A defense of Roberto Benigni

This is not a typical "Johnny Stechanno" was an amazing movie post(I can't even spell the title) type of post. All I am trying to say is, back in the 80s, when Jarmusch made Down By Law, Mr. Roberto was brilliant. His creative input was nil, and all he was required to do was be crazy and silly while John Lurie and Tom Waits bad-assed it in the background in the bayou. I feel bad for the man, after getting destroyed in the Times for his Iraq movie, but in the end, I can't feel too bad for the man who made the foreign language Oscar winning dreck Life is Beautiful. He does suck, but let'sSave as Draft let him suck for what he deserves to suck for. He wasn't always awful.

i suck

no posts till NYC

Sorry, that's how it will be

The rhyming is bad

Lack of blog is sad

MPLS won't do it for me.

Hello New Friend

I am currently looking at the "Do not disconnect" circle on the beautiful screen of my black, beautiful, brand new 80 GB iPod. Christmas came a little early in my house. I just wish it would finish charging so I could start playing with it.

?

The Scissor Sisters are going to guest star on Passions? I hope they play "I can't decide."

While we're on the subject...

You can watcht the entire Rainbow Brite movie on YouTube as well.

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9

Is it even possible to rent this anymore?

Koala-wala Land

In anticipation of next week's Ask the AV Club, I want to talk about the only series that ever dealt with interplanetary koalas, the Noozles. Shown on Nickelodeon in the late 80s and early 90s, The Noozles, Blinky and Pinky, helped their friend Sandy find her missing father. They could help because they came to life when she nuzzled their noses(they spent part of their time as koala teddy bears) and were residents of the very parallel dimension in which Sandy's father was trapped. This saga so enraptured my sister and I that we tried to make our mom change our swimming lessons to later in the afternoon.

It was on at 12:30, and was preceded by another totally inappropriate "children's" animated series, Grimm Masterpiece Theater. Watching three princesses run for their lives from evil alien bug monsters who dropped their disguises just before the princesses gave up their will to return to the real world and submit as slaves to the bugs was...interesting. Very Sailor Moon, but more fairy tale and less obviously messed up. I think that program is why I wasn't surprised or shocked by hentai. Even at 6 I wondered when the tentacle porn was going to start.

God bless You Tube. And Nickelodeon for not having enough American kids programming to show poor children during the day. Although David the Gnome was totally lame.

John Carpenter Extravaganza

Is it ever possible to explain why you suddenly crave something? Popcorn, chocolate, a hamburger, or in my case, one of the early 80s John Carpenter-Kurt Russell flicks. Last weekend it was Escape from New York, this weekend, The Thing. I should have reversed the two since tonight is the night I'm spending by myself, but I solved the problem by renting an even scarier movie-Shattered Glass. That's pretty much the ultimate horror show for a non-fiction writer.

Back to sci-fi for a minute. The specific sci-fi/horror genre of The Thing, Alien, and the remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers always have a handy computer or tool that projects humanity's doom. It's always a lot of fun to watch the evolution of technology in scary movies, especially when they're not the main show.

Sad.

Me: Don't worry, there's plenty of orange juice left.

Ethan: I would hate to run out of orange juice while you're on your climb to the plateau of hopelessness.

Gloating

My brain has finally recovered from the haze of victory and way too much to drink. And we're still winners! My analysis? The Republicans have inferior potassium.

A Modest Proposal for Medicaid

It fits with their "life begins at conception" beliefs, so I don't know why I was surprised to see that the Republicans have managed to weasel their way out of guaranteeing babies - BABIES - born in the U.S. to illegal immigrant parents free care under Medicaid. After all, if they were simply pre-born when they were smuggled across the border with their parents, they're not really citizens and we shouldn't feel bad.

Babies - BABIES - those pink little lumps of flesh that gurgle and cry and can't do anything for themselves, babies born in the United States, citizens of this country, don't have the right to care that can save them a lifetime of illness, or worse, shorten their lifetimes dramatically, don't have the right to vaccines and preventive care that eradicated horrible diseases in the developed world.

But then again, if they die, we don't have to worry about our beloved America becoming Mexicanized. Or maybe their parents, wherever in the world they come from, will stop trying to immigrate when they realize they can get more complete, better care from their local witch doctor than from hospitals in the United States.

Really classy Leslie Norwalk, really classy. Deficit Reduction Act my eye.

Babies! Why be mean to them? What did they ever do to you?

PUT ON SOME G*DD#^M PANTS!!!!!!!!!!

You are not, in fact, "playing with proportion," living on the cutting edge, winterizing your summer look, or finding a different "way of showing your shape in winter." You are WITHOUT PANTS. You LACK TROUSERS. There is a DEARTH OF FABRIC in the region of your private parts.

Sorry, it was a moment, and the Times was right, I did have it. A truer column title has never been written.

That time of Year

The leaves a practically all gone, the days start cloudy and end with flurries, and the prospect of 6 long months of winter chills the soul and makes everything a bit more wrought, edging towards the "over." Which means it's either time to start reading that dusty copy of the Unnameable or to restart my subscription to Netflix. Can you guess which one I'll do? A free copy of Beckett's Collected Shorter Plays to the first correct answer(seriously, we have an extra copy)!

Also, as a way to inject levity into the next five days' political conversations, I am going to punctuate all serious ideological statements with "sha na na na," like at the end of the "Family Ties" theme song(that was at the end of Family Ties, right? I suppose I could go back to Jake and find out) to emphasize the importance of voting for candidates who support stem cell research. I haven't found appropriate theme songs for the SD abortion ban or the WI gay marriage/civil union ban yet.

Boo!

Happy Birthday to Whitman, the world's most badass three year old. May you rule Madison as well as your father one day.

Halloween

As I listened to Ethan talk to his brother about their Halloween memories, and about their shared dislike of pumpkin carving, I thought of a year that takes on a whole new meaning now that I'm an adult.

My sister and I each got pumpkins to carve every year. There are tons of pictures of us at the pumpkin patches. One year we carved Bert and Ernie pumpkins, and each of us picked our pumpkins based on our favorite of those two characters. My pumpkin was short and round and was Ernie, and Dana's was tall and oval and was Bert. It only hit me now that our personalities match those choices as well.

The pumpkins looked really cool, too.

My Sister is the Greatest Volume III:

Wherein obscure 90's C-list celebs who later married 80s C-list celebs are referenced while mocking the genetic lot of a newly omnipresent celebutot,

Corngirl521: you know what is hilarious? apparently after singing a few songs at a concert, he totally started ripping on jessica simpsonm
meredithlynnec: nick?
Corngirl521: yeah
meredithlynnec: man that's good stuff
meredithlynnec: did you see how she said that she knew it was over when he didn't go to africa with her for her stupid charity?
meredithlynnec: also, WTF with Rumer Willis' chin?
Corngirl521: yeah. what a bitch-ass charity to be associated with
Corngirl521: what about her chin? did she get it done?
meredithlynnec: no, it's just so damn huge
Corngirl521: oh yeah
Corngirl521: she and casper van dien would have horribly freakish children

PS: The Oxenbergs were a great gravy train to hitch to. How Grace Kelly of you.

Ills and their cure

So I'm laid out with a terrible cold/flu/plague thing, with Arrested Development Season 1 and my knitting as my only entertainment. Also, the therapeutic benefits of a hot shower are being denied me because the hot water has not worked since Maintenance turned on our heat yesterday.

On the plus side, my dear friend Eric is in the Twin Cities and I will get to see him and catch up after a long period of radio silence. I can't wait to go get boozed up with him.

Wanted

A friend in Minneapolis who has cable and will let me watch Battlestar Galactica at their house on Friday nights.

California Bitches

(Directed in particular to a woman in Davis whose name I don't know): You are not on The Real World. In the non-MTV "real world," people do not sit their roommates down for a talk about cleaning styles and then spring on them a well thought out manifesto on why you can't stand them. That, in case you are confused, is what normal adults tend to call "cunt-ass bitch" behavior. There is no excuse for cruelty one month into any relationship, romantic, cohabitational, academic, or work-related. If I hear any more about it I am coming out there to kick your butt across the International Date Line. The swim in the Pacific should give my dear tormented friend some much needed peace.

Update: I really am a quitter

I did end up dropping the class, and the only thing I learned from the experience is that "learning experiences" cost more the more you try to learn from them. What a waste of hundreds of dollars.

Emeritus Punk

I sat down to my regular Sunday ritual of diving into the New York Times arts-section-first and discovered yet another Minneapolis-centric article written by Kelefa Sanneh. Like any good current Minneapolis resident who lived in Brooklyn during 2005, I love the Hold Steady(I credit Ms. Lauren with first showing me their awesomeness). Aside from a little confusion about why the author so desperately loves Minneapolis(confidential to Mr. Sanneh-I'll trade places with you if you like it here so much. No, no, it's no trouble. I understand how completely inferior New York is to MPLS in every way), I enjoyed reading it.

After I'd finished, I thought for a while about the bars I've loved in Madison and Minneapolis over the years. The list includes some dank holes in the wall, although none of them could accurately be called dive bars. They weren't faux-dive either; at one time many years ago they had been genuinely rough places frequented by bikers and tattooed characters who weren't afraid to meet you out back with a metal pipe and a chain. The days when the C. C. Club, the Paradise, the Caribou, and the Wisco hosted pissed of punks and derelicts are long gone; now former cheerleaders with artfully applied streaks of Manic Panic pull their Marlboro Lights out of Coach bags on their way outside to get their nicotine fix. Even with the smoking bans and the addition of digital jukeboxes that list the latest Xzibit track next to "Johnny Hit and Run Pauline," these places still feel invitingly gruff.

These places are immune to sanitization as long as they can afford to keep their doors open. You can't get the smoke smell and grime out after 30 years, and there is always at least one man(or woman) who looks like they haven't left their bar stool since 1970. My friends and I don't go to today's "dive bars" because they don't have any other place they feel comfortable; we drink beer and drink in the history of violence and working class frustration to forget for a while that the United States is more prosperous than perhaps any other society in the history of civilization and that we, with out college and graduate degrees and our white collar jobs, live absurdly close to the top of the heap. We pay homage to the old masters, the Emeritus Punk that is home to IFC tv shows, WCW screenwriting credits, and tips on how to make your brand new band t-shirt look like you bought it in 1981(even if you don't look old enough to have been a fetus that year). Hell, even in the old days these places weren't their legends. My father played pinball at the Paradise during his lunch all through the mid-70s, clad in a suit and chatting with his State Government bureaucrat friends.

Don't think for a moment that I would trade my dive bar nostalgia for something "more authentic." I'm way too white and bourgeois for hip hop, which, as the New York Times tells me, is the new punk rock(an assertion I'm loathe to entertain). I'll order my PBR because I want it, not because I'm skeptical of the microbrews on tap next to it, and I'll play my favorite Cheap Trick song because I like the band, and I'll prove to anyone, Frat Boy or Harley head, that I am a force to be reckoned with at pool. I like feeling like a part of a continuum more than feeling on the cutting edge, and it's nice to someplace where the pretense is brought in by the customers and not built into the booths. At least then you can drown your disdain in your rail whiskey in your own corner, and maybe you can befriend another paton who isn't cool enough for the current scene.

Making Connections

I have a friend, we'll call him Nintendo, and he remembers his childhood days playing in the old neighborhood with his best friend the Paperboy. They lost track of each other as they grew up and Nintendo drifted into idleness and Paperboy kept working, determined to create a better future than the one that awaited him in the 'hood. He doesn't know what to do to locate him; last we heard, Paperboy was selling himself for a fraction of what he's worth at a store in the Minneapolis area, but we don't know which one. Does anyone know how I can help these two lost souls once again?

If you know where a used NES game might be prostituting itself, please let me know. Nintendo's happiness, and my own, are riding on it.

Damn the perserverance!

I didn't drop it, and I'll probably stay in it till the bitter end. I can't let those entitled acting stoned twits beat me. Sure, I'll never have someone set aside a spot for me at a top school, but I can at least give it a shot. And rejection will give me an excuse for some kick ass partying.

I + Econ = Dumb

I'm dropping the course I registered for. I still have to pay for some of it, because I didn't realize my total and complete lack of understanding of the subject was probably a sign I would fare poorly, but I just can't do it. Grad school was a good idea while it seemed possible.

Identity Theft, etc.

A Message to the woman who stole my kid sister's identity:

Fuck you. I'm going to find you and beat you to the point of death and then leave you at an ER after supergluing your driver's license to your forehead. $40? You screwed her credit over $40? I'm going to find you, and you WILL PAY. We're talking a pound of flesh, bitch.

In other news, I just heard a Beth Gibbons song covered by Jane Birkin that rocked my world. I want to be as cool as Jane Birkin when I'm 60, and I want to create something as awesome as her work with Serge Gainesbourg. Ethan would be a great Serge.

Finally, someone, please watch Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip for me and tell me which of Sorkin's old programs he rips off in the first episode. I'm hoping for a shout out to N'tanake Nelson, personally...

Milk Carton

Have you seen this woman? We have experienced a total loss of technological signal, with search technology ranging over email, internet, and satellite voice identification tracking turning up nothing. I suspect a pack of super-intelligent trolls has come out of hiding in Prospect Park and kidnapped her during a routine stroll, but others (ahem) have suggested political reasons. The cause is immaterial, what is important is that we find her before the time-traveling Apaches mistake her for Jesse James. If a trap must be laid, try smoked salmon and fresh tomato. And brie. Works every time.

Dreading the history

I realize now that I should have taken all these painkillers and sat in my pjs tomorrow while everyone does 9/11 stuff. I'm too loopy to comment on it. Just, uck.

Fall

Today was the first 100% cloudy, cold day. The wind has been whistling outside, the air is sharp, and it's finally pitch black outside after making it all the way to pewter this afternoon. Autumn is my favorite season, but it frightens me this year. Last winter even the most basic rhythms of life became close to unbearable, and it took half of this year and all of the spring and summer to feel normal again, and even that is fragile. I'm not exactly sure what happened last year, why I made the decisions I did, or why everything went so terribly wrong. This fall there aren't any big decisions to make, nothing to run to or from, no urges that feel uncontrollable. But I worry. Maybe the 9 to 5 and my new exercise habit and my cooking and my class and my knitting projects and my grad school applications and my slowly returning desire to write won't be enough, maybe they'll be too much.

UPDATE: I've managed to go to two parties since I wrote the above, and I'm feeling a bit better, but I know that is just the alcohol talking and not my confidence. I'm in the midst of playing nurse to Ethan, still, after he broke his wrist trying to protect us from loud music last night(the paramedics came to our house and he made a death rattle/snoring sound. It was AMAZING, and a little hilarious, although only after the fact). I have to make him some tea, and then we are going to bed. More later, my lovelies.

In A Nutshell

Katie Couric's prime time, history-making evening news debut featured the unveiling of SURI CRUISE photos. Yes, she's real, and we managed to get demonstrative proof of that and of the necrophiliac rape of television news all at the same time.

SURI CRUISE PHOTOS!!!!!!! Where I come from, Entertainment Tonight comes on an hour AFTER the national news. How did they mess that address up?

I hate the world and hope that someone blows it up, and soon. I would also accept it if Edward R. Murrow's zombified corpse ate Katie Couric's brains on air before rampaging through the rest of the CBS building, singlehandedly avenging decades of sensationalism, pandering, and the most blatant act of bottom line over quality ever. There are others that I would like to see him eat, although I will leave that list for later. Maybe just the top 5:

1. John Stossel of ABC. If you've ever seen 20/20, you know why. If not, just trust me.
2. Wolf Blitzer of CNN, and I want him alive and on air for the whole thing. If I don't see his spirit leave his body I'm not satisfied.
3. Miles O'Brien of CNN, but just because he's a douchebag.
4. That guy who hosts NBC News on the weekends. I just don't like the look of him.
5. Sway of MTV News. The Hair. Just for the hair. And his delivery. And his stupid Rasta hat. And his stupid questions for the 2004 Presidential candidates. And his name is Sway. You sir, are no Tabitha Soren. You are not even Serena Altschul. I hope Gideon Yago skullfucks you after Ed has sucked out your eyeballs.

Steve Irwin, epic hero

My sister sent me a text message this afternoon that said simply, "Odysseus died of a stringray barb to the heart too!"

In addition to this Wikipedia sanctioned story, Odysseus also died a "gentle death by sea," which in less poetic parts is explained to be the cruel serrated point of a stingray's tail.

My sister is even now explaining to me the difference in the two different myths and why they both exist, but I will leave you with this-the State Funeral that the Premier offered poor Terry is far more apropos than I ever thought.

Rest in Peace Steve, and enjoy your wild animal baiting with Heracles and your death-sake O-dog.

Ugh

A Labor Day White Trash Potluck has led to some serious hangover stupids(Damn you Cabana Boy Jello Shots! Damn you to hell!). I'm making pickles, and I think I've managed to screw them up, which makes me want to cry because this recipe makes the greatest pickles known to Man. Also, we've been suckered into hosting Ethan's fantasy football draft, so the house smells a bit like vinegar and there are going to be a dozen people expecting food and drink and I am not going to provide it.

I have found the Holy Grail of hangover food, right here in Minneapolis, and it is not deep fried and on a stick. It is the Stuffed Omelette Antoine's Creole Restaurant in Uptown. An omelette with anduille sausage, peppers, tomato, onion, and jalapeno hash browns INSIDE THE OMELETTE. It is, without a doubt, the greatest thing I have ever eaten in my entire life. I can't wait to go back and eat it again.

I don't know what kind of magic the proprietress of this restaurant works on her food, but it is uniformly delicious. The pancakes are magically fluffy, nothing is too greasy, their catfish is amazing, there is spice but not too much spice, and the selection is huge. I wanted to try everything on the menu, from the crawfish omelette to the po-boy. If it has the sausage, though, it is not to be missed. Better than Bratwurst.

And it was cheap. The total was 20 dollars. I have a new favorite restaurant.

Promises, promises

I never did come through with that Simon Reeve interview, did I? I suppose the least I can do is put a link to his Guardian article.

Welcome, sir

Jake is a cool guy. He let me shoot warm lime-flavored vodka into his mouth at his birthday party(using a squirt gun). He is not a hipster. He has a blog. Check it out.

Lazy Saturday

The rage has subsided and I no longer want to go on an angst-filled rampage through the Sam Goodys of the world. I am tired, though, which I blame partly on all the delicious beer I drank while out with some of my favorite U of M MFA hotties and partly on Ethan's decision to get up at 4 am and be neurotic. "We can't eat popcorn for dinner anymore, sweetie," he said, his voice filled with the kind of conviction one only hears in those old Mickey Rooney/Judy Garland "We'll save the orphanage! We'll put on a show, by golly!" movies. "We can't do that, we have to have more vegetables, we have to be healthy, and I have to do my research for the draft!" In the middle of the night while I'm trying to see how my nightmare about killing someone and escaping to the Andes turns out. I still don't know.

Also, my gang name is Snowflake. Ethan's is First Person Shooter.

Music Store Despair

All due respect, Lauren, but Cheapo made me want to kill myself, and their stuff was totally expensive. In the words of Johnny "I let my marriage to Angelina got to hell so I could play with Ewan McGregor" Lee Miller in Trainspotting, "What a bloody mis-fucking-nomer." And there were teenagers talking about "post-rock" while their bored girlfriends chimed in about how much they hate hipsters. And it was 7:30 on a Thursday. They didn't have half the bands I was looking for, and they moved Nick Cave to Classic Rock. CLASSIC ROCK. Did the 90s not happen? Do they think they're being cute? Why not move Sonic Youth? Or Guided by Voices? Apparently none of the clerks there touched their first boob to Mr. Cave and The Bad Seeds. WTF?!

And the red smocks were very whatever that chain was that was going to take over the store in Empire Records, except ironic, or something. And the employee picks sucked. I'm never going back there. If it weren't for the extensive posters for upcoming shows, I'd have committed ritual suicide right in the entryway.

Women for Sale

Are you looking for a good woman? A good, God-fearing, CHRISTIAN woman? A woman who loves her livestock, babies, and sewing modest, modest clothes? A woman who likes her swimwear to come with a skirt and a belt? Do I have the girls for you!

It's technically a seamstress' webiste, but it got good once I found the family pictures. Scroll down to their 24 year old. You'll have nightmares, but only because you're not godly enough to see her true beauty. It's like Shallow Hal, but for Christ.

UPDATE: Their seventh daughter is not listed as marriagable, but I think that is beacause the has Down's Syndrome. I would feel sorry for her, but I imagine the internet is probably the tool to use if you're looking to arrange a marriage between two retarded fundamentalists.

I've figured out a way to solve this whole abortion debate. Instead of aborting some special, invidual life, etc., etc., we should just get info on their genetic code and save it, like it were a data file, and we can come back to it later! You can choose, spreadsheet, word document, text file, baby, it would be great!

Flaming Rain

I think the only person guaranteed to be dry tonight is going to be Wayne Coyne. The State Fair people insist that the show will go on, and that songs of our beloved Yoshimi will be heard, and Thurston Moore and Kim Gordon's ageless rocking hotness will cause the ears of all those useless under-25 hipsters who think Ben Gibbard is a great songwriter to melt in pain and shame. If I'm lucky, we will not be struck by lightning. If we are not lucky, I hope it all ends during Fight Test.

BIRTHDAYS!

Happy belated birthday to DJ, cousin of TODAY's birthday boy, great love of my life, Ethan! Feel the love as they both enter even numbered but sentimentally insignificant years!

I love you guys.

So Uncomfortable, but strangely...so pleasurable

So I started a temp job today, office slavery, and I liked it. I'm sure I'll be bored to death once I get the hang of everything(how could I not be, it's in HUMAN FUCKING RESOURCES), but for the moment, it's not repellant, and I should still be mildly interested by the time I make rent next week. It feels fantastic to know I'll be doing that without a loan, eBaying the originals of my CDs, or selling plasma(which apparently I'm not allowed to do anymore because of my "fainting spells." Whatever. I bet they'd still take a kidney if I promised to dry out.). And I actually like the people who I will have to work with for the next couple of months.

The beauty of this whole situation? It's Human Resources at Marshall Field's. As in the same company that sucked my soul into a vacuum and threw it in a dumpster in Ridgedale. Up until I got my little "Marshall Field's Girl" badge to attach to my cute little skirts, I thought I was entering falling action in my now totally derivative of Tess of the D'Urbervilles story. After crushing rejection and an almost comic destruction of all hope I crawled back to the source of my debasement and waited to embrace it and prepare for my inevitable, cleansing death, my dreams of simple happiness long since abandoned. But it turns out having a chair makes being a corporate whore a lot easier, what with the rest for my poor knees. We'll see.

Another weird dream

Last night I dreamt of a fasco-capitalist distopia where I managed to get a good job in the main skyscraper, and as I was trying to leave for the day, discovered that the men who were building higher into the sky were actually using the strongest men from earlier construction as nails. They were all in different stages of being hammered into the steel beams because the new strong men had to do it slowly so as not to kill the men in the structure. They kept crying out to me, but there was nothing I could do to rescue them. I just had to walk carefully to avoid stepping on them.

Was any part of this in a movie, or am I just losing my mind subconscious first?

The World Won't End?

I'm a little concerned with what seems to be an impending apocalypse, or at least the beginning of some major Mid-East destruction. Most everyone I know seems to agree with my pessimism, and I realize I might be disappointed if there isn't some sort of terrible outcome to this situation. This leads me back to the title-"The World Won't End" is the title of a Pernice Brothers album from 2001, a beautiful album filled with shimmering melodies and lush instrumentation, but whose lyrics were uniformly depressing. I still love it. The title seems to have two meanings-1. Everything is fine and there is nothing to worry about; it's a comforting statement. 2. Someone desperate for the pain and horror to end bemoans the continuation of the world around him/her. Ethan seems to think that only someone as chronically depressed as me would pick the second possibility, but I think it explains why so much beauty is so sad.

Back to cleaning my apartment with the Smiths.

Teeth

I'm so totally into flossing right now.

Retarded Hipsters: Not Just for Williamsburg

Last night I met some friends at a bar, and at an appropriately late hour I saw one of my least favorite Madison fixtures, Mr. A.-the-sensitive-man-whore-who-is-attracted-to-"spirit"-and-also-tits(and who didn't mind his punky girlfriends underage back in the mid-90s) walk in wearing a t-shirt that said: "I Blogged Your Mom."

It had the Hobby Lobby iron-on letters on it. I almost punched him in the face.

(There's no specific persoal reason for disliking Mr. A., I just had to watch him skeeze my friends a little too often.)

OpinionWatch: Liberals in Texas Edition

A good friend of mine is an Assistant Professor of Political Science at West Texas A&M. Yeah, there's actually a University in West Texas. When he's not pitching class ideas that involve learning history, politics, and martial arts or preparing for his new career as a superspy, he's bitchslapping the Minutemen in their local newspapers. I can't find a link online, so here's the text of his editorial that ran yesterday.

Guest Column: Do most Americans deserve their citizenship?
By Rick Parrish

In this latest debate over illegal immigration, we have heard from economists and politicians, U.S. citizens and recent immigrants. So far we have determined these facts:
Based on all available evidence, illegal immigration either helps or hurts the U.S. economy; it either does or does not have an effect on national security; it is either part of the American way or a momentary aberration; it is either a left-wing election-year stunt or right-wing xenophobia. All this we know for certain.
Many of us also seem to know for certain that we do not want illegal immigrants gaining access to all the rights and privileges they would receive if they were allowed to remain in the U.S. and seek citizenship.
Unfortunately, there has been very little mention of the obligations of U.S. citizenship that these immigrants should meet, perhaps because so few of us who are already citizens meet the obligations ourselves. The most fundamental of these obligations is to maintain some basic level of knowledge about the rights and privileges that we don't want these immigrants to get.
Even as 78 percent of us decry the singing of "our" national anthem in Spanish, 61 percent of us don't know the words to it in English, and 38 percent of us don't even know the song's name.
Although many of us argue that illegal immigrants should not have the same legal protections that we as citizens enjoy, 64 percent of us cannot name a single U.S. Supreme Court justice; 58 percent cannot name a single Cabinet-level department; and only .1 percent (yes, that's point one percent) of us can name all five First Amendment freedoms.
In contrast, 22 percent can name all five members of the cartoon family "The Simpsons," and 41 percent can name two out of three "American Idol" judges.
Many U.S. citizens also are angry that illegal immigrants would gain the right to vote upon becoming citizens, yet too many of us shirk our own obligation to participate in the democratic process that we claim to hold so dear. In the 2004 presidential election, widely regarded as one of the most important in recent history, only 64 percent of those currently eligible to vote actually bothered. Here in Texas, the turnout among eligible voters for last year's state constitutional amendment vote was a miserable 18 percent.
Even worse, the overwhelming majority of those who do vote fail to do it in a thoughtful, judicious manner. In the last presidential election, 85 percent of voters reported that they knew who they were going to vote for before the campaigns even started - they never even considered the issues or entertained alternative points of view. They just looked for the little "R" or "D" after the candidates' names, and their minds were made up.
I don't know if immigration is good or bad for the economy, and I don't know if it helps or hurts national security. But I do know that before we try to stop others from gaining our rights and freedoms in the name of history or justice or whatever, we should meet our own obligations to be reasonably well-informed, moderately active U.S. citizens ourselves. Until those of us born in this country invest the time and effort to understand and appreciate what citizenship both grants and requires, we have no more claim to "citizenship" than those who were born elsewhere.
Rick Parrish is an assistant professor of political science at West Texas A&M University.

Memorial Day

I asked my father, a Vietnam veteran(1969-1971, and yes, he was actually there), if the french toast he was making was special Memorial Day French Toast.

"Yes, it's in honor of our fallen bretheren. Today, we call it 'Trench Toast.'"

This one's for all our Western Front Homies.

Things I love

I love that the Season Finale of House watches like a live action, misanthropic version of Waking Life.

I love that Elias Koteas is on that same episode.

Hail the Monsters of ROCK!

So Lordi won the FIRST EVER Finnish Eurovision title. I've been in Chicago for the last couple of days, so imagine my embarrassment when I discover this fact from Go Fug Yourself! I have mixed feelings about this, but I suppose since I discovered these geniuses through the New York Times, I shouldn't talk. Nevertheless, congratulations to the best Zombie, Mummy, Alien Bull, and whatever the last one is that ever played rocking rock music. You are officially the The Darkness of 2006. May God have mercy on your souls and your second album.

My dog has cancer. 13 years ago I talked my parents into bringing him home with us. He probably won't last through the weekend.

Books and stuff

My lovely boyfriend has often said that John Updike ruined the New Yorker, and has said that Phillip Roth is exactly what Jewish-American literature doesn't need anymore. I'm not saying I agree with him, I just prefer the Brits. And pulpy spec fiction.

However, according to the New York Times, I am a philistine(along with Frank and Ivan, but that's a good thing, I think). A.O. Scott's essay doesn't exactly clear things up. Am I still allowed to be a literate individual if I don't dig the American bigwig authors? Am I totally wrong?

Something Fishy

Seriously, these guys will stop at nothing. I'm again disgusted by the Corporate Pigs who would rather see us cancer ridden mounds of blubber than lose a little money. The Fish Scam is especially funny. The FDA is secretly trying to hurt us by suggesting we try and protect our children from mercury poisoning, you know, because being super-cautious about these things is just hooey.

The horror!

I was at a wedding shower over the weekend(a surreal experience in itself) , and the hostess cooked some delicious food. I wasn't surprised at that, she's very domestic, but then she told me where she got the recipe: Rachael Ray. The longest single conversation during this entire affair, longer even than anything related to the bride, was about how much everyone just LOVES Rachael Ray and her recipes.

Ugh. If all bridal showers are like this, I hope none of my other friends get married.

Minneapolis Greyhound Station: Thoughts

1. The bathrooms to only be cleaned when people are waiting for multiple buses.

2. There are more people in line for the bus to Grand Forks, ND than there are for the bus to Chicago.

3. The employees here are WAY nicer than the snotty, power mad jerks at the Madison Greyhound Station.

4. CNN Headline News is really, REALLY stupid.

5. Today was a bad day to forget to bring my CD player headphones.

6. The most interesting thing about Stick It was not the message of rebellious solidarity. It was the casting of so many classic teen movie bit players in so many supporting roles. Lazlo from Real Genius? That's Dad. Rudy the oily bowhunk from Sixteen Candles? The rival coach. Liz the screechy, conformist partner from Strictly Ballroom? That's Mom. I'm pretty sure a few of the supporting moms were early 90's TV parents, but I haven't done the research. Good job with the subtle bridge to classic teen flicks of the past.

7. Classic punk rock band t-shirts on today's teenagers are Sausurrian(so what if it's not really a word. It is now.) as fuck.

8. Someday I might get on a bus to Canada, just for the heck of it. Not to Winnipeg though-the whole city is trapped in 1993.

RoboClassics

My sister is the Queen of the Classics. If she had a time machine phone booth, she'd wipe the Hellenistic period from existence. She wants to feed the hemlock to Socrates' mom while he's in utero. She loves Roman emperors that received a "Damnatio Memorio" from the Senate for particularly evil deeds. She really really cares. She's seen every History Channel documentary about ancient Rome and ancient Greece. She did miss something that I discovered the other night.

While I was watching one of the better programs, Rome: Engineering an Empire, I noticed a familiar face and voice talking about the Colliseum. I couldn't believe my eyes-Robocop was talking about the importance of the Hypogeum(the system of cages, trap doors, and passageways under the surface)! I looked on Wikipedia, and sure enough, he has a Masters degree in Roman and Renaissance Art. Can you imagine being on a conference panel with him? That would be AMAZING.

Not-so-Confidential to Lauren:

How was it? Does it live up to its name?

What kind of beast monster would Agnaetha be?

I know it's a full day old, and I'm already gloating about that bratty Harvard kid getting busted for plagarism, but I can't let the Finland article go by without comment. So inspired was I that I skipped the shower, put on my favorite pair of green snake print pajamas, slathered on some extra shiny lipgloss and started contemplating heavy metal.

"In Finland, we have no Eiffel Tower, few real famous artists, it is freezing cold and we suffer from low self-esteem." That quote reminds me of the Helsinki segment of Night on Earth-lightless mornings, crushing losses, and the only hope for sharing one's grief comes from alcohol. All in all, not quite as much fun as Roberto Benigni's Rome.

Neal Stephenson said in his book Cryptonomicon that Finland "bulged scrotally" from Russia, and that until World War II, the Finns specialized in "personalized, retail Russian slaughtering," and that they lost out to the Germans' more wholesale Russian killing. I think that considering this, and the fact that Finns have to share their country with angry trolls(a GREAT book), it should make perfect sense that GWAR-style metal would become the sound of Finland.

I don't know why people are so angry about Lordi-the Finnish people could have voted for a much lamer rock band from their country; they could have voted for H.I.M./, a metal band so ridiculous they should be at the Gas Works, opening for the Shitty Beatles. Lameness like "Wings of a Butterfly" readies Finland for a Russian takeover more than a bunch of Laplanders with surplus Army of Darkness Bad Ash costumes.

Also, I'm feeling better.

Well, you know

For the five people who still check this thing, sorry for the long absence. Nervous breakdowns are hell on the creative juices. Posts will resume when I've come back from the brink, but in the mean time, check out a new mp3 blog by my good friend Evan. Don't get too fat on those unemployment checks, babe.

Gotta run kids, hopefully I'll be better y the end of the summer.

Saddest Headline Ever

On the CNN link it says "Feingold admits defeat." Cheery.

Defeat? What happened to you Russ? What is going on? Why are you backing down? I miss the old Russ.

Dear Rhett Miller,

You ruined my favorite song. RUINED IT. Singular Girl was my favorite song of 2001, a song I loved so much that I bought a tape player to play the mix tape I had it on(since you cruelly only released it on the Special Edition of Satellite Rides). Your solo version is LAME! Way too polished and LAME! I'll never forgive you for this. Not even the graciousness you displayed when I stalked you down State Street to QDoba the night you opened for Tori Amos is enough to make up for this.

It's like Syriana, but with your ex-boyfriend, and no explosions

There's nothing like a call from the State Department to liven up your life. More details(if they're allowed) after the meeting.

I feel compelled to speak briefly about this whole South Dakota fiasco. The link includes what I think my brilliant and rightly outraged friends keep overlooking-it's not about South Dakota. This may be an obvious point, and I am probably several miles behind everyone else, but the scariest part of this is candor the bill's supporters display. I quote:

Supporters are pushing the measure in hopes of drawing a legal challenge that will cause the US Supreme Court to reverse its 1973 decision legalizing abortion.

They were waiting for this. They're arguing internally about whether they should have waited for Stevens to retire to push the bill through. The national movement had a strategy session and decided that South Dakota was the easiest place to make this play and then got to work. It's not like they had much to dismantle either; the only abortion clinic is in Sioux Falls, and South Dakota's Planned Parenthood system is so non-existent it's lumped in with North Dakota and Minnesota(home to some truly inspiring abortion doctors).

The ACLU, NOW, NARAL, and all of us knew this was coming. We all knew it was coming. Why act so surprised? We probably could have stopped it if we'd been paying attention.

Cold Snap, Hot Findings

It's about 10 below zero at the moment, and the wind chill takes it down another 20 or 25 degrees, so I'm definitely not leaving the house. I have hit upon the way to make the time indoors bearable: Saved By the Bell is downloadable from iTunes. Amazing.

Why I Won't Let the Dream Die

I know he lost-big time-, and the resemblance isn't perfect(and the photos are blurry), but this is really why I find myself so enamored of Johnny Weir. I'm sure Johnny would enjoy riding Falcor in all of his soft, sparkling, undulating beauty.

Will the next release be "The Crimson Album?"

I spent all this time reading about men's figure skating and managed to miss this! How could I have been so blind?

Yay

Congratulations to my favorite science geek, Sara, who was just accepted into UC-Davis' Entomology PhD program. She's busy playing in Senegal at the moment, but it's nice to know that when she gets back she's headed someplace that deserves her brilliance.

The Ice Queen

Liliana can attest that I told her hours ago about my newfound love for men's figure skater and total diva extraordinaire Johnny Weir. However, I procrastinated on posting and now those bitches at Gawker have taken all the fun out of it.

I spent all morning loving this kid. They're right; who DOESN'T love a kid who would walk up to a reporter and shout, "It was a scarf, not a boa. CHINCHILLA, not feathers!"? And now it's practically ruined. Except that the video is great. That bit about Republicans? Yeah, they should be afraid. I hope he appeals to all the twinkletoes little boys in Mississippi.

He probably doesn't look like Kevin Bacon

There's a Level 3 Sex Offender in my neighborhood. If your Sex Offender classifications are rusty, that's the group most likely to re-offend. There's a Community Notification Meeting tomorrow night. I don't know if I should go or not-one the one hand, it could be fun to see people get riled up, but on the other, if he's a child molester then it's probably a waste of a good day's indignation.

Ethan tells me our neighborhood has the highest density of sex offenders in Minneapolis(and in the country, but I'm skeptical of that claim).

Happy Valentine's Day!

About Last Night

It seemed like a good idea to go out with a couple of girlfriends last night. Ethan had, on his own, asked a classmate of his to go drinking with him and enlisted another classmate to keep things from being, you know, too gay. Our separate, parallel drinking excursions led to being hit on by people not each other for the first time in many, many months. The haul was less than impressive, as I was hit on by a bad knockoff of last year's hipster. He said his band's influences were people like STEVIE RAY VAUGHAN. In the "Band Poses" section of the photo gallery here he's the dude on the far right in the top right photo. He was wearing that shirt too. And cowboy boots.

He tried to commiserate with me about how difficult it is to be an artist and sustain relationships, and that he had just broken up with his girlfriend because he was dedicating too much time to his music. He didn't even offer to buy a drink. That was what the kinesiology majors were for.

I'm still hung over. It's embarrassing, but lucky that I don't have to work.

Word of the Day

Nympholepsy: Epilepsy which is brought on by nymphs.

Thanks, sis, for the heads up on that.

I dreamt last night that Al Franken kicked me out of a meeting with all of my friends and told me to be a "Marshall Field's brand cheerleader." I don't know if I'm going to work today. Or leaving the house in the forseeable future.

Hmmm

I found this earlier, and I anxiously await more responses. Harrassing right-wing nutjobs is always a good thing, and the 7 stipulations about the specific killing of the kitten are brilliant.

Also, some actors from California have responded to the fairly funny SNL Narnia rap video. Those Magnolia cupcakes are good, but the boys from L.A. painted their own pottery, and one of them was the hottest Republican ever to be on the West Wing(sorry Ainsley), so my vote goes to "Color Me Mine."

Pervy 90s Flashback

There must be something in the air lately, because I was just thinking the other day about the television show Parker Lewis Can't Lose. I thought, "what ever happened to those guys?" Funny that I should find out about Parker Lewis himself, Corin Nemec, on the Celebrity Bulge Blog. Suddenly my innocuous memories of Parker's color block shirts, Ferris Bueller rip-off plots and his Zack Morris for single camera schtick gets a whole lot innocent.

I actually won tickets to see MC Hammer's 2 Legit 2 Quit tour from my local Fox affiliate thanks to Parker Lewis Can't Lose. I mailed in the correct answer to a show related question, and they drew my name. Let me tell you, winning tickets to MC Hammer was about the greatest thing my 10 year old brain could imagine. The thing I remember most about the show(besides the terrible acoustics), was that Jodeci was awfully sexually explicit, and that I was sad that Boys II Men had to cancel their opening slot.

My mom went with me(naturally), and we caravanned from McFarland to the Dane County Colleseum(site of the Midwest Dairy Expo and the Dane County Fair) with some kids I was in school with, including the boy I had a HUGE crush on at the time. Joey was a total delinquent, a boy who always wore his baseball cap slightly askew, and who always had the coolest Starter gear(leave me alone, it was 1992). However, my social awkwardness, coupled with my inability to dress myself, led to Joey and his friends basically ignoring me for the whole night while I tried to delude myself into thinking I was the kind of cool kid who "goes to shows and stuff," and also the kind of cool kid who "has friends who talk to her in public."

I think Joey is in prison now. Either that or he knocked up an 18 year old. It's one or the other with most of the "I was a badass at 10" crowd.

CORRECTION: Moje sestra would like me to adjust the record to show that the TWO of us answered the question together, but because I was older and more mature, I was chosen to go. Also, the question we answered was, "Who does the billboard send a message to?" and the answer was, "Mikey."

Some Advice

A wise man never plays leapfrog with a unicorn.

I think it really speaks for itself.

1-800-Dildo

In the absence of my boyfriend, I've been buying a lot of "women's" magazines. Glamour, Marie Claire, US Weekly and the like(not so much on the Cosmo-with all apologies to Ethan's ex, and awesome writer, Jess-the fashion is too obvious, the lit-porn a pale competitor with BUST's one-handed read, and the sex tips are totally useless), and tonight I finally found the Holy Grail of women's magazine tidbits: Teledildonics. The website that comes up first is clearly just for men, but imagine it-long distance remote control vibrators. I knew there was a reason webcams and the like seemed so lame-they are! We must make this interactive internet sex technology a hit. You'll never have to worry about another weird charge on the credit card from the man's hotel bill from that business trip-you can just use the free wireless connection!

Porn

Before I get to the XXX, I just want to say Happy Anniversary to Liliana, Lauren, Christine, Eric, Fatin, Mark, and Amanda. January 11, 2005 was our first time in theNation conference room, and it seems like much longer than a year ago. You're all doing far cooler things than I am at the moment.

Also, the real work is back on, but freelance, so now I officially join the ranks of people who can say, "I'm a salesgirl/waitress/stripper at the moment, but I'm really a writer/actress/dancer." At least I have something lined up that will pay a decent wage.

And now, the pornography.

Thank you, New York Times, for leaving out all the wacky hijinks from the AVN Awards. If nothing else, this article should win an award for stating the obvious: Porn stars seem weird when they're not fucking onscreen. Also, porn awards have different criteria than the Academy. As a side note, Jenna Jameson has had work done recently that does not make her look hotter. I would have thought that someone who no longer makes new movies could stop with the collagen, but I guess I really don't understand that aspect of the adult film industry.

In celebrity sex-tape news, Colin Farrell's sex video is finally available online. No, I haven't downloaded it(like I'm going to wait 8 hours to get it-ha!), but I'm curious. It appears to have been made pre-Miami Vice bloat, so it appears to be the rare porn experience featuring a hot girl AND a hot guy. Also, it gives normal girls like me the chance to experience sex with an incredibly sexy, SUBERBLY sleazy guy without all that "which antibiotics do I need now" anxiety he would inspire in real life.

Yes, I love porn. Sometimes I ask myself, "What Would Nina Hartley Do?"(Incidentally, she's one of the most inspiring pro-sex feminists I've encountered. She has an interview in Bust's Guide to the New Girl Order that is priceless.) You have a problem with that?

Sister speak

Some new gems:

On the recent wedding of a high school friend(Class of 2002): There were more newborns at the reception than singles.

On learning Brandon Flowers' marital status and religious affiliation through Wikipedia: "Wiki" is the new "Google," bitch. Now tell me about the Hansons!

Bad Suspense Movies

I'm less excited about going to work today than usual because of a recent development at the store: I have a stalker. He's not a "leave dead flowers and menacing notes" stalker(at least not yet), but he is a "appears from out of nowhere at the exact moment my coworkers are unable to rescue me" kind of character. There should be a soundtrack that includes a burst of strings, like in horror movies. It is partly my fault too; I thought he was gay the first time I spoke to him. He just keeps showing up, his big eyes trained on me in a "what kind of lampshade would you make" stare, and tries to get me to go out with him. I'd hoped he was gone for good after a laughfest at his expense(pre-New York visit) was interrupted by his sudden reappearance-directly behind me. Offense and embarrassment weren't enough to keep him away, so I finally asked my manager for help on Friday night.

I'll probably never get to see the most cinematic moment in this entire saga: he's been "trespassed" from the store, so the next time he comes in, whether it's to buy some socks or freak me out, he'll be arrested by security. There's a part of me(a big part) that wants to see him one more time so I can watch him get hauled away against his will, maybe shouting a little bit. A few cab rides home make for a lousy denouement.

It also figures that this would all happen while Ethan is off on his interminable East Coast visit. I get to be freaked out and ALONE on top of it. Thanks a lot...

News with an entourage

I saw the news that Ted Koppel was moving to the Discovery Channel yesterday, but I smiled when I read in the Times that he's bringing NINE of his former Nightline staffers with him. As if Koppel's dedication to in depth reporting weren't clear from his planned three hour specials, this did it for me:

He said he had not even talked with any of the cable news networks about his plans after ABC. Repeating his previous description of those channels as being "in a desperate race to be first with the obvious" and tending to pay greater attention to "what is recent" rather than "what is important," Mr. Koppel said his kind of news programming would be out of place there.

Even Jon Stewart doesn't sound that biting anymore.

Ted Koppel, you're my new favorite cable news man.