Happy New Year...

Cousin Mouse said it so well, I couldn't do any better.

Here's to 2009.

Number one with a bullet

As is usually the case, when there's a lot of blog-worthy stuff going on, there's not enough time to blog it.
You know what that means: Bullet points.

• My parents got their power back two days before Christmas. Hallelujah.
• The day before that, my parents and I had the longest meal ever at an Applebee's because it was chock-a-block full of the guys who restore power and deal with tree limbs.
• I wore my sweater with the baby Jesus on it. Twice.
• Christmas eve, I literally got locked out of church, which was OK because there was no livestock this year.
• Christmas morning, the sermon was largely drawn from Rick Warren's The Purpose of Christmas. No kidding.
• I had a lovely Christmas, full of family and friends and food and presents. One of those presents was a cord of wood.
• The wood folks asked me to leave a trash can where I wanted it delivered. I left the trash can in the nearly bare driveway. They dumped the wood in the snowbank next to the driveway, which has made several things more complicated.
• My wonderful friend, father, and brother-in-law did a whole lot of work helping me to get the wood in anyway.
• I saw my new friend's old house, and her son's new play kitchen. Did you know that play food now sometimes has velcro on it, so you can add filling to sandwiches or toppings to pizza? Of course, that sometimes means your pizza toppings are butter.
• I went to New York for the weekend. While I was there, I saw a great show, met up with some old friends, made some new ones, ate some fantastic food, and found a new favorite bar in New York.
• I watched an episode of Bones with the 'rents while eating leftover goose. I am amused that the plot of Bones in the season my parents are watching on DVD is so similar to the plot of Chuck in the current season.
• We had more family fun, featuring wonderful pasta and a very tricky puzzle.
• I visited my sister and her husband overnight, bought a new pair of pants, and ran into camp friends at The Cheesecake Factory.
• It snowed again today.
• And at some point, maybe a month ago, I joined OKCupid. If you have a bunch of opinions on that, or on what aspects of my scintillating and very sexually and romantically attractive personality I should be sure to showcase, you should talk about it in the comments. If you're afraid your spouse will find out you're secretly in love with me, you may comment anonymously. If you know me well enough to have my e-mail address, e-mail me to ask for my profile.

That is not even all, but I have an awful lot to do today. Seasons greetings, y'all.

Drawing warmth out of the cold

OK, time for something cheerier and more seasonal.
I have been inspired by many things, most especially by bzh's Twelve Days of Holiday Cheer.
This Dar Williams song is one of my favorites ever.
Those who know me at all know that I cry when I laugh. Those who know me well know that I cry lots of other times, too: In church and when someone hurts my feelings and when I feel love and joy and when everything is wrong and when everything is right and when half my face is paralyzed from Lyme disease and when I hear Ode to Joy and also when I hear this song, every time.
Happy holidays to my friends who have started already with Hanukkah and Solstice, and to the ones who will catch up in the next few weeks.

Rick rolling

Thursday, my Facebook status line was "[bzzzzgrrrl] wishes the bloom was still on the rose."
I followed that up with a couple of brief comments, there and in Google Reader, because my upsetness was so big I couldn't wrap my brain around how to blog it, how to do more than sound bites.
Yesterday, I watched For the Bible Tells Me So, a lovely documentary about Christian families and their gay or lesbian children (including Gene Robinson, who is an old family friend and my bishop).
This afternoon, I had a nice long IM chat with a friend. It was the third chat I've had in the last few days on the subject of Rick Warren.
And now I am ready to write that blog post.
Here's your fair warning: It will be long, and largely copied and pasted from those chats and comments. And more than that, it will be sad, and angry. It's not seasons-greetings-type stuff.
I give you permission not to read it.
But if you want to, it's after the jump.

READ MORE

The easiest, best sound bite I have heard on the subject is that Obama would never have chosen an outspoken antisemite, particularly one who advocated to deny some Jews rights they already have. It would be unthinkable.
Rick Warren's not an antisemite, as far as I know. He is a bigot, and whatever he says about all his gay friends, he has compared us (and therefore them) to pedophiles. But, as my friend Mike pointed out, "He's not just a bigot. He's an idiot. And a liar — he said without Prop 8, pastors talking about the 'immorality' of gay marriage could be jailed for hate speech."
Right you are, Mike.
And even still, that's just the tip of the iceberg. It's a big, big tip, but it's not the whole shebang.

I'll get back to the queer stuff in a minute, but I'd also like to interject on what his selection says to the nation and the world about Christianity, and the place it will play in Obama's administration.
His selection offends my religious Christian self almost as much as it offends my progressive self or my queer self. Because we religious Christian types already do daily battle with people who should be our allies thinking any person of faith is a nut job and a bigot.
As Mike also said, "Oh, and he doesn't believe in evolution, either.
"So much for the idea he represents the future of evangelical thought."
Of course, Warren can believe as he chooses. He can lead his flock as he and they choose. But, um, Mr. President-Elect?
Really, that's the face you want to put on faith? And your reaching out to the right is not by way of their politicians, but by way of their pastors?

OK, now, to get back to the queer stuff, which is the stuff I have had the hardest time putting into words.
But here's what it's been like.
I, like many LGBT people all across this country, wanted so badly to rejoice on election night, and the morning after. So many of us worked so hard to get Obama elected.
And we did rejoice, kind of.
But we also felt a little like progressives who were not in our community left us behind, a little, without even thinking about it, or without thinking about it much.
There was celebrating, and we were happy, sincerely happy.
But every antiqueer initiative in every state that had one on the ballot passed.
Even in California.
And that was a sign to us that our friends and neighbors are all for bringing us into the fold when it can get the good guy elected, but it doesn't change the fact that more than 50 percent of people, even where the movie stars and homos live, even where this alleged liberal media is, will choose to deprive us basic rights when they can. That people we walk by every day, buy groceries from, worship with, whatever, do not think we deserve the same rights they have.
So that was hard, at the time. We had a little time to sit with that. In my case, a little time for some friends to express their sorrow while I felt guilty for feeling like that wasn't good enough. Also in my case, a little time for a few of the people who love me most to essentially tell me to suck it up and deal, and then to be surprised when that made me cry.
This Rick Warren thing?
Is that. Is the undoing of all the calming down I tried to do. It is that, louder, in fact, because the day after election day, we could pretend people just didn't know, didn't get it somehow.
But we've been talking about it for six weeks now.
And so the selection of Rick Warren as the man who will unite a separation-of-church-and-state nation in prayer (which, don't even get me started) feels like the Obama administration has already stopped listening. For some reason, Obama is comfortable defending Rick Warren as a right choice.
This is how he is choosing to kick things off with us.

I am all for reconciliation.
But what the right lost was the presidency, which they have had (stolen, whatever) for eight years. What the queers of California lost were their own rights, and what many LGBT folks all over this country lost was any sureness that our friends would do right by us when the time came.
There are conservatives who think the government should stay out of our business, and there are conservative Christians who successfully preach that Jesus is love and that we must judge not, lest we be judged. There are plenty of people who disagree with Obama or me or both politically who did not do as much lying to the people of California, did not pour money into hatred and try to justify it as love. They may not be as prominent as Rick Warren, but it's about damn time that changed.
It just feels too too soon to decide that conciliatory gestures towards bigots are more important than conciliatory gestures towards people who actually lost some rights -- and who elected you.
I have been trying really hard to be really excited. I even decided to go to D.C. for the inauguration, before this Warren business was announced.
But now I'm not so sure. Seems like that time could be better spent with people who want me at their literal or figurative table, and who would not invite the folks who do not.
I am just entirely heartbroken.
I really hoped we'd have a little more time before our wonderful and super-exciting new president started reaching out to conservatives by seemingly deliberately alienating, well, me.

Using typos for good

Frequent reader and commenter Lisa shared this via Google Reader. It's NORAD's explanation of how poor (or no) copy editing resulted in one of the more adorable technology-based holiday traditions.

From the site:

The tradition began in 1955 after a Colorado Springs-based Sears Roebuck & Co. advertisement for children to call Santa misprinted the telephone number. Instead of reaching Santa, the phone number put kids through to the CONAD Commander-in-Chief's operations "hotline." The Director of Operations at the time, Colonel Harry Shoup, had his staff check radar for indications of Santa making his way south from the North Pole. Children who called were given updates on his location, and a tradition was born.

Awwwwww.
I have some Grinchier thoughts on the subject, too, but I don't want to be That Guy. However, if any of you do, in the comments, I will be there to back you up.
And now that I've made that invitation, those of you who want your holiday cuteness untempered should probably not read the comments.

The anonymous comment experiment: Regret

Based on the response to the last ACE, I suspect the Anonymous Comment Experiment may be played out.
Here's how you can help me decide if my suspicions are correct:
If I get a combined total of five comments on any ACE questions between now and a week from now, I'll keep doing it. If not, not so much.

Respond to today's question (or any of them) in the comments, anonymously.
Those of you reading the comments on any of the anonymous comment threads, realize that anonymity may increase the likelihood that some of the comments may be mean or NSFW.

If you could take back anything you said or typed this week, what would it be?

Oh, hey. One commenter and one in-person friend has expressed concern that these comments may be less than anonymous. It is possible that there's some way for me to figure out who you are, but if there is, I don't know what it is (and don't want to). The only comments I even have hunches on are the ones where someone comments on a bunch of posts in a row, and some of the comments aren't anonymous. Since I see all comments as they come up, I do get some inclination there. But I don't assume I'm right, and that's easy for you to avoid, if you are really very concerned about me knowing who you are.

A big to-do

I know, yesterday I said I'd give you three posts, and then only gave you one.

Sorry.

Really I got too lazy to post the one, and too angry to post the other.

And now I want to post up a storm, as it were, but it's 2:24 and I am still sitting here in my pajamas.

Here is what I have already done this weekend (in no particular order):

• watch For the Bible Tells Me So
• get out of bed
• read big swathes of the internet, as prescribed by Five Star Friday
• watch the snow continue to fall, twelve hours after it was supposed to stop
  

Here is what I still hope to do this weekend (in no particular order):

• get dressed
• watch some old episodes of My Name Is Earl
• write and send Christmas cards to those who have sent them to me
• write my annual wintertime e-mail
• buy wrapping paper
• get a bunch of boxes together
• go to the office to wrap the presents I left there
• ship presents to far-away folks
• clean my room
• quickly tidy the rest of the house
• clean the refrigerator, in case we're having Christmas here and I need to find room for a goose and a roast beef
  
• do something to make the potted Norfolk pine I'm using as a Christmas tree look festive without breaking it
  
• go to church
• shovel the walk
• buy one more present
• ah, hell. Two more.
  
• make sure my sweater with the baby Jesus on it is clean and presentable
• call the butcher to see if the goose we ordered is in
• pick up goose and roast beef, if so
• watch Harakiri
• reorder my Netflix list, because I have no idea why Harakiri is even on there
  
• write that blog post about Rick Warren
• write that new Anonymous Comment Experiment post
• dust
• figure out where we'll put presents so my sister's bichon doesn't eat them
• bake?
• shovel the walk again, after tomorrow's storm

Seems like I should get a wiggle on.

Hatch-battening

Feels like a three-post day to me.

Here's the weather update: There is snow on the ground. Driving conditions are totally fine. My parents and many of my coworkers have now been without power for a week, and it is unclear when that will change.

There's another big storm coming in this afternoon. I am in my office, poised and ready to send out the campuswide voice mail curtailing operations.

There's another big storm headed our way on Sunday.

At this point, I am estimating that there is a 40 percent chance Christmas will be at my house this year.

Any ideas for how to make it

• more fun and festive?
• more exciting?
• less stressful?

Yes, Virginia

One of the many feeds I subscribe to is snopes. That way, when people forward me urban legends, I already know that's what they are, and don't have to go try to look it up.

Today, snopes featured two of my favorite things from my D.C. days: Washington Business Journal and talking about how obnoxiously aggressive Philadelphia sports fans are.

Enjoy the true story of folks in Philadelphia pelting Santa with snowballs!

Sadly, if the 2001 WBJ story snopes mentions is on the web, I can't find it.

Ice rage

So, I believe I mentioned an ice storm the other night.

The town in which I live is mostly fine.

The rest of the area, not so much.

My parents lost power and heat and had to wait until they could get the driveway cleared of downed branches, until the glaze ice melted off the streets, to go get their elderly neighbor and bring her (and themselves) to my aunt and uncle's house, a quarter-mile down the street. Aunt and uncle have a generator.
This morning, they're checking on the neighbor's cats and building a fire in their own fireplace so the pipes don't freeze. But they still don't have power, and likely won't any time soon.

Yesterday, the governor declared a state of emergency. We closed the college.

As of 8 this morning, 313,000 PSNH customers were still without power. That's nearly two-thirds of all PSNH customers. I am one of the lucky ones.

I thought I might go out and run some errands.
Not so fast, hotshot.

Here's what the road conditions are like:

AIM high

(alternate title: In which I take an awesome story that I'm not even in and make it all about me)

Wednesday, I had a fantastic online chat with a friend of mine, who is a rock star. Not in the way where she's in a band or performs musically, more in the way where I am often awed or amused or both by her stories. She should get a blog. Anyway, we'll call her RS for now.
The chat went pretty much like this, with only a few minor details changed.

RS: i read this rather silly dating blog written by a vaguely cute boy and i just ran into him on the elevator at my office.

random

i almost said hello as if i knew him but then i realized that i don't actually know him in the real world, i just know him on the internet

me: um, awesome

that would be an excellent reason to say hello to him anyway

RS: i know... but it took me a minute to realize and there were other people on the elevator and i got off before he did

me: then it is an excellent reason to shoot him an e-mail saying that you almost said hello as if you knew him but then realized that you don't actually know him in the real world, you just know him on the internet

RS: except i can't email him, i can only post a message on his blog, which is kind of weird

i was thinking about posting a missed connection on craigslistme: yes, yes

post a missed connection

use his name, or his blog name

that increases the likelihood someone will pass it on
So, amusing enough already, right?
But then yesterday morning, there was this update:

RS: hi. so remember how i saw the cute blogger in the elevator yesterday? yeah, well turns out one of my friends knows his roommate and she emailed said roommate and told him that i saw the blogger on the elevator and thought he was cute and gave the roommate my phone number to give the blogger.

me: OMG

RS: my friend did this all on her own and then told me.

which i find to be kind of hilarious

unlikely anything will come of it, but funny nonetheless

me: yes

and also awesome

and also, he is fully going to blog about you/this episode

which is awesome on its own

in fact, i may blog about this

RS: perhaps. altho according to his blog he just started dating someone who is in my other friend's master's program. because every single person in this city knows each other apparently

Morals of this story:

1. If you see someone you think is cute, who you think you know, say hello. Maybe you actually know them, and if you don't, maybe it will be a foxy blogger. Hell, maybe it will be me.
2. Moral 1 only applies if what you want is to talk to the cute person. If you want the chance of a much better story, do not talk to him or her, but do tell all your friends about the episode.
3. Big cities are small towns.
4. If you tell me your funny stories, I will probably blog about them, but I will ask your permission and I will take out details that could identify you or other people in your story.
5. Funny coincidence + cute boy = sufficient cause for me to use "OMG" in a chat, even though I am not a 14-year-old, and do not generally use caps at all.
6. Regardless of whether you are using AIM or gchat, I am using gchat, and so chats with me are saved to be quoted from later.

The anonymous comment experiment: Questions

We've talked about how much I love the anonymous comment experiment.
And I have a few more questions for you, but only a few.
So it's your turn.
Respond to today's question in the comments, anonymously.
Those of you reading the comments on any of the anonymous comment threads, realize that anonymity may increase the likelihood that some of the comments may be mean or NSFW.

What questions would you like to see me get answers to in a future anonymous comment experiment?

Oh, and feel free to keep answering the old anonymous comment experiment questions. I know I'm not the only one still reading those comments.

Ice tongue

I've got three posts in mind, an ice storm outside, and essentially this whole season of Chuck to watch. We'll see how long my attention span and the electricity hold out.

A friend from D.C. who is actually from Texas (we'll call her, "Tex") recently watched the holiday classic A Christmas Story. Later, she asked, "Do kids in places where it's cold really do that?"
At first, I thought she was asking if we really shoot our eyes out (which, not mostly), but that seems like a weird thing to associate with cold weather.
"You mean, freeze our tongues to cold metal things?"
That is, in fact, what Tex meant.
Yes. I don't remember any flagpole-related episodes, but I remember incidents involving the chain-link fence that separated Mrs. Olson's classroom from the playground at D. J. Bakie School, and have a couple of vague memories of other, similar, events elsewhere.
"And when that happens," Tex asked, "does someone think to just pour warm water on the kid's tongue?"
"Yes," I said. "That's actually the standard adult reaction. The fire department is never called."

And then I told her my one story of embarrassingly freezing myself to something cold and metal, which is made worse by the fact that I was in my 30s, and it was indoors.
I was in my then-girlfriend's apartment, with her parents. They didn't know we were dating, but I was nonetheless perpetually committed to making a good impression on them, and so was helping my girlfriend get them drinks, serve ice cream, pick out a suitable movie for us all to watch, etc. Once I had served the ice cream, I did what any regular person would do: I licked the rest of the ice cream off the scoop and put the scoop in the sink.
It might have hurt a tiny bit at the time. My lip might even have bled a little. But those kinds of wounds don't hurt much, and I had other things to worry about.
It was only later that night, after they'd left, that the girlfriend had something to tell me.
"It's OK if you lick the ice cream scoop," she said, "but you should probably rinse it afterwards if you do."
I stared at her, horrified, while she explained that her mother had found the scoop in the sink with a hunk of my lip and a little blood still clinging to it. Her mother is the sort of person who is easily tickled by things, and she'd apparently had to confine herself to the kitchen for several minutes to get her grossed-out laughing spell under control.
So much for good impressions.
I am, like, 97% sure that that had nothing to do with our eventual breakup.

The anonymous comment experiment: Guilt

Several folks have commented to me that they love the anonymous comment experiment.
To which I say, "Me too."
Several others have asked if I know which comment is theirs.
To which I say, "Not usually. But you should feel free to tell me, because there are a few I am dying of curiosity about."

Thanks for continuing to play along, everyone. I really, really love it. And if you haven't gone back to read all the comments on the old ones, go take a look. You people and your candor rule.

Here's how it goes, as usual: Please respond to today's questions in the comments, anonymously.
Those of you reading the comments on any of the anonymous comment threads, realize that anonymity may increase the likelihood that some of the comments may be mean or NSFW.

What guilty pleasure are you least likely to tell your friends you indulge in? Which guilty pleasure are you least likely to tell your parents you indulge in?

Sweater vested

Not long ago, I was hanging out with a friend and her friend. We will now call them AF and HF.
AF knows me well enough to know that I really only wear about two different outfits. HF will come to know that soon enough, but really, it's a moment of realization I like to delay until people already know that I am awesome enough to compensate for wearing the same clothes all the time.

So on the second evening in the space of a few days I was to see AF and HF together, I called AF.

"This will sound like a strange question," I said, "but was I wearing my blue sweater on Friday?"
"Yes," she said.
"Thanks," I said, glad to know that I would be wearing the other outfit that evening.
"Not the one you always wear," she said, and I was momentarily stunned.
"Do I have another blue sweater?" I asked.
"Not the cardigan. This one's darker, and wool," she said.
I knew immediately what sweater she meant, and resolved to wear the blue sweater I do always wear.

I am sorry we are this far into this story and nothing interesting has happened. A heads-up: Nothing interesting will happen in the rest of it, either.

But I went to my room and looked at my sweaters, and realized that I don't have two blue sweaters. I have six. I tend only to wear the two frumpiest.

Morals of this story:

• I do too have something to wear.
• My already-limited fashion sense has gone to hell in the last year.
• I should make an effort to buy some non-blue sweaters, I guess.

This is not a moral of the story, but seemed worth sharing nonetheless:

• If someone had a business where they delivered Pop Tarts and Diet Coke to me in my office, they wouldn't get rich, but they'd get excellent tips, and they'd be making what I like to think of as a real difference in the world. Consider that.

The anonymous comment experiment: Thanksgiving

You didn't think the anonymous comment experiment was over, did you?

Silly reader.

Here's how it goes, as usual: Please respond to today's question in the comments, anonymously.
Those of you reading the comments on any of the anonymous comment threads, realize that that may increase the likelihood that some of the comments may be mean or NSFW.

What are you not as thankful for as you think you should be?

The good, the mad, and the ugly

So, this weekend, I went to New York, New York, the city so nice they named it twice. Manhattan is the other name.

There were several adventures before, during, and after the trip, but I will share with you the briefest one with the least cursing and threatening in it, for now, anyway.

A friend and I were there to see the friend's brother's band. These guys are really, really good, actually, and this was their EP release party. If you have opportunities to catch Black Taxi live, take them.

While there, we met up with some other folks we know and some folks they know.

And after the awesome awesome show, before we moved on to the next bar, I remembered that my friend's brother had bought my ticket, and that I had not yet paid him for it.

The resulting conversation went like this:

bzzzzgrrrl: Oh, hey, I owe you money.
Friend's brother, still high from the show and the Jim Beam in his flask: No. No, no. I am just so glad you guys came.
bzzzzgrrrl: You don't have to buy my ticket. Let me give you money.
Friend's brother: No.
bzzzzgrrrl: Well, will you at least let a pretty girl buy you a drink then?
Friend's brother: Absolutely.
Crazy woman I know: I think she left.

Awesome. Thank you, crazy.

Questions and answers

As promised, I have answers to your blogiversary questions. Thanks for playing, everyone.

Did you make that cake in the last 24 hours or is it a stock photo that you found?
I found it the same way I find most of the images I use: Wiki Commons. In this case, it was literally the only hit returned when I searched on "birthday candle public domain" (without quotation marks).
In case it comes up again, I do not own a bundt pan. Or napkins with teddy bears.

You're locked in a 5x5 room with one piece of chewing gum, a paper clip, some duct tape and a Slinky. How do you get out?
Why on earth would I want to get out? I have a Slinky and gum.

Do you love unconditionally?
No.
Do I?
You posted this question anonymously, so I am supposed to act like I don't know who you are, and therefore, whether you do or not. However, I have a pretty good guess, and I am assuming you are the person who read the stuff I wrote in the other alphabet. If so, then no, you don't.
If there are conditions, what are they?
Here's the thing: I know that expression primarily in a religious context. I don't put very many conditions on my love, but I know them when I see them. In a romantic context, I will stop loving a partner (maybe slowly) if he or she kills my family, say, or reveals him- or herself to be someone very different from who I thought he or she was in a way that disturbs me. So the conditions are, "as long as you don't do those things." I couldn't possibly guess what all the conditions are, but they are implicit, nonetheless. I think of parental love as even less conditional, and, since neither of us are parents, we haven't had that tested yet. But sometimes parents, even good parents, stop loving their children under certain circumstances. The idea is that God, and probably only God, loves each of us absolutely without condition. There is nothing we can do that will prevent God from loving us. We can do terrible things — we can be Hitler — and God may hate what we do, but will still love us. I don't know what the conditions are between us. I don't suppose there are very many. But I (unlike God) love you because you deserve it.

I wanted to know if you've received many anonymous criticisms, or people you don't know who spot your blog and perhaps leave a nasty comment that never makes it onto the page.
Does that happen often? This is not an implication that you invite that sort of behavior.
In general, every comment anyone makes gets onto the page. I don't screen before they get up, but I can delete comments once they're there. I think I've done that two or three times in the last year: Once, because the author asked me to and didn't realize she could do it herself, once, because just a few days ago I posted my own response to the anonymous comment experiment under bzzzgrrrl instead of anonymously, and maybe one other time that I can't remember now. I don't think I've ever gotten a nasty comment or criticism, that I can think of.

Why does Swiss cheese have holes?
According to Yahoo!, way back in 2002,

... gassy bacteria are behind all that holey cheese. In order to make cheese, you need the help of bacteria. Starter cultures containing bacteria are added to milk, where they create lactic acid, essential for producing cheese. Various types of bacteria can be used to make cheese, and some cheeses require several different bacteria to give them a particular flavor.
Propionibacter shermani is one of the three types of bacteria used to make Swiss cheese, and it's responsible for the cheese's distinctive holes. Once P. shermani is added to the cheese mixture and warmed, bubbles of carbon dioxide form. These bubbles become holes in the final product. Cheesemakers can control the size of the holes by changing the acidity, temperature, and curing time of the mixture. Incidentally, those holes are technically called "eyes," and the proper Swiss name for the cheese is Emmentaler (also spelled Emmental or Emmenthaler).

Is that one of the cake wrecks?
Nope. Cake Wrecks are made by professionals, and although some of them don't look much better than that, I don't think any of them actually have a napkin on them.

How about a word on what your current feelings are about the city mouse living in the country thing?
Blissful.
You probably weren't being as literal as I usually am.
I love it. Pros to my current life:

• cheap beer
• a good job with great hours
• easy access to hiking and other outdoorsy stuff
• easy access to my nuclear family
• a house I both love and can still afford

Cons:

• lack of access to public transportation
• I need to have a lawn guy
  
• my lawn guy is sort of freaking me out
  

Did you get my e-mail? I sent it to the other address you told me to.
Yes, thank you. I'm sorry it took so long to write back.

Who's the cat that won't cop out, when there's danger all about?
Shaft. Right on.

Are you hosting "B" camp next year (I heard you don't like the word we used for it last year)?
I don't use that word much myself, but it's OK with me if you use it. I could host it, but I have a super-good idea involving building it around an existing women's weekend up here at an awesome facility with great food. We wouldn't have to do any of the work, and there would be tons to do. But we wouldn't be able to drink. Maybe we could do the weekend, but extend it to my house either before or after, with tequila.

What about crushes?
What about them? You mean do I have any? Or does anyone have one on me? I have three that I can think of:

• a very nice boy I am getting to know, which is likely not reciprocated, but might be
• a blogger I have never met, who likely does not read this blog and also likely knows I have a huge crush on her, so it's safe enough to say so
• a woman I saw one night last week in a restaurant, who a couple of my friends have gotten all atwitter about, and you know how that goes: we have to figure out where she works, and who she's friends with, and how I will wind up happily ever after with her, despite the fact that none of us have actually spoken to her, ever. Ah, crushes in a small town.
  

And I can think of four people who probably have them on me (three women, one man, none of them the people I have crushes on). If anyone would like to own up to having a crush on me in the comments, I will be all flattered over it.

Happy birthday to me...

Nah, it's not my actual birthday. It is, however, my blogiversary.
Yup, those of you who've been with me since the beginning have been reading this blog for one whole year. Remember the early days? (If not, you should go back and read those. Two out of three of those posts are pure gold.)

So I've been thinking about what kind of a gift to give my loyal readers, and since I am:

• frugal, and
• lazy,

you're not getting much. But you do get a big thank you. And you also get what you get on roughly a million other blogs on their blogiversaries, which is the opportunity to ask me questions. Comment under your real name or comment anonymously, but if you ask in the next 48 hours, I will answer it.

Think big.

The anonymous comment experiment: Exes

I am so proud of the way you all handled that last challenge.

Today, we have a trickier one. The guidelines are the same as last time: Please respond to today's question in the comments, anonymously.
I am sorry that that means you won't be able to plug your own blog; go back and comment on something else for that.
Those of you reading the comments on any of the anonymous comment threads, realize that that may increase the likelihood that some of the comments may be mean or NSFW.

Think about your favorite ex-boyfriend, -girlfriend, -partner or -spouse. Why is he or she your favorite? Why is he or she your ex?

The anonymous comment experiment: Pride

So I had an idea for a question I wanted some answers to today. I'll ask it eventually, but not in this post. I want to see if it will work, first.
Please respond to today's question in the comments, anonymously.
I am considering deleting any comments that are not posted anonymously, or going back and anonymizing them, anyway.
I am sorry that that means you won't be able to plug your own blog; go back and comment on anything else for that.
Those of you reading the comments on any of the (upcoming) anonymous comment threads, realize that that may increase the likelihood that some of the comments may be mean or NSFW.
We'll do a series of these.

What have you done in the last 24 hours that you are proud of?

Wrapping up

Almost time to be done with politics and on to those weekend stories I promised you.

Almost.

Here is the best thing I have read about this election, in the positive way.

I will, unless you ask for it, spare you the beautifully written heartwrenching stuff I have also read about this election, but I have a couple of those, too.

Also, if you are disinclined to read comments, either because you read this on a reader or because you are just disinclined, please go back and read the comments on "Dixville Notch goes to Obama" and "A week."

OK, wait, I'm not quite going to spare you the heartwrenching stuff. If you feel like it, if you gave money to any of the "No on Prop 8" efforts, would you please leave a comment saying so? I am not doing this to shame those of you who did not; we all have lots of things to give our money to. I get that. I'm doing it so I can recognize and congratulate those of you who did a good thing that is important to me.

That's all for now. Fun stories of fall weekends coming soon.

Dixville Notch goes to Obama

That's me up there. Nice, right?

Today, I offer a quick recap of the New Hampshire voting experience.

I walked into the Rec Center at 9:11 a.m.

A woman asked if I was registered to vote in Ward 2, because in New Hampshire, you can register the day of the election, and she was prepared to help me with that if necessary. But I was already registered. "Good girl," she said, and I was both amused and weirdly proud that this stranger was proud of me.

I stood in line behind two people, because a lot of people have names that end with R-Z. There were no lines at any other letters.

The woman behind the table asked if I was who I say I am, and asked if the address they had was correct. She did not ask for any I.D., which is good because my temporary driver's license looks like I made it on a mimeo machine.

She handed me a ballot.

I took it into a little booth and voted, using a Scan-tron sheet and a felt-tip pen.

When I read back over my votes, just checking, I looked at my vote for president, and my eyes misted a little. This is unsurprising, since I cry a lot and am easily moved. I did not have a similar reaction to checking my vote for sheriff.

I attempted to feed my ballot into the scanning machine, and it was rejected. Then the cheery little man staffing the machine attempted to do it, and it was rejected. Several times. I was getting nervous, but about the tenth time he tried it, it worked. We chuckled together, and he gave me a sticker.

"Take two," he said, and then froze. I do not know why those stickers are sacred, but that man and I both know that they are, and that it would be very bad for me to actually take two of them. "You didn't vote twice," he reassured me, and I laughed.

I left the Rec Center at 9:16 a.m., but only because I did not stop at the ginormous bake sale on my way out.

(About the title of this post)

Famous people (sponsored by the College Democrats)

I've had so many great weekends lately (including this one). I'll tell you all about them, soon.

But just quickly: Kal Penn and Rachael Leigh Cook will be on campus today, sponsored by the College Democrats. The signs do not say why. I assume they're stumping for Obama.

Guess my buddy Kal is trying to make up for appearing on a show that normalizes torture and suggests that brown people are terrorists.

It's OK, Kal. We love you anyway.

And I just looked at RLC's 58 acting credits and think it is possible that I have seen none of them. That is how you know how old I am.

Flaking out

Saw the first snow today. Folks a little further out of town had real snow, visible on the ground and their cars, rather than just a few flakes in the air.
I told you it'd happen around Halloween.

A week

So, in a week, there's this election. I don't know if you heard about it.

I am tired of negativity, as I usually am by now. I am tired of complaining about what's wrong. I am tired of being mad every time the other guy says something about my guy I don't like. I am tired of being irritated that people seem so mean.

I am tired of being self-righteous, and if you know me, it takes a lot to get me tired of that.

So, here's my pledge: I am going to spend at least 15 minutes each day between now and Tuesday doing something positive to bring about the specific things I want in the world.
I challenge you to do the same, if you're in that same place I am.

Here are the first few ideas I thought of:

• Register.
• Vote.
• Give money to causes.
• Pray.
• Learn about who you want to win your local elections.
• Volunteer to make phone calls or do data entry or knock on doors, and not just for the presidential candidates.
• Break bread with people who feed your soul.
• Bite your tongue and listen for a minute to someone who disagrees with you.
• Give money to someone who asks for it.
• Propose.
• Delete that negative e-mail.
• Read to someone else's kids.

Use the comments to add your own suggestions, regardless of your politics, your issues, how empowered you feel. I know some of you are journalists and therefore are bound not to display bias. How can you make the change you want without displaying bias?

I'll also update this post daily with a journal of my change-making activity. Come back and see what you think.

We've got a week.

Update 10/31: So, clearly, I am crappy at this update-every-day business. But that does not mean I have slacked off. Some of what I've done: prayed, deleted e-mails without reading them, refused to view what is apparently the funniest video ever, made plans to spend time with kids, made plans to spend time with friends, made plans to spend time alone, disengaged from needlessly negative conversations.
I also talked to my mother last night about my grandmother and her politics. There's one issue (really, just about only one issue) that Granny and I agreed on politically, though we were very close. I wanted some background from my mother on Granny's feelings on the subject, and what she'd done about it. Turns out, she was passionate about volunteering for one organization that still exists, and that I also like. So today, I gave it some money in her memory, and signed up to also volunteer.
And I steered some folks who need something positive to read, with no attacking, here. I am not Asian, but otherwise, I could have written that piece, except that I wouldn't have done it as well. Warning: It is decidedly partisan and pro-Obama, so folks who aren't interested in that particular brand of positivity can skip it.

A.M. rush

There is an astounding amount of traffic in my little town at 5:42 this morning.
I know what I was doing. I was heading to work to do the stuff I avoided yesterday until I had no more brainpower left to do it. What was everyone else doing? Where are you people going?

Pink chiffon

Brian at Looky, Daddy! has made funny art for a good cause. I support that.



Now go look at Looky, Daddy! for even more funny art for this same good cause, and also do whatever you can to make sure gay marriage stays legal where it is legal. By "do whatever you can," I mean talk to everyone you know in California (and Arizona and Florida, while you're at it), and use Brian's images on your own blog, and also give money here.

And also leave your suggestions for what else we're going to do in the comments. Mombian has some more good jumping-off places.

Remember, the sooner everyone is equal, the sooner I'll shut up about it and get back to blogging about the time I got lost walking home.

Our plumber's name is Scotty

Worried about how I'm faring in the current economic climate?
Don't.
I'll be just fine.
Forbes says so.

But rather go to the lost sheep

This weekend, D&D from the moving story were around. It was awesome, and you will hear more about it, I am sure.
We talked about something that was on my mind last week but that I neglected to mention here, which is that ten years ago, Matthew Shepard died.
Holycowtenyearsago.
Judy Shepard and Sinclair agree with Rachel Maddow and me, and Sinclair says it (even) better than I did.

FaMe with a capital M, part 2

The other famous person I've seen in the last 24 hours was Michelle Obama. That story is much shorter, as it was entirely expected.
We found out earlier this week that she was expected on-campus for a rally today.
She was, in fact, on campus for that rally.
I went, too.
She was great, as usual. She didn't say much that any good Michelle Obama devotee hasn't heard before, but if you ever get a chance to hear her speak, take it. Even if you hate her husband, even if you're uninterested in politics, she's just fun to watch.
Not too much of interest to report beyond that. She was on time: In my experience, that is very unusual for political speakers. So on time I had to abandon my lunch and my work to go running outside.
But that's it. Campus safety reports we had about 2,700 people present. Not bad for midday, midweek.

FaMe with a capital M, part 1

Someone calling him- or herself "-M" commented on my last post, asking if I'd seen any celebrities lately.
I don't know whether "-M" is Mel Gibson or Michelle Obama, but I am pretty sure it's one of them, because those are the two celebrities I have seen in the last 24 hours.
Yeah, you city slickers out there thought I was moving to podunkville. Who did you see today? Marion Barry?
Here's the Mel story:
My college roommate and I get together now and then for dinner, in Northampton, Mass., which is about midway between our houses. This time, we found a really lovely little cafe. The owner seated us, and he was delightful. The waitress was also delightful, although a mixup in the kitchen meant we didn't get our food for a really long time. The food was amazing, when it came, and there was a cracking fire. Just lovely.
And then Mel Gibson walked in.
To answer the most common questions:

• He was drinking water.
• He didn't yell, though he did do a funny trick with a hat.
• I did not stare.
• The other patrons did not stare.
• He was eating with four other people, none of them discernibly famous.
• He was not handsome in a swoony movie star way, though he was handsome in the way you might think a movie star who's pushing 60 and a little ragged from a long day would be.
• I did not get a picture.
• I did text four people, chosen largely because they were the last four people I'd texted.

After I did so, he whipped out his iPhone. I suggested to my friend that maybe he was texting four people to let them know he'd seen us in a restaurant. She agreed, and it's stuff like that that makes a friendship sustainable for 19 years.
We also agreed we were glad we'd already finished discussing politics.
Our waitress (having tried to clear our silverware and offer us coffee and dessert before we'd gotten our entrees), did eventually get us our entrees and all but force a free dessert on us. We cut her a little slack because of the famous person in the restaurant. I probably cut her more than a little because she was cute.
The owner smiled and made a remark about falling stars (falling into his restaurant, presumably; there was no literal falling involved) as we left.

Pig 'skins

The Patriots beat the 49ers this weekend.
Go Pats!
See, I'm a very casual sports fan.
I love going to games — any games. Men or women, boys or girls, playing almost any sport at any level.
I don't usually watch sports on TV, with some exceptions.
I have a few team loyalties, some stronger than others, I guess like most people.
But it is really, really nice to be able to cheer for local teams whose names aren't so embarrassingly racist.

...except play Halo

I don't know what state you live in, but in some places, if you're not registered by October 4, you're not voting in this election.
Seems like, even if you're not sold on any candidate yet, you'd want to register just in case one of the candidates does something awesome between now and election day. Or disgraceful. I will let you decide which seems more likely.
Also?
Here is this fun video with famous people in it.

Dawnzer lee light

In the spring, I was tired a lot.

One of my coworkers, who is very smart, asked me how late I would wake up if left to my own devices.

"Somewhere between 6:30 and 8," I said.

"Stop setting an alarm clock," she said. "Let your body wake up when it wants to. Don't schedule any early morning meetings at first."

And that system has been working splendidly. I have been better rested, and getting up earlier, on average, than I was when I was able to keep hitting snooze.

Except.

Except that now that the days are getting shorter, I am becoming increasingly aware that how my body decides when it will get up is the amount of sunlight in the room. Which means I am sleeping later and later. Currently, I am sleeping about as late as it is possible to sleep and not be so late to work that people notice. In about a week, I will need a new plan.

Suggestions? So far, "go to bed earlier" is not cutting it.

Out and about

Just saw an interview with Rachel Maddow on AfterEllen. If you don't know who Rachel Maddow is, there are two things you should know:

1. She is a really smart political commentator on the television. Mainstream television. MSNBC.
   
2. Despite the fact that she is an out lesbian in a committed relationship and a total nerd, everyone who does know who she is, regardless of sex or orientation, has a giant crush on her.

If you want more information than that, you're already on the Internet. Go do some research. Anyway, in that interview, she said this:

“I think the responsibility that we have as gay Americans,” she says, “is to the extent that we can - and we ought to be really ambitious about the extent to which we can - we have to be out.”

“That’s the thing that we owe the people who came before us who are the pioneers, and that’s the thing we owe the next generation of gay people in terms of clearing the way and making life easier for them. I think that there is a moral imperative to be out, and I think that if you’re not out, you have to come to an ethical understanding with yourself why you are not. And it shouldn’t be something that is excused lightly. I don’t think that people should be forced out of the closet, but I think that every gay person, sort of, ought to push themselves in that regard. Because it’s not just you. It’s for the community and it’s for the country.”

And I totally agree with her, philosophically. So, count me out.
I have been out in my real life since 1992. Out to virtually everyone in my real life for a shorter time than that, but still a long time.
I've kept the queer off the blog because — I don't know. Probably because:

• It makes me more easily identifiable, in case people stumble here accidentally (everyone in my real life knows I'm queer, but not everyone in my real life knows I'm bzzzzgrrrl), and
• I am b i s e x u a l, and that is a word that, spelled without spaces, attracts absolutely the wrong kind of people to a blog (and, sometimes, to me personally), which is a bummer, and which is more easily dealt with in my real life, where I can give hard stares.

So, yeah. Big queer here. Last two relationships were with women. Single and looking, if you know anyone.

Does anyone read this blog who didn't know that? Maybe the one guy. Hey, keep coming back, one guy.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask 'em in the comments. Or use the comments to come out on the Internet yourself. Go nuts.

Update: It strikes me that who "absolutely the wrong kind of people" are is maybe not as clear to everyone as it is to me. Those people are the people who have bought into the pornography myth that my particular orientation means I will sleep with literally anyone. If you are one of those people who think I will sleep with literally anyone, you are mistaken. If you are merely mistaken, and not a total jackass, I am sorry to call you "absolutely the wrong kind of people," but you need to be disabused. Really, feel free to ask questions without fear.

Look what they've done to my oatmeal

I just went to the student center to buy a little carton of milk for my oatmeal, and discovered, to my horror, that there is no skim milk available. They are not out of it, they just don't sell it.
Whole, 1%, 2 %, soy, chocolate. All there. No skim.
I haven't had milk with fat in it for a long, long time.
It reminded me of being a little girl in the innocent late-1970s, when my grandmother was in her 70s and insisted that the best thing for breakfast was cornflakes with strawberries and cream. Heavy cream, in fact. I adored my grandmother, and cornflakes, and strawberries, and heavy cream, and summer, which was when we would perform this ritual. But at the time, I was a whole-milk girl, and heavy cream was just an extra step towards decadence.
How is it that the difference between skim and 1% now feels like a step towards just grossness?
And how is it that, in this body-image-crazed time, college students will tolerate a student center with no skim milk?

I'm with the banned

One of my new favorite blogs (curse you, Google Reader, and your tempting recommendations) is My Past In Books, in which a woman just a little bit younger than I am remembers all her favorite young adult novels. Since I worked in the children's room of a library when I was in high school and therefore tore through young adult books like the print might fall off the page when I was just a little too old for them, we share many book memories.
Her latest entry is about Banned Books Week. You can see the full list of 100 most challenged books of 1990-2000 books on her site or at the American Library Association site (where you can also find other challenged-book lists).
Here's what I've already read from the list on MPIB:

• The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
• The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
• Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
• My Brother Sam is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
• The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
• The Giver by Lois Lowry
• A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck
• The Color Purple by Alice Walker
• The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
• A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle
• Go Ask Alice by Anonymous
• In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
• The Witches by Roald Dahl
• Anastasia Krupnik (Series) by Lois Lowry
• Blubber by Judy Blume
• Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan
• The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
• Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George
• To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
• The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
• The Pigman by Paul Zindel
• Deenie by Judy Blume
• Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
• A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein
• James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
• American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
• Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
• Guess What? by Mem Fox
• Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
• Lord of the Flies by William Golding
• Native Son by Richard Wright
• Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume
• The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
• Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene
• Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman
• How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell

Find out more here.
And tell me in the comments what frequently challenged books I haven't read that I should make a priority, and why.
What are you going to read?
What are you going to read to your kids?

Gettin' us where we live

So, didja see this in the Wall Street Journal?

Did you think of me immediately?

I know I did.

Long story short, researchers look at different attributes of different folks in different parts of the country. Cool interactive graphics are here.

Here's how New Hampshire is described:

• Extraversion: 50th out of 51 states-plus-D.C. Or, as I like to think of it, second in aloofness.
  
• Agreeableness: 30th.
  
• Conscientiousness: 44th.
  
• Neuroticism: 14th.
  
• Openness: 14th.
  

And D.C.:

• Extraversion: 3rd out of 51 states-plus-D.C. Or, as I like to think of it, third most likely to give you a business card.
  
• Agreeableness 50th. Or, as I like to think of it, second most likely to pick a fight with you about politics or shove you on the Metro.
  
• Conscientiousness 40th.
  
• Neuroticism 31st.
  
• Openness 1st. I should have something funny to say about this, but I don't. Do you?

I also entirely love that North Dakota is first in both extraversion and agreeableness, but dead last in openness. Now that sounds like my kind of place.

Fall, really

This morning it is in the 30s, and I have turned the heat up from
barely- above- freezing- so- it- won't- accidentally- turn- on to 65- because- I- can't- stay- under- the- down- comforter- in- my- flannel- pajamas- all- day.

Clearly, I am having oatmeal for breakfast.

And I'm only sad that I don't have raisins to go on it.

I may have to throw on some jeans and a sweater and my fleece vest and walk under just- turning- yellow leaves to the convenience store to buy some.

Update: If you'd like to see what other folks are doing about fall, including my friend Lisa who is much, much more dedicated than I (and probably you), see here.

Breakin' the rules

So, there are a few topics we tend to stay away from here on CMC:

• My coworkers, now that they've found the blog.
  
• Sex.
• My real name.
• Religion.

That last one is mostly because many of my readers are unreligious, or antireligious, or religious-but-not-Christian. It's also because you're here for the funny stories, not for proselytising. Nobody likes proselytising.

Anyway.

Yesterday was a rough day for me. The whole September 11 thing hit me harder than it has in the past, maybe because I wasn't in D.C. for the first time since the attacks happened. There's some other stuff going on, too, but that was definitely big.

And several of you are having hardish times, too.

So, for the unreligious and antireligious and religious-but-not-Christian, I direct you back to our hilarious stories at my expense contest from the last time I noticed everyone going through a rough patch.

And for those of you who are interested in seeing what my religious Christian mother suggested to my religious Christian self last night, click "Read More."

Big hugs to you all.

READ MORE

There's a prayer in the Episcopal Church's Book of Common Prayer that we don't get to use much, because it's for the eighth Sunday after Epiphany, and there usually isn't an eighth Sunday after Epiphany, because we've usually hit Lent by then.

It's nice, though, and her church used it a lot around and after Sept. 11, 2001. I found it very, very comforting last night.

Most loving Father, whose will it is for us to give thanks for all things, to fear nothing but the loss of you, and to cast all our care on you who care for us: Preserve us from faithless fears and worldly anxieties, that no clouds of this mortal life may hide from us the light of that love which is immortal, and which you have manifested to us in your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Kiss the chef

I used to date someone who'd grown up not allowed in the kitchen while dinner was being prepared. It's dangerous, and some things are hot and some things are sharp.

I, on the other hand, grew up almost always in the kitchen while dinner was being prepared, because my parents were hoping that some accident would befall me and they could collect the insurance.

Kidding.

But I think of dinner-being-prepared time as time spent in the kitchen, trying to get the attention of one or both parents while they tried to do tricky things and also listen to All Things Considered. Even now, the ATC theme song makes me a little hungry.

Not kidding.

My parents are both good cooks, differently. They raised two kids who would eat anything but lima beans in one case (me, and I did eat them, grudgingly, I just don't any more), and lobster and apple pie in the other (my sister, and she has come around on the lobster part).

My mother can make something out of nothing. We went through some financial lean times, and my sister and I think of kidney beans, canned tomatoes, onions and rice as comfort food. We ate tongue, semi-regularly.

My father is an adventurous cook, entirely unafraid to prepare meals well outside of his culinary ability (and most children's taste buds). To me, the best spaghetti had bacon and eggs and Parmesan cheese in it, and Chinese food came from the Joyce Chen cookbook, not a local takeout place. We ate plum pudding (yes, that's boiled dried fruit and beef fat, doused in brandy and set ablaze) every Christmas.

I have inherited both of my parents' excellent cooking personalities, with a little less inclination to burn the frozen vegetables than my mother, and a little less inclination to use every pot I own than my father.

What does that mean?

This week, it means damn good chili.

Tape, recorded

Would you like to know who is the queen of hemming her pants with tape at work while wearing them?

I will tell you: Me.

I am that queen, and they look damn good.

This is the very first time I have been sorry not to work in a cubicle since I stopped working in one. In a more open office environment, my office neighbors would be very impressed by this feat, as some were on more than one occasion in Washington.

Here, only those who read my blog will even know.

They look that good.

The actual 80s

My friend Amanda has entered this contest.
You should go vote for her in it.
I am not even going to tell you which one she is, because hers is, in my opinion, the only one you could possibly vote for unless you were friends with one of the other participants. Hers is just absolutely the best one. It is not currently winning only because the person who is winning must have a bigger e-mail list than our Mandy.

Played it 'til my fingers bled

I'm home this afternoon, for reasons that will be discussed in an upcoming blog post.

And it is a gorgeous day.

The storms that passed through last night left the air clearer, the temperature perfect. As a result, I am enjoying the deck.

And that is how I know that my neighbor has decided to teach him- or herself to play the guitar.

Outside.

With the amp plugged in.

He or she certainly is dedicated to practicing today.

Fighting with John McCain

So, I didn't watch McCain last night, but according to the AP,

McCain ended his 50-minute speech with a call to arms: He exhorted, "Fight with me. Fight with me," as the crowd's roar of approval drowned out his voice.

And I know most people will think of that as just a rhetorical device, and normally I'm a borderline pacifist, but I think I might take him up on it.

I mean, McCain's tough. He can probably beat me up. But I think I could do a little damage, so the next person could beat him. I could probably land a few solid blows.

I don't entirely trust that he wouldn't, like, bite my ear off, but you've got to remember he also needs to impress the women-are-delicate-flowers crowd (warning: language in the link NSFW), so he might go easy on me.

And really, I have all these single earrings that I either lost the mates to or bought in the early 1990s anyway.

Jail: The new golf course. It's where business happens.

I just had about the strangest call of my life.

A woman named Diane informed me that someone had given my name to the Muscular Dystrophy Association. On September 24, I will apparently be locked up in a Chili's restaurant until my friends bail me out.

I am naturally suspicious.

My naturally suspicious temperament was only aided by the fact that my "friend" has entered the MDA's "witness protection program."

It is a tough thing to be simultaneously sure you're being scammed and totally excited about the The-Office-ness of being imprisoned in a Chili's. Diane no doubt thought I was crazy, but she was very patient with me, as she wants my friends' money. While I had her on the phone, I reverse-looked-up her number (actually the MDA). I also looked to see if there was even a Chili's in this town (there is).

I eventually agreed to have their "officers" "arrest" me at work, around lunchtime.

She also invited me to tell her the names of anyone I might like to have as a "cellmate." I have not yet given her any names, but I will tell you this:

• If I find out that you are this referring friend, I will give her your name.
• If you tick me off, I might also give her your name.
• And if you are nearby and leave a comment saying you would also like to be jailed with some Awesome Blossoms (extra awesome) for a good cause, I will give her your name.

A simple country mouse's confusion on politics

I've talked to a few folks about this lately, but there's something I don't exactly understand about the current tone of the presidential election.

McCain started it, talking about how Obama is a celebrity. You may remember his ad and the subsequent rebuttal by Paris Hilton.

Now, if my former colleague and his current colleagues are to be believed, the Obama campaign was a little worried pre-speech about Obama's celebrity, too.

Wait, why?

This is America.

We love celebrities.

You may remember Ronald Reagan, for example. Or, like, Arnold Schwarzenegger (both elected by the great state of California, where one eighth of Americans live). Jesse Ventura. Sonny Bono. Gopher. Cooter.

Celebrities rule.

As I was discussing this with a friend (who proudly subscribes to People magazine), she reminded me that the whole idea was "to show lack of substance." And she's right, but.

But we love lack of substance. Love, love, love it. See most of the people mentioned above.

We like popular.

I mean, by definition, since that is what popular means.

So — what's the drawback to Obama being a "celebrity?"

I am sure there's something here I'm not getting.

Sometimes I hear that song and I start to sing along

Do you know this song?



There are so, so many things wrong with it.
Here are a few of them:

• It's by Kid Rock.
• He rhymes "things" with "things." In the chorus.
• In the next line, he rhymes "bottle" with "tomorrow."
• He rips off a minimum of two real classic rock songs, and I think I count a third.
• He's, like, my age, and therefore I prefer to think it's too early for a "Remember those nostalgic old days when I was 18" song, even though that was 19 years ago. Gimme 25, please.
  
• Don't even get me started on the things that are more wrong with the video than the song. That is covered in "It's by Kid Rock."

And yet, I don't care. I love this song.
That nostalgia/classic rock gimmick has entirely worked on me, to the point where I actually think of this as a song I was listening to when I was 18.
A sign of my countrification? Or of my willingness to let Big Music dictate what I should like via the car radio?