Fun with Message Boards

I'm learning a lot about what happens to women who work hard and have successful careers(yup, miserable and alone), and I just discovered that the average age for a woman's first marriage is 25.3. I'm practically 25.3. In lieu of feeling like a horrible failure and a an awful dragon lady, I read this fanfic post on IMDB. It's awesome. Clearly by "awesome" I mean, "High School Musical 2 themed." But it's "more mature" than the Disney Musical, so you can think dirty things about the stars.

Updates from the Harry Potter 5 message boards TK.

Things I Learned in East Harlem:

1. 81% of new HIV cases in NYC are Black and Latino.

2. People give away dogs at a rate of about an animal every two blocks(as determined by my experience being offered dogs between 3:55 and 4:10 PM EST 7/15)

3. If you are white and wearing a bikini in a pool at 114th St. and 1st Ave., someone will probably toss you into the pool. This should not be frightening. Accept the "This is the JEFFERSON POOL! DONT' JUST STAND THERE!" as a welcome. It's much friendlier than "Welcome to the O.C. BITCH!" and usually they people responsible try to talk to you afterwards.

4. 114th St. is actually a project-splitting sidewalk between 3rd and 1st, which is good to know when you have to walk between Lexington and 1st Ave.

Generally speaking, I like East Harlem. I really like the Thomas Jefferson Pool, white-girl tossing ruffians and all.

Dear iTunes

Whatever you did, you don't work any more. All of my music is just sitting, desperately wishing to be played, while you insist there is some sort of error. You worked fine this morning, and this new version tells me you can't find the file.

I hate you. I hope you die. I would smash my computer into a thousand pieces over your uselessness if I was not desperately poor.

I hate you.

And My Dignity Draws the Line at...

Bikini stories. Nothing kills self-esteem faster than reading all about how much starlets "totally love" veggies and lean protein.

This makes me so mad

I know I shouldn't be judgmental about this young woman's life choices, but I'm having a hard time not jumping up and down in a snotty, superior rage about how badly her whole existence reflects upon woman-kind. I read her epic length piece about dumping her quadriplegic boyfriend, and I thought she did the right thing in that situation. I also thought she came off as a pathetic, weak-willed, co-dependent moron. That she turned out to be all of those things and still managed to get a sweet job is sad, but hardly surprising. I don't know why this would be surprising either. As I learned from Knocked Up, women with good jobs get pregnant and decide not to abort all the time.

It's probably a good thing you had to stop buying your designer shoes, too. How sad it would have been if your clumsy, fat, pregnant feet slipped and you fell down some stairs, Crossroads style. If it worked for Taryn Manning it would have worked for you!

There is one thing I know from growing up in the Midwest, surrounded by young parents and relationships built on accidental pregnancies, and that is this: It almost never works out well. Maybe my old boss was right, maybe it is possible to be naive and provincial thanks to a priveleged East Coast upbringing. If you don't ever have to see just how trashy your life can be when you don't know how to support yourself before you poke holes in the condom, you might believe it won't be that bad. This young woman is clearly going to give her kid at least a decade's worth of therapy bills, maybe more. I'm not saying all single moms are stupid. Far from it, I've known plenty of them. I'm saying that this girl's breezy, "I'm still totally fun and materialistic even as I incubate my little parasite" tone suggests she's not ready for motherhood, probably not even for a serious relationship(who gets pregnant after 3 months and thinks it'll all work out?)

Maybe this will lead to a sea-change; maybe the dumb Coasties will ruin their lives and be single moms while all the smart Midwestern girls who actually remember to take their Ortho come to the Big City and take their jobs. I know I'm in position and ready to pounce.

Good luck in Omaha sweetie, because there's no way your pathetic blogging salary is going to pay for a down-payment on anything East of Cleveland. Then again, someone will probably give you a book deal to talk about the new "trend" of women under 30 having babies alone and still being totally fabulous! Just give some of your friends whatever it was you were using with your boyfriend and you can hit the "two means trend" mark in no time!

Get Your Head in the Game...

By resting it on this beautiful High School Musical Pillowcase! I'm so excited to rest my head next to dreamy Zac Efron every night! This is the best birthday present ever!

Kenneth?

We just talked about Anderson Cooper, mostly.

I'm just saying there's a resemblance...

SEIZED

The corner bodega is closed. The metal shutters are down, covered in orange stickers that say "SEIZED by the State of New York." Apparently they didn't pay their taxes. I bought coffee there this morning, and when I got home at 7:30, it was over. I don't know what I will do now. Where will I buy my tall boys? My coffee? My pasta? This is a tragedy. So long, my friends. So long.

Who Knew Oceanography Sucked so Much?

Popsci.com has a list of the Ten Worst Jobs in Science. And I thought it was rough cleaning hotel rooms. I didn't even realize people DID these things as careers. My favorite? Just the name alone wins: Garbologist.

What was THAT about?

I had a dream last night where I found a turtle and brought it back to the apartment I'm staying at, only to realize the turtle was obviously a bad idea but couldn't get it out of the apartment. I was stuck, fighting with this turtle, desperately trying to get it back to the outdoors before my friend returned. Then the turtle bit me. It hurt.

?

No Sleep 'til...?

I'm moving into my apartment on the 1st. I have my clothes, some pictures, some books I left in Fort Greene when I moved to Minneapolis, and my computer. I have to procure everything else I need for my bedroom. This presents a slight problem. There are countless ways to get a bed, a dresser, and a desk, but so far I can't think of any way I can transport these things without spending a small fortune that I don't have. What to do? I am at a loss. It is starting to feel like every time something good happens(I find an apartment, I get another job interview), something pops up that leaves me feeling desperate. Much as I would love to avail myself of the magic of Craigslist, I am still lacking a delivery method. Beds are expensive, and not that many people here drive trucks, or drive at all. This vexes me.

I think I'm going to have to buy blankets first and sleep on the floor until I have enough money to buy the bed to go with the blankets. It'll be pallet-tastic!

Feet

Another man complimented my toes this afternoon. Two equals trend! Is it because people walk so much here? Can toes be toned and fit? A friend tells me that Brooklyn is just Australia for foot fetishists. Or toe fetishists. Or whatever they are.

Some Things Never Change

In my experience, people tend to get less intolerable when they get sober. I shouldn't be surprised that I can count on Ryan Adams to be the exception to that. I know I'm probably late to the party on this one, but my God, this interview makes him seem even more annoying than when I saw him play in Chicago in 2002. That was a night he played his entire encore while hiding behind a Chewbacca cutout. I'm not saying I want him back on drugs, far from it. He simply epitomizes why some musicians are best enjoyed with a little mystique surrounding their painfully confessional songs. I should just be happy he hasn't had Jon Brion produce one of his albums. We all know what kind of musical abortions happen then.

So True

(Short conversation about men who cook)

Lauren: All girls really want is to be fucked and fed.

Word, my dear. Allowances should be made for those who sacrifice a little of the latter for skill at the former, however.

Stupid Weather

One major downside to outdoor concerts is their susceptibility to inclement weather. Take yesterday's Summerstage concert, for example. After changing trains three times and spending an hour and a half underground, my friends and I emerged near Central Park to see huge, threatening rainclouds and several lightning bolts. And then the deluge began. Needless to say, we did not see Television like we were supposed to. Maybe they'll play another concert in 25 years.

I did see a giant cardboard box of porn sitting inside the bodega where I bought a Red Bull. It was possibly the biggest box of porn I have ever seen.

Can Music be Ruined by a City?

If it can, then I think I am submitting an essay to Ruined Music about how Minneapolis, all several hundred thousand people and however many square miles of sprawl, rendered me unable to listen to more than five seconds of any Hold Steady song without wanting to burst into tears. When Craig Finn says "Lyndale South" in Hot Soft Light, I choke up, every single time. Isn't that stuff only supposed to happen to dudes?

The Interview Process

Looking for apartments is harder than finding a job. First, it seems that women don't live in two bedroom apartments; they only live in "cute" or "adorable" 3 and 4 bedrooms with other girls and want "fun," "neat," "quiet" roommates. I don't mind having a male roommate, I just wish there were more options, and that I could magically find a place that isn't super expensive and has more than two feet of space. I'll even take the two feet of space if it means I don't have to move to Bushwick. My friends have had great luck, and I worry I'll end up with something gross just because I don't have their magic touch.

Update: I hate this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Too Cool For School

No, it's actually too cold. It's June. It's 60 degrees outside. I know I should be happy that the metal grates aren't melting the soles of my shoes, but this is ridiculous. Why does my time of underemployment have to be so chilly?

The Myth of Myth #3

While I was working at my crappy temp job, I grew quite fond of Yahoo! Jobs articles. Every time I saw a little headline that shouted "Best Careers for Your Personality" or "10 Ways You Fucked Yourself Over at Work Yesterday" I had to read it. Today I saw "The 5 Biggest Workplace Myths" and was intrigued. What could they be, I wondered. You really can take those Hot Pockets?

I should have known. The Biggest Workplace Myth is still that women are welcome in it. Myth #3 says it all:

News flash: If you report sexual harassment it'll probably hurt your career. The law protects companies from getting sued for sexual harassment, and human resources professionals are trained to circle the company and protect it as soon as someone reports a problem. This isn't to blame people in HR -- there's nothing else they can do because the law dictates this behavior.

When you do report harassment, the most likely thing to happen is that you'll lose your job because of retaliation. Yes, that's illegal, but it's pretty much impossible to prove in court. But let's say you can sue and win: You'll get a settlement that's too small to allow you to retire, you'll be virtually unemployable in your field and career, and your harasser will probably do the same thing to your replacement.

Before you accuse me of being indifferent to social justice, please know that I'm not saying this is OK. I'm saying that unless you're independently wealthy, you can't afford to single-handedly face down the injustice of sexual harassment laws. So unless you're in physical danger, figure out how to make the best of a bad situation and move away from the harasser if possible.

As ususal, shut up and take it is the way to go. What if the "best" way to deal with it is to have an affair with the harasser and blackmail him into a promtion to a different department? Of course I don't think this woman is saying she thinks that sexual harassment is okay. I think she is saying that it is not important for women to support each other and create an environment that is legitimately safe and positive for everyone. That attitude is the same one that is threatening women's rights across the board. As long as women accept that the rewards lie in compliance and not organized revolt, we will be on the defensive.

I was glad to hear that gaps in my resume aren't a big deal though. That eases my mind a whole lot.

Small World

After I finished work, I decided I wasn't ready to sit at home, so I went to the movies. As I walked home, I passed a laughing couple. The girl asked me for a cigarette, and as I handed one to her, her eyes grew huge and she shrieked, "Oh My God! I know you!" And she did. We sat next to each other in our literary theory class senior year and spent more than a few hours discussing how totally hot our professor was. And Lacan, of course.

It was a brief encounter, and I spent the rest of my walk home thinking about how terrible I had been in that class, but it was a great way to end my first real day back.

Delirious

It doesn't feel real, and I don't know when it's going to start feeling that way. I feel a little like a kid on their first night at summer camp, sustained more by someone's assurances that everything will be fun than by real faith. That might explain why I keep crying and wailing "I wanna go home!"

No more whirlwind departures. It's too painful, and I'm too old. Yes, too old.

Seasonal Dissonance

Everyone has different CDs for different times of year, CDs that can never be separated from the time they were first heard. My iPod is shuffling today, and it keeps landing on winter songs. Really cold winter songs. Walking to class along Lakeshore Path while fighting the December wind on the way to fall 2000 finals songs. Mostly this just means it's playing too much Kid A and Homogenic, with just enough of Leonard Cohen's first album to remember how much I felt like a character in McCabe and Mrs. Miller every time it snowed that winter.

There is a massive thunderstorm headed towards the city, one that should bring tornadoes and big hailstones. It's supposed to be 80 this weekend. It'll be hotter in New York. It may be summer outside my head, but I'm shivering in my cubicle as if it was 20 degrees outside.

The iPod just warmed up a bit-Summer 2002, Liz Phair, and Fuck and Run. Just as long as it stays away from January 2004. Good music, Bad Times.

The Eli Roth Conundrum

He's a total babe, but his idea of "rescuing the girl" is to get her out of the torture dungeon AFTER her eye is hanging out of its socket. And then to have her jump under a train when she realizes she's not pretty anymore. He made Hostel II, but he hired Heather Matarazzo to star in it. It's such a close call.

Actually, no it isn't. Cabin Fever. "Killing former Boy Meets World stars with nasty flesh eating bacteria" trumps "he might kill me during sex" every time.

No, A.V. Club, Fall Out Boy Does Indeed Suck

Did I miss something? Can someone more knowledgeable about things musical and Chicago-related please explain this article?

I have two questions and one statement for Kyle Ryan:

Q1. Are the "hooks" in the new album's "hook-laden songs" fishing hooks? Because I had to fight the urge to blind myself when I found out that the TITLE of the first single was "This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race." Once I actually heard the song my car almost turned into a scene from Audition.

Q2. Are you married to the sister of one of these guys?

S. I admire your moxie, Sir, for trying to convince people who read your publication to reconsider their hatred of Fall Out Boy. I regret to inform you, however, that Patrick Stump is in the band responsible for bringing "guyliner" into regular conversation, and for the wicked bad haircut and dye job Blake Lewis got before Bon Jovi Week. You need a hell of a lot more than catchy pop songs to make up for that. Lest you accuse me of judging a book by its douchey, douchey cover, I have heard plenty of Fall Out Boy songs. They are not good.

Memo to Patrick Stump: Of course your work is going to be pared down to Wentzitals. Did you see them?

Return to Blogging: The Angry Woman Post

It wouldn't be a "blogging from work" day if I didn't link to at least one infuriating item. Thanks to Salon's Broadsheet for one of those stories that makes me want to take a bleach shower because I share some ancient common ancestor with the dozen or so scumbags who will suffer no consequences at all for what should be executable behavior.

And Just Because

Ren, I just want you to know that when I get back on Sunday, I'm BACK.

Imminent Departure

It's finally time. My last day as a professional highligher/typist is Friday, my flight leaves Sunday morning(7:00 AM?!?!? What was I thinking?!?!?!), and I report to work on Monday morning. What happens in the next week? A jam packed combination of social activity, packing, and panic(both the quiet and not so quiet kinds) awaits.

It has never been this hard to leave someplace before. I had less than a month to prepare the first time I moved to New York, and I moved to Minneapolis with close to the same amount of notice. I shudder to think that this might mean I'm more of a grown-up than I was when I arrived. Life in the Twin Cities has been quite a combination of highs and lows, but I will still miss everyone I know who hasn't started planning their East Coast move(there are a few foolish types who still think they're not included on my list of inevitable transplants).

Please, help me reverse this distressing maturation process. The going away party is Friday. Immature behavior should be rampant.

Loading and Unloading

Thank God none of the remaining furniture is worth all that much. Posting some of the remainders as free is going GREAT. The place should be empty by the end of tomorrow.

Hired!

I knew my tireless enthusiasm for popular culture would come in handy. It's time to pack my bags-I just found out I got the job I interviewed for yesterday.

Is Big Fun big in Korea right now?

This article reads like a summary of Suicide Club, except without the weird interlude with the Japanese David Cassidy lookalike stomping on puppies in a bowling alley.

Yes, that really happens in the movie.

Word on the Street

A few things I heard today while walking around Brooklyn:

1. No, YOU'RE the bitch I'm talking to right now(said into a cell phone).
2. How you doin', pretty toes(said to me)?
3. There are mushrooms growing in the bathroom.

Things I learned today:

1. A lot of work goes into showing people that stars are just like us.
2. You can tell the truth and still be sued for defamation.
3. If I don't pick an official "moving" date I'll probably never get a job.
4. I'm too old to function on two hours of sleep.

Too Much Sun

It is officially summer in my universe: after a lovely day spent with family and friends, parts of my arms and chest now match the dress I'm wearing. This would be less embarrassing if the dress were sleeveless and weren't a V-neck. As it is I have lobster colored decolletage.

Graduation Day

It's sunny, the temperature is in the mid-70s, the hammock is up in the shade, and my sister, the Greatest Classics Scholar on Earth(tm), is officially a college graduate. It seems like only yesterday you were crammed into University of Iowa "temporary housing" with eleven girls from West Des Moines, and today you're skipping your ceremony to drink champagne on the back porch with me. I don't think I've ever been so proud.

Congratuations, Dana. I love you. You're the best.

A Textbook Case

An article I wrote a few years ago has been published in a composition textbook. I get to call something I did a textbook example of good writing. I never thought that would happen.

The best part? The Nation paid me more for the permission than they did for publishing it the first time.

If only the piece could also clean up the atrocious mess I'm staring at in my soon to be ex-apartment.

Brooklyn Time Warp

I spent most of today drinking with an old friend from the long ago days of Nation interning(2005 seems so far away!), but it has been the time I've had to walk alone that have been my favorite. I got off the subway yesterday and found myself more than halfway to my old aparment(where I am staying) before I realized what I was doing. I don't think I've ever felt more at home anywhere, even at my parents' house. I have to remind myself continually that I haven't been living in New York for the past two years, I have been living in Minneapolis, because it just doesn't feel like any time has passed. I feel as happy and as right here as I did when I first moved, and it seems just as navigable as the town I grew up in.

Maybe that isn't such a good thing, what with growing up in a town of 5,000 people. Maybe Brooklyn is just an overgrown suburb now, filled with people too big for the Midwest but not big enough for Shanghai, or some such nonsense. I don't care. I still love the feeling of being one negligible part of one huge metropolitan unit.

And now I have to present my friend with her birthday present: a handbag sewed from vintage early 90s highlighter bright Beverly Hills 90210 fabric.

Goodbye Smut and Eggs

Things that have changed in Madison since I moved away:

1. "Smut and Eggs," your opportunity to watch hardcore pornography over breakfast and hair of the dog, is gone.

2. The State Street Arcade, well loved porn store, sex shop, and gay pickup joint, has been forced out thanks to higher rents. The Art Box strikes again! It has been replaced by a soon-to-open restaurant. The owner of that establishment has too much moxie and not enough bleach to make me eat there.

3. Duane, my coffee guy from college now owns his own cafe/art space/performance location/conference space/hippie/biker/furry hangout, the Escape Java Joint.

4. The Paradise(my most fondly remembered old haunt) now has Led Zeppelin on the jukebox. And not even decent Led Zeppelin; it was Houses of the Holy. Also, some of the female patrons wore tube tops. Thankfully, the beer was still cheap and the fried food is still the best in Madison.

The real motives for the abortion ban

My sister figured it out. Dick Cheney is basically the head of the skeksis, but rather than stealing the essence of podlings in order to maintain his shriveled, damned existence, he must drink the blood of unwanted babies. Soon he will have enough to return him to the power of his youth!

Morning

Nick Cave and I are spending some quality time together this morning. I wish he weren't twice my age; I think he's my soulmate.

Sleepovers

On Friday night I went to a sleepover. There were sweatpants, there was nail polish, and we drank wine with straws. It was the first time in 15 years I've been in a room with that many women my own age. It was pretty magical, or maybe I am just a spectactularly bitter human for not letting go of all that grade-skipping angst sooner. Either way, thank you ladies.

Out of Place

Despite my best efforts, I am not a very neat person. I don't put things away all the time, I am comfortable going to be without hanging up my coat, and a host's home would need a lot of disorder to attract my scorn. This is not Ethan's family philosophy.

Last night, I used one of the hand towels in one of the bathrooms, and when I was done, I placed it back on the towel rack folded neatly in half. When I used the same towel this morning, I found it refolded, in thirds, hanging next to its identical twin.

I do not fit in here.

Dispatch

All the action is finished, and now all that is left is to watch basketball, sleep, and head back tomorrow. The best quote of the day goes to my Great-Aunt Quava(that's pronounced Kee-way-vuh, but no one knows why). She stumbled on my great grandfather's headstone while walking to her seat, looked down at the ground, and exclaimed,"Oh my goodness! I just tripped over Daddy!"

Second place goes to my cousin Richard, age 45, of no specific occupation or location, when he said, "Journalism? Rock & Roll? That's cool. Yeah, I know Jon Bon Jovi from back in the day."

Third place does not belong to any statement, but I have to recognize the joy in my sister's eyes when she tasted KFC for the first time.

The little things my sister and I have learned since coming down are really striking. I always thought I got my stubbornness and rebellious streak from my mother, but it turns out my grandmother used to risk her Baptist father's patriarchal wrath in order to go dancing and to baseball games with my grandfather. They also eloped and only told their parents when his mother found the marriage license. We can't really ask my grandmother to elaborate; she keeps asking me how the trip from New York was even though I haven't lived there for over a year. It's not worth trying to correct her.

We've found some of the most amazing photographs(hidden in a closet, natch)-a picture from our great grandmother's river baptism sometime around 1910; one of two young men sitting on a car dressed in impeccable suits(no one knows who they are), and my personal favorite, the series of photos of what looked like a vaudeville show featuring 20 or 30 men dressed in blackface. I don't know who took the pictures, who it is that is in them, or what else might have been going on, and I guess we never will.

ETA: Three free round trip tickets and a night at the Marriott later, I'm home. Thank. God.

The Tragedy of Death and Boy Meets World

It's been a rough day. A death, general sadness, and several other less than desirable little frustrations and tragedies have befallen me and my loved ones today. In order to distract myself, I decided to find side by side pictures to prove that the square first victim in Zodiac was in fact the nerdy kid from Boy Meets World that later got cut from the cast to make room for Tobanga's enormous breasts. And then I couldn't find any. Minkus has been erased from history, and I cannot get a break.

I will post a picture of Springer Spaniel puppies instead. The one on the left looks just like my puppy who got cancer last year about this time...oh forget it. Puppies are cute. I'm going to take a nap.

Breaking: College Sex Mags not good for Girls

The author of this article can't manage to write it without describing the attractiveness of the women involved or including quotes that reinforce the "girls in college are still totally stupid about sex and should just be good because when they do stuff that ends up in smut they totally feel bad about it and that just isn't cool" stance on female sexuality. It you write an article about sex magazines on college campuses, why spend so much time woman bashing(especially when it is women who are starting the things) when you have tons of material for Harvard bashing?

Why I hated Babel

Everyone expects PL to win Best Foreign Film on Sunday, and it may actually deserve it. Setting aside all the mass culture American reasons(highest grossing Spanish film ever, most well known nominee), it is an amazing film and a beautiful achievement. As the Oscars approached I've seen a lot of second guesses about the "future" quality of Pan's Labyrinth. There seems to be a lot of speculation about whether the blend of fantasy and political horror story will stand the test of time. Guillermo del Toro clearly doesn't want to be Hayao Miyazaki or Isao Takahata, so that criticism doesn't necessarily hold any water.

The more important thing to look at is that del Toro was the far superior Mexican director of the praised films this year. Babel, to put it succinctly, SUCKED. The 2.5 hours you might spend in the theater could be summed up by the following: "life sucks and it hurts, but if you have to choose a color to suck in, don't choose brown. White and yellow are way better. Hell, in the 21st century, red is probably better, but no one really knows because no one tells those stories except David Treuer." Seriously, don't waste your time with that convoluted shit. When it takes the gold on Sunday, it'll be another blow for real cinema fans.

Babel displayed none of the maturity that Pan's Labyrinth showed at every turn. There were no surprises, no moments where people behaved in anything other than the most mechanistic, deterministic way. A truly affecting movie about "fate" or "god" or "connection" involves surprises, moments where, beyond all reason and cynicism, goodness is actually rewarded, evil actually punished. It doesn't hurt when the good are uniformly punished on film; it only feels manipulative and schematic.

The reason the Japanese story resonates is because it is so tangential; the young girl hurts even without her father's complicity in minor international incidents. She would act out and self-destruct even if her father were an arms dealer who shot Cate Blanchett himself. Her hatred, anger, and despair was the only part of the film that made sense. When you compare this to Naomi Watts in 21 Grams and the "model and the dog" segment of Amorres Perros, it telescopes what Gonzales Inarritu does well and magnifies what he does very very poorly.

Stay Tuned for More...

A celebration

Happy Birthday David Bowie! I can't believe you're 60. You're really far too cool to be that old. I mean, of course Mick Jagger and Macca and Johnny Rotten are old farts, and even Iggy Pop and David Byrne and the Roxy Music Brians are starting to seem up there(Eno less than Ferry though, probably because of the fashion baldness), but you? I never dreamt it would come. Are you going to release a children's album of epic terribleness? Or will you merely continue to bless us with inspired cameos like your Nikola Tesla in The Prestige?

Actually, if you recorded an album of children's stories in character as Nikola Tesla I'd be okay with it. Please just keep being weird, that's all I ask.

Sincerely,
M

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.