Weather update

Last Tuesday the high was 81 degrees.

Saturday it snowed.

Right now it’s hailing! And flooding! It is grossly exceeding the tenth of an inch of rain we were told to expect!

I love this time of year.

TEN MINUTES LATER:

The sun is now shining. Who knows what the evening holds! Mist? Drizzle? Plague of frogs?

Take It Back

Friday was Take Back the Night. It was cold and rainy—really cold, like 34 degrees cold—and I wasn’t dressed appropriately, what with it being 60 degrees when I went to work that morning. I figured I’d go to the rally and not actually do the march. But when I got there, the crowd was kind of small, and then when they opened up the mic to anybody who wanted to talk woman after woman got up and talked about how she’d survived sexual assault as a teenager, or walking home from the campus library, or at the hands of her foster father. They were crying and moving and I felt like I’d have to be a real shit to leave because I was chilly. So I went on the march, too, and it went all through downtown and down to campus and back. I’d planned on dropping out when we got back around to my car, but after getting screamed at by frat boys on campus I stuck with it.

There are a lot of reasons I wasn’t enthusiastic about the march: it’s cold and wet, I’m old in comparison to these whippersnappers. But mostly, I just started feeling like walking around yelling stuff isn’t going to change anything. That’s basically what sororities do during rush, isn’t it? And the concept of women-only marches isn’t exactly novel at this point in history. I figured maybe it was time to look for a new thing. But then we went through campus.

Good lord. What kind of person hears “stop violence, stop rape” and thinks “well, I’d certainly disagree with that”? How insecure does a man have to be to feel threatened by a group of 20-year-old women chanting “no means no”? I’m not being flippant when I ask this—if you’re a guy, and your buddy starts yelling “no means yes,” or the classic gem “I’ll rape you, you fucking lesbians,” does that make him look tough and cool to you?

So. Maybe a group of women getting together and yelling stuff is still radical.

Nothing to be done about the jackasses yelling from apartment buildings but Awesome Rossum may have a word with the fraternities in question. Yay! Yay for men who think men who yell things at women who think men who rape should just stop it already!

One small little narcissistic update

I'm having an allergic reaction to something. It started last night, when the left side of my face started showing red welts. Now I'm just generally itchy. This used to happen a lot, but it hasn't in a while, and I forgot how much it sucks. Sometime in the last 30 hours I ate something, wore something, or touched something that I shouldn't eat, wear, or touch again. Until that gets sorted out, though, I kind of look melted on the left side. And scratchy.

Svolta came and looked at my car this morning, and seems fairly confident that it's a fairly easy recovery. Yay! We had to drive around to get the problem diagnosed, and in doing so, he spotted his van driving down the street. He'd apparently loaned it to T-Vic for their show in Indy last night. When we pulled up alongside them, they turned, and S. noticed what appeared to be a small tree dragging along from the passenger side. Hey! That's my van! And they're dragging a tree! hee.

It's cold and damp here. I hope it's nice and sunny there for you. (Yesterday--tornado warning south of Decatur, with actual spotter sightings and everything! Nothing here though.)

May your weekend be organizationally rich and meteorologically pleasant,
T.

The Rock Report

Last night: Rock show! Mike and Molly’s. It was a great and rocking show. Unfortunately, I’m one of about five people who know that.

I was pretty tired and pretty comfortable on my couch early in the evening, and seriously debated not going out. In the end, though, my inner rocker thrashed my inner lazyass and I headed out into the floody, floody night. I’m glad I did. The first band, Emperor X, was playing when I got there. Walking down the street outside I couldn’t tell if it was a live band or a deejay; that’s generally a pretty good sign, I reckon. I went in, paid my four bucks, and headed upstairs to find the handful of other people who made the trip out. The band itself was good, and charming, and short, except for the one guy who was not short. Hard to tell, though, as he was sitting at the drumkit, wearing an awesome Karate Kid-style rising sun headkerchief.

They reconfigured, adding a tiny tiny keyboard on a fullsize keyboard stand. How can you not love that? The drummer moved to keyboard, and the . . . I think it was the bass player sat at the kit to play his guitar. Standing is just so wearisome. I don’t mean to mock, though—they really were quite good. They made a futile announcement that they had wares for sale, and an even more futile announcement that they needed a place to stay. The crowd laughed. The band noted that’s never good: “ha ha! You guys are sleeping in your car tonight!” Poor guys.

I’m trying to figure out how I can tell you news and gossip so you’ll know who I’m talking about without splattering people’s names all over the World Wide Web. I ain’t in this for the libel convictions! I’ll just have a whack at it, and you can email me if you don’t know what I’m talking about.

Our friend at the Planet was there, with a couple of his newfound buddies (one of whom appears to be his girlfriend?) Hanging out with the younger crowd appears to be working well for him—he gets to be all Man About Town for them, with the lowdown on the downtown. I could say more. I won’t.

Second band up: V9R9D. I had forgotten exactly which band this was until the got up there and then I remembered the AWESOMENESS of the V9R9D. Yiyiyi. I always feel so lucky when I go to a show expecting something okay and get something superfantastico instead. It’s just so nice to see people who enjoy what they’re doing, and are really, really proficient at it. (I hate to use the word “proficient”—it seems so much like “workmanlike”—but you know what I mean. They can play their instruments.) Isn’t it strange and weirdly delightful how two players sound like such a big band?

The band, mightyfine; the audience, mightysmall. Seriously, we could have fit into a VW van. At the crowd-control apex, there were 11 people up there not playing, and that included the three guys from the first band, Bob the Soundguy, and Dave the Booker. I tried to look like more people by standing in front of the post and shifting about. The drummer broke a stick early in, and it went ricocheting off like a broken bat. At some point, and I’m not sure how, he dropped a stick into a glass of water without knocking it over, which—when he found it—noticeably delighted him. Very charming. Very rocking. All around excellent.

I talked to them briefly after the set, and they said to tell you hey. Mark (drums) is moving to New York; Alex gave him your contact info, so you might hear from him. Jeremy (bass) is staying in the twin cities for now.

The last band was a local one I’d never heard before. They were alright. They probably actually weren’t that bad, but they were a rather pop band, very “doo doo doo” oriented, and coming after the all out rockingness of V9etc., it just sounded a bit too light and twee. And basic. And they featured a young woman who played bells on a stick A LOT. That’s an instrument that really needs to be used in moderation. I don’t know why, but they struck me like a band you’d see in a sketch on Saturday Night Live. Consequently, I kept casting the band. That’s Will Ferrell on guitar, Amy Poehler there on bells-on-stick, Seth Meyer on bass, and probably the special guest—Ashton Kutcher, maybe—on drums.

Dave was decidedly not enjoying the limited crowd. I pulled my best Amalier, to cheer him up, but he wasn’t having it. (He totally called me out on, actually—“You’re being just like Amalier! And it won’t work!) He left for a while. It was a rough weekend—Ebertfest, Artist against Aids was having it’s big opening, And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead was playing at the Canopy, plus rainy rainy rainy. At the same time, there were quite a number of people downstairs who just wouldn’t pay the four bucks to go up, and that included quite a number of local band members. That does suck, for the bands and for Dave, and for the local music scene.

So Dave was not pleased, and was a bit on the drink, and we had a nice long chat about the rotten bastards who don’t come to shows like this, and what they’re missing out on, and why should people keep booking shows like this. Then I pushed him and V9R9 together, and they had a bit of a chat about where MSF should play in the twin cities, and Dave cheered up immensely. He came back and Ryan and Ed the once and current door guys came over and we had a nice rousing chat, and it was just all very pleasant and communal. (I learned that, if you’re inviting a girl back to your place, the most important thing is that the bathroom be clean, because they’ll [er, we’ll] put up with a lot of other stuff if we think it’s okay to sit on the toilet.) I had fully intended to leave the show at midnight, then decided maybe 1:00. Then ended up at home by 2:45. Friday at work kind of sucked, but I’m glad I stayed out anyway.

OTHER NEWS IN ROCK

One of the musicians whose in several bands but who is NOT Brandon T, or Guido, or Dawna, had his hearing checked to confirm that he’s losing quality over 8000. Uh…hertz? Or…megahertz? Or . . . something? Anyway. Remember, kids, to wear your earplugs.

Tonight is Rock against Rape, featuring some bands I’ve never heard of. I know that former Vice Dolls people are in one of them. I wish them well.
I had other rock news. I don’t remember. Expect to hear it soon.

Auuuuuuuggggh!

yeah, so we're co-hosting this big dumb two-day symposium event yesterday and today under the direction of a highly organizationally challenged dept. they came thru with all these last minute things that needed to get done this week cause they had taken em on, said they had em covered, and didn't take care of em earlier (i just don't get this), so, while it's been BEAUTIFUL all week, i haven't been out of the building yet for lunch, and haven't left til after 7:30.

now, i hear it's sposed to start raining tonight, and continue all weekend. augh! well, at least this crap will be over. bring on the rain! ahbout anything will feel like a holiday after this. uh huh!

just gave an interview to a student who's writing a paper on riot grrrl a couple nites back. felt totally good to revisit that stuff! check it out for a bitta "hey, why the hell is this just memory lane?" inspiration --

http://www.emplive.org/explore/riot_grrrl/index.asp

love, rock, and revolution, indeed.

yay for friday! yay for now! work angst, be gone. you are not the boss of me. and i have better spaces to lay claim to than you. damn rii.

I'm very careless, but fortunately not carless.

AWESOME weather yesterday. Finally got the rain and the lightning and the thundah. No hail, no high winds, plenty o' flooding though, I tell you what. I'm guessing the little shelter tents they set up outside the Ebertfest couldn't quite stand up to the rain. So, so sad.

Every year at this time, I watch the lighning strike and watch the trees around my house sway and think "I really ought to update my renter's insurance."

So here's a little tale of my how stupid and careless I can be, and how great living in a town like this can be. The other night, before David Sedaris, I went outside to wait for Kerry. I went to move my sunglasses from on top of my head to in front of my eyes and found that the hinge on one side had become severely entangled in my hair. Seriously, I could not get it out. I was plucking hairs from my scalp one by one, and couldn't get disentangled, so I walked out to the street to use my car window as a mirror. Eventually, and painfully, I got the sunglasses out, but it took about 6 minutes of working while cars drove by viewing my ineptitude.

We go see David Sedaris. [More on that in a moment.] We get a quick drink at MnMs and headed for home. When we got to my place, the street was oddly busy and I hopped out and sent her on her way. And THEN I started thinking, did I leave my keys in her car…? I dug through my purse, getting more and more frantic. No keys. I checked again. No keys. I started thinking how I’d manage to get a hold of Kerry, considering I don’t know her phone number or where she lives. I started pacing around, trying to sort out what I should do, and thought “maybe I should check the car…” so I walk over and guess what? There were my keys. Sitting on top of my car. So for about six hours, my car keys sat on top of my car, in front of my house, with my house keys. Six hours! And I park on the street! Somebody could have broke into my hou—no, actually, they could have unlocked the door and walked into my house, packed up my stuff, put it into my car, and just driven away with it. At the very least, they could have unlocked the door and stolen my CD player from the passenger seat of my car. But nope! Sometimes the universe gives you a little more than you really deserve.

David Sedaris: Mostly very funny, one rather ghastly anecdote, but overall quite jolly. At the end, he took some questions from the audience, and a bird flew out from stage right and circled the auditorium and flew back behind the proscenium. A second later, it flew out again, and DS said, "Why, that's a bat." He then mentioned very casually that they have bats in Normandy, and they fly down the chimney, and Hugh always says they're harmless and scared, but David doesn't quite believe him. Then he rapidly gathered all his things and fled the stage. He also talked about being stationed at the hotel between the TGI Friday’s and the Hooters. Gay man’s paradise.

I probably had more to say, but it’s three days after I started this post, so I’ll just wrap it up now.

Popewatch 2005 reports -- Welcome, Pope John Ima Whiteguy XXIV!

blast.

how many hispanic catholics are there? like ten gazillionjillion? and that Nigerian cardinal was a total heavy hitter. augh!

yeah, i grew up catholic. with the priest scandals and the churchgoing numbers way down in the us and across europe, i knew the german one would win.

fucking catholics.

someone in champaign owes me a beer.

from Vatican City to NY City, this is Popewatch 2005, signing off, yo.

There's One for You, Nineteen for Me

Don't forget! Taxes are due tomorrow!

Oh, dear. Now I can't go to the laundromat tonight.

...and now, turning to the weather, we appear to have a severe boring front blowing through

Sorry Tornadia.
Only slightly cloudy warmth projected in the five day forecast.
Your season, she will come. Oh, she will come.

Do you know that in NY, most people give their laundry over to be cleaned? i was very suspicious and skeptical at first -- "What a thoughtless waste of money! How very Sex in the City!" i thought, turning my nose up at the mere thought of such squandering. but nooooo, friends! this has proven to be not the case. with the amount of time you have left for yourself after slogging yerself to and fro work, and to and fro errands and the like, living, sleeping, working, and moving about in cramped spaces, climbing up and down endless stairs to rocket through the bowels of the city, walking a few doors down to give your skivvies over to a stranger, and returning later to recieve them packed tightly into a bag amidst your other now clean and freshly fabric softened, carefully folded items is a darn near necessary bit of ease that is way worth the ten dolla (and i have LOTS of laundry) saved on coin machines, time, and effort. Little secret is to not have em separate colors. That'll totally getcha in the wallet.

Welcome, sadoublelizzy!

Good to have you on board!
Now everyone has arrived.
Peeeeehrfect.

Grassroots: Awhaa for who for whaa?

Yeah. So, last month, i went out to New Brunswick, NJ to meet up with the unstoppable Mary S-R for a book talk given by Jennifer Baumgardner and Amy Richards, the authors of Manifesta. i kinda picked through Manifesta, finding it problematic in some of the "well, yeah, but how is this gonna actually be accomplished" areas, but intriguing in its conversational, light hearted approach and attention to some important ideas. Overall, if body positionings are the preferred method of review, i woulda given that book a shrug.

Now, the duo were out promoting their new book Grassroots: A Field Guide for Feminist Activists. Mary and i went. And wow, did that talk piss the shit outta me. i won't even say what sort of non-pristine body gestures i would give as this book's review. i left incensed. in-CENSED! Steam billowed from my ears, i was so irritated. i was angry. i was an angry woman.

They were talking the next week at a bookstore down the street from me in Manhattan, so i decided to let things settle and process, and go again. i hate the idea of second/third wave rifts. Wanted to try again, and see if maybe i misunderstood, maybe i was just cold of heart, and needed time to open up to this better way of thinking about this cherished area. Maybe this time, it would be different, it would be better. So, i went. And, well. Nope. i have a page of rabid, angry notes from this one -- much, i am guessing, like the notes you find yourself with after a State of the Nation address from Geeeyyeeeehhhaaaaa-eorge. Wow did they make me angry.

i asked questions both times -- don't remember the first, but in the second, i introduced myself as a grassroots, feminist, activist of some form, and told em i was confused by their understanding of grassroots activism. Asked em how they felt what they were discussing could be achieved with individual, non-collaborative efforts, and without attention to overarching cultural insitutions or structures. Their answers infuriated me even more. One of the author's answers more than the other. i don't want to pull any low-blows here, but she is a dingbat. A ding-bat. A dangerous one, too.

Interestingly, Mary P and i were the only one asking kinda "huh? whaa?"-like questions at either event. i was the only one at the second -- and this was pretty startling in the formerly feminist and now way progressive bookstore the reading was held in on the LES. Ah, another idealized liberal bastion of thought crashes to reality. Another hero falls. We are what we want to become. Actually, those who knew better prolly just stayed away.

So, anyway, i realized before the second talk that one of the reasons why this was getting to me so much was because the title of their book contained words that are almost religion to me: Grassroots. Feminism. Activist. And, in their hands, under their "I'm ok, you're ok" "Hey, yeah! Anything goes!" "Oh, what the hell, we'll call you a feminist too!" me-based useage of these terms to include comments like "Want to make social change? Leave your copy of Bust magazine at the doctor's office waiting room next time you go!" (giggle) felt like something very akin to cultural appropriation. (ok. there was no giggle. and giggling hardly deserves such maligning by association.) This is totally not what bell hooks meant in writing Feminism is for Everybody.

But that's right. Cultural appropriation. These authors. Cultural appropriators. i stand by it.

This book is another example of how Robert' Putnam's Bowling Alone has proven prophetic: within this culture, we are moving quickly away from the powerful confines of the group to our own decidedly individual endeavors. Have you read that book? It's a goodun. (...ahem) With the loss of both the collective power and the bridging of othernesses that occurs in unions, special interest groups, and communities, this idea of mass surburban-like herding in of individuals is scary enough in thinking quality of life and political ramifications (think big, ol, forever adamently bowling alone Texas). And, oh. The poor bowling leagues! When it comes to the ripple effect this momentum has on activism as a whole, it is equally terrifying. Fight injustice by doing your own thing! Follow your own passions and it will all be ok! And it will! You have the resources to get by doing what you want to do. i mean, what needs to be done beyond that? And, of course, you can call on your rich friends' daddies to donate supplies and grub from their publically traded businesses when yer in a pinch and want to throw some fun fundraising functions! The chickens have come home to roost. And wow are they ugly, them thar chicks.

Oh, and that last part -- the friends' daddies -- that was actually mentioned. The whole money thing loomed large in both talks. It came up in things like that, another time when one of the authors mentioned how she got support for one event she was throwing by "just calling all of her friends who had Saabs, and asking them if they or their parents could donate something," and in a lovely little discussion the one that angers me so held in both sessions about how they were not sure they wanted to call it "activism," and how they thought that "service," or maybe "charity," might be more appropriate. At all of these times, I realized that they were not talking to me. This book was not written for me, or my kind of people -- us non-daddied, non-family-luxury-vehicled, non-Saabed common folk who had volunteered in soup kitchens and homeless centers but had never done a day of "charity" in our lives. Still. These were meaningful, universal terms they were using. My meaningful, universal terms. Emma Goldman's and Mary Lee Sargent's and Margaret Sanger's and Bella Abzug's and GirlZone's and Grrr Crist's universal terms. Grassroots feminist fucking activist. This means something specific. And it does NOT mean what this stupid field guide says it means. They bastardize these words, and apoliticise them, wring the life out of them, and make them masterbatorial, presenting them to people to take and fit cleanly into their lives and say: "Oh, what a little powerhouse i am! I went to that girls' basketball game at the high school last week (well, the first quarter, really. After that, i had my mani/pedi i needed to jet to!). But i went to watch the girls! I am a grassroots feminist activist! I am doing my part. I am doing enough. I am making some changes. Yes! Here we go, girls!" Bullshit.

Ok. You might think i'm being harsh here, but here's the thing: While many of the ideas they raise are actually pretty durned powerful in their own right as individually feminist, progressive, or even grassroots efforts, they are disturbing when called "grassroots feminist activism." Goikng to the hs girls' game is awesome. But it is NOT grassroots feminist activism. This is something that takes thought about others, about institutions and systems, about culture, about change. After running a passion-driven, efficient, beautiful, powerful, NEEDED, grassroots feminist activism endeavor for eight years, and failing repeatedly and horribly in sustaining its existence by both not having or realizing the "importance" of networks of rich daddies to ongoing sustainability, and by continued snubbing for funding and support from the existing anti-feminist, anti-grassroots, anti-activist incestuous social service systems of corporate suited so-called-"community" boards that control the purse strings and the access routes in the conservative heartland, I feel more than simple anger in hearing the casual dismissal of this important institutional reality in explaining these terms to those who sincerely want to take part in social justice -- particularly when it comes in the form of arrogant "field guides" that purport to tell you how to do this for your communities, but instead have you do it all in feel-good isolation. But it's ok! Just do what you want! You'll be doing your part, and then some! Whaat?!!

It's like brainwashing, you know? Like some kinda bad B-grade movie we're in where the fascist government recruits body-morphing aliens to come down to earth disguised as firecracker comedians to wipe any trace of comendy off the planet. The aliens write a radical, accessible new comedy manual that all of the kids want to read (because they're tired of them and their classmates not being funny, and really want change to make things better!) and go on nation-wide book tours to promote the best-seller. There, they gain the trust of all people in attendance at all their events (cause they can body morph and just generally seem appealing to everyone in their own way -- wholesome anti-choice mothers, tough bisexual city girls, rural abortion clinic supportive optimists, slutty outsider individualist bikers... they got em all covered in the morph), then, afterwards, end up showing up at the people's homes, being invited in as honored guests, and devouring every audience member who came out to hear them, along with their families and all of the people in their communities. And all of their ancestors. And then they take their new positions in the government which presides over a world in which nobody is ever funny again, and nobody remains who remembers what it was ever like to be funny. Yeah.

In GirlZone, we were all idiots. Well intentioned, hard working, idealistic, know-nothing-about-how-things-work-in-the-world idiots trying to do grassroots feminist activism. And it was beautiful. And efforts that idealistic and good at heart should exist. They need to exist. They're the ones that need flourish. But to do so, the structures that do not want them to fit in and that kill off their ability to survive need to be called out. THEY NEED TO BE CALLED OUT. They need to be acknowledged, and recognized as unsupportive of our goals, they need to be continually challenged, then need to feel no ease that we give them when we are complicit, and leave them out of the discussion on our work and our efforts. To quote Ms. Abzug "The establishment is made up of little men, very frightened." Men aren't the problem. Men are lovely, for the most part. But the structures run by the establishment that like things to remain the same need to be examined and questioned if real, sustainable, meaningful grassroots change is to happen. "It's not about simply mainstreaming women. It's not about women joining the polluted stream. It's about cleaning the stream, changing stagnant pools into fresh, flowing waters. " This needs to happen for this type of breezy work to be able to someday make any kind of real difference. Otherwise, its just ignoring other's oppression in your own bliss, which is not feminist or grassroots. It's an affront to me now to hear this left out by those who know the importance.

And they wonder why the second wave has, uh, problems with the third (not that this is any example of third wave feminism, or any poster child of anything at all.)

Grassroots feminist activism, BY DEFINITION, needs to go beyond the "now" and "we can do it, so we will, and we'll be ok!" naivte to look at sustainability and the felling the structures that keep naivte like this called this, rather than being seen as just good, clear, powerful thinking.

i felt that the publisher should recall all of these books, and re-release them under the name: "Grassroots: Some suggestions to feel-good, girl-power efforts for the slightly guilty trust fund sect who have resources and backing and networks in place to support their own passionate pursuits and random proclivities, and who are not impeded by or concerned with the little people who do not." As a subtitle, they can have: Hey there, Muffy! Don't give up your SUV; Make true change and get an IUD! ('cause birth control = grassroots feminist activism! lol!) Could you pull some strings to get this started, perhaps? Worth asking.

Publisher's Weekly likened feminism to punk rock's diy philospohy in its review of this book. i agree that, in some powerful ways, feminism is like punk. But i do not in any way appreciate the linking of punk rock's diy with this work cause it's nothing the same. And, listen here, sista loves:
It is NOT punk rock to be wishy washy in stating what you claim to believe in order to make everyone happy and feel comfortable fitting in.
It is NOT punk rock to bely the histories that have got you to the place you have the power to speak from.
It is NOT punk rock to not think outside of your own small, self-absorbed world.
It is NOT punk rock to keep it all to yourself.
And it is NOT punk rock to stay giddily content by choosing to not question the powers that be who you may choose to believe do not fuck with you, but who you know fuck with others.

Make no mistakes about it, this book is NOT punk rock. Rather, it is the essence of Hot Topic, punk rock's appropriation outlet boutique -- you know, the one in "the mall." Like Hot Topic, Grassroots is sexy, substanceless window dressing for the young'uns and richie wanna-bes charged with just the right amount of cutural credo to make the user look valid, worldy, hip, and informed, yet designed primarily to fit current conservative trends and make blending in to the unthinking fashionista masses painless and fast-foodish in accessiblity, while, all along, laying seige to progressive history pop-culture style by forsaking of its connection to anything political. Yep. If you got the bucks, it's all yers, sweetheart.

i gots lotsa random thoughts written down in deeply pressed pen on numerous papers scattered about on this. am gonna write an article on it all. might needta have a timeline. and needta get down thoughts. also needta be less snarky. needta, needta, needta. more to come. sorry to be so longwinded. sheesh.

Small. Plastic. Mighty.

When I’m on a long road trip, I’ve started picking up a totem for the trip—something to be memento and good luck charm, like Silver Lil, the cowgirl on the dashboard. In New Orleans (which was technically a railtrip, I guess), I got this awesome crazy warrior woman. She’s got a very Demolition Dollrods-esque ensemble going, plus a sword almost as tall as she is, and a high-on-head Grrr style ponytail.
Yesterday, shortly after the meeting that caused the two-minute hate, I started digging through my bag looking for some gum. Guess what I found in the bottom of my bag? Supercrazywarrior woman! Hyah! Now she’s sitting on the ledge of my glass cube, to keep evil out of my office. If I had a fancy camera phone, I’d send you a picture. But I don’t. You might be able to see her here:
http://www.hobbytimeny.com/IBS/SimpleCat/product/ASP/product-id/628854.html

Do not be evil!

Two-minute Hates

HATE HATE HATE stupid crap bullshit morons stupid meeting stupid stupid HATE HATE HAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE!

Whew.

A Rather Fruity Tale

I remembered what else I was going to tell you.

Sunday I took a walk down to campus, and I may have seen the best graffito ever. I’m cruising down Green St., ducking between the kids with their iPods and their flip flops and their orange T-shirts, and saw this scrawled on the side of Papa Del’s:

GRAPES RULE!

Just that, in chalk on the brick. It’s probably some fraternity's nickname or something, but I had this immediate vision of an alternate world where people with a passion backed fruits instead of politicians or sports teams or whatever. Instead of debating the designated hitter, they’d argue about citrus versus fleshy fruits, or whether fruits with edible skins were better than fruits you have to peel. All the team mascots would be fruits—like the Florida Fighting Tangerines versus the Washington Apples. And the extremists would get all violent and vandalistic in the name of fruit. Imported fruit is stealing your job! Seedless watermelon is an abomination! Grapes rule! Yeaaaaahhh!

Yeah. So. Gotta go see about winning a handgun raffle. Later skater!

WEATHER doesn't want me to post.

Is this thing on? I can't seem to get anything going here.

Onto newer, brighter, sunnier things: today's beautiful here. Sunny and warm (maybe, anyway; it looks warm from my [windowless] office). And it's Cubs opening home game! Go Cubs!

Anyway. When the alarm went off this morning, NPR was doing the top of the hour news break. The report started off "Thousands of mourners continue to fill the Vatican, while the college of cardinals continues preparations for the Pope's final rest." How slow a news day does it have to be when your lead story is "Today some people are doing the same thing they were doing yesterday, while other people were also doing the same thing they did yesterday"?

Remember how they were making Morning Edition younger and hipper? Is 24-hour Pope coverage really what younger, hipper people want to hear? I wonder what Bob Edwards is up to. Maybe the same thing he did yesterday.

Oh. And speaking of yesterday and NPR, did you hear Morning Edition's review of this promising new band, The Shins? Apparently, they're h-o-t hot, and it's all due to their being featured in the movie Garden State. You should check them out. They're on the rise! They're young and hip! Like NPR!

Okay. Back to work. Do you get to check this at work? Should I be sending this all by email and only posting brilliant things here? Too late. (I promise I'll settle down once I've figured it out, though.)

The weather has gotten lazy.

HEY! The message I wrote yesterday that got zapped got saved! Blogger is benificent.




Yesterday we were supposed to have storms. We had a spattering of rain. Today we were supposed to have storms. We have a pervasive dampness, I guess, and cold. If weather were a bar brawl, this would be the wimpiest, half-assiest, don't-mess-up-my-hair-iest slapfight of a storm. The bartenders wouldn't even try to break it up, they'd just snicker at the lameness, and then tell Weather to order a drink or take it outside. And then weather would be all "whatever" and get another chocotini. Come on, weather! Put up or shut up!

Now check tomorrow to see if my house was struck by lightning overnight.

Of course, if it DOES get struck by lightning, it will be without warning, because meteorology has really gone downhill in this town. There has been no mention (and don't think I haven't searched the site) about any sort of tornado preparedness seminar. And now, they've got some Joe Grad Student doing the forecasts. At least he doesn't sound as bored out of his mind as the last one did.

[Actually, Joe Grad Student is doing fine. Anybody who thinks they can predict the weather is asking for a beatdown from Mother Nature. It's just . . . he's not Ed Kieser. Or Judy Frazier. Or even the guy with the crazy weather poetry. He needs a schtick. Maybe weather rap!]


On to greener topics.

Since Illinois lost the game, some of the billboards and window-sign hoo-ha have been modified, so as not to shame the team or something. My favorite is this billboard that's all blue, with an orange "I" turned on its side and curved, so it kind of looks like a grin. By itself, that's a fine billboard, I guess, but on Green by the underpass it's paired with this freakish bizarro billboard that has a face screaming out of a bowl of milk or something. That's it--all white, and then this creepy screaming face with bright red lips. I have no idea what it's advertising*, but there's one of those right above one of the grinning I billboards. In comparison, the grinning I just looks so friendly and kind and normal that I kind of love it. Except for the orange and blueness.

* Maybe it's advertising screaming! Screaming: What more drivers need.

Over and out. Whee! I'm a blogger! I'm BlogGrrr! Awesome.

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WELCOME TORNADIA!

Listen Creaky!

This site has been created to give a space for musings on many of the little things around us that we might otherwise let go unmused upon -- specifically grrr's, cause she's got some mighty good uns!

Let's go!