What kind of heart do you have?

Heart of Crystal


What is Your Heart REALLY Made of?
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Quiz via Velvet Glove

That time of the month: BILLS

Ugh. I just wrote checks for a bunch of bills, and officially have very tiny amount left in my account. Andrew usually pays the bills; I give him a check now and then but he does all the writing of the bills and stuff. Man, that sucks! In a space of several minutes, I went from a respectable account balance to one that wouldn't get me a good shopping spree. BLEAH!! And I only have one more stamp left too. It just gets worse & worse. I mean, what do we really need house and car insurance for, right? I say, screw them! Let's go buy a leather bustier! As someone wise once said, "it lifts AND separates!"

I also cleaned my office. Yes. Miracle of miracles; there are empty desktops in here. And I've thrown away lots of crap. The sad part is by the time Andrew gets back in May, I'm sure it'll be a mess again. I know my tendencies to make a mess in here. Now I need a shower (cause paying all those bills made me need to go to a happy place.)

How is your day going?

what a short day today was

Went to an "aerobathon"-- which was, for me 2.5 hours of working out. Fun & sweaty. Not the sort of sweaty fun I usually prefer, but then, with the husband out of town, it's all I got. :)

But that and a few other cool thingys made for a very short day. I can't even think of anything at all cool to write in this blog; hence the rambling personal info. Watch this spot for interesting facts, coming soon.

hoot hoot hoo-hoo

Last night, about 3 am (so really, this morning) there was an owl in my back yard (or close enough to my backyard to be heard by me, in my bed). Tituba (my cat) was totally unconcerned. Eventually, neighbor dogs "kicked up a ruckus" and the owl quieted down. I lay there and seethed about neighbors with noisy dogs for a while and went back to sleep.

However, some big owls do scoop up "small mammals." So we'll be keeping an eye on the back yard for a while. I doubt it was one of the big ones. The web says we get Western & Eastern Screech owls around these parts. It sounded a bit like the Western one's call.

Kind of neat though. Whodathunk that you could get an owl in the middle of suburbia? I mean, we're not exactly Texas Hill Country here-- I'm walking (yes a long walk but still) distance from a Starbuck's-- this aint no wilderness! But these kinds of owls do turn up in suburbs. A lovely photo of them on the Internet says a small Eastern Screech owl family was found in a trailer park's tree. (Scroll down to the one with several grey owls.)

Fasten those seatbelts....

Which Silver Screen Siren are you?
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A Message From Goddess?

Should I be alarmed that after far too long reading blogs this morning, my Kuan Yin statue*, which is normally perched on top of my monitor to encourage me to be compassionate when responding to irritating emails (sometimes she really keeps me in check), fell off and clunked the back of the computer, almost the window? Or that, when I was trying to replace her in her normal spot on top, with mauve silk scarf nestled about her, that she fell, again, almost clunking the keyboard and/or my fingers?

Kuan Yin, what are you trying to tell me? ::listens::
"work on your dissertation you idiot"

Hmm. I suppose she's right.

UPDATE On leaving the computer room, I realized that I had left the cat outside for a long time. She was at the door, meowing pitifully. I'm fairly sure that somehow, she is responsible for Kuan Yin's actions earlier. Because getting me off the computer is usually Tituba's job-- she comes in (as she's doing RIGHT NOW) and yells at me with sad little meows. So. With her outside, Kuan Yin HAD to step in.

*she looks a lot like this one, except for an inspiring flame flaring up behind her....

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.....

Bed. Tea. Kitten Snuggles. (not like that, though.)

You know you want it.

Marriage Shmarriage

Find out who your Senator is and write to them about the ridiculousness of the "Marriage Amendement" and urge them to focus on issues that really matter, like the War in Iraq and the economy. I just wrote to my US Senators as well as my state Senators, and my Representative. Write one letter, and then copy & paste the same thing to each one, changing, of course, the names. Most of them have email links and it's quite easy to do this. Carefully compose your letter, and spell check it, and paste it into the form they have on their websites. You can also write to the White House.

I was going to put mine in here for you to see, but I inadvertantly deleted the damn thing before I got here. But it basically reminded them that I am a registered voter (always good to point out) and that I lived in the district they represent. And plan on voting, and remembering the behavior of the lawmakers I send to office at the polling place. So don't threaten, but remind them gently that this is not acceptable-- to distract the public with a "hot topic" social issue, to "wag the dog" and not talk about real issues. I'm sure you know how I feel about gay marriage (or you do if you've read my blog) but it's more than that. It's a seriously frivolous issue-distracting election year tactic to talk about Amending the Constitution to define marriage as between a man and woman. Even if I didn't support gay marriage, I would think this. As I've said before, how about an Amendement saying marriage should be between two members of the same race only? It would have been something a majority agreed with about 50 years ago. So. Now I really should do some work. But I'm so insanely irritated that this is going on right now I just HAD to say something to my elected officials. (Who I am really mad at anyway right now. There's just no pleasing me anyway.)

Charmed, I'm Sure

Last night I dreamt that the witches from the TV show Charmed (not the actresses, the actual characters in the show) had this wonderful blog, and I met them because I read the blog. They were wondeful, and very nice, and we hung out and they asked me to become part of their blog circle. I guess, in analyzing the dream, I'd have to say it relates to several things. The first is that I'm thinking all the time about the witch issue, trying really hard to focus on writing my intro to my dissertation (which, right now, is grappling with how to define my theoretical feminism). The second is that I'm clearly spending a lot of time on blogs. So the subconscious says "hmm. okay. let's put this there, and that here, and voila! a dream!) But I woke up with a clear sense of loss, wishing that I COULD hang out with the witches from Charmed. Again, not the actresses (although I'm sure they're lovely women.) I hate it when I have dreams like that; the ones that seem so real it's hard fo face the humdrum, cold & windy day, with an annoying, smelly cat on your lap (who is now actually being cute and has popped herself into a drawer) and too much work to do.

Donate Flowers!

Check out this wonderful idea.... I just donated some money, since it's way too late to actually call a florist, plus, this way, there's some community involvement, and if the marriages "stop" then there's a fund somewhere that someone can use to maybe donate to charity that will keep this going. Anyway. This animation is from a webblog by sunnedaae.

Pizza Party USA

In this underwhelming election year where I am consistenly pissed off at everyone who is running for anything (yes. yes. I said it. Maybe NOT the mayor of San Francisco, but I, not being a CA resident, don't get to vote for him) I have finally found a real political cause that I can get behind. I'm doing my part. Go sign the petition, dammit.

Ringtones glorious ringtones

Amazingly, while I find it, sometimes, difficult to find time to write my dissertation, exercise, or read research towards said dissertation, I can spend hours on a free polyphonic phone ringtones website downloading yours and my favorites, like "Red Red Wine" and "Copacabana." WHOOO! UPDATE: Oh, and if you go there and see that your phone is not listed as compatible, try it anyway. Mine was not listed, and my phone worked fine. I actually wrote to the guy who hosts the site and told him about my phone, so it may end up there eventually. But this is just so you know-- try one.

Actually, I exaggerate. I did a lot of work today, albeit mostly reading a book on anti-feminism that's made me quite confused. So. And I did work out. But the story is better the other way, no?

Also:
I have this theory that when we get old, and a bit senile, we're a lot like we are when we're young and very drunk. So (based on recent behavior of me while drunk) one day, I'm going to be "crazy old running down the street while tearing her clothes off lady." Wanna move into a home with me when we're 90? You'll probably get to see me naked. :)

Dave & Carmen's song

Okay, I've noticed that a bunch of people hit my site yesterday, looking for what the song is that Carmen & Dave are using for their wedding. Folks, a little careful research can find ANYTHING on the Internet. It's a lovely song, by Sade, called "By Your Side." You can hear the couple talking about it on the MTV website, see a video of them talking about it.

You can get the song on the Lover's Rock album. You can also get it on Rhapsody. Anyway. Just a service from me to you.

And that's officially the LAST time I think I'll mention the reality show. Apparently I have been a bit obsessed. I know how to get that "internet fame" that's so elusive-- mention some hot topic of the moment in your blog. I wish it'd been this easy to get myself listed in search engines way back when I first made my www.womenwriters.net website! That took ages of hand submission.

More Foolishness?

Last night's blog post makes really no sense to me either. Mostly it was put there to remember what I was looking at (the video that I've been told I would enjoy) for later, but the post just looks very silly in the light of day. That kind of thing you think is quite funny when you're a bit tipsy, but sober just looks like ranting.

No more of that, then! I'm recovering today from a night of too many "absolut hunks." They were quite tasty, but lethal, as hunks tend to be. They technically weren't Absolut hunks since I was using Smirnoff, but same old same old. I can't generally tell much difference between brand names, and they all do the same thing (things you regret later and tell yourself you'll never do again). I hope I didn't do anything too embarrassing, but I know when Nissa and I went to the airport to pick up Aaron, we were very, very silly. People looked at us quite funny. And Aaron was amused, in that way that a poor sober person who's had a long day can only be when confronted with two totally liquored up people. May I just extend a group apology to everyone? There. That's over with.

Today, as part of my recovery, I watched the movie Underworld. One of my favorite film critics, Mary Ann Johanson, the "Flick Philosopher" did a review of the movie that I read a while back that starts with the query of whether, when you become a vampire, you're issued the "proper" vampire wardrobe. I had been told the movie was bad, but good, in a way, by others who like vampire stuff. Kind of "you have to see it just cause." So, feeling kind of crappy anyway, and not at all good to do anything productive today, I figured what the hell. Mary Ann's not right every single time, and while I like reading her reviews for sheer fun writing and often agree with her, there have been notable exceptions (the Hulk, for one). I thought the movie was okay. It was a bit over the top on "dark creepy places" and deep, vibrating guitar chords that are supposed to evoke GOTH sensibilities. It also has this voice over thing that is supposed to lend itself to thinking "wow, there's going to be a sequel" and getting you all excited about the idea of all out vampire/lycan hybrids and stuff. I like vampire stuff, but am not obsessed with it. I would say watch the movie if you are at all into the genre, but if you can take it or leave it, don't go out of your way. It's okay, and I don't regret the purchase (got it on pay per view) but there are better things to do with one's time. Like take a nap. Which I'm going to do right now.

Kathy with a "K" Says

The Carmen Elcetra Strip Tease workout is worth the two carats. I'm being called. Absolut Hunks are there. Yeah. Cousin Kathy sez "yeah." Yah. Ummmmm hujmmmmmmmmmmmm.

I Myself Am, Strange & Unusual

Tidbits

Last night I had several dreams (I can dream serially-- you know, you wake up, and then when you go back to sleep you can start the same dream over again?) about Dave Navarro & Carmen Electra's wedding. Probably cause I had just watched the show on MTV. I dreamt they were going to have their wedding here at my house, and I was scurrying around trying to get it all ready for the wedding guests to arrive. It was an odd dream. Neither Dave nor Carmen were actually in the dream-- but presumably, they would have eventually shown up. You know. In case that fabulously expensive Hollywood thing didn't work out, they'd be up for a small house in a suburb of Texas.

Also, today we're doing a "last episode of Sex in the City" party at my place. I'm serving good food, lots of martini type drinks. Wanna come? I even got these cute napkins with a Carrie-esque dress on them.

For the continuing adventures of Kim @ Starbuck's, overheard from one of the young employees the other day while waiting for my latte:

Why don't they, instead of experimenting on animals, use prisoners?

This was said with no sense of irony. Cause, you know, once someone has committed a crime, they are not only no longer human, they are sub-animal, too. She didn't even specify "really bad evil mean criminals." So be careful, if said Starbuck's employee becomes queen of the world one day. Don't cheat on your taxes or write a bad check. Cause then you could go to jail and become a human sub-guinea pig. It's not that I'm all for poking animals in the eye with toxic chemicals, but this is a bit on the absurd side.

Finally, for those of you who have been following the Bulimia Kitty episodes-- I think I may have discovered the bizarre thing that is causing her to be sick sometimes. Chicken flavored cat food. She hadn't had any for a while, and yesterday she did, and yesterday she threw up again. So. That only makes a weird sort of sense. But whoever heard of a cat allergic to chicken? Apparently, mine is. We'll see-- no more chicken flavored food, and if she doesn't puke, then that's it! Yay! It would be very nice if she would get back to normal.

Iron Jawed Angels

I just watched the HBO movie about the Suffrage movement of the 1900s, the "First Wave" feminist Alice Paul and her struggle, along with the National Women's Party, to gain the right to vote for women. The 19th Amendment seems like "old hat" I think to most of us today.

But how old is the issue, really? I remember once when I was teaching, my first class as a Graduate Student, and we were describing Feminist critical theory to the classroom of college students, and one young black woman asked "what's the point?" The three of us grad students were a bit surprised. It seemed like the point of something like a feminist interpretation of the world ought to be obvious, and that any woman would understand that the fight for women's equality is still not over. The 19th amendment was an early step. But there are so many more steps to be taken even 80 years later.

The movie was excellent. Yes, it was a bit melodramatic, showing the forced feeding of the women who went on a hunger strike to force public opinion to recognize the issue. The open hostility of some men (and women) to the women who were asking merely for the right to vote, which I know most of us take for granted, chilled me to the bone because I see that open hostility in a very slightly lesser degree when men say "ah, feminists are all lesbian agitators who hate men and want to kill babies." How easy is it to go from words like that to the open violence that has been done, to chains and prison bars? I'm not really sure it's as far away as I've liked to believe. In that same class I mentioned earlier, when the professor asked students to critique our performance so far about halfway through the semester, a whole lot of students wrote "tell the grad students to shut up". They also wrote disparagements of us being women. They were anonymous, and the hostility of some of those little notes shows the hidden hostility of a lot of people to anyone who refuses to say that what has happened so far is enough.

I know a lot of people, and definitely men, support equality for everyone. Including women. But there are still an awful lot of people who think that what we have today, where women still make a percentage of the money that men make, and women are not fully represented in political power, is enough. I say it is not.

The movie made me cry, and think about how much I myself take for granted as a woman who has the right to an education, the right to vote (even if I have no frickin' idea who to vote for), the right to control my own life. Just a couple of days ago I wondered, as that young black woman whose words struck me to the heart years ago, "what's the point" in this very blog. What's the point of my dissertation, which argues about feminism in popular media, and the image of the witch as feminist/feminist as witch?

This movie reminds me quite powerfully of the point. The public opinion of feminism has been slipping for a long time, what with Rush Limbaugh's smear campaign and the repeated declarations by different media outlets of feminism's death, or irrelevancy. But in a world where women are still 50% of the population but not represented fully in our own government, where even in this First World country where we have incredible privilege, we still are told, as children, we can't do that cause we're a girl, there's nothing irrelevant about feminism. If that makes me strident, or antagonistic to those who would keep me from speaking out and saying it's still unfair, unequal, and wrong, and pointing out that feminism is NOT dead, and we don't have to apologize for our belief that equality matters, then so be it.

The website at HBO has a page on Suffrage history. It also has pictures and interviews. But check out other places too, and learn more about The First Wave, even as we, and I, declare ourselves part of a third wave. It's still the same ocean.

Which Peanuts Character are You?

I am apparently Snoopy's best friend. I can see it.


You are Woodstock!


Which Peanuts Character are You?
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Starfish and Coffee

I love this song by Prince from the Sign o' the Times album. That one and The Ballad of Dorothy Parker. Sigh. Making me feel much happier, cause I have a meow-y purry cat on my lap, and these songs on the computer. :)

Feeling Much Better

Boy was I ever cranky yesterday and this morning. I swear, when I was young (back in the day) I was not such a slave to hormones, but now. I am going to be the biggest bitch on wheels one day when I hit menopause (in a very long time; I'm still just a baby).


So in honor of better moods, let's see, what should we do? I'm thinking of composing my own feminist manifesta-- partly inspired by a couple of them I saw on other websites. I thought about it last night while trying to coax myself into sleep, and I have some ideas. It also fits nicely with the research I'm doing right now for the dissertation. So coming soon: Kim's Brand O' Feminism. Under New Management! Remodeled! With Extra Zing and Brand M special sauce!

But today, I think I might go get my hair cut. It's a big dangerous activity when your hair is as long as mine, so if Rhonda my favorite hair dresser isn't available, I might chicken out.

Oreos Explain the National Budget

Ben, of Ben & Jerry's, explains the Federal Budget using Oreos. Check it out. And, while a pretty good sized part of my family's budget comes from that military pile of cookies, and a lot of other people's, I still can get behind most of the principles. Those military budget cookies paid for my college (still are) my teeth being fixed (no thanks to my dad, I needed LOTS of work) and the house I live in. Remember, the military budget also pays a lot of salaries-- not just expensive bombs and stuff. It sends a lot of people to college (GI Bill) and those folks sacrafice a lot for their money (for example, why is my husband gone for six months and I'm lonely temporarily single woman?) That same hubby says that we probably could do with about half the military budget-- but a lot of that money goes to "research" and "boondoggles" like the old Bloom County cartoon alleged (with the basset hound bit-- SDI initiative... remember it?)

Anyway. I still like the video from Ben.

Letter to You

To: The two women at Starbuck's who chatted loudly while I was CLEARLY trying to work (and there first), and trying desperately to ignore your inane conversation while I tried to read about feminist reader response theory and how it could change the world.

When you loudly (despite that you clearly thought you were being covert) read your Visa number over the cell phone to someone, all the while peeking suspiciously over your shoulder at me, while your friend giggled, and I again tried my best to ignore your blatant rudeness, IF I had wanted to, I would so have gotten your credit card number. Yes, I was sitting with my five dollar coffee and chocolate chip cookie, with my laptop, several books, and pad of paper and pen. Yes, I was in a suburban mall's Starbucks, normal-looking and tricked out in my sterling silver, platinum earrings, and other various trappings of middle-class respectability. But I could have gotten your damn number cause you were sitting, like, two feet away from me! I simply didn't need or want your damned credit card number, so what was the point of acting as though I was just sitting there, lying in wait to write it down and go on a spending spree on E-bay?

If you're soooo worried about a woman hearing your conversation, here's a little tip. Take. Your. Damned. Phone. Conversation. Elsewhere. If you're having a "private" phone conversation in the middle of a public place, you have no right to glare at me because I might overhear you. Public cell phone conversation does not equal right to privacy.

And don't think I was too stupid to notice your little surreptitious glances, and the glee of your friend as you made me the butt of your blockheaded jokes. As I said earlier-- we were like two feet away from each other.

Please don't anyone else make my current misanthropic mood any worse. Why am I trying to bother to read about feminist theoretical world-shattering rhetoric to write my "change the world" dissertation when ungrateful bimbos in medical scrubs while NOT at work are being rude in Starbuck's? What's the fucking point?!

At least the guy in the work t-shirt, smoking furiously and gesturing wildly while on his phone conversation, had the grace to take it outside.

Wonder Woman Cake pan

Just to make up for two serious, intellectual, floobety (that's a word I made up) entries, here's a silly one. I want this cake pan.

And see, this is my poetic license. It's laminated, and I carry it in my wallet so that when someone says "is floobety a word?" I can say it is, and I have a right to make up words cause I have a poetic license.

Want one of your own? email me. You'll need Microsoft Publisher to edit it easily. But I can do Photoshop too-- it'll be up to you to edit it.

Gay Marriage

I am happily married to my hubby for almost 11 years now. It was so easy for us to get married-- we planned for about six months, had the religious ceremony, and then popped in to City Hall for the "official" paperwork and presto chango, we were "official." I think that the law has nothing to do with what you feel in your heart, but I also think that the legal paperwork and a simple one ceremony deal binding two lives, the declaring of your intent in front of everyone, is an important part of the marriage deal. I do not think that marriage is only okay "between a man and a woman" as many of the lawmakers are trying to make it. So I'm thinking a lot about this stuff in San Francisco with gay marriage. I have to say that it does not hurt my marriage at all if two people of the same sex want to also get married. All those pundits who talk about how gays are immoral and have a promiscuous lifestyle are also the same folks who don't want them to take the conservative route towards marriage and monogamy. Talk about ridiculous. I feel so bad for people who really want to get married, and the law says "you're not allowed" because it is SO easy for heterosexuals-- maybe too easy-- and marriage is important.

Men & women screw marriage up all the time-- they pervert the love and so-called morals of marriage for many reasons, from marrying for money, to marrying to piss people off, to marrying for immigration issues, or even because they are alone & scared that they won't ever really find love so why not this person? Gays marrying are trying to say to the world that they are serious about this relationship. It's ridiculous to say they can't legally bind their lives together. Think about the idea of your loved one dying, and you not being able to be in the hospital with them because you're not "family." This is a biggie and it's something many gays have to deal with all the time.

And I think I've ranted about this before here-- I know I have in "real life" talked this over with others. Gays have every right to marriage-- marriage is not a holy writ from God. (Did we get the invitation from Adam & Eve? Nope. They weren't "legally" married cause there was no law! They were shacking up!)

The Christian church of the middle ages didn't even sanction marriage AT ALL between a man and woman, preferring instead celibacy as a path to purity and godliness. So while we talk about the tradition of marriage as "between man and woman" we have to realize that even that so-called "standard" can be called into question, and when politics and times changed, so did the practice of marriage. Barbara Walker's Women's Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets has a great entry on this which is where I get my ideas about it. The church wouldn't allow marriages past the church door for a long time; it was NOT a sacrament, and pagan religions took care of it. I couldn't for the life of me find the book today to quote from it. (Damned messy office). My point is that those saying marriage is a sacred union between a man and woman don't know the history of marriage very well.

But a little bit of Internet search has found a bit of what I wanted to say:

Bartleby.com explains:

The Latin Fathers debated matters of sexuality and marriage. In the ancient world, many thinkers, both Gentile and Jewish, held that sexual relations between man and woman hindered the soul's rise to higher things.

Bartleby also tells us:

With this benign attitude, however, there gradually emerged a strong current of negativism toward the body, of hostility toward sexuality. The Fathers took for granted the superiority of celibacy (total abstinence from all sexual activity) over marriage. Thus, Jerome denigrated marriage; Augustine held marriage to be “a cure forconspicuouse,” with procreation the only truly moral use of, or justification for, sexuality. As in the ancient world, marriage remained a private arrangement, not the concern of civil authorities. Recent historians have disputed the early Christian attitude toward homosexuality. Some scholars argue that early Christian thinkers had a tolerant and positive position on male love and eroticism as being natural; other modern writers claim the Fathers condemned same-sex love and activity.

So what I think here is that we can argue till we turn blue in the face about what God wants (as if we know what she thinks) and we can argue about the intent of early society but we change rules ALL THE TIME when it suits us. People used to think it was perfectly legitimate/legal/moral to own another human being. We changed that, rightfully so. So even if people used to think that marriage should only be between a man and a woman (or not at all, as my quotes above show) we change these laws all the time. Law used to say it was perfectly fine to beat your wife as long as the stick wasn't bigger than your thumb. We changed that (again, rightfully so).

Law is alive-- it shifts and grows and changes with our beliefs. If you look at polls it does seem that an awful lot of people oppose the idea of gay marriage. But I don't know why this is-- and what the questions were, and the polling sample, etc. What do people who oppose gay marriage really oppose? My guess is that they oppose homosexuality in general-- and would prefer gays just not be gay.

If you took away the heterosexism, and asked if two people who love each other and want to devote their lives to each other and have legal rights should have that right, I suspect those people would say "of course the state has no right to intrude" and that it is ridiculous to say a Constitutional ammendment should be written forbidding it. Look at it this way. Change "should gays be allowed to get married" to "should black people" or "should Latinos" or "should Catholics and Protestants" be allowed to get married-- and you'll see the terrible bias built in to the question. If it isn't okay for one minority group to be excluded, it isn't okay for ANY.

I think, (here comes the conspiracy theory) that it has a lot more to do with the fact that if we allow gay marriage, insurance companies, and other monetarily powerful businesses will have to fork over a lot of cash. Any big resistance to change has almost always been about money. So get off the high moral horse, lawmakers, and allow gay marriage. They have every right to screw it up or make it work as the rest of us. Heterosexism is just as bad as any ISM.

Godiva, Steaks, and Sweet Potatoes

Yes. That's what we had for dinner on V-Day. It was nice (home made, in his tiny little BOQ room). We also had wine, and Frangelico-tinis, and some Godiva chocolate. MMMMM. Godiva. Oh, the next day we had some strawberries that smelled intensely like summer & champagne. We watched a movie (umm, I think that night it was Under the Tuscan Sun-- good chick flick, surprising that his crew member-- a guy-- owned it.) Just in case you wanted to get the dirt on Valentine's Day for the Wellses. It was rainy, very cold, and icky in S'port. Nicer the next day, but mostly, we just "hung out."

But Godiva chocolate. I like the ones with the chocolate. (in other words, all of them).

A Great Sense of Loss: Vintage Airplane Nose Art

When I was in Shreveport with the husband the last time, we strolled through the collection of airplanes at the small museum on base. The base has what seems to me a fairly good sized (considering the smallness of the museum) collection of airplanes, including big ones like B52s and other big bombers. What struck me while I was looking at these planes up close was that most of them have been stripped, sanded, of any of the old nose art they used to have. You could see the pattern on one silver plane where the painting had been-- it had been a bomb with shapely women's legs coming out of it-- but the paint had been sanded off the plane very carefully. The fact that you could still make out the picture also reminded me of the subversive practice of pagans carving their own gods into the robes of Christian statues in cathedrals-- it was still sort of there, if you looked closely enough and "between the lines." But I'm not sure that was intentional.

I asked the hubby about it and he said that in his air group, they have one plane left that has the air nose art of a woman on it. You know what I'm talking about-- those cool, pinup style pictures that used to grace the fronts of airplanes. One of the most famous is probably the Memphis Belle art, but there are lots of vintage style women on planes; I'm sure the artists' inspiration and airplane's name gave lots of room for variation. Some of them were a little risque-- some of the replications I've seen on the Internet do not leave a lot of room for the imagination. But the art, to me, has always been a beautiful part of vintage airplanes-- and the reason why I figured it's not on modern air craft was just lack of time and/or inclination for other reasons. Virgin Airlines' logo harkens back to the practice, and I love it for that reason.

But I begin to wonder if there's not some sort of policital correctness gone wrong here. Perhaps it's a problem that people think now that there are women involved more readily in aviation, they'll be offended or feel objectified by the women on the planes so they'd better scour any trace of them off the plane before it's too late, and our delicate sensibilities are wounded. Or that perhaps there were actual women who complained, for those same sorts of reasons, and the military, smarting from past problems (cough Tailhook scandal cough) and really overly sensitive and quite eager to avoid anything that could get them into trouble again, removed anything left over for fear of offense. Trust me when I say, from an insider's perspective, that the military is quite worried about its public image, and doesn't want people to think that it's all boobs, beer, and bombs (anymore). (How do you like that clever alliteration? Hmmm?) To the point where military gatherings are realllllly boring most of the time, and everyone leaves as soon as possible, because everyone is way worried about doing something inappropriate. (And the few occasions where something remotely inappropriate did happen, it was swiftly dealt with).

But this removal of the art, the careful sanding to eradicate any piece of something that someone might or might not be disturbed by is horrible to me. The idea that the mere picture of a sexy woman on an airplane from the 1940s would cause me to feel all "dirty-need-a-shower" bothers me a whole lot. It reminds me, in fact, of the idea that women must be veiled from head to toe, with only her eyes peeking out, or else perhaps she might inflame the lust of males by her mere ankle showing, and, because of women's inherent lust and vile corruptiblity, it is for her protection that she be covered up. To protect her from herself. The assumption that sexy pinup women would offend me is a worse sort of offense, in that way, than seeing the suggestion of nipples under the painted-on shirt of a vintage pinup girl on a B52.

I think, and I'm fairly sure that any historian would back this up, that the art on airplanes served two purposes. One: it reminded men (often terribly young ones) who were alone and very far from home, being shot at and perhaps dying, of what they were fighting for (the home front, love, family, and yes, sex). Two: it was very like the old fashioned figureheads on the fronts of ships from "days of yore." Those figureheads were there for a lot of reasons, too-- including protection from evil, as well as representations of the "soul" of the ship. So no, it's not that aviators are dirty minded lechers out to corrupt the hearts and minds of the world. It's not that they want to do some vile damage to the purity of womanhood. It's sort of a long-standing tradition, and the loss of it pains me greatly if it is political correctness, and I'm sad that something related partly to women's insistence that we not be treated as inferior, might have something to do with. If so, it's truly a misrepresentation of the concept of objectification.

It's truly a sign that women are not equal that we still have to worry about whether someone looking at our boobs means they are not respecting us as equal. (Does that make sense?) If we really were equal, it wouldn't matter at all.


To see more air nose art, check out the following webpages: http://www.airpowermuseum.org/trartgal.html#exhibitlist

http://www.nose-art.net/index.html There's also a couple of calendars and book collections, if you feel really strongly about it.

Two days in fabulous Shreveport

I've given in. I'm flying to see Andrew tonight. I'll be back on either Monday or Tuesday. So go do something productive while I'm gone.

The Legend of the Canterbury "Lepers"

I remembered that "funny" story my friend said I should put in the blog. It takes a while to get funny, and it's probably better "orally" but I'll give it a shot. If nothing else, it's a good record of a wonderful trip.

In Summer 2002, my husband had business in London for three weeks. It was a wonderful opportunity for me to go with and see a place that, as an English major, is quite important to me. And one of the coolest cities on the planet. So we arranged for me to go: London or Bust!

Somewhere along the way, we also arranged to have my husband's parents go with too. Jim is Andrew's dad, and is a huge, extremely loud, tall, 70 year old rednecky Texan (he really does define the word "cracker"). Often, even in a crowd of hundreds of people, you can pick out Jim towering over everyone else. People come to call him "Big Jim" after a while. Joanne, my mother in law, also went, but she wasn't the part of the trip that was maddening. Jim was. He was the one who had me, after a few days, pointing out that England doesn't have the death penalty so the worst punishment I would face if I strangled Jim in his sleep and dumped him at the pig farm we passed just outside of Stonehenge was that I would end up in prison. I tell you, there were days when that seemed like an option I could live with. One of those days was our trip to Canterbury and the exquisite Leeds Castle.

Canterbury cathedral is famous, and probably most famous as the site where the pilgrims in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales are traveling towards. It's also famous for the martyring of the Bishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket, in the cathedral on December 29, 1170. Henry II said, offhandedly, something like "I wish someone would get rid of that irritating Bishop for me" and four knights did so, somewhat gruesomely. It's not really the sort of place where people go to try to cure their leprosy, or some other terrible affliction. That's more Lourdes cathedral in France.

We took a day trip to the two places, which aren't really far from London, and if you are ever there, I highly recommend the London Walks company for this and other trips. But, knowing it was a long day, and that we would not have much time for lunch, and pubs that cater to tourists are notoriously SLOW, I packed these delicious little take-away sandwiches from the grocery next to our incredible hotel. (This section is very gushy-- but I did love these elements of the trip). I brought these great sandwiches, which included one that was Thai Chicken with bits of cilantro and spicy ginger, and some great Scottish shortbread cookies, and bottles of water, and cheese. It was a long day and I carried these sandwiches and snacks, weighing in at least 10 pounds, in a backpack all day. (This background explains why it was soooo irritating when Jim did what he did later).

When we got to Canterbury cathedral, we toured the site. I walked alone down the marble steps in one section, which were slightly worn down, bowed in the center from centuries of pilgrim feet, touching the handrail, thinking of all the people who have been where I had been. It was cool and dark inside, except where sunlight was streaming gloriously through the stained glass windows on one side of the cathedral. It was, if not spiritual, one of the most peaceful, zenlike experiences I've ever had as a tourist. (I also got a quirky little silver charm for my trip charm bracelet of the Wife of Bath on her donkey. But that's a different sort of tourist experience).

We found a bench outside, under the trees, and I passed out the sandwiches I had so thoughtfully packed. I looked over, after a while, and my father in law, Jim, had squished down the bread corners of his sandwich and wadded them into unkempt little balls of pathetic white dough, squished into the flimsy plastic triangle package. Puzzled, I asked if he just didn't like that flavor or what? He replied that it bothered him to not have washed his hands first, you know, after being someplace where there were centuries of people like lepers and stuff walking around. The funny part about this, and the part you get when I am telling this story to you in person, is Jim's loud Texas accent-- he's half deaf, so nothing is said quietly. People looked at us with puzzled eyes as he was "hollering" about lepers and stuff. Honestly. It was the first time I truly understood the Knights chasing the Bishop through Canterbury with intense blood lust. Perhaps I was temporarily possessed by one of them. Luckily for Jim, Henry II was not paying me to "take out" any loud Texans that day and I didn't have a sword handy at that moment.

Herein lies the famous "lepers of Canterbury" we've all heard so much about, then.

(I had brought along bottles of the anti-bacterial stuff you can get at Bath & Body Works-- which honestly, will kill pretty much anything you need to worry about, being almost all alcohol.... but that just didn't convince Jim, for whom this pattern was repeated the day we went to Oxford & the Cotswolds.) Yes. Oxford worried him too. I know that Oxford was one of the earliest recorded places of the Black plague in the middle ages, but I'm fairly certain they have that under control nowadays.

So this is the story I told the other night that had people gasping for breath. Perhaps it has to do with my skill as an actor (LINE!) or that they'd had a few margaritas, or that they know Jim, and could picture it well. Who knows. It doesn't, to me, read all that funny right now. But I'm sure you'll find it a good "travel story."

Just be careful if you ever go to Canterbury. Watch out for the lepers hiding in the corners. They'll jump out and contaminate your sandwich, you know.

Another Bandwagon Jumped Upon

Check out my layers, dudes.

Title Me Earl Grey-less

A good friend is in town visiting and last night several members of "the gang" all went out to Flats & the Candlelight. While there, I drank two big pots of Earl Grey (hot) tea and got wired and goofy. Vickie worried that I was drunk, but nope, it's just the natural wackiness of Kim brought on by too much bergamot and faux sugar. I told some silly story that had people laughing a whole lot, and Vickie said "you should put that in your blog." But dammit, I cannot, now that the Earl Grey is out of the system, remember what story it was I was supposed to tell you all. And that, my friends, sucks big ones. Perhaps V. will remind me in a comment. :)

What was a moment I remember is that the Candlelight had a very large crowd of very pretty young men there, with their long curly eyelashes and cute bottoms, they were better than the dessert counter. I looked around and said, with a sigh, "it's hard being a girl here tonight." (What with two "dessert counters," neither of which I was going to partake). There were not very many girls there, so one might think we girls would have been the center of attention. No, dear reader. These cute bottoms were not at all interested in MY bottom as they "play for the other team." But that doesn't mean a girl can't look, sistah! Cute bottoms in tight jeans and warm flannel shirts and fuzzy sweaters galore, and no guilt! Why, it was like a big giant fat free salad with extra radicchio and tomatoes and a sparkling water with a lime! No commitment, and all the fun of eye-candy!

On other news, I'm trying to decide if I should take the weekend trip to Shreveport again to spend the commercial romance holiday with the spousal unit. I was there last weekend, and while I would like to see him every single day, I just hate being out of town every single weekend. I like being home! And the cat hates being left by herself so much and makes me feel like a bad mom when I leave her. So if I don't go, I'm going to help out A&D at their Greek restaurant on Saturday night. They're having a raucous wine tasting party. Woo yeah, and, OPA! And, with kind regards to single folks, Valentine's Day just doesn't mean as much when your heart is given to someone every single day of the year. And he buys you chocolate whenever you want it, and you buy yourself flowers whenever you want them. It's just another Saturday, really. But it IS a three day weekend for "government types." So I'm thinkin' about it. We'll see what happens. Luckily, with my special flight privileges, I don't have to buy a ticket till I get to the airport (i.e., no advance planning needed.)

Does Nostalgia Makes You Feel All Pensive? Nah. Just thinkin'.

When I was a kid, we were incredibly poor for a while. My mom & dad had split, and my mom, as a single mom, had to quit her nursing training (which at the stage she was at didn't pay the bills) to become a bartender. I'm sure I don't have to tell a lot of folks how little cash comes in when you're a bartender, and how hard it is if you have three kids to take care of, without the help of their dad. (I don't mean this to sound too negative on my dad-- he's a human, and made mistakes like everyone else. His mistakes did cost us, but I've forgiven him a long time ago).

For a very brief time, my mother & I were what one would call homeless. They didn't have that word back then, though. This was in Louisiana, and on the kindness of a woman my mother met, we got some shelter. We were in a tiny shrimping town where there was a long main street with more bars than anything else, a few churches, and a school. I've seen pictures online of the city, and it still looks just about the same, many years later.

The place we ended up living was a gay bar, really a disco. It was a big wooden building painted a hideous shade of lime green with a big shell gravel parking lot in front. Let me tell you, it was not easy being picked up by the school bus in that place, that all the kids knew about. It was kind of on the edge of town-- they would play booray in the day time (a sort of card game big in La) and at night the place was packed with drag queens and party-people. But honestly, it was a pretty normal bar-- I know, cause I got to see a couple of times when we peeked at night. I think, despite what the kids on the school bus thought, it was probably the hippest place in town, and I suspect a lot more than gay folks came there to get their party on.

In the back of the bar there were these living quarters-- it had a living room, kitchen, bathroom and a small bedroom area. It was all closed up, but we could open these two big doors to see the dance floor of the bar. I sometimes tell people of my age that I learned the YMCA before any of you because I learned it the first time around, in the "Studio 54" days of the late 70s early 80s. Yup. I'm cool like that.* I have a short fiction story based on my life there, that you can read here. It's not War & Peace, but it's kind of fun. My mom used to bring me Coca-Colas with lots of maraschino cherries in them.

I think this is partly where my sense of people just being people comes from. One of my mother's friends, Donny, was a bisexual man who liked to dress up as a woman (a drag queen). He was gorgeous, in a tight black velvet pant suit and puffy Dolly Parton-esque blonde wig, long red fingernails, silver jewelry and high heels. Donny used to go sit in truck driver bars in the middle of hicksville La and get truckers to buy him drinks all day. Now that I'm older and know how incredibly dangerous that was for him I'm even more amazed, but he never, as far as I know, was beat up or anything. I don't know if this is a testament to his skill at convincing those truckers he was a woman, or that perhaps more of them were amenable to "difference" than one would think.

They used to let kids into these places as long as you were with a parent. I liked to play pinball and the jukebox and I remember being in one of those bars playing pinball for hours and listening to Tanya Tucker's "Texas"** and New Orleans Ladies on the Jukebox. People used to give me quarters to play songs (back then, you could get a bunch of them from just a quarter). I think cause they felt some sort of strange pity for this little stringy haired kid in a bar and thought somehow a few songs or pinball games would make it better. But really, that was one of the fun parts of my childhood. It's not nearly as weird as you might think. Those bars used to be dark, and smoky, and there were always these jars of translucent, somehow eerily green-glowing pickled quails' eggs on them. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure why all the bars had to have these-- I think it goes back to pub food, and a historical sense that places like that ought to have something like this kind of food.

Donny married a bi woman, and once, when my sister came to town, both of them hit on her. So that's sort of funny, but it's just one of those things. My mother used to call bisexuals "AC/DC" like "alternating and direct current." (Not the band, man. The electrical stuff). I like that idea, actually. Because it's a wiring thing-- it doesn't say one particular kind of electric wiring is superior or inferior; it's just different. Because I think our sexuality is something we're born with, the idea of "wiring" makes sense in a way that a lot of people just don't get. Your walls don't choose to be either/or-- they are wired that way. And you can't convert your AC wiring to DC by telling it to just be different.

The moral of this story is that people, no matter where they live or who they are, mostly just want to live their lives as best as they can. It may not be the same way that you yourself live, but that doesn't mean it's evil, or will corrupt children. I grew up as normal as anyone else-- have a stable marriage and lots of ambition-- living in what pundits call an alternative culture did not change me for the worse. And unlike a lot of people might think, I was a very conservative kid (waited till very late in the game for my first boyfriend, and married the second "serious" boyfriend I ever had).

But man, does it make for some interesting stories. While folks from middle-class suburban upbringing were growing up with birthday parties, clowns, trips to Chuck-e-cheese and stuff, my life was a bit of a soap opera. I'll tell you more about it sometime, if you wanna hear some other good stories. But that's probably enough about me for today.

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*I have a "list" on amazon.com that talks about this a bit more from a funny perspective, called "So You Want to be a Drag Queen Trapped in a Woman's Body." If you go there to see it, vote for me and get me on the top 100 listmania listers.

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**It's sort of funny that I ended up in Texas, and I agree with the lyrics of that song in many ways. When I first met my Texan husband, I always told him he looked like a cowboy (he kinda does.)

VD

Go on. You know you're curious.



And donate some money while you're there. Or else everyone will think you're a cheapskate.

A Good Thing

Martha supporters, feel free to reproduce these images, created by me and Photoshop, on your website as long as you load it to your own bandwidth.

Free Martha!

Okay, I know she's not actually IN prison. Despite all those stupid pictures that were going around about how she would decorate her cell (which were designed by someone with NO IDEA about Martha, because they were WAAAAY too tacky for her cell decor. It would be something tasteful, perhaps with some Shaker furniture, with a lot of sea foam green, thank you very much). But I think she is innocent of the charges against her, and it is ridiculous that her career is in jeopardy because she took her broker's advice. People say "it's the cover up that gets you." What, exactly, did she cover up? A murder? An invasion on shaky evidence? Or perhaps illicit adulterous sex while on the job? Who was seriously harmed by Martha's actions? Yeah. That's what I thought you'd say.

I've thought all along that the case against Martha Stewart was being driven

1. by a desire to make an example of a famous person
2. because people dislike her for no really good reason
3. because she's a powerful woman (dare I say it, even, at times, a bitch?)

I heard on the news that courtroom sketch artists were having a hard time drawing her because she has no "distinguishing features." How about that hair, man? That's good. And the self-assured tilt of her eyebrows. The pictures I've seen are definitely unattractive, and unflattering. These people are supposed to be artists, yet they can't even get a woman who has been a public icon for years face right? Puh-leeze. The lack of good courtroom sketches is, in my humble opinion, just another low blow against a woman who has really done no one any real harm, and a lot of people some real good.

So to get your news fix on this issue, here are some web links: There's a nice blog dedicated to her courtoom proceedings that I checked out. Then there's Slate's guide to the trial, with fabulous headlines like: "Back-Room Deals and Heads on Platters." Martha herself keeps you posted with her official stand at Marthatalks.com

What I think is going on is that people who haven't ever liked Martha and all that they think she stands for (an upper middle class sort of WASP-ish ness) want to punish her for her status as a woman who deals in the domestic. Even though in reality, her style is NOT about demanding perfection, but demanding, instead, that one simply take pleasure in things like a home-made whipped cream (which I tell you, really is better than the stuff in the plastic tub). To take some time to bake a cake from scratch, when you can. To try to make your home a pleasant place. It ISN'T about keeping women stuck in the 1950s, as I've heard some people say. It's not about a return to the Home Ec sheet on what a good wife should do for her hubby. If you can't do it, or don't want to-- hey. That's fine with her, and with me, and any other domestic goddess type. But I don't hate people who DON'T want to cook and throw dinner parties-- why do you hate folks like me because we enjoy it? It's not anti-feminist, to be a domestic diva. No one is saying that you're bad if you don't do domestic stuff, or that it should be your only choice as a woman-- being in the home. But it ought to be one of your choices-- and the belief that someone is "just a housewife" is inaccurate and spiteful. ALL women's roles should be respected and validated. Not just the ones the media recommends, but the ones you personally wish to play.

The attitude of "burn Martha" is terribly scary and part of an anti-powerful woman backlash that has been going on in this country for a long time.

I've heard non-domestic types say they "hate her". Why? Because you can't live up to your own personal standards? Well neither can I-- but she doesn't expect you to. It's about trying what you can-- not doing everything. I can NOT do all of the things Martha does-- I do not have my own staff, thank you. But some of her recipes and tips are wonderful, and her type of influence is exactly one of the reasons why people who once rejected everything domestic as oppressive and retrograde are instead thinking of how to make easy home-made meals, instead of popping off to the dreaded McD's again. No one who is a Martha Stewart fan thinks less of you if you can't do a quiche, or get your souffles to rise. But her skills are in things that HAVE been traditionally thought of as women's domain-- and people hate her because she says it's important to pay attention to these little things again. It's not about NOT working outside the home-- but about making your home a home.

It is precisely a double standard, and as one website put it, "I get e-mails all the time from men who want to turn the clock back to colonial times. ... They call her a witch, they seem to say she's guilty before a trial. ... They seem to be very angry at her and at us for defending her." Yes. Martha's trial is definitely a witch hunt, of the worst sort. People want to see her "burn" for all the same reasons they like to see powerful women kept in their place. In a country where wife-murderers play golf, and the Enron execs are out sailing yachts and drinking Cristal, Martha risks jail time for a monetary exchange that was, for her, the equivalent of me giving you ten bucks. It's a vicious sort of petty spite against a woman for reasons unclear to me. It's not about seeing justice done, because frankly, if justice really were a consideration in this, there wouldn't have been a trial at all.

If Martha Stewart serves jail time for this, I would have to say that we have lost our way and that the world is really screwed up beyond repair.

Richard Gere Spotted in VA

I know. It's a low blow. And an untrue urban myth. But funny anyway.

Oh what a wonderful gift that keeps on giving

In case you were wondering, another great gift for friends & loved ones can be found here.

The best part of it is that in discovering this wonderful thing, I also found out that Weekly World News has a website. Oh, bat boy. How I love thee. (Much more than UPS Guy ever did.).

Tell the UPS Man to Cut it Out, or, Why I'm SO Not Fantasizing About the Man in Brown

My office is on the "outside wall" next to the front porch. So whenever I get a delivery (which is fairly often, since I order special snob coffee almost every three weeks or so) the UPS guy sort of stomps on the porch, (which is my first clue that something is about to happen) then rings the doorbell rapidly twice,* drops my package like a hot potato, and sprints back to his truck with a speed that would make Donovan Bailey (fastest man in the world) go "Wow. Dude. Slow it Down Some." (I'm assuming. I didn't actually ask Mr. Bailey what he thought).

By the time I get over the sudden adrenaline rush from an unexpected doorbell at almost 6 pm on a dark and rainy night, rush to the front room, and open the door, the UPS guy is a butt in brown pants leaping into the truck like some sort of brown leaping thing. (I couldn't think of a good simile. Sue me. And I know the link is to a green jumping thing. We can't all be perfect.) The funny (ha ha) thing is that the last package had a "signature required" label on it. Did he get my signature? No. Not unless someone's been giving me memory wipes again. (Damn CIA).

So offically, I am not in crush/love/lust with the UPS guy. He gives me the willies cause he just sprints away like that. He also makes me feel bad, like the unattractive old landlady in Kingpin that Woody Harrleson's character had to sleep with for his rent money. (who is actually pretty attractive in her publicity photo). Am I so hideous that the UPS man has to race away from my door before I can even make it the 12 feet down the hall and back to answer his doorbell? I realize he's in a hurry, but man, I'm not an ogre!

Why, oh why, am I so frightening to the UPS man?

I just wanna be loved, is that so wrong?!

*causing me to yell "darn you kids: stop ringing that bell!!" while shaking my fist at them, even though there actually are no kids and I'm hallucinating again....

I'm baaaaaack!

Well, I went to the AAFA exam on Friday. It was a very long day-- I got up at 3 AM and was going, including exercising a bit, till about 11 pm. I think I passed the written portion of the exam with flying colors (pink & black, if you must know) but some of the things on the "practical" where you have to demonstrate a class & several types of exercise, well, I dunno. We'll see. It depends on how strict the judges were. What was hard is that you had to have good form on the exercises but there were no mirrors to check yourself with. So it beats the heck outa me.

In the meantime, the weekend was swell-- visited Andrew in Shreveport and had several nice meals with him & his parents. Discovered again that I don't care at all for Casinos. The cat was fine when I got home, and she's spent a while meowing earnestly at me-- she had a lot to tell me, apparently.

In further news-- I read a really good book on the plane. It's called Solitaire by Kelley Eskridge. I have read work by Eskridge's partner, Nicola Griffith, and really loved it-- I recommend her too. They both deal with lesbian relationships really well; I know Griffith has won at least one Lambda award. Basically, it's not "extra" that often the protagonists are women who love women-- it's treated as a normal part of the narrative, as it should be, as it would be if it was a hetero relationship. But it's not really the focus of the text-- it's just a part of the person's life in the story. They're both sort of sci-fi. I say sort of because it's the type of sci fi that's thoughtful (a lot of it is!) but not really about deep space exploration or robots or something. It's basically speculative reality. So, if you're into books that explore the nature of social relationships at the same time as they sort of make you think about people, but also have an edge, try both writers. Solitiare put me in a very contemplative, sort of sad mood for a while, in a good way, but it's strong, vibrant prose and I really cannot praise her work (or Griffith's to that matter) enough. I just noticed when I looked up the amazon link that Griffith has a book I haven't read-- so I'm going to have to get that one. With my limited time for "fun reading" it's really great to find writers who I know I'll like, who I know will make me think.

If you go to the link on the Lambdas, I've also read The Gumshoe, The Witch and the Virtual Corpse by Keith Hartman. That one's fabulous too-- it's got this really cool bit on witches. :)

Till Monday

Okay, so THIS weekend I'm going out of town for sure. Tomorrow is the big AAFA aerobics certification day. I will have a verrrrry lonnnnng day, getting to the airport at 5 am, then to Dallas for Aerobic workshop/test. Then tomorrow night to Shreveport till Monday. A little canoodling with the hubby. So wish me luck on my test tomorrow. Just remember "purpose, effectiveness, alignment/form, for whom is this exercise"? That's my mnemonic of the night. I'm singing it.

And I have many, many personalities. This weekend, as you see, I'm "sporty." :)

My Boss and Blogging

She comes into the room, disapproval radiating from every inch.

"Are you on blogs again? You should be working out/cleaning the house/working on your dissertation!"

I quickly attempt to minimize the screen to hide my illicit "keeping-up-with-complete-strangers" from her eagle-sharp eyes, but I am not quick enough. My lame attempts at defense fall on deaf ears and she demands that I move along and do something productive, something that will forward my career, and/or make me a healthier individual in a clean house. It doesn't matter that I point out that most people read blogs while at work, earning real money and having signed a contract to do a certain JOB. She says, "Um, yeah, I'm gonna have to ask you to remember that you are not, after all, a character in the movie Office Space," and then says that admitting that I do a good 2 hours of work a week is not at all okay because it's only my own future I'm railroading. (I hate that "I'm not mad at you; I'm disappointed in you" crap).

All of my arguments are really for nothing because everything I say she counters with a truly good point. She's really hard to argue with. Even pointing out that a minimum of 69 people found my webblog story on the superbowl, and that they truly were pointed in the direction of a thought-provoking gender-awakening style argument rather than just the salacious pictures they were looking for doesn't hold any weight with her. She's not having any of it. Instead, she points out that others were looking for photos of Posh Spice in formal wear (and no, I don't know why they made it here, either. But wouldn't pictures of Posh Spice in formal wear be nifty? Go ahead. Go search for them).

So I reluctantly shut the computer down to go to my office (otherwise known as Starbucks @ the Forum) to get some real writing done, away from the computer's siren call of the Internet. I also promise to not chat with nice single guys who I would like to set up with my single friends.

I deeply regret the day I took that cat to debate classes. She took to argument like you wouldn't believe, and now she's just impossible to reason and/or live with. I really liked her better when she just brought me lizards.

Back in the Spam O Sphere

Why did it take me three tries to spell sphere?

Okay. Anyway. Those of you who know me outside of bloggerland know that a while back I changed my email address because, what with the online presence at womenwriters, I was getting SO much spam. I downloaded email one day (and it hadn't been that long since the last download) and got something like 150 emails-- 2 of which I actually wanted to get. So the addy changed. It's a big step, changing the email address. It's worse, really, than changing your phone number because in this modern email based world we live, there are folks who we don't talk to all that often who are "email correspondents" who will not get the message, and somehow be lost in the world of email bounce. They may not be the closest friends, but I like keeping up with them.

Not to mention the email I accidentally lost when I deleted the "kim" address-- I didn't mean to delete them all, but there were about 500 messages in the folder and in trying to get rid, quickly, of the bulk of junk, I deleted everything. Probably most of that was junk. But there were most likely a few letters in there from people who now think I'm a total tool for not writing back, and are as we speak undoubtedly creating little voodoo dolls of me with a crashing computer and/or nasty rash on my arms. Just for that oh-so-important internet revenge. I would beg for mercy, but in deleting all those emails, I probably don't deserve it. It's karma, I know.

But ultimately, the loss was worth it for the almost year long (maybe that long?) respite I had from spam. It was really, really nice to open up my "inbox" and find that I didn't have dozens of letters about Viagra, or one of those Hilton chicks, or from that guy who really wants me to help him transfer some money, and will reward me handsomely for my bank account number.

But alas, there is much gnashing of teeth and rending of clothes. Today will go down as a red-letter email day.

Today, my friends, I realized that once again, my new address is in the "spam-o-sphere." I got one of those "bounces" from the virus protector of someone I don't even know, with my "cloned" email address as the source. That means that I'm in the virus list now-- no more freedom from the evil spam empire. It won't be long till I'm on on those damn lists again. And the meager protections of spam lists in our email programs are not worth really even mentioning. ::sigh::

I re-iterate a wish I have made before, wholeheartedly. I wish that deliberate spammers & virus creators be consigned to a special version of Hell, where they sit (in a non-ergonomically kind chair) at a computer (preferably installed with an OS that crashes every three seconds) and have to weed through millions upon millions of spam emails to find the ONE email that, if they found it, would entitle them to a second chance. And every time they open an email, they get, oh, let's say 7 more which pop up, messing up the list and making them start back at the top again. AND their "cupholder" will be broken, too.

That sort of punishment, my friends, would indeed prove that there is a God, and she is wise.

I have seen the future, and now I must aerobicize....

You will sink in a mire. You like to think you're
normal, but deep down you really just want to
strip off your clothes and roll around in
chicken fat.


What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?
brought to you by Quizilla

google search terms: the sequel

I am beginning to be suspicious that people put weird search strings into google and then click every site that comes up just to make people like me wonder WTF!? about the terms people are looking for. How else do you explain that someone found my site yesterday using the search phrase: "cat home hulk love butt zoo love butt"?!! What in GOD's NAME was that person looking for unless they're doing the "conspiracy theory" above?

I really don't want to know. Plus, I know for a fact that until just this moment, the word Hulk could not have appeared in this blog because I HATED that movie. (I know, you gotta be one of those film geeks to get it-- well, I'm not).

I think it's something people must do for fun. Sort of like when I signed up for my access to a graphics site, I listed my profession as astrophysicist, cause it was an option, and I figured "hey, man, that'll screw with their stats." So, that's gotta be it. (I really don't want to imagine the world where someone wants to find a webpage devoted to cat home hulk love butt zoo love butt).

Growwwwwl.

I really don't have any particular thing to say this morning except that I'm feeling crabby, as my unkymood shows. I think it's sad that my cat can have such a radical effect on my mood, but after waking me up too early, she's very smelly, her litter box is "broken" (I have one of those "automated" rake-things) and she won't eat the food I gave her and is whining at me about it. With Andrew gone, she's the only "contact" I get unless I go somewhere, so imagine if the other person you lived with woke up this morning giving you MAJOR attitude. It's really cute when cats are annoying in those cat comic strips like, say, Get Fuzzy. But it's totally different when she's your housemate.

Piffle.

I hope my kick-ass workout will help. It's at 11:00, and my instructor is this really wild and energetic flight-attendant chick. Normally, I leave the class really well exercised and feeling much better. The universe better hope I do that today, or else I can't be sure of the consequences of my crankiness.

Superbowl Scandal? AKA Nasty Boys on Film....

I'm going to weigh in here with my humble, nobody asked for it opinion on the Janet & Justin boobygate Superbowl scandal. Based on photos I saw on Fox Sports it really looks to me like yes, they did mean to pull off the top layer of Janet's bustier/leather thing and expose the red bra underneath. But I think Justin gripped a bit too much fabric & we got the "whole enchilada" -- so to speak. The look on Justin's face in one of the still photos I saw says "Holy Crap!" (See picture number 10 in the sequence there). And Janet doesn't look pleased at all, either. So, I do think they intended a bit of "drama" there at the end, but not quite as much as they got. Picture 5 is that looking-down, realizing you're "out" moment that all women have probably had at some point (at the beach with me, with waves a little more wavey than I thought).

OOOH there's gonna be some scandal, and some red-faced embarrassment. As CBS said: MTV won't be doing another halftime show. Well, there were parts of this one that were the best I've seen in a while, but the entire Jackson bit was a bit odd-- sort of like a cross between Les Mis and A Clockwork Orange with a little Cirque du Soleil thrown in there in the costume department. I guess the thing they forgot is that the Superbowl is not quite the MTV movie awards and/or even the Grammies. A little more conservative there fellas.

But still. I gotta give my man Justin props-- I don't think he meant to do it, and he's the only person I've seen statements from other than the official "CBS" statement. (How do you like the "street cred" I get there with my oh so cool lingo?) I know. I'm so cool. Everyone seems to assume it was not an accident. I don't think the main part with the bare booby was on purpose. Yes, she had something that looked like a pasty there-- I think it was the normal earrings she has in her breasts. Janet IS a bit of a strange one, in some ways, but it doesn't look like a pasty so much as metal-- jewelry that stays put.

Finally, what I want to say about this is that I think it's actually sort of funny (in a not funny way) that we get offended by the sight of a woman's breast on TV. Yes, if it was on purpose and using sex to sell and objectification and all that, fine, that's wrong.

But I personally am much more offended when I see some bigshot action hero blow someone's head off on TV, and there's no public outcry and no quick cutaway. Why isn't anyone talking about the guys grabbing crotch every three seconds like they were afraid it would disappear if they didn't check on it?

One of the things I discovered in New Orleans when people were "flashing for beads" is that bared breasts are much less threatening feeling than bared male anatomy. Some guys, in trying to get our beads, would offer to unzip. And that was just creepy, where the breast flashing was different, and less weird, and after a while, it wasn't even all that shocking. But there's a power differential there, where a guy bares the "package" it feels more like a threat than a peep show. Why is it that CBS has to apologize for an accidental breast peek and the news says about the nearly naked streaker "a streaker running onto the field just before the start of the third quarter certainly was entertaining."?

So what was with all that crotch grabbing?

UPDATE: You know, the more I think about it, the more disturbed I am by this whole incident. Feministe has a good take on the incident that brings up some points I hadn't thought of. In reading her post, I have changed my mind about how I feel. I was just basically thinking of it as a "freedoms" issue-- but even IF there hadn't been the "wardrobe malfunction," even giving them the benefit of the doubt that they didn't MEAN to expose her whole breast, it was a violent display of a woman being exposed for "titillation" of an unsuspecting audience. Bleah. I'm just mad at everyone today, and now I realize why that whole halftime show got under my skin.

Update 2 There's now an official "apology" from Janet's side of the camp, and I am right that they didn't mean it to go so far. But I do still think that the fact they thought it would be "cute" to simulate a sexual assault of sorts shows how toxic our culture's attitude about sex is.

Hee Hee. What's your Geek Score?

You are 23% geek

OK, so maybe you ain't a geek. You do, at least, show a bit of interest in the world around you. Either that, or you have enough of a sense of humor to pick some of the sillier answers on the test. Regardless, you're probably a pretty nifty, well-rounded person who gets along fine with people and can chat with just about anyone without fear of looking stupid or foolish or overly concerned with minutiae. God, I hate you.

Take the Polygeek Quiz at Thudfactor.com

Italy (and parts nearby) here we come-- maybe

Well, part of my incentive for getting a good-sized draft of the dissertation done is that Andrew (AKA wonderhusband) has promised that we can take a cool cruise in the early summer IF I get a draft (at least) done. (And it is looking pretty good so far).

One of the cruises that we are seriously considering are a couple of different "Clipper Ships Tours" of the Mediterranean. So since I can already mangle my way through French & Spanish, I'm seriously thinking of getting the "Italian in your car" series so I can speak little bits of Italian. Some of them have overnights in, say, Monte Carlo. Cool, huh? And I could wander about, amazing the natives with my fabulous grasp of, "excuse me, where are the bathrooms?" and "I have a pencil" or "where do I purchase a train ticket?" And, of course, the best part of all is I can ask those wonderful three phrases (and much, much more) in FOUR languages, instead of my mere three now (I'm including my native English. Cause clearly I have mastered that one. AND I do have a pencil.)

So if anyone reading this blog has had experience on the Clipper Ships, (WindStar or "Star Clippers") I'd love to hear your review. They're really not much more expensive than the "Big Giant CRUISE SHIPS" that I've looked at, yet it looks much more intimate & luxurious. And it's got the added appeal that we might end up swabbing the decks, matey, and/or press-ganged into the Privateer business. I like it that the Frommer's guide emphasizes that there's a cool library on board, and several times within the description mentioned "reading" and/or "curling up with a good book." It sounds heavenly-- much better than the idea of playing bingo with the "cruise" version of our parents. (No Bingo For ME!!)