Rainy Days

It's been raining in San Antonio a lot in the last couple of weeks. Today, Judy & I went downtown to show her the Alamo and some other things... and it was POURing. It usually doesn't rain like that in Texas for this long. It's kind of nice, cause the lawn is nice & green with no effort, but everything gets old after a while.

One of the nice things my sister did for me while I was in Alaska was clean my house-- mop my floors, etc. She found a book I had lost of old poetry & stuff. I am really glad she found it-- I had forgotten all about the works in the book. One of the ones was that poem (haiku-ish) about Supergirl from yesterday. Then there's this:

Just a small brown moth.
Just a warm plant,
and summer ending.

This was written in September '01. It's a short little nature sketch-- I was kind of in to them right then. There are others, including some on Sept 11th. I may post them here eventually. :)

If you want the beta version

I have posted photos of the Alaska trip to OFOTO. You have to log in; eventually, I'll put it up on this site, but it may take a while. Here is the link so if you're impatient, you can see.

Supergirl Buys A Bra (A haiku of sorts)

I need firmer support.
No lace or little bows.
Do you have anything in red?

Back in Second Largest State

Yes, Alaska is huger than Texas. But I think we in Texas have more attitude. Funnily enough, on the way home, I heard the song "Anchorage" by Michelle Shocked. I'm planning a series of blog entries on the trip, featuring:

Salmon on parade!
Brianna, the fabulous tour guide!
Sea Lion Cops!
My "infinity plus one" necklace (with pix, for Kim!)
And More!

Here's a little sneak preview:

This is us on our "wildlife cruise." See that mountain in the back? It's not even the coolest one we saw.

Oh, and....

this MIGHT be my last post from here, since I don't know if my next place to stay will have a nifty little room for computer access like this Ramada does... but I'll try to find a wireless network somewhere, or you'll just have to pine away without me till I do. But it's been fun posting here in the hotel lobby computer room. I got "pinged" last night cause apparently some other guest had left their AOL Instant Messanger thing live-- and someone named Karl who was looking for Bob said HI. So if you see Bob, tell him Karl said hi. (I'm sure it wasn't OUR Bob, but any old Bob'll do).

Keeping Alaska's Economy Sharp

Well I just did my part. I found a really nifty little pendant called a "triple infinity" made out of mammoth bone (probably) but it's essentially "infinity plus one". I liked that, cause that's how much I love my honey bunny. :)

I also found that I was entirely too embarassed to ask anyone where to find a walrus penis bone. So I did not end up getting one for anyone. But I read about it in a guide book and so apparently they do have a bone. Bulls have them too, so it's not that unusual, by the way.

Anyhoo. Andrew is officially here-- he's coming to get me soon. We are subject to the whims of his aircrew, so I'm going to wait till they're all showered and ready to come pick me up. But I am tired, and have touristed enough for today. We may go to the glaciers later, but I'm thinking that'll happen tomorrow.

The Alaskans are very friendly-- and it's been a fun morning so far. I like it here and am having a great time. Wish you were here. :)

Still Here

So I am out to breakfast, somewhere. I truly need good coffee too. I slept well, even though it never did get really dark (the rumors are true.) :) I think Andrew is on his way-- I can't get in touch with his cell, which ought to mean he's on a plane flying this way. He's supposed to be here, if the plans they had last night work out, in about three hours. Let's hope, cause otherwise, I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do. Probably head to the airport and get the late flight out. So. Here in Alaska, and there are no igloos. I'm so disappointed. :)

Oh. And in a comment, Nissa asked "what is a walrus penis bone?" It's exactly what it sounds like, dear.

Does it look like I'm typing this from really far up North?

Cause I am. I am in Alaska, dear readers. However, the funny part is Andrew is NOT. His plane broke, and he won't be here till tomorrow. So. I am off to explore "downtown" Anchorage to get some food, batteries for my camera because I, like a doofus, left the rechargables recharging AT HOME. I will also perhaps pick up one of those tacky souvenir walrus penis bones. Who wants one?!?

I wrote a long blog entry while on the plane ride (the lonnnnnng five hours between Salt Lake & here) but I have to figure out how to transfer it from the laptop to this little computer in the Ramada lobby. Maybe you'll just have to wait for it. I also have some cybercafes on the agenda, but we'll see what happens there.

For now, if you see a moose running really fast as though in fear of the Texans invading, then you'll know why.

Buy Guidebooks

I was never really a big traveler in the distant past; we didn't really have the money to go many places. I never had vacations as a kid (but then, I did live in Florida, so what's the point?) Recently, with Andrew in the Reserves & me with a special deal on airline tickets, we've been going more places. This week (Thursday) I'm going to Anchorage Alaska for the weekend.

One of the things I've found on past trips is that you really do need to know something about the place to which you're going. So I started buying guidebooks (you could probably get them from the library, too, but I like to tear pages out and the librarians really frown on that sort of thing). Reading the guidebooks gives you that "friend in the area" who knows where the cool places to eat are, and what to avoid. My favorites are these maps you can get of several cities in the U.S.; they even tell you where the closest, say, Starbucks or Duncan Donuts are, as well as the cool historical & artistic places. I also like the irreverent guides-- the places recommended were slightly off the beaten track, and it's definitely for younger folks.

But the final things about buying guidebooks, and why I recommend you get them even if you're not planning on going anywhere right away:

1. you get to dream & plan and imagine a place you've never been before. After you get to go there, you can look back at the book and remember where you were.
2. the clerks at the bookstore like to see you going somewhere--when I bought my Alaska one last night, the girl behind the counter smiled and asked if I was moving there... when I said "just visiting," she smiled and told me she had lived there. She had a wistful look on her face and it was a nice human connection.

So in this world where often people can feel really alone, buying guidebooks is a moment of being in this world-- thinking about more than the prescription you have to pick up down the block or the soccer game you're going to later today.

Feeling better by the way

I put this in comments, then thought maybe I ought to update. I'm feeling okay-- my toe is stiff and a little sore, but not that bad. My arms aren't nearly as painful as I was afraid they would be.

In short, I think I will live.

The trip downtown for my sister to see the sights of San Antonio is probably going to be put off a little longer, but that's all right.

Longest Day of the Year

Happy Summer Solstice!!

We went to the lakehouse for Father's Day today. It was actually really really nice-- the wind was cool and blowing off the lake and it was not too hot. Andrew bought us a kayak (it's orange) and he and I went kayaking across the lake, quite a distance. It was fun once he stopped telling me I was doing it all wrong. :) My arms were/are quite sore! If we do this all the time (which is part of the plan) my arms are going to be really buff.

Tonight as we were cleaning up the lake house to leave Nissa accidentally dropped a lid from a Corning wear on my right foot. Now if you'll recall, last week sometime I complained about my left second toe starting to look like my mom's. Well. Now my right foot has gotten sort of squished (it hurts, but I'll live). And my second toe looks to me a little longer than it was. Really weird how events are conspiring to make me have my mom's feet. I'm cursed! Augh! (I guess there are worse things I could have). :) Right now, after having ice on the toe for the last hour, it is elevated & I'm about to head for bed. We'll just have to see. I may be very sore tomorrow and need to whine about it more. Maybe I should change the blog name to Kim Whines. Nah. Not nearly as good-sounding.

Restful & Nice

I have nothing at all sarcastic or interesting to say about today. Which in itself is probably both.

We've spent a lovely day, and are watching Love Actually, which has Billy Bob Thornton as the US President & Hugh Grant as English Prime Minister. Funny. Thornton is playing the pres as a cross between "Clintonian" and Bush "W". I'm just not sure about it. We'll see. It's about halfway done, and sweet, mostly. Hugh Grant is giving Billy Bob a "look" right now cause Billy has done something awful.

Back to my martini.

Friday Friday Friday!

So tonight we're going to hang out with friends at our local place, Chili Pepe's, drink margaritas and veg. A good time should be had by all. I am kind of headache-y right now, so I'm planning a nap before the festivities begin. Perhaps I will read one of my scholarly articles in order to bring on said nap. :) That way, I can say I have worked on the dissertation today, too!

Last night we went to a Missions baseball game. It was fun-- I made up a margarita for myself, sort of-- they only had beer & nasty wine and since I don't like beer, it looked grim for any refreshing beverage choices. But they DID have a "do it yourself" flavoring sno cone stand. They put the ice all cone-y for you and you added flavor. They had a bottled "faux" margarita-- you know, like the wine coolers (Seagrams & stuff). So I got "sno cone" ice, and the poured my margarita in it. Very nice. Especially with a splash of strawberry sno-cone flavoring.

The game was about half over by the time we got there (and we actually weren't even that late) but we had excellent seats just behind home plate and down by the action. Missions eventually won-- yay home team! There was this one guy who was yelling very loudly at both teams. We really thought he should have volunteered himself as coach cause he knew sooooo much about what the players ought to do. I was pretty sure from the expression on her face that the woman who was unfortunately seated next to said loud guy with too many 1.00 beers under his belt felt that he ought to offer his services to someone else-- far, far away.

There was also an event where a pop up fly came zipping over and, for a few minutes, looked suspiciously like it was going to conk either me or my sister right on the head. We stared at it (surely like a couple of....girls) and it bounced just behind us and went flying away. I felt like that scene in Daria where she stares at the volleyball with all the interest of a cat looking at a broom & mop (as in: none, or pretending that the cat doesn't even actually see the cleaning appliances) and then halfheartedly reaches for the ball. Try to catch the foul ball? Are you kidding me?

Nope. I am not really that sort of athlete. If you want me to lead the team in a stretch beforehand, maybe get them doing some aerobics or ab work-- fine. I can handle that. But don't count on me to catch those baseballs for you.

Besides, isn't that what those fellas with the cute butts and little baseball hats that chew all that gum and/or tobacco are paid to do? I mean, they can't be just paid to sit in the hole in the ground and run around a big diamond sketched in the dirt all night, can they?

Okay then. Off to the napping.

Family Fun

This weekend is a family holiday-- duh. Father's Day was never really a big deal to me since my dad left when I was five-ish. Andrew's family tends to do things on holidays like this, though. We're going to the house the family owns out at the lake (Canyon). It can be lots of fun there; it's a very nice lake house and it's right on the lake, so there's swimming & stuff. We may get a kayak.

But it's also a source of stress-- some family members feel that they do everything, and then feelings get hurt and people get mad. I wish it could be as easy as it really ought to be... just people hanging out together.

Also, my sister is coming to town, too. She'll be here in a couple of hours. She's fun, though, since she radically decided to change her life recently... it'll be fun to see her. We're also going to a Missions game tonight.

Anyway. No real conclusions to offer right now. But the kayaking will be fun......

Wanna Wrassle?

Last night, my friend Aaron had us all over to his company's offices where they have a big screen TV and stuff to watch the NBA finals. They had a marg machine, and I had several margs. Partly because I have a really sore neck ever since yesterday morning, and I was anesthetizing myself. (Excuses!) Anyway.

Near the end of the night, I don't exactly know what set us off, but Aaron & I ended up "wrassling". I sort of fight dirty, and I truly hope I didn't hurt him, since (nice) boys can't actually fight dirty back. Not fair of me, I know, but I was several margaritas past caring. :) Anyway. Andrew got in on it too, and I apparently popped him on the tooth. I'm just a little hellcat. Bad Old Me.

That'll learn 'em to sneak up on a drunken "tigger" like that.

Pele Logs In

This post is being typed on my new little laptop. She's very light, cute, and happy to be here. I had to dump the old wireless router that we had previously in the house-- it never really worked, and was NOT working this AM. But a quick trip to Best Buy & I have wireless IN THE HOUSE. Now I'm getting used to the new laptop. The only thing that is currently a "minus" is that the keyboard rubs funny on my fingernails. I don't know if I can get used to that-- I may have to (gasp) clip my nails. It's a little "chalkboard-nail-scrapey".

But see how special I am? I have a red lava laptop named Pele. She's currently getting all her links set up and I'm going to install new stuff that is completely necessary. Ugh. yes. the fingernail thing is quite irritating. phooey. The other laptop has a slightly different feel to the keyboard, making it not so annoying to type on. We'll see what happens here.

LAPTOP LAPTOP LAPTOP!!!

My new little Dell just got here. The UPS man scared Tituba into a retreat under the bed, but now my sweet little computer is sitting on the coffee table waiting for me to boot her up. Gotta go do that! MAYBE, if I can get it to work right with the wireless at home, the next blog entry will come from her. :)

Face It-- I'm Hot

This "Star Face" Analogia comparison software meme that's going around the internet is quite interesting. You load a photo of yourself, and click on the eyes, and the software analyzes your face and tells you what celebrities you look like. It's supposed to work best when the face is straight ahead. In trying to do this for myself, I realized a couple of things.

The first is that I rarely take pictures with my face straight ahead. Most of the time, I'm sideways. I quirk my head a bit to the left almost every time. I did not realize I do this. I don't actually know why-- it's not a conscious attempt to, say, get my good side (I don't think I have a good or bad side). So it was really hard to find a good photo to use for this project. The one I did use, there on the far left of my screen, is a rather old but cute photo. I like my hair like that.

The second thing I realized is the sinister part. If you go to the main page and not the celebrity face page, you find that this software is being developed as part of "person identification in criminal investigations performing the recognition of the unknown human portrait in large database" (to quote the website, which has slightly off English grammar, so I suspect is being developed in another country). So what I think is that all the people submitting their photos and laughing over who they look like are actually helping them test the software. How else could they get millions of totally random people to post their photos to their database? It's clear that they have lots of celebrity photos, gotten off of the internet. So my sinister suspicious Scully self said "this is really funny. Now my photo is in their database. I'd better not commit any crimes."

But I'm not too worried, because, based on my little experiments, the software still has a long way to go. The first photo got me matched up with the following fun results:

Another photo got these:

So clearly, hairstyle, lipstick/smile, and other effects do change the results slightly. My vanity wants to believe I somehow resemble Audrey Hepburn, but I know I do not. Most of my life, if I get a "hey, you look like" it's been: Molly Ringwald (cause of my hair) Ally Sheedy (which I think is much closer) Frances McDormand (you know, the chick from Fargo). My sister used to get Jamie Lee Curtis all the time, so that one is a maybe. It seems the software goes on eye distance, and maybe chin shape.

If I post the first picture and say I'm a male, I get the following:


I even saw an example someone else put up where they posted their cat's photo, so I tried this myself. Tituba, of course, is psyched that she looks like Nikki Taylor and Giselle. She is a little bummed about the Mariah Carey thing though. She watched Glitter one night when she couldn't sleep and has never been able to listen to Mariah since. I think I got Giselle on one of the attempts to get a good results list, so maybe it's true that you start to resemble your pets over time. How the heck do they analyze cat face and get these results?


via Feministe

Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon

It doesn't matter that it's not really me.

I have a Kevin Bacon Number of 3

So there.

My Advice: Avoid Gardening!!

Usually, I let my front flower beds grow pretty wild & a little weedy. They're filled with ornamental grasses and Lantana bushes, which means that for the most part, the weedy overgrown look is good--looks nice & natural and "Romantic". But a Queen Anne's Lace style weed had died out there, and needed to have all the dead straggly bits pulled up before the neighborhood association came after me with one of their little "letters".

So I gardened today. The yard looks pretty good now; and I should be out standing in the front, gloating at my nice, neat yard.

BUT I was stung by an angry wasp, who was not at all thrilled with my remodeling plans for the weed where his nest was located.

And no, I don't mean a "white-guy-named-Biff-from-Cape-Cod-who-went-to-Harvard-and-lettered-in-rowing-WASP." I mean a red, flying, buzzing, sting-like-fire and instantly making your hand swell up sort of wasp.

I shrieked and ran into the house; Andrew helped me put baking soda/vinegar, and now, toothpaste (all three worked wonders, by the way. Although the toothpaste is a bit messy & keeps getting licked off).

The bad news here is that now there's a wasp flying around in my front yard with the taste of Kim in his little mouth. And I think he kind of likes it.

I just wish he'd take that little boating hat off, and put down the martini. He looks like a sort of James Spader bad boy. He keeps inviting me over for "cocktails" but I'm sure he'd only hurt me again.

Sharp & Loud

Yesterday, I REAAAAALLLLLLY cleaned my office. This was something done to make my wonnerful hubby happy. (Surprisingly, I really like the clean office too. But that's beside the point).

In the midst of the cleaning, I found a paper written while in grad school, which I gave a presentation on during said class. The paper had some issues the teacher didn't like, which I remembered. What I didn't remember is a comment scrawled on the last page of my essay about my performance during the oral presentation. He said that "sometimes my voice sounded sharp and loud. Maybe from nervousness."

No. Really.

Actually, sometimes just for fun I really like to make myself as unpleasant as possible. It had nothing to do with nerves; I'd really rather just weaken my claims/arguments by irritating my audience.

I mean. What kind of comment is that to make on someone's paper? I have written comments on oral presentations many many times, and yes, I will comment on someone's voice if they cannot be heard (saying something from the Thumper school of saying it nicely or not saying it at all) like-- sometimes your voice was hard to hear-- try speaking up. But the sharp and loud, that really kind of hurts my feelings because I have no freakin' idea what he meant, and while maybe I was nervous, maybe he was just hating my normal presentation voice. You would think someone with a PhD and years of experience would be able to figure out a better way of telling me what was happening.

But then again. Perhaps I should go for sharp and loud as my normal style. A la The Nanny. Whaddaya Think?! (read last two words sharply. and loudly).

Barbie Clothes? Would You Wear Them?

Helping the hubby research stuff for his stock venture* I was in a neck of the woods that I don't normally visit-- CNN Money. It was scary there-- news about Bull and Bear markets, investment profiles with charts that went up and down with math-like lines and numbers and stuff. For this English major, and girl who can easily figure out at least three languages, there just seemed to be a lot of language that was hard for me to get. Doublespeak and stuff.

But then I spotted her, that familiar glint in her wide blue eyes, the pink accessories, the oh so blond hair. Barbie. Barbie is launching a new clothing line for real women. For this girl who remembers well when Barbie mentioned math being hard, in my math-induced phobic reaction to the Money pages, she held out a well-manicured hand and said "succor"!

Remember dressing Barbie in those cute vintage-like Jackie-O clothes? Well, apparently, soon, you can pop into the Barbie store, right next door to, say Banana Republic, and pick up some kicky shoes and a matching belt. And lots of pink. The story says that Mattell (parent company to Barbie) opened several stores in Japan and they did very well.

I can see that. Many Japanese just love what is perceived as "American" culture. Andrew tells me in other places, there are "Lipton" stores that are like Starbucks here-- people think Lipton is soooo American, it's kind of cool to pop into these stores. I'm not sure Americans would think so-- I mean, Lipton? Bad, always tastes a bit instant to me tea? Too-salty soup?

So success in Japan doesn't mean that the Hilton sisters next-big-thing is to sport Barbie clothes on the red carpet.

But I wonder. I can see Barbie clothing doing well in a certain niche market. Maybe just BECAUSE of the camp value. Going clubbing? Want to pick up Ken? Perhaps you like GI Joe? Maybe the ultimate Barbie outfit is just the thing. But then, alas, you find that Ken & GI Joe in the real world are just as "anatomically correct" as our Barbie found when she finally kicked off those pink stillettos and pulled Ken/GI Joe into her "not so bendy" arms. Disappointing? Yes.

I'm pretty sure that is how the Barbie Mattel folks are going to feel eventually.

---

*He says he is "looking to diversify our investments to outperform the Dow Jones for money to put our future kids through college and for our eventual retirement." Yes. That is a noble quest, and worthy. However, I suspect he really just wants to make enough on stocks to wander about the house dressed like Mr. Moneybags wearing a monocle and saying things like "OOh Muffy. Let's go to the coast" in an affected accent. Since his best accent is a Texan whose been drinking too much beer, I'm pretty sure that he can't do East Coast boat-club very well. I'm pretty sure he'll sound a lot more like Rodney Dangerfield in Back to School.

Gretchen Wilson

Okay. I talked about Gretchen's "Redneck Woman" song once before in this blog. I have to say, now that her album is out, I like her even more. I dunno if it's living in Texas, if the water just eventually makes you like country music and women who know the difference between a 15 round clip and a rifle, or whatever, but I like girl country. I just burned a CD from Rhapsody which included Gretchen's entire new album, plus such cool country diva songs as:
Tanya Tucker's "Texas"
Dolly Parton's "Romeo"
as well as artists whose name currently (in my martini drinking state) ex-cape me.

And I'm totally and completely thrilled.

I got a hit to my blog search terms looking for info on how "Gretchen Wilson is not southern." Well. Apparently, as is no secret (it's posted on her website for christussake) she was born in Illinois. And lived there till at least 15. But then lived at least for awhile in Missouri.

I'm here to tell ya. Now, being born north of the Mason-Dixon may preclude me from ever being a native Southerner. But I know how to use "fixin'" and "all yall" in a sentence correctly. And I married a Texan. And I plan to birth me some babies here in the South one day. AND I lived in a trailer park for entirely more time than I care to recall. And I can make a mean batch of beef enchiladas with Chili, as well as "Chicken Bog" and "Beignets" and other various southern food. So Southern doesn't mean born there. And as I discovered when I lived in Washington state, there are bars way up north that you could lift up, pop down to the deepest part of Mississippi and it would not be out of place. Redneck is a state of mind. And while I don't always qualify (I do, after all, appreciate Tiffany's and Moet Chandon, as well as Sushi and Brie) I always love where I grew up. And when I go up north, they always say "You talk funny. Where are you from.?"

To which I reply: "That, my friend, is a long story."

And a reason why I have a certain affinity for Ms. Wilson. More power to her, and I hope she makes enough money to swim in diamond jacuzzis (although that would be impractical). If I weren't going to Alaska when she comes to my hometown I would SO be at the concert. Two-steppin. And wearing my ostrich skin boots. And some tight jeans. And yellin'
yyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee haw.

Just so's you know.

One Reason Red is my Favorite Color

When I was a little girl, my mother dated a man from Alabama who was a mean man. And I mean "mean" in almost all the ways the word can denote.

Selfish in a petty way; unkind.
Cruel, spiteful, or malicious.
Ignoble; base: a mean motive.
Miserly; stingy.
Low in quality or grade; inferior.
Low in value or amount; paltry: paid no mean amount for the new shoes.
Common or poor in appearance; shabby: "The rowhouses had been darkened by the rain and looked meaner and grimmer than ever" (Anne Tyler).
Low in social status; of humble origins.
Humiliated or ashamed.
In poor physical condition; sick or debilitated.
Extremely unpleasant or disagreeable: The meanest storm in years.
Informal. Ill-tempered. from dictionary.com

What he liked best of all was to keep my mother (and therefore, me) in his control. He would get petulantly angry and throw a mean assed fit which often included things being thrown down the stairs (a Thanksgiving turkey once, my sister's wedding cake another time). Things that especially made him mad were when my mother had control over herSELF-- if she got a job, for instance, he would start tons of fights until she quit from the sheer weariness over the battle. In fact, he is part of the reason I am a staunch feminist in life-- I know how vitally important it is for women to have control of their own destinies, because nasty little men like him exist in droves, and if women cannot choose their own way in life, their own education, their own jobs, their reproductive freedoms, they will be stuck with mean men like him.

But wait, what does this have to do with red?

I'm glad you asked. B. (I'll call him that just to be nice, which I am) used to say that women who wore "whore red" nail polish were, well, whores. And that, my friend, was the worst thing you could be in B's book. A woman who had the audacity to like red fingernails clearly must have been sexually promiscuous and nasty. No matter what other traits she might have. Heck, she might be saving orphans from a fire but if she had red fingernails while doing it, she was a whore and deserved to be smacked around.

Well. I love red. I have whore red fingernails RIGHT NOW and I adore the way my nails look, with slightly squared tips and this deep OPI "I'm Not Really a Waitress - NLH08 red"richness that screams "I AM IN CONTROL OF MY OWN DESTINY. MY OWN BODY. AND YOU, MEAN LITTLE MAN, ARE POINTLESS."

Evil Laughter Bubbles Up....

Maybe I shouldn't say evil. Happy? Bubbly? Thrilled?

Cause last night, I ordered my new laptop! It'll be "ready to ship" on June 16. I should get it three or four days later. WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Now I'm trying to decide what to name her. I'm leaning towards Pele cause she's got that lava red cover. What other volcanic types are there? Kali, maybe. Keeping it "in" my culture, there's Brigid-- but I named another laptop a similar name, (before Uncle Bob went and changed it to Angelina, after the actress-- which so steamed me.....)so that probably won't work. I think Durga might qualify as "volcanic" of sorts, depending on how you define it (fiery temper-- boy, that opens it to lots of goddesses). Incidentally, the links to the really cool goddess pix is my "cousin-in-law." She's a really sweet lady who is a great artist, and I got a deck of those Goddess Oracle cards for Christmas one year. Anyway. I'm excited. I can't wait to get my new toy, but it requires me to set the self-goal of writing EVERY SINGLE DAY on the dissertation. Otherwise, Andrew will get awfully cranky.

South Park Us

There's this fun page where you can go to make your own version of yourself as you would appear on South Park. Go get your own!

Here are Andrew & Me. It's funny how it really works. That we don't have such obvious freckles as grown ups is irrelevant cause as little kids we both totally did. And Andrew would totally wear that T-shirt. (In fact, I ought to get him one). You can see much bigger versions of these pix on the "pix" page.


Stolen from Sue

Laptop Update

I have convinced the hubby that I need a new laptop. Huzzah! This weekend, I actually FOUND an internet cafe in Shreveport (it's new! and fun! I like it alot). But my OLD decrepit laptop would not work there-- the wireless access card just couldn't be configured, and the tech support I TRIED to call pissed me off so that I returned the product bright and early the next day.

Here's a tip to tech support companies: if a person is using a product that is the way they get online, and you do not have a backup plan other than "you can't get tech support till you register your product" and so that if the product is NOT FREAKIN' working (the reason one would be calling tech support in the first place) and said customer can't get online to "register online," then what you're saying is that you don't want MY business at least. (Rant finished. Thank you. I'll be here all week!)

Anyway. I'm looking at a sweeeeeeeeet little Dell laptop that weighs in at about 5 pounds, has integrated wireless internet, a FREE DVD player/CD Burner upgrade, bunches of memory & hard drive & stuff. It also, and this is the coolest part, has the ability to put pretty color plastic thingys on it so that your laptop is CUSTOMIZED(as seen there to the left). Mine will be lava red, cause red is my FAVORITE color. I do think all those technical details are important-- RAM, and graphics card, and what OS the computer have. Yadda Yadda. But it's RED!!! That's much more important. Like Fernando on SNL (played by Billy Crystal) once said, "It is better to look good than feel good. And my darling. You. Look. Marvelous."

Finally, I am currently working on my Buffy the Vampire Slayer chapter of the dissertation. It's slow going, in some ways, cause I decided over the weekend that I really needed to expand the discussion to all the major, recurring female characters (at least a little bit) because they all display a form of popular feminism. This includes the vampires, and Glory, the evil god of season five. Re-watching the episodes makes me miss the show a whole, whole bunch. There's just nothing that can possibly compare to the witty, smartness of Buffy. If you weren't a fan while it was on, you should catch it on FX sometime. I had thought at one time that it was a silly "teen" show-- which it definitely was not. (Silly, nor just "teen" oriented). Sigh. But at least I have the DVDs. I need to go get the sixth season which just came out. I Heart Buffy!!

But I am working, and working hard. So, in the truest spirit of procrastinating, "official" procrastination is being put off for now. :) It's a novel concept-- once you turn procrastination into work, you can only escape it and procrastinate by actually working. (Yes. The logic is astounding. Think about it for a sec.)

Feets?

To begin, some background.

I have Fred Flintstone fat stubby feet. At 5.7 feet 1/2 high, I have feet that are approximately 7s, or 6.5s depending on the brand. But they are WIDE and square.

My mom (Sorry mom. you'll just have to live with your internet infamy) has long, monkey feet. Long, narrow toes, with a slender, not at all fat-like-mine appearance.

So imagine my surprise this evening when I looked down and noticed that, on my left foot, my second toe suddenly looks like my mom's foot. She can grip things (like, say, a roll of quarters) with her toes.

Yes. My mother's feet are long. And narrow. And slightly--

Well. Simian.

WTF?!!

Do our feet grow after 30? How the hell can my feet suddenly look like my mother's feet? Where the Hell did this long narrow toe come from?

Is there someone I can discuss this issue with, perhaps someone in management, who can give me a refund, or a gift card with store credit or something?

I feel so.....
defeeted.

Magnolia Trees, Willows, and Squirrels

In Shreveport, one of the things I noticed was an abundance of Magnolia trees, in bloom with the gorgeous, waxy white flower and deep green leaves. We don't have many Magnolias in Texas-- I'm sure because it doesn't rain enough to keep them happy. But I love these trees-- they are so big, and their canopy spreads so greenly with the punctuating white flowers that smell sweet as you lie beneath the tree. Willow trees are probably my second favorite-- and we don't have them in Texas either. Their drooping softly green branches sway in any breeze, and they are just so pretty.

Several large trees had been uprooted by what was apparently a pretty good wind storm a few days before we got to Shreveport-- their roots upended, the large, once formidable tree lying pathetically on its side. You wonder if the trees surrounding them are in mourning for the loss.

But, aside from the sadness of tree untimely death, there was a happy silver lining, at least for squirrels. There were so many scampering about that I joked it must be some sort of squirrel revolucion-- "Vive La Fuzzy Tailed!!" Andrew guessed that the storm that uprooted the trees & knocked down thick branches must have also shaken loose lots of acorns. AAHH! So the little black and grey squirrels had their work cut out for them in harvesting the unexpected bounty of acorns strewn about haphazardly.

But I still like the idea of the squirrel uprising. "Your anti-squirrel tyranny is at an end, humans! Today, we rise up and overpower your..... ooooooh! look!! acorns!!!!"

I KNEW I was right!

I love it when studies show I'm right cause then I can argue with my "constantly reads the news media" husband who says "prove it"....

This article reports on a study that shows that women still make less money than men in the same job in MOST fields. That there are very few positions where a man & woman with the same qualifications make the same amount or the woman makes more.

To do the responsible blogger thing and quote:

Nationally, the median income for a woman working full-time, year-round was about $28,000, compared with $38,000 for a man. That means a woman earned less than 74 cents for every dollar earned by a man.

STILL!! And my wonderful hubby has been debating this with me forever, so now I get to argue with him! Yay!

And, in the meantime, another interesting article caught my eye while I was browsing for the stats on the "jobs & women" blurb I had heard on CNN this AM. (I never actually found it-- it said something about only five jobs where women make the same amounts-- but even on their website, I didn't find that particular info. Feel free to post if you see it.

OOps-- sorry about the tangent. The "eye catcher" mentioned before my aside was this article, tongue in cheek though it may be, on marriage and women today. One of the quotes that sprung out at me:

I'd rather turn tricks than marry for money. At least you get variety. And no pretense of happiness. I think pretense is the most exhausting thing in the world. Don't wear me out by making me pretend to be happy.

Somehow, this reminds me very much of an argument that I (from the wrong side of the tracks and with a mom who was a working-poor single-mom) got into once with a very wealthy college roommate on whether it's more degrading to clean toilets for a living or to be a stripper/hooker/etc. I argue that if you're a good stripper/hooker who's makin' the big bucks that some of those high priced ladies can get, you may actually be happier and less degraded than a maid that makes no freakin' money at all to do things that aren't exactly my favorite activities. Money can certainly smooth a lot of frustrations on the job. And as the article above points out, at least it's honest about the exchange. And I remember that roommate being really sweet, but really condescending like I just didn't understand that hookers are all miserably unhappy cause who would like sex anyway? (which was generally the feeling I got from our discussion, and I got sorta mad).

So is it better, then, darlings, to be the "Pretty Woman" and turn tricks than to marry for money? Oh, but didn't America's Sweetheart with the horsey smile do both in that movie? Tell me. Hooker? Trophy Wife? Neither? Both? Or would you rather be desperately poor but strong in your moral convictions? For me, I'll take..... (cliffhanger, to be answered only if you are all good and make many many comments on this blog entry over the weekend.)

Okay. Two fairly unrelated posts, and I'm dangerously close to breaking my own rule on no more than one political post a week (which is unwritten, till now). But still. It'll give you something to think on while I'm in Louisiana. (AKA, for me at least, the Internet-less hinterlands).

Taxes, Naps, and Tiny Rewards

I had to go downtown this morning to protest the above-market-value tax assessment of our little house. The good news is that our property value has gone up a bit lately. That means, of course, we have to pay the Taxman more for it. The other good news is it hasn't gone up the 20,000 dollars they SAID it had (which would have been a MUCH bigger chunk of money to pay). It's sort of a game-- they assume most people don't have the advance knowledge to protest something that big of a hike, and they make some money off of those who don't bother to protest. So it was adjusted a bit down from what they thought we ought to pay (about 10,000 dollars worth, which adds up to a lot less we have to pay for it).

But it meant I had to drive in downtown San Antonio-- which, like all downtowns of a city older than 50 years, was a pain in the butt. One way streets here, streets that Mapquest doesn't know end there. I left so that I would have gotten there more than an hour early and it took me so long to navigate the streets that I actually was only 30 minutes early in the long run. But they were surprisingly efficient at the assessment offices, and quick, too.

So in reward, I went and got myself a french manicure. :) Girl's gotta have her little rewards here and there.

Later today, we're driving to Shreveport for Andrew's Reserve duty weekend. So that means no posts from me till probably Tuesday. If I could find an Internet cafe in Shreveport, well.... I don't think that's going to happen, but there's always a chance, I guess. (I haven't seen one yet, though).

And I'm very sleepy cause I had several hours of insomnia last night (this morning.) It caught, too, and Andrew ended up being awake for a couple of hours too. The cat protested loudly-- we messed up her sleeping schedule. I thought cats were supposed to be nocturnal! So I need a nap or else there will be one drowsy driver later today. At least, with all the work I got done on the dissertation yesterday, I don't have to feel ragingly guilty about resting & not working today (at least).

So that's the news. The weather? Surprisingly, only 79 degrees right this sec, and scattered clouds. Picture me, then, in a nice weather girl sweater and a cute, perky smile, pointing at the national map. That's pretty much accurate (except, of course, for the sleepy bags under my eyes.)

Guess What Guess What Guess What?

I just sent my introductory chapter of my dissertation to my committee chair FOR THE FIRST TIME SHE'S SEEN IT!!!!!!

It's 72 pages long. It's blood, sweat, tears, and a few curse words here and there. I am terrified she will hate it. And thrilled that I finally have SOMETHING to show her. My heart is actually racing right now, minutes after I've sent it to her in an email.

I know she won't get it tonight probably, since the school day is over, and I'm quite sure she won't get around to reading and commenting on it for a while. I am, after all, not her only game in town.

I may explode waiting for her to write back, however.

Deep, cleansing breaths.

She's A Man Baby

Once, a while back, I took the spark.com's gender test and it told me I was a man. Well. That was a surprise to my breasts, and they really took it hard. (Ew. That sounds sort of dirty.)

So today, after noticing this "Name Anacronym" quiz thing on Vadge Zaavice, I tried it out. And damned if it didn't happen again:

K	Kind
I	Intelligent
M	Masculine

Name / Username:

Name Acronym Generator
From Go-Quiz.com

If I try Kimberly, it's not so bad. But I go by Kim. So.

K	Kind
I	Innocent
M	Mischievous
B	Boisterous
E	Entertaining
R	Rounded
L	Lazy
Y	Young

Name / Username:

Name Acronym Generator
From Go-Quiz.com

Now stop bugging me. I need to go write on my intro chapter for a while so I can stop feeling so damned lazy & guilty. (notice how Kimberly includes Lazy). Hmmmmm.

Thank a feminist

I may have posted this before-- I'm sure I've read it before.

Go read this blog entry about the things we take for granted today as women.

It's all inspired by the assholes who insist that they're coming to take it all away at any second now.

Politics Shmolitics

Yesterday, as part of my ongoing project of publishing the new issue of Women Writers (did I mention you should go look over there?) I was talking with Feministe's "owner" about feminism. Part of the questions I asked her was how often she gets backlash from her very vocal feminism on her site. She said, "you want examples? Go look at the comments on this guy's blog" (I'm paraphrasing-- she was a little more upset than that). The guy who owns the blog is perfectly logical in his defense of his position-- and that's the point of debate, dear reader. If everyone shared the same opinions, then the world would be a boring old place.

But, as I went to look at the comments, I found what scares me over and over about creepy anti-feminists. It all stemmed from an article written about an article about where the women who were interested in politics were, as far as bloggers go. It was absolutely bone-chilling the way one particular commenter (by the name of Stephen) was nasty, insulting, and just plain rude. And I was sort of sad that while other commenters tried to put Stephen in his place, (to which he just lobbed more irrational, histrionic & petty comments back) the owner of the blog never stopped good Old Stephen. It was all personal attack, no logic, no reasons, no facts. In claiming that feminism equals Naziism, he didn't give a particular example of anything feminism has done which is similar to the Nazis. But it's a favorite trick for people to pull out because it's a hard one to defend oneself against even if you care to try. Yes, there are some very radical feminists who have some, shall we say, extreme views on their own superiority. But feminism is NOT about women proving they are superior, and many in the feminist movement have, in the past, present, and future, fought over a certain hijacking of the word/term "feminist" for views which are not so much about equality and fairness and a perspective of the world based on gender awareness but which are just petty, mean excuses to lord oneself over others.

So anyway. The point. There is a reason, which I've discussed before, why this blog is not usually political. I do most of my politics over there at women writers; and it's mostly polite, nicey nicey feminism with an occasional fracas about, say abortion rights. (Wherein I have to delete spammers from my bulletin board who have completely missed the point that it is MY space, and I don't have to actually listen to their opinions there). But this blog is mostly my daily thoughts. Yes, I am more of a journaler, and I am frankly uninterested in most political blogs. (Feministe is an exception because I appreciate Lauren's take on issues). Many political blogs are exactly what good Old Stephen, with his nasty remarks and superiority complex (perhaps making up for some deficiency in his, shall we say, phallogocentrism?) represents. And they're often just collections of "hey, look at this article" and "let's make a brief comment on this link." It bores me. Andrew, on the other hand, would, if he were a blogger, probably do a political blog. But he would not tolerate rudeness, cause I'd smack him over the head for it. :)

Finally. Again, my point (took me long enough, right?) I am a feminist. A raging one. I don't believe I am superior to anyone else because of my gender, however. I do believe I am superior to assholes like Stephen because of my intellect, and my great hooters. :) And if someone like him wants to tangle with me, and/or "take back the world from my Nazi tactics" they better realize this. I am the woman who once wrote a paper titled "Feminists for the NRA." And I keep it loaded and am a damn good shot. Come and force me into a burka muthafucka. Just try it.

Marilyn Gets Buff

This is my favorite picture of Marilyn Monroe, who we usually think of as soft, and who would have thought she'd be working out with weights back in 1952?

Just sharing. Cause otherwise, I'd actually have to go pick up my chapter, and write on it instead of sitting here at the computer pretending to work.

Whew!

Okay. I made myself a latte with our shiny espresso machine. (I should post a photo. There).* It's a little splotchy with some milk that had foamed out on it. But that just shows how much we lurve it.

Then I sat here at the computer for about an hour, reading other people's blogs. I went down my entire list of blogs on my blogroll, even Aaron's, although he NEVER posts. (Which is good, cause then it's a quick peek and a move on to the next blog). A few I had to catch up on-- I hadn't read in a while. Others make me envious and wish they had links to my blog on them, cause then I would be cooler. I may procrastinate, but I can get a job done when it's really really important (like seeing what other people did yesterday. THAT is important). I answered a few emails, read my morning Get Fuzzy. (Yes-- one can make fun of the Amish and get away with it.)

Today I must type up the five book reviews I wrote last night for my women writers site. Then I really really really need to write on my dissertation. I've almost forgotten what that first chapter is about, and where I stood on the editing process. I realize that part of dissertation writing is sort of like death-- the five stages-- grief, denial, acceptance, bargaining. What is the other one? I'm too lazy to look it up. I think I'm currently in "bargaining." If I write five words a week till I die, then maybe, just maybe, I'll have it done by then. (Provided I have the nice long life I'm hoping for.)

In the meantime, I'm going to eat some of the wonderful leftover lasagna I made this weekend as a bribe for the guy who is going to build our bar (and his wife. nice people). And have another cofee. And complain that it's hot in here. So for the rest of the day, that is my official plan. Oh, and eventually I'll exercise. (Don't I complain enough about that? No. I don't actually want any replies to that).

---

*Yes, I photographed my espresso machine for no really good reason. It was because I know I'm always talking about it and wanted to share with my "thirties" of blog readers. I'm always here for you guys.

Why I HATE Spammers

When I was a little kid, and I would say "I hate Susie, she's mean" my mom would always say "you don't hate anyone...you strongly dislike her". For some reason, the word "hate" was something my mom didn't want me to use. I don't really know what the main difference between "strongly dislike" and "hate" is other than PC-ness (really, you were ahead of your time, ma) but still.

So on that end, I have to say I'm rebelling. I totally HATE people who intentionally spam, who intentionally create email programs that create SPAM, who create viruses who also create spam.

You may be asking yourself:

"Self, why is it that Kim is so adamant about her hatred for these misguided people?"

And I would answer

Because I just spent SEVERAL HOURS of my precious life trying to
1. delete the 1000s of pieces of spam I had in an email account for my women writers website (which has finally gone "live" with the new summer version, by the way)
2. revise said site, which has over 600 pages, with a javascript email contact thingy so that those damn spammers can't find the new non-spam-friendly address, but which real people can use to contact me, which I am about to change to avoid future downloads of 1000s (literally!!!) of spam about my penis size, or diet pills, or "URGENT" or "IMPORTANT".

Hate is not strong enough of a word, really. Sorry Mom.

Calories Burned?

There's this website called Fitday.com which will tell you how many calories you can burn by, say, walking up stairs for ten minutes straight (72 calories burned) or toweling off while standing, for ten minutes (31 calories).

But I haven't been able to find how many calories sitting at your computer WHILE WEARING workout clothes burns. Surely the fact that I am wearing workout clothes counts for something, right?

Summer Whining

I was a bad girl last night and stayed up till something like 2 in the morning reading my book (Bitten-- mentioned this weekend). It was one of those books that start slow but once you get to a certain point, you really just want to finish. I may, in fact, have some sort of book addiction.

But because I didn't get to sleep till so late, I tried desperately to sleep later today; I'm over 21, you know, and need my beauty rest. However, I only managed about an hour more than my usual time to wake up (despite the not-going-to-bed-at-a reasonable hour differential)-- for two reasons.

Reason number one: the cat. She was ready for me to get up at 9:30, and I must have wiggled in my attempt to sleep longer and it encouraged her to sit, purring very loudly, next to my head. See, she figures if she's purring, I can't get mad at her.

Reason number two, and the most irritating one: the next-door-neighbor-kids are on summer break and picked this morning to start their frickin' basketball bouncing. I hate to be such a grumpy old "you kids better watch it" neighbor, but I really hate the sound of those damn basketballs bouncing. If the kids had any chance of some sort of NBA career or any sort of talent, it might be different. But they also like to scream while playing, so it's a truly annoying practice.

So I'm up, and a bit grumpy, and now I am seriously going to finish women writers summer issue today. Thank God for coffee, or else there might be nuclear detonation over here.