Wednesday, December 31, 2008

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.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

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.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

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):
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.

Friday, December 19, 2008

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?

Monday, December 15, 2008

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.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

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:

Friday, December 12, 2008

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.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

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.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

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?

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

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.