull the curtain over me and hide from the audience until someone pulled me out. Oh, and one of the main superstition-flaunting actors did receive a nasty blow to the hand in a sword fight and had to bow out for a week or so. All the “Scottish play” types crowed about that one for a couple of days, but really, the production went pretty smoothly, considering.
So I wasn’t truly concerned about the whole Macbeth curse thing, but all the same, when my upstairs neighbors called and asked if I wanted to come up for a drink, I was more than a little relieved not to have to spend the evening alone. Just as I was pressing the remote control to turn off the television, I heard the opening words of Act IV, Scene I, you know, the ole’ “by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes” witches’ cauldron scene. “Good timing,” I thought, and clicked that shit off.
My apartment was really just a bedroom and bathroom that had been partitioned off from a huge old mansion. Three male grad students lived upstairs from me. Our apartments shared what would have been the back staircase of the house, and we frequently hung out together at their place. That night, however, they decided, against my protests, that they wanted to turn out the lights and tell scary stories. I reminded them several times that I would have to go back downstairs BY MYSELF at the end of the evening, but to no avail.
After they had exhausted their canon of ghost stories, the guys decided that they wanted to go to Homewood Cemetery. Why, I have no idea, because even a child could tell you that that is exactly the kind of behavior that gets you killed in horror movies. But they were intent, and so 3 hours or so after ascending the stairs to their place I descended back to my tiny little room. It was almost midnight.
The first thing I did was turn on the television. Macbeth was on again. The witches’ cauldron scene was just beginning, again. “Wow. Weird,” I thought.
I decided to go to bed and so I got my toothbrush and stood in front of my little kitchenette counter, watching television and brushing my teeth. Suddenly, my eyeglasses fell off my head. And I mean they fell off my head in 3 pieces. They had come apart at the joints where the bows attach to the front piece. Now, it’s not uncommon for the little screw that holds the bow on to fall out, but for both to fall out at the same time?
I stared down at the pieces of my glasses lying on the counter. I remember being just kind of stunned by the whole thing. And as I stared down, I saw a drop of blood fall onto the counter, and then two, and then many drops. I put my hand to my nose, and I was, as you might imagine, sorta terrified to discover that my nose was bleeding rather profusely. It was really fucking bleeding. Now, I hadn’t been picking, or otherwise touching, my nose prior to that moment, so I had no idea on earth why blood was now pouring from it.
“Fuck!” I yelled, and I picked up the remote and changed the channel. MTV would be safe, I thought, and indeed I was immediately comforted by the familiarity of the video for Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf.” Goofy-ass video. No way I can be scared, now, right?
And that’s pretty much the end of the story. I stuck some toilet paper up my nose, repaired my glasses, and threw back a couple of drinks to hasten the sandman. The next day, I wondered if the whole thing had even really happened, but there was the pile of bloody tissue in the trash as proof that it had. Anyway, it just goes to show you that anything can happen on Halloween.
Africam
Thanks to Spooney, I am totally addicted to the Nkorho Pan Africam.
The camera is trained on a watering hole somewhere in the South African bush. The other day Spooney and I heard splashing sounds coming from the computer, and when we got to the screen we saw a whole herd of water buffalo tromp through the frame and wallow in the watering hole before moving on.
Okay, we're geeky for thinking it's cool. But try it.
The camera is trained on a watering hole somewhere in the South African bush. The other day Spooney and I heard splashing sounds coming from the computer, and when we got to the screen we saw a whole herd of water buffalo tromp through the frame and wallow in the watering hole before moving on.
Okay, we're geeky for thinking it's cool. But try it.
Friday, October 27, 2006
How does it feel?
Well, if you're watching a clip from the new Broadway musical based on the songs of Bob Dylan, it feels pretty goddamn bad, my friends.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
And you thought Halloween was scary
Many, many thanks to Grant Miller for finding this gem, The Pumpkin Gospel, on the Christian Focus on the Family website. Go and read his post, which is hysterical, as always. But I really do feel compelled to throw in my two cents on this one as well.
Apparently, FOTF is very concerned that kids might get the idea that Halloween is about fun, instead of subservience to a Christian God (who really can’t be as much of a killjoy as these guys make him out to be, can he? Criminy).
So instead of simply having fun with your kids, drinking cider and helping them carve scary faces into a pumpkin, FOTF simply can’t resist squeezing every last bit of non-godliness out of the event, by advising parents “what to do about Halloween,” as if something more than making sure their kids don’t run into traffic in a candy-induced frenzy were required of them:
3. How is the way we take out the seeds and salt them and cook them in the oven like the way Satan will roast us on a spit over the Lake of Eternal Hellfire if we don’t dedicate our lives to Christ?
And if those verses about us all being lumps of clay made to perform God’s will hasn’t sufficiently killed whatever joy your children might be experiencing, can I recommend that you remind them once again what happens to little children who do not dedicate their lives to Christ only? And remember, don’t be afraid to really delve into detail about the whole “roasting on a spit in hell” part.
3. How having a jack-o-lantern with a “happy face” makes us the lamest house on the block and a sitting duck for egg- and T.P.-wielding tricksters.
How is the way we manipulate and carve this pumpkin like the way we crush your identity and demand total psychological obedience?
Apparently, FOTF is very concerned that kids might get the idea that Halloween is about fun, instead of subservience to a Christian God (who really can’t be as much of a killjoy as these guys make him out to be, can he? Criminy).
So instead of simply having fun with your kids, drinking cider and helping them carve scary faces into a pumpkin, FOTF simply can’t resist squeezing every last bit of non-godliness out of the event, by advising parents “what to do about Halloween,” as if something more than making sure their kids don’t run into traffic in a candy-induced frenzy were required of them:
What you need:Don’t forget a large helping of self-righteousness!
pumpkin
newspapers
sharp knife
spoon
large
bowl
candle
matches
Bible
What to do:Some people might think the above directions are a little elementary for someone who is capable of accessing the internet and, oh, reading. Because who doesn’t know how to start carving a pumpkin, right? But sadly, many Christians do not know how. Many Christians have never carved a pumpkin, because their families believe that the rituals of Halloween are akin to Satan-worshiping. Many Christians have been threatened with eternal hellfire just for LOOKING at a Jack-o-lantern on the neighbor’s porch. So it’s important to start out slow. Because there are souls at stake here, people.
Prepare a place for your pumpkin carving. Set newspapers on a table and get out the knife, spoon and bowl. Cut an opening in the top of the pumpkin. Have your kids pull out all of the seeds and scrape out the inside of the pumpkin.
What to talk about:
1. How is the stuff we pulled out of the pumpkin like sin in our heart? (They’re both yucky; sin is inside us; it’s sticky and smelly.)
2. How is the way we cleaned out the pumpkin like the way Jesus cleans us out when we confess our sins? (All the yucky stuff is taken away; Jesus scoops out the sin.)
3. How is the way we take out the seeds and salt them and cook them in the oven like the way Satan will roast us on a spit over the Lake of Eternal Hellfire if we don’t dedicate our lives to Christ?
What to do:
Draw a happy face on the pumpkin, then use the sharp knife to carve it out. When you are finished, read aloud 2 Corinthians 5:17 and/or Ephesians 2:10.
And if those verses about us all being lumps of clay made to perform God’s will hasn’t sufficiently killed whatever joy your children might be experiencing, can I recommend that you remind them once again what happens to little children who do not dedicate their lives to Christ only? And remember, don’t be afraid to really delve into detail about the whole “roasting on a spit in hell” part.
What to talk about:
1. How have we made this pumpkin a “new creation”? (It has a face now; it used to be just a pumpkin, but now it’s a jack-o’-lantern.)
2. How do we become a new creation when Jesus comes into our hearts? (We learn to love Him more; we’re no longer filled with yucky stuff; we become God’s children.)
3. How having a jack-o-lantern with a “happy face” makes us the lamest house on the block and a sitting duck for egg- and T.P.-wielding tricksters.
What to share:When Jesus isn’t in your heart, just as he isn’t in the hearts of all your little Jewish and Muslim and Hindu and Unitarian friends, then your pumpkin will rot and collapse, and your face will fall off, and your parents will put you in the garbage bin.
When Jesus comes into our hearts, we become new creations, just as our pumpkin became a new creation. Read Matthew 5:14-16. Then light a candle and place it in the pumpkin. Turn off the room lights so everyone can see the candlelight coming through the pumpkin’s face.
What to talk about:
How is the way the candlelight comes through the pumpkin like the way God wants our light to shine? (God wants others to see how much we love Him; God wants our light to be seen by others.)
How is the way we manipulate and carve this pumpkin like the way we crush your identity and demand total psychological obedience?
What to do:Jesus Christ on a crutch, mom and dad, we get it already! Now please, can we go put on our Harry Potter Roasting in Hell for Practicing the Black Arts costumes and go get some candy? Because we are going to need a hefty supply of sugar medication to make it through that Kids on Fire Christian boot camp you are sending us to next weekend.
Sing age-appropriate songs such as This Little Light of Mine (younger children) or Shine, Jesus, Shine (older children and teenagers.)
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Dying is easy. Comedy is hard.
Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip sucks. It sucks so bad it makes me angry, even.
Why? Because at least on Sorkin’s previous show, The West Wing, you could forgive the pomposity and the self-involvitudeness of the characters, because they were, after all, running the US of A and affecting world events. On Studio 60, they’re still just as solemn and grandiose, but instead of working in the White House, they’re producing a television sketch comedy show.
A comedy show. On TV.
So maybe Sorkin could have his characters get down off their high horses and instead of waxing misty-eyed over schmaltzy music on their glorious heritage of pie fights and Jew jokes, he could give them some more realistic dialogue about how they all should get down on their knees and thank their lucky fucking stars that they’ve landed in an industry that rewards them so very well for so very, very little.
Not only that, but Sorkin’s motto for this show is apparently “believability be damned!” How else can you explain the young comic whose 50-ish Midwestern parents HAVE NEVER HEARD OF THE ABBOTT & COSTELLO “WHO’S ON FIRST” BIT?? I mean, what the fuck part of Ohio are they from? Brigadoon?
And the predictability of the story lines! Did anyone NOT see the end of that crazy-old-crank-wanders-halls-but-is-discovered-to-be-not-only-not-crazy-but-part-of-our-glorious-heritage thing coming?
And oh, let’s speak in hushed tones about the so so racially sensitive story line about the bad black comic (Black people be different from whites!) versus the good black comic (I’m troubled but intellectual, folks. In a street-wise kind of way. Did I mention I have to catch a bus back to the hood?). Did anyone not see their last-minute discovery coming for, like, 45 minutes?
But the thing that makes the show really smell like ass is the fact that when they do manage to squeeze in a teeny tiny bit from the TV sketch show they purport to live and die by, it is GOD AWFUL. Like Fridays awful. Doumanian SNL awful.
My advice to Aaron Sorkin is that he should catch some reruns of the old Dick Van Dyke Show. Because at least the writers of The Alan Brady Show understood that Alan Brady had to be funny.
Why? Because at least on Sorkin’s previous show, The West Wing, you could forgive the pomposity and the self-involvitudeness of the characters, because they were, after all, running the US of A and affecting world events. On Studio 60, they’re still just as solemn and grandiose, but instead of working in the White House, they’re producing a television sketch comedy show.
A comedy show. On TV.
So maybe Sorkin could have his characters get down off their high horses and instead of waxing misty-eyed over schmaltzy music on their glorious heritage of pie fights and Jew jokes, he could give them some more realistic dialogue about how they all should get down on their knees and thank their lucky fucking stars that they’ve landed in an industry that rewards them so very well for so very, very little.
Not only that, but Sorkin’s motto for this show is apparently “believability be damned!” How else can you explain the young comic whose 50-ish Midwestern parents HAVE NEVER HEARD OF THE ABBOTT & COSTELLO “WHO’S ON FIRST” BIT?? I mean, what the fuck part of Ohio are they from? Brigadoon?
And the predictability of the story lines! Did anyone NOT see the end of that crazy-old-crank-wanders-halls-but-is-discovered-to-be-not-only-not-crazy-but-part-of-our-glorious-heritage thing coming?
And oh, let’s speak in hushed tones about the so so racially sensitive story line about the bad black comic (Black people be different from whites!) versus the good black comic (I’m troubled but intellectual, folks. In a street-wise kind of way. Did I mention I have to catch a bus back to the hood?). Did anyone not see their last-minute discovery coming for, like, 45 minutes?
But the thing that makes the show really smell like ass is the fact that when they do manage to squeeze in a teeny tiny bit from the TV sketch show they purport to live and die by, it is GOD AWFUL. Like Fridays awful. Doumanian SNL awful.
My advice to Aaron Sorkin is that he should catch some reruns of the old Dick Van Dyke Show. Because at least the writers of The Alan Brady Show understood that Alan Brady had to be funny.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Chapter 45: In which 99% of the blogger's readers decide that they've had enough
Sometimes, I smoke. And not just when I’m on fire. I mean, sometimes, I like to smoke cigarettes. I like it. To tell you the truth, it gives me an insane amount of pleasure.
And all I hear about is what a pain in the ass that is for everyone else.
Well, I’m also a vegetarian, right? I don’t eat animal flesh. (And yes, that even includes the flesh of fishie-type animals.) But you don’t hear me ragging on all my meat-eating friends, you know?
Vegetarians live an average of four to eight years longer than flesh-eaters, but you don’t hear me saying “How can you EAT that hamburger? You know every one of those takes 10 minutes off your life.”
or
“When they cook meat in the house, that awful smell gets in my clothes and my hair.”
or
“Eating the flesh off an animal’s bones – it’s such a filthy habit.”
Seriously, I was at lunch a couple of weeks ago with some friends, and one of them is chewing on a rib, a cow’s rib bone, and she’s sucking the flesh off this rib bone, and gnawing on it to make sure she’s getting it all and ugh, I’m the one with the nasty habit??
And don’t come at me with that lame-ass “second hand smoke” bullshit. I’ll agree that people shouldn’t be forced to work in a closed smoky environment. But how come the meat-eaters never want to talk about how dangerous their little habit is to me? I mean, do you know what effect the cultivation of animals for meat has on the environment?
To say nothing of the nasty nasty business of meat processing and what it does to the people who work in it.
Look I’ll make you a deal. You show me a tobacco processing plant where minimum wage workers are being mangled to death by big cigarette-making machines, and I swear I’ll quit that minute. But until then why don’t y’all think about giving up the meat, man, and smoking a cigarette. You’ll live longer.
And all I hear about is what a pain in the ass that is for everyone else.
Well, I’m also a vegetarian, right? I don’t eat animal flesh. (And yes, that even includes the flesh of fishie-type animals.) But you don’t hear me ragging on all my meat-eating friends, you know?
Vegetarians live an average of four to eight years longer than flesh-eaters, but you don’t hear me saying “How can you EAT that hamburger? You know every one of those takes 10 minutes off your life.”
or
“When they cook meat in the house, that awful smell gets in my clothes and my hair.”
or
“Eating the flesh off an animal’s bones – it’s such a filthy habit.”
Seriously, I was at lunch a couple of weeks ago with some friends, and one of them is chewing on a rib, a cow’s rib bone, and she’s sucking the flesh off this rib bone, and gnawing on it to make sure she’s getting it all and ugh, I’m the one with the nasty habit??
And don’t come at me with that lame-ass “second hand smoke” bullshit. I’ll agree that people shouldn’t be forced to work in a closed smoky environment. But how come the meat-eaters never want to talk about how dangerous their little habit is to me? I mean, do you know what effect the cultivation of animals for meat has on the environment?
To say nothing of the nasty nasty business of meat processing and what it does to the people who work in it.
Look I’ll make you a deal. You show me a tobacco processing plant where minimum wage workers are being mangled to death by big cigarette-making machines, and I swear I’ll quit that minute. But until then why don’t y’all think about giving up the meat, man, and smoking a cigarette. You’ll live longer.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
El nombre de la tia es en la biblioteca
I'm going to be in Mexico for a few days. I'll be back next week.
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