Movin' on...

So for those of you who might peep in here but wonder why posting has ceased, I've decided to give Vox a shot. So head on over here and keep on reading ....

Fire! Fire! Fire!

Said in a Beavis voice.

Went to a party a few weeks ago and, after watching some amazing fire skills by the professionals, I stepped forward and held on to some wire contraptions with lamp-oil soaked ends, lit up and danced around with drums a drumming in the background, until they went out.





Yes, I know the photos are dark.

These people know what they're doing, and still someone's trousers briefly caught on fire. No damage done, just some fabric that looked melted. They made sure I was only wearing organic fabrics first, in case of, well, catching-on-of-fire, because synthetics will stick to your skin. That's a nice thought. And they made me pin my hair up.

It was quite thrilling.

***********

Admin note: I am considereing abandoning Blogger, for various reasons, and Vox has been wooing me quite pleasantly. So I am testing things out over there. But in order to read posts, you will need to be a Friends or Family, and you'll need a (free, but for right now limited) Vox account. You can snag an invite here.

Courtesy the amazing Go Fug Yourself.

Anyway, for now posting here will be limited, as I'm curious to explore some Vox. Head on over!

Yes, but how can we blame the Jews?

I'm no fan of Pope Benedict XVI, for religious, social or personal reasons. But the man made a speech. He made a specific reference to an old text, noting multiple times that he was quoting it, not stating it as personal opinion. And yet, that's not good enough.

Here's what he said:

Quoting a 14th-century Christian emperor who said the Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) had brought the world “evil and inhuman” things, the pope said, “He said, I quote, ‘Show me just what Muhammad brought that was new, and there you will find things only evil and inhuman, such as his command to spread by the sword the faith he preached.’”

The German pope was quoting from a book recounting a conversation between 14th century Byzantine Christian Emperor Manuel Paleologos II and an educated Persian on the truths of Christianity and Islam.

The instantaneous analysis of what he said boils into this:

1) He said Islam was a religion of evil and violence.
2) We've been insulted. Islam is not a religion of evil and violence.

Which has led to reactions like these, and actions such as:

1) His being targeted in a suicide attack
2) At least one cleric calling for the equivalent of a fatwa
3) A nun being shot dead
and
4) A Greek Orthodox church being burned

Among no doubt many other expressions that wholly refute the notion that the religion has any connection or ties to violence, or that terribly-relative concept of "evil."

I took classes on Islam pre-9/11 and post 9/11. I know that in its heart, Islam is no more about violence and evil than Christianity or Judiasm. They're all steeped in blood up to some level thanks to so-called leaders and their history, yet that's not the true meaning.

That said, d'you think there might be better ways to decide to protest such statements than by, uh, killing and burning and calling for murder? Just -- maybe?

Well, at least there's Egypt's Muslim Brotherhood, who know how to gracefully accept an apology and be reasonable. In this case, at least, if not always.

I frankly don't get it. Is Islam so fragile that a hateful (if poorly conceived) set of cartoons, or a centuries-old quotation will so damage it that the only recourse is death? It feels like when you read those stories about someone getting gets shot because the victim dissed the shooter's mother. Is there no sense of proportional reaction? Or are we just supposed to blame the clerics, who look for any opportunity to blow up any and all perceived outrages until it becomes an abusive "it's just you and me against the world" relationship with their followers? At what point do the moderates and peace-loving Muslims stand up and say "this is not us?"

Because someone really needs to.

Also: An analysis I rather liked - And the Offended Shall Inherit the Earth?

Brings new meaning to 'don't shoot the messenger'

Sent from a friend. Not that I'm looking, but it's good to know what the options are out there:



Of course, if you find an individual who "loves guns" and is a "weapons enthusiast," you'd better hope they work well under pressure. As for the quick on your feet part, well, you'll only really need that skill if it turns out the other gun-lovin' editors don't perform well under pressure.

That's all I gotta say there.

Miracles never cease

Sometimes, you just don't know what to say.

I'm frankly flabbergasted: If this pans out, I think we can safely put one miracle in this particular doctor's permanent record.

From the long "deck" The Guardian has supplied for the article:

We have always been told there is no recovery from persistent vegetative state - doctors can only make a sufferer's last days as painless as possible. But is that really the truth? Across three continents, severely brain-damaged patients are awake and talking after taking ... a sleeping pill. And no one is more baffled than the GP who made the breakthrough. Steve Boggan witnesses these 'strange and wonderful' rebirths.

Amazing, truly.

Anniversary

Five years ago post.

Five years ago, plus two days post.

There is a sense that something profound must rise from the ashes of tragedy, that if you can't say something with depth and clarity that somehow reaches into the heart of what went on you might as well say nothing.

I can't do that. I have nothing profound, moving or deep to say about the loss of nearly 3,000 lives (and counting, more in a moment); I have nothing to say about the loss of two extremely ugly, if anchoring, buildings in this city of otherwise lovely architecture; I have nothing to say about the turn our politics have taken in the past five years. I have nothing to say here and now about any of that because I feel, exhaustively, that I've been saying, thinking, living and feeling it for four years and frankly -- I'm tired. Having it all rehashed on TV and radio ("Jack FM will be going all acoustic for the day, in honor of the anniversary") and in magazines and, well, shit, blogs makes me tired all over again.

Many things are not better for many people since September 11, 2001. Right now, for me, in my small little microcosmic world, I can't say that. Things are not so bad, at least for the present, and in some areas they are quite spectacularly good. I was at one job when the towers fell; I am now at a better one. My thirties have continued to be better than my twenties. And I have become more politically active.

Outside my little world, there are many people whose lives are much worse off, however, and I am trying to think of them instead.

I am also trying to avoid shaking my head at the short-sightedness of those who were in charge on that day, how they were unable to project into the future even the slightest bit of imagination, and how, being unable to do that, they just blundered forward -- into Afghanistan, into Iraq, into our civil liberties, and forgot all of the details. Tonight, Katie Couric (another one who changed jobs since 2001) popped up on "60 Minutes" to do a story on all of the poor first responders who ran into save people at the site of the disaster and have since come down with black lung, lung cancer, or an inability to use their lungs at full capacity, among other debilitations.

I remember thinking at the time that it was a story that could have been written in 2001 and put in nitrogen until tonight. Who didn't know this was going to happen? Who didn't wonder how it would affect the health of anyone who ran in there, or around the city? Who didn't give then-EPA Director Christine Todd Whitman the finger when she insisted there was no real danger posed?

And yet workman's comp cut them off because they filed too late. Or they're being tangled in insurance red tape. Or this, or that. Could no one have sat down on September 13 and said, "This is going to be a continuing health issue for those men and women who are trying to help clean things up. Let's get something set up now for them, so in 5 years we don't have to try and CYA."

But, no. We suffer in this country not from a lack of will, or a lack of desire, but a lack of imagination. If I could sit in my living room, stunned at the one channel of news I could get at the time, eating some comfort ice cream, and imagine this was coming, so could someone who could actually make it better.

Yet, here we are. What was that line from the New York Times editorial page today -- "We have moved on, but no one can argue that we have moved ahead."

Indeed. The best we can do for the 10th anniversary is to climb out of this quagmire. And truly, in a heartfelt and meaningful way, move ahead.

Getting through

I love the Internets.

Meet "Get Human," the web page that's doing its darndest to prevent you from having to sit through computerized "press 1" phone systems unto eternity. Go here for a list of phone shortcuts for over 450 companies, and go here for tips in general on how to get through.

When I had my recent contretemps with Earthlink Voice, I managed to get their Level 3 direct line, which means you don't have to deal with outsourced ninnies who don't know what a "FAQ" is and who make you run on a hamster wheel. I'm at least a Level 3 customer, so I deserve an instant Level 3 customer service. Anyway, I have that number -- and I know the system by which they change the pin every month -- so I'm keepin' it.

Probably I should share it. But if you need it, just email. I'll share.

The Minimalist Approach

Ah, so ... yes. Posting is scant at the moment.

(But so are readers, so that's OK.)

I've been traveling, and when that happens, sometimes you run into unexpected detours. Which are sometimes the best way to get where you weren't expecting to go.

I shall return, soonly.

Cornwall: The Update!

At long last, the Cornwall pages are done.

Head on over here to delight in the highs and lows and horses and cookies of the trip.

Enjoy (and please let me know if there are any broken links)!

Lotion-Gate, Take 2

I'd kind of wondered about this:

Airport Retailers Are Left With Uncertain Future
By JEREMY W. PETERS and MICHAEL BARBARO

Airport retailers, who scrambled to adapt to post-Sept. 11 rules that forbid anyone without a ticket from crossing security checkpoints, are now facing the possibility that they will again become unintended victims of enhanced airport security.

With the decision by the Transportation Security Administration on Thursday to ban all liquids, gels and creams from carry-on luggage, newsstands and other airport retailers selling everything from fragrances to frappuccinos have been left wondering about the future of their businesses.

Although it is too early to tell what economic impact the new rules will have on airport stores, many of the merchants are worried and some have already felt the pinch.

Okay, dudes. Nobody asked me, but -- surely there is a relatively simple answer to this.

Has nobody ever heard of "duty-free"?

When you buy duty-free on the plane, you get it in a bag at the end of your journey.

Why would it not be possible to purchase something once you've gone through security, but not actually receive it until you landed at your destination?

"Here's your receipt. Hold on to it or you won't have proof of purchase when you land in Los Angeles ... London ... Dakar ... South Bend."

Nobody needs lotion in-flight. Nobody needs Chanel No. 5 in-flight. (Well, you may need it, particularly after a 22-hour flight, but if you spray it you're going to get smacked by your seatmate.) You need it when you get there. So God forbid, you maybe didn't get it in time and maybe there's no such thing as a drugstore on the other end of your trip. Load it on the plane, or have it waiting from supplies on the other end. If I can get my Glenfiddich once I disembark from my London flight, there's no reason I can't get my tanning lotion.

C'mon, people.

Semitic Semantics

From another gem of an article in the aftermath of Mel-tdown:

(Focus on the Family ministry founder James Dobson) said in a statement that "we certainly do not condone that racially insensitive outburst," but added "Mel has apologized profusely for the incident and there the matter should rest."

For the perhaps 0.8 people who will eventually read this, I would like to make a statement for the record:

Judiasm is not a race.

Let's say it together:

Judiasm is not a race.

It is a set of beliefs, part of which are that Jesus was not the Savior, that the Messiah is still yet to come. From that you can extrapolate a whole two centuries of liturgies, canon and so forth.

As noted on answers.com, among many other places:

The traditional terms for these populations—Caucasoid (or Caucasian), Mongoloid, Negroid, and in some systems Australoid—are now controversial in both technical and nontechnical usage, and in some cases they may well be considered offensive. (Caucasian does retain a certain currency in American English, but it is used almost exclusively to mean “white” or “European” rather than “belonging to the Caucasian race,” a group that includes a variety of peoples generally categorized as nonwhite.)

Hey! They didn't mention Jews! Oh, wait. That's right.

Because Judiasm is not a race.

Neither, for that matter, is White, Black, Asian, or Aboriginal. But you just try go try using the actual words.

In the meanwhile, use words like you actually know what they mean.

I thank you for your attention to this matter.

The Friendly Skies

From this article on the new flying regulations, Day One:

From London to Los Angeles, travelers on Thursday had found themselves unpacking carry-on bags on the floor in the terminals. Some tried to squeeze makeup, sunscreen and other toiletries into their checked baggage, where liquids were permissible. Others filled up the bins at security checkpoints, abandoning everything from nail polish to a bottle of tequila.

"I literally lost about $50 or $60 worth of things we were told to throw out," said Terry Asbury, who flew into Cincinnati from Albuquerque, N.M., and found herself dumping all her cosmetics.

At Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport, Kristin Reinke, of Champlin, Minn., complained to her husband, Mike Reinke, "I just threw out $34 worth of hand lotion."

I wasn't there. But I'd reallly like to think that the Reinkes, Asbury and all of those other thousands who were left throwing out lotions and toothpaste and so forth actually considered taking clothing out of their bags and fitting all that expensive stuff in, while taking the clothing on board, which was allowed. I'd like to think that.

I tend not to, though.

In completely unrelated news, since yesterday turned out not to be a day of disaster, thanks to the Brits who are apparently paying attention to these sorts of things, I ended up having a very, very Duran Duran day. How did this happen, you may ask? (Or not.)

Morning:
Because I am a freak (and because I like to donate to good causes), I had ordered from the fan site a DD towel. Shut up. It arrived, this big fluffy blue thing with their block-letter logo on it. I left it in the FedEx bag to carry home.

Later Morning:
Had a legitimate, work-related reason to interview Nick Rhodes. The band is going to create avatars for this online MMOG called "Second Life" and have their own islands. Seriously. Anyway, they're all about self-marketing and branding, and we like that at work, so on the phone we got. He was lovely. He even made (at my request) a "get well" message for my friend Lynda, who's not feeling so hot lately. Nick Rhodes is a prince among men.

Evening:
Met up with H for dinner before heading to see "The History Boys," which won best actor and best play at the most recent Tonys. As we were leaving to walk the three blocks to the theater, it was raining torrentially. Insanely. Get wet in five seconds type of rain. We held back and waited for it to slack off. I rooted through my bag (because of course neither of us had an umbrella, though H decided he could carry his bag over his head). I found ... the towel.

Perfect. As Ford Prefect learned, it is always good to travel the universe with a towel.

Then, we got to the theater. I knew the play was full of Brits, which is always a pleasant thing if you're trapped in a small seat for 2 hours and 45 minutes, and I knew it took place in a grammar (aka high) school, but I didn't know it took place in the 1980s or that there would be a giant screen at the back which, during scene changes, showed the actors running around the halls and encountering one another or teachers or such like, set to the beat of various 80s music. The first song? "Rio."

Continuing into this morning:
VH1 Classic played "New Moon on Monday," the video in which the devilishly cruel director decided to keep in the brief scene where Simon gets rear-ended by a passing horse.

Aaaaaand....

The radio played "Ordinary World."

Either they're inextricably attached to the cultural bloodstream, or I'm being followed. Either way, it's all good.

Pre-baby Update

Nice profile!

Syd already has a shirt that reads "I'm the big sister."

Now, I'll jump on the bandwagon with everyone else

His mug shot may have made him not seem so crazy, but give that man some alcohol and watch the words fly. And truth is, when you're drunk, you don't usually say things you would never think or believe. You're actually more free with your emotions. So, there it is.

My point remains the same: Wait for actual evidence before trying someone. The police notes were, for at least two days, only available on a questionable web site; everyone else linked to them. Now that we have Gibson making a specific apology (this one is new today), I don't have a problem with rendering judgment.

Here's his latest mea culpa, from The Hollywood Reporter:

Aug. 02, 2006
Sorrowful Gibson asks forgiveness, help

By Gregg Kilday

Mel Gibson has issued a direct apology to the Jewish community for the anti-Semitic remarks he made early Friday morning when he was arrested for driving under the influence on Pacific Coast Highway.

"There is no excuse, nor should there be any tolerance, for anyone who thinks or expresses any kind of anti-Semitic remark. I want to apologize specifically to everyone in the Jewish community for the vitriolic and harmful words that I said to a law enforcement officer the night I was arrested on a DUI charge," the filmmaker said in lengthy remarks issued Tuesday morning through his publicist Alan Nierob.

"I am a public person, and when I say something, either articulated and thought out, or blurted out in a moment of insanity, my words carry weight in the public arena. As a result, I must assume personal responsibility for my words and apologize directly to those who have been hurt and offended by those words," Gibson continued.

The statement went on to say: "The tenets of what I profess to believe necessitate that I exercise charity and tolerance as a way of life. Every human being is God's child, and if I wish to honor my God I have to honor his children. But please know from my heart that I am not an anti-Semite. I am not a bigot. Hatred of any kind goes against my faith.

"I'm not just asking for forgiveness. I would like to take it one step further, and meet with leaders in the Jewish community, with whom I can have a one-on-one discussion to discern the appropriate path for healing."

He said that he would turn to the Jewish community for help in his battle with alcoholism, saying, "I have begun an ongoing program of recovery and what I am now realizing is that I cannot do it alone. I am in the process of understanding where those vicious words came from during that drunken display, and I am asking the Jewish community, whom I have personally offended, to help me on my journey through recovery. Again, I am reaching out to the Jewish community for its help. I know there will be many in that community who will want nothing to do with me, and that would be understandable. But I pray that that door is not forever closed."

He concluded, "This is not about a film. Nor is it about artistic license. This is about real life and recognizing the consequences hurtful words can have. It's about existing in harmony in a world that seems to have gone mad."

And baby makes four....

Ah, kid, you have no idea what you're in for.

The good news is my brother and his wife are pregnant again! Due in February. I'm tres excited to be an auntie again.

But having been the older sister -- it's one of those things you just don't get over. Syd's gonna need some extra attention come February, I bet. The good thing is she'll be older than I was and may not be moved to pour the entire bottle of baby oil over the new kid....

Congrats, guys!

We all scream

Dear Cold Stone Creamery,

I do dearly love your confections. I don't get to your stores as often as I'd like; by that standard I'd have to move a cot in and start paying rent. And soon, I'd be too big to get out the doorway. But I digress.

While I do appreciate that on my recent visit I ordered an "I Like It" size and was given an "I Love It" size instead owing to the absence "Like It" cups (apparently there was a run on liking rather than loving at CSC, and it would have been too gauche to simply put the "Like" into a "Love" sized cup), I would like to briefly comment on your semantics.

Starbucks started this, I grant you. I blame them first. But no one said you had to change "Small" (or "Regular") to "I Like It" and "Large" to "I Love It." It's twee, and confusing, and doesn't indicate to me whether "Liking It" means I'm getting a small, regular or medium. Why not have a third size, the "I'm Doing This To Win A Bet" size, and make it bottomless? So, quit it.

Secondly, along those lines, and this goes for everyone who ever creates a chain from now unto eternity: Do not require your employees to use specific statements when interacting with the public. I am certain that in the boardroom, deciding to have your scoopers (I wish we could still call them soda jerks) say, "May I help the next awesome customer" seemed like genius. But clearly none of those marketing talents ever had to say such a thing 856 times a day, 1284 on weekends.

As a customer, there is nothing more depressing (on many levels) than to go for ice cream (the happiest of food!) and find myself greeted as the 855th customer that day, with the flattest, most desultory, abstracted and bored rendition of "May I help the next awesome customer," which really came out as "MayIhelpthenextawesometcustomer."

It was not awesome. It took some of the happy out of the ice cream, frankly.

But then I got a larger size, so I was loving it.

Sincerely,
Armchair General

Traipsing through Cornwall, Part 1 (and) Another Thing

So, at long last, some of the Cornwall pictures and descriptions are up. I'm sure my vast reading public can breathe a sigh of relief knowing this, but for anyone who's wanted to know how it all went, it's there, rash and all. At least, the first three days of it. Still have a few more to append on, but it could be a couple of days. Head over here to enjoy (or to find an easy way to take a nap at your desk).

* * * *

In otherwise completely unrelated other thoughts:

In the newly-released "Scoop," Woody Allen gives himself a line that goes something like this: "Jewish? No, those people sense any kind of slur and they start writing letters." (He's got a better one where he talks about growing up in the Hebraic persuasion, but then converting to narcissism.)

There's a lot of letter writing going on, at least on the Web.

I've got so many conflicting emotions about what's going on between Israel and Lebanon that there's no way to put them into a blog without sounding like a complete moron. So I'll stick with something I think I can at least put my mind around: The massive attack going on following Mel Gibson's recent arrest. It seems that a large number of blog sites, both attached to the MSM and amateur, have leapt on TMZ.com's PDF of "notes" that were allegedly made during Gibson's recent drunk driving arrest, but suppressed by the police (or thrown out, depending on who you talk to) in order to save the actor from embarrassment. (Or, if you believe the people who think that in addition to the Jews Having All The Money, the Jews Run Hollywood, ergo Mel will be run out on his ass for what he said.)

Allegedly.

Look, I've been to the TMZ.com site. I've read the article, I've downloaded the notes. Here's why I don't yet buy them:

a) they're barely legible (like a fax of a fax)
b) they start on page "5 of 8"
c) there's no connection on any page to any kind of official paperwork source
d) I could have written these up on my own.

I find when I bring this subject up with others, I'm immediately told:

a) Gibson made "Passion of the Christ," and that proves he's an anti-Semite
b) Gibson's father is a Holocaust denier
c) Gibson has take a full dose of the crazy and is out of his mind
d) We're just tired of Gibson, so let's toss him out.

The thing is this: Even if a, b, c and d are true, that does not mean he said what he's alleged to have said. TMZ does not resemble anything like a MSM or legit news site, and the fact that the only other sources who have reportd on this have referred to TMZ is like the Washington Post calling Nixon out on Watergate because of documents found in the National Enquirer.

Gibson may well have said those things. He's offered a blanket statement for saying "despicable" things, but that's not the same as admitting to all of the alleged statements. I'm waiting for a fuller analysis, particularly from the Smoking Gun. It's what I would want, were I in his position.

An addendum: I might be a bit softer on Gibson than some others, because he called me once. Not like out of the blue, precisely -- it was for a 2003 article in which Peter Weir, the great Australian director who directed him in "Gallipoli" and "The Year of Living Dangerously," was being honored. Anyway, Gibson called me direct, didn't reach me at work and left a message: "Hi, this is Mel." Etc. Later on we hooked up on my home line, and he and was genial and not crazy and answered even unrelated questions, even though he was in the midst of making "Passion" at the time.

Afterwards, I joked with others: See, he can't be an anti-Semite, 'cause he called a Jew. See?

I'd like to think better of him. So sue me.

Now go look at some pretty pictures of ponies.

Over the hedge

So, a few weeks ago I saw the film "Over the Hedge." First sighting of an opossum cartoonishly rendered on screen in quite some time. Perhaps ever.



And then the other day on Cute Overload, I came across this little bundle o' joy (who apparently crawled up through the pipes into someone's (blissfully unused) toilet.



And tonight, we get the three-fer: While taking Ciara out for her nightly wee, what should come strolling down the sidewalk (carefully keeping to the sides of the buildings where possible, before strolling into our building's grassy knoll area)?

Yep, a real-live opossum. About the size of the dog. I think the guy outsie on the cell phone thought it was a large rat, but I assure you: Possum.

How the hell does an opossum get out into Jackson Heights? Should we be watching the trees, where they nest?

Apparently I'm not the only one who has spotted 'possum in Queens. I am not, however, going to pelt it with soup cans.

And here's some fun 'Possum facts.

The Maine Event

So, if you like beaches and lobster and quaint New England cottages (and aren't too much of a Red Sox hater), go visit Ogunquit, ME, a town I still can't quite pronounce and often misspell, but which I think is just wonderful.



The base of town ends with Perkins Cove, but there's a small walkway called the Marginal Way that rings around the cliff and curves towards the beach, which has two elements -- a broad tidal basin that leads to the ocean, and a little fast-moving creek which eventually feeds into the water. I went with the guy and his family and we stayed in a family home in the middle of town, and while there, H and I walked the Marginal Way (just about a mile) and passed some amazing sights.



If you could see these houses and the view just outside their front doors, you'd move in a minute. Hell, I'd live in the guest house. Imagine how dramatic in the winter!



A view down to the beach, from the Marginal Way.



And a lovely winding tree perched right on the cliff's edge. The curves were so smooth and sensual. Once we walked around the remainder of the Way (which led back into town and then curved towards the beach, cutting through a small collection of B&Bs/hotels/homes with immaculate manicured gardens and children tossing balls at one another -- an image that seemed to come from somewhere between David Lynch and Norman Rockwell) and down to the far end of the Ogunquit beach, over a bridge.



This sign greets you; we scrambled down to the sand by the creek and immediately got bit by some kind of iridescent sand fly, but otherwise went pretty unmolested.



The water in the creek, which ran in rivulets and small streams here and there, cutting through the sand in unusual patterns, was cool but not cold, and very pleasant.



Pre-beach, we ran into plenty of these trash bins, all labeled with individual inspirational signs, for reasons unknown. Ogunquit isn't exactly a crystals-and-faeries kind of seaside town, but it does have its own way of doing things. One thing I particularly like: No chain stores or restaurant. Not a Starbucks in sight.



H's mom wanted to get a lobster roll in Kennebunkport, so we headed out of town into Bush territory; wonder if the lobstahs are redder in that part of the world. It was tasty....



And afterwards we headed up to Freeport, home to loads of outlet stores like L.L. Bean so H's dad could return some shirts. This was one street which held particular significance.



I wondered if when you got fired from the Bean if they just came out here and said they were giving you the boot. I kill me.

A lovely, lobster-filled weekend! Go now. Or don't -- there actually are plenty of tourists already. Just don't ask me about the ride home ... and when you go, pick an off-hour. It's supposed to take 5 hours from New York City: Going up, it took us over 7. Seriously.

* England recap coming soon! Really! This was just easier...

Coney, here we come!

So, a week from tomorrow I'm off to Coney Island with dear friends and loved ones for the annual Mermaid Parade. In addition to amazing costumes and huge crowds and twirling rides (I am not doing the Cyclone again, however) there will be much junk consumed.

Thankfully (or maybe not so), one of my mailing lists, called Hungry Girl has put out a list of just how much some of that stuff costs in calories. Not that it'll change anything, but it's nice to know:

Soft Pretzel: 340 calories, 2g fat

Funnel Cake (whole): 760 calories, 44g fat

Fair Popcorn (7 cups, no extra butter): 400 calories, 27g fat

Caramel Apples: 300 calories, 1g fat

Chocolate Covered Frozen Banana: 240 calories, 4g fat

Elsewhere in the newsletter they note that a cone of cotton candy is actually only about 100 calories (since it's mostly air and spun sugar) while a sno-cone is something like 500-600 because of the syrup. Now, nobody goes to Coney to diet, but I like having the figures rolling around ... for reference's sake.

I am having a funnel cake. No question.

Like, totally

So, it's in Russian. Which means I can't read it.

And it requires a plug in (I suspect Active-X) that my Mac at work and Firefox won't let me grab. But I sense when I get home this evening I will have tapped a rich vein of 80s videos ... perhaps even better than YouTube's.... here.


via Grouse.

Garden party, hold the pasta

Queens gets knocked a lot. It's not as hip as Brooklyn, it sure ain't Manhattan, and it doesn't even have the suburban veneer of Staten Island or the danger zone allure (such as that might be) of the Bronx. It's the borough with a booger half out of its nose.

Unfairly, by the way. At least where I've lived, I've always liked Queens, and I'm particularly fond of where I live now, in Jackson Heights. It's actually an historic district of co-ops that were some of the first ever in the country when they were constructed in the 1920s. (I only say "some of the first" because there's a tendency to overstate JH's importance, by the JH locals themselves; see more below. They may well be the first planned co-op community in the U.S. Or not.) Anyway, several of the buildings around here were planned so that they would wrap around a city block (or at least would have a sister building that mirrored a "C" construction and the both of them would take up the city block) and the strip in the center was reserved for garden planning. They're private, only accessible to the residents of the building, and once a year they're opened up for viewing. I went in 2001 on a gray day; this Saturday when the Jackson Heights Beautification Society held its 2006 opening, the weather was darned near perfect.

Went with my guy on a tour of all ten gardens. They ranged from the scruffy to the sublime. We started out at the end of the tour, and No. 10 was not necessarily an auspicious beginning. Maybe they put it at the end so that if you get tired and have to skip one, this is the one to skip. We were the first visitors to No. 10 and got a little tour by their character of a gardener (volunteer). He gets funds for half of the garden, the part he lives on and the other half, which is for a building run by renters and therefore is completely untended except for his efforts, comes out of his pocket. This means the rental half is fairly surreal. He likes putting faces on trees (those things creep me out) and he's got cats -- plastic ones, ceramic ones, masks of ones -- implanted everywhere. He's made a pile with a club "growing" out of the ground and set up a sign nearby explaining the origin of the "Egyptian" plant, which was allegedly used to beat the crap out of anyone who harmed a cat in Egypt. He was quite pleased with his fakery. There was also a sign affixed to a tree inviting everyone to a "Squirrel Barbecue." Love for the animals is limited to certain species, it appears. We also learned the long story of his cat who ran up a tree during a snowstorm, and how the fire department wouldn't come out to help.



The other gardens were prettier, but none more interesting, I tell you what. And they all have their own personality, with variations on flowers, grass, asphalt and benches. One had swings, so the guy and I partook. One or two had fountains (I like calling them water features, after James Lileks' woes), the benches in one were completely made of concrete. And one had tall pillars, as if it was a very well-kept ruin.



One building was even holding a bake sale (the cannier buildings all had some kind of baked goods or water or soda offerings) with these very elaborate buttercream cupcakes, a la the Cupcake Cafe. That same building gave us a bottle of water for free, which was very nice of them. The guy and I lamented that my building didn't have such a garden, because we'd use it all the time -- I'd love to read the Sunday paper out there if it was warm, or just read a book on a bench and exist in that little oasis. They are often very quiet (barring No. 10, which was essentially next to the 7 train) and completely peaceful. One garden was rife with dangling objects to catch the light, or faces that looked like rocks, and many had Buddhas or Vishnus or various Asian-themed statuaries. And one had sleepy kitties:



Who were just adorable. We hit all ten, including the very last one (No. 1) which should have been one of the prettiest, but has never grabbed my attention. Rather than being an enclosed private garden, it's just a big walkway up to the front doors, an inverted "V" shape with a large cascading pool, and a spurting fountain. Those might be nice, but the bottom of those pools is painted a highly-suspect aquamarine never found in nature, and it just has a bad-retro feel to it. Plus, it's not a true garden because you can't sit anywhere and enjoy. The guy and I walked in and saw they had their "Best Garden" plaque sitting out on a table with cookies. The date was 1998. "We just can't seem to find the time to hang it up," the woman noted with sadness. I told her if she waited two years they could have a 10 year dedication ceremony. Then she said something -- the guy and I would both swear on this -- about "if you go all the way to the back, they have pasta." Which seemed an odd "thanks for visiting" offering, but we couldn't locate it anyway. If there was pasta, we found none.



So we went back to my place and had ginger-and-molasses cookies.

I remember when I lost my mind

On the one hand, if I were still 18, I'd be so sarcastic and condescending right now. To myself.

But since I'm twice that, I get to be all excited when something new -- even something as stale as several weeks old -- gets me revved up.

So I will announce it here: I'm in love with Gnarls Barkley. Or should I say I'm crazy about him/them/it?

Yes, I am late to the party. But I'm here, and with extra beer.

In addition to my Gnarls purchase this evening, I also got two Dixie Chicks CDs (support for the cause, natch, but "Not Ready to Make Nice" is an excellent track, and plus now I'm going to see them in August) and Pink's latest, so I am actually excited about new music again. The iPod won't know what hit it.

Thanks, guys.

I really got to get to bed now.

Evil Genius

So, if you can't think of anything better to do with your weekend, I highly recommend a double feature: The remake of "The Omen" and "The Da Vinci Code."

The latter film was already given far too much discussion here a few days back. "The Omen," on the other hand, is another story.

I was lucky enough to see it at a screening held in an old Gothic Lower East Side synagogue, now part of some kind of charitable foundation, but still pretty rickety. Behind me sat Liza Minelli. Mia Farrow was leading the actor-boy-Damien (still apparently in character, based on his sour expression) around by the hand. What could be more terrifying?

Well, the film was spooky in spots and cheaty-scary in others (there are more than one sudden jump cuts sync-ed up with Very Loud Dramatic Music so that you jump as much from the volume as the images). There's at least one scene where you think, "Yeah, they could have made that better." I point to a dream-sequence (not immediately obvious that it is so) where Julia Stiles is brushing her teeth, and Damien wheels by on his Razr scooter. They cut to see him looming in the doorway, then cut back to her. She turns, not sure if he was there or not. A better scene would not have included the cut; he'd have just wheeled by and paused and then gone on, and if you as a viewer missed it because you were focused on the foam in Stiles' mouth, sucks to be you. But that's not the movie we were seeing.

The one particularly spooky/surreal moment comes when Mia Farrow is feeding Damien strawberries. It shouldn't be spooky or surreal, and yet it is: They're on chairs facing each other, and in his playroom, and he's just intensely watching her as she puts plump berry after plump berry between his teeth. Which naturally turns his mouth a smeary red. And then off he goes on the Razr again to commit mayhem. That's an effective scene.

But what I liked best was Liev Schreiber. When he's in grief in a muscle shirt in a darkened Italian pensione, he was the embodiment of hotness. And I've never been a big Schreiber fan before. Talented, sure. Sexy? Not my type. But he's the best thing about the movie.

Anyhow, I like the contrast. In "The Omen," the Church is so ineffectual and weak that it can't control its priests long enough to prevent them from giving The Antichrist away to some random family; in "Da Vinci" the Church is so overwhelmingly powerful that they can cover up a major revelation for 2000 years. Some consistency, folks, eh?



But the truth is that you really shouldn't go see either film. Or if you do, include "Who Killed the Electric Car?" on your list of future pictures to see. I went to that last night (it opens June 28). For those who don't live in California, and for those who don't own cars (I'm two for two) and for those who don't think about car emissions/global warming/environment issues (okay, got me there, I'm concerned regardless), it might not seem important. And yet, and yet.

In essence: We used to have electric cars. Way back, early on. Cheap petroleum got the better of electricity, however, and at that point nobody'd heard of smog, and asthma, and lung infections in children, and so they said, so what if most people prefer the quiet efficiency of a big appliance you can charge up at home? And so they dropped the electric car. Fast forward, and there's word that an electric car is a viability. California's emissions board decides to get on board with this and passes a law requiring 0% emissions in a few years. (That means the car manufacturers would have to sell cars with zero emissions by that year in California, or not sell at all.)

Know how when you get a chore handed to you you really don't want to do, and so you drag it out and fuck it up just a little here and there, until finally mom/boss/whoever comes over and takes it from your hands and says "If you can't do a good job, don't do it at all" and you're all relieved because you dragged your ass and now you're free of that?

Translate that to the car companies/oil industry and you've got the recipe for why the electric car failed. It really didn't fail: They had excellent, inspired engineers who made slick little futuristic cars, they got celebrity endorsements, they had waiting lists and people willing to charge it up. But the car manufacturers and oil industry would rather squeeze every last dollar out of a dying industry (combustible engines) than move forward, and so they refused to actually sell the cars. They leased them. And then sued California. Which backed down, and negotiated. The leases were not renewed. And I tell you, I'm still not a car fanatic, but waste gets me -- and watching GM round up all of those slick little cars and put them without regard on the backs of trucks to be squashed -- for no good reason -- made me sick.

There's much more to the documentary, of course. But understand this: Whatever you thought was wrong with electric cars (and honestly, I thought they were still around, just had never gotten a big rollout yet) -- you will be proven wrong.

When I go to LA later this year, I'm going to try and rent a Prius. It's as close as I can get, at least for now.

Besides, Damien told me I should.

Big Dreams, Micro Minds

So, I'm running late for work. Which means that BBC America finishes its run on WNYC and we switch over to the local broadcast of The Brian Lehrer Show. They're talking Monday Morning Politics, as per usual, and have New Republic editor Peter Beinart in the studio. Beinart has written a book with the sure-to-annoy title of "The Good Fight: Why Liberals -- and Only Liberals -- Can Win the War on Terror and Make America Great Again and how much longer could this book title be, please, I have to go make lunch or something"

Anyway, I don't truly believe (and this as a good upstanding liberal) that only liberals have the knowhow to figure out the war on terror, but I'm going along with all of this because as a movement, we need a little fist-pumping. OK. So, Lehrer gets a call. The caller self-identifies as conservative. He takes issue with Beinart's contention and says the reason liberals can't solve anything related to terror is that "liberals think in the micro, conservatives think in the macro."

He cites bag searches on the subway as his justification: Liberals will fight them, he says, because they're so focused on the individual, and conservatives will go along happily because they recognize you have to give up some small things, as a contribution (my word, my itals) to the fight on terror. Conservatives look at the big picture: We all have to contribute. Liberals would be ninnies and say it's all about the rights of the individual and nobody should be forced to have his or her bag checked.

I'm waiting for the followup from either Lehrer and Beinart, easily squashing this theory for the nonsense it is, and instead we get a mealy mouthed diversionary reply that seems to ignore the point. It's several hours later that I'm writing this, so the content of that reply is already mush in my head. Mush out, mush in.

The real reply is this: Macro/micro my ass.

No. 1: At what point did the conservatives cede individual rights to liberals? I thought liberals (in their POV) were all about big government inciting us to live like socialists, to pay more taxes so we all have more social services, creation of the nanny state, etc. etc. ad nauseum. Oh, this must have happened when Shrub's government got up in everyone's ass with security issues, big tax breaks and enormous government (to the point of creating a whole new bureau with the Homeland Security people). That must have been it.

But really:

No. 2: How small is your perspective to think that anyone who protests bag checks (or wiretapping or publication of 'classified' coverup documents) is doing it for the individual? The reason you protest the small infringements is so that you don't let them build into big ones, which do affect the larger populace -- the "macro." If you let them search your bag without cause today, why not your house tomorrow? Why not give you anal probes before you board a plane? You have to get at these things when they start, even before they start, or suddenly you've walked on to that slippery slope. This is what small-headed, small-thinking people just never seem to get. The fact is the liberals are thinking in the big picture, but the big picture was too big for that caller to perceive. And that is really what the problem is with conservatives.

Did we get that from our host and guest? Not a frickin' word. That said, I then did have to go to work and may have missed the genius. Not likely.

********

Related, but different: I'm very pleased that we can now officially say there are no domestic or international grievances or problems greater than the subject of gay marriage. The president's attention has duly turned to the No. 1 issue on his To-Do items list, and since he's cleared it of all other subject matter and potential issues, it's about time he dealt with all this other stuff. Will someone suggest where I should stay in the rebuilt New Orleans? And now that global warming is over, how about we all just get a bunch of new SUVs with 10mpg, spewing diesel? And since Iraq and Iran and the whole Middle Eastern region is at peace, I think I'll go there right after my New Orleans trip. Thanks, Prez, you really know how to take things in their proper order. I'm looking forward to our newly-educated young workforce, whose student loans are paid off by public service and my national health care initiative to take effect.

What a great day to be American!

The Six-Sided Dilemma

Dick Wolf, king of my favorite series of ever-proliferating shows, "Law & Order," likes to say that his favorite episode -- which they've never been able to accomplish yet -- would involve all six main characters (including the Lieutenant and the District Attorney) having six separate, valid, points of view on the case at hand.

I feel like I've got about three of them, at least, in my own head about this one.

It would seem that in bottomless pit of discovery that is some peoples' interpretation of the Bible, that it is okay to picket funerals. In the name of God. Who hates America. Because we support (well, some of us, yours truly included) gay rights issues, like marriage and equality.

If your head isn't spinning yet, hold on to something. Yes, that's right: God wants you to picket military funerals, because the military is a representation of the government, and some elements of the government (although really, there is no federal support for any element of homosexual lifestyles; the few governmental organizations who have dedicated any legislation to the issues at hand have been individual states, but I suppose National Guard funerals aren't nearly as frequent or press worthy) are less than hateful towards gays. And people with AIDS. Who, of course, are gay. Must be. Can't be any other way. Mark of Cain, y'all.

How we got from "love thy neighbor" to "picket thy dead soldier" is almost more than I can stand. My contempt for the human race ratchets up a notch.

On the other hand -- this is the most cynical element of my head -- I'm just loving, loving, loving the Republicans, who have supported this kind of crap every which way except for now, who have nurtured this bad seed until it flowers into this bizarre insanity -- being the ones to come down against it:

The sponsor of the House bill, Rep. Mike Rogers, R-Mich., said he took up the issue after attending a military funeral in his home state, where mourners were greeted by "chants and taunting and some of the most vile things I have ever heard."

"Families deserve the time to bury their American heroes with dignity and in peace," Rogers said Wednesday before the House vote.

But finally, and this is the lawyer in me, I can't go along with the legislation.

Demonstrators would be barred from disrupting military funerals at national cemeteries under legislation approved by Congress and sent to the White House Wednesday....

Under the Senate bill, approved without objection by the House with no recorded vote, the "Respect for America's Fallen Heroes Act" would bar protests within 300 feet of the entrance of a cemetery and within 150 feet of a road into the cemetery from 60 minutes before to 60 minutes after a funeral. Those violating the act would face up to a $100,000 fine and up to a year in prison.

Once again, I may not like what you have to say, but you have the right to say it. And we do have the right to free assembly in this country. Slowly, the GOP has been winnowing it back -- you can't show up at a George Bush speech with, say, a Democratic-oriented shirt on. Think you can, and you'll find out differently.

From 10/14/2004:

Three Medford school teachers were threatened with arrest and thrown out of the President Bush rally at the Jackson County Fairgrounds Thursday night, after they showed up wearing T-shirts with the slogan "Protect our civil liberties."

The Democrats have played this game, too, though to less effect since they haven't held the White House for six years now.

Anyway, my point is this: On First Amendment grounds (which includes the right to free assembly), these people have a right to be there. Unless I'm mistaken -- and I'm willing to be wrong -- military cemeteries are public, not private, property. Funerals are open to the public. That being so, barring them from the gate is unconstitutional. (I argue also that this is not the same as barring some of the same fanatics who probably show up at Planned Parenthood Clinics to shout, because then they're on private property, once they get off of city owned sidewalks.)

I don't want the Klan to march down my street. I don't want Bible-thumping crazies to protest at funerals. But I also don't want someone else deciding what I'm allowed to do and don't do, just because it ruffles some feathers. For the reason that I want to be able to choose do do what I want with my body, for the reason that I want to be able to show up at a Bush rally with an "I hate Bush" shirt on, and for hundreds of other reasons, I can't agree with this law.

Not that anyone asked me, of course.

A Mighty Wind

It's the AP versus Reuters in a weather-related headline death match!

Who will emerge victorious? Or, at least, correct?

Tune in later this summer, assuming the whole Eastern seaboard isn't blown away (Reuters), when with luck we'll be sunning and surfing happily (AP).

Inconceivable!

So, I'm waiting for "The Da Vinci Code" to start already. Some guy next to me has spilled soda on himself, so I offered a Kleenex and we've been talking on and off for a few minutes. One of the young women next to him notes that "The Da Vinci Code" was some really great writing.

"Are you joking?" I ask.

"No, it really was good."

"Look, just because something sells a million copies doesn't make it good writing. John Grisham, take him, he can't write."

"Of course he can."

"He can write a good plot, but he has no characterization and doesn't know how to end a story."

"Oh. Maybe I should go back and read it again."

Advisable.

The New York Times review also takes note of Dan Brown's writing skills:

To their credit the director and his screenwriter, Akiva Goldsman (who collaborated with Mr. Howard on "Cinderella Man" and "A Beautiful Mind"), have streamlined Mr. Brown's story and refrained from trying to capture his, um, prose style. "Almost inconceivably, the gun into which she was now staring was clutched in the pale hand of an enormous albino with long white hair." Such language — note the exquisite "almost" and the fastidious tucking of the "which" after the preposition — can live only on the page.

Speaking of "inconceivable" --

In the movie, there are a lot of killings. And a lot of Europeans, some French, some Italian. Late in the game, someone is poisoned with a swig of alcohol (naturally after saying an unintentionally ironic phrase along the lines of "I will take the secret of your identity to my grave," which shows us that he's got about 10 seconds to live). I digress. Anyway, it felt familiar. Then I realized: The film is actually paying tribute to "The Princess Bride," as when Vizzini and the Dread Pirate share poisoned drinks and Vizzini says:

"You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia, but only slightly less well-known is this: never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha --" (thunk)

So very clever, Ron Howard. So very clever indeed.

I Mess With Texas, Part 14

Part the first:

I have resolved to end this messing once I find 10 things good about Texas. I currently have three:

1) The Dixie Chicks
2) Austin
3) Future governor Kinky Friedman

However, since that is barely halfway there, the messing shall continue. Onward.

Part the second:

Oh, my God, it's the plague. Seriously.

Doctors puzzled over bizarre infection surfacing in South Texas

Web Posted: 05/12/2006 10:51 AM CDT
Deborah Knapp
KENS 5 Eyewitness News

If diseases like AIDS and bird flu scare you, wait until you hear what's next. Doctors are trying to find out what is causing a bizarre and mysterious infection that's surfaced in South Texas.

Morgellons disease is not yet known to kill, but if you were to get it, you might wish you were dead, as the symptoms are horrible.

"These people will have like beads of sweat but it's black, black and tarry," said Ginger Savely, a nurse practioner in Austin who treats a majority of these patients.

Patients get lesions that never heal.

"Sometimes little black specks that come out of the lesions and sometimes little fibers," said Stephanie Bailey, Morgellons patient.

Patients say that's the worst symptom — strange fibers that pop out of your skin in different colors.

"He'd have attacks and fibers would come out of his hands and fingers, white, black and sometimes red. Very, very painful," said Lisa Wilson, whose son Travis had Morgellon's disease.

While all of this is going on, it feels like bugs are crawling under your skin. So far more than 100 cases of Morgellons disease have been reported in South Texas.

"It really has the makings of a horror movie in every way," Savely said.

While Savely sees this as a legitimate disease, there are many doctors who simply refuse to acknowledge it exists, because of the bizarre symptoms patients are diagnosed as delusional.

"Believe me, if I just randomly saw one of these patients in my office, I would think they were crazy too," Savely said. "But after you've heard the story of over 100 (patients) and they're all — down to the most minute detail — saying the exact same thing, that becomes quite impressive."

Travis Wilson developed Morgellons just over a year ago. He called his mother in to see a fiber coming out of a lesion.

"It looked like a piece of spaghetti was sticking out about a quarter to an eighth of an inch long and it was sticking out of his chest," Lisa Wilson said. "I tried to pull it as hard as I could out and I could not pull it out."

The Wilson's spent $14,000 after insurance last year on doctors and medicine.

"Most of them are antibiotics. He was on Tamadone for pain. Viltricide, this was an anti-parasitic. This was to try and protect his skin because of all the lesions and stuff," Lisa said.

However, nothing worked, and 23-year-old Travis could no longer take it.

"I knew he was going to kill himself, and there was nothing I could do to stop him," Lisa Wilson said.

Just two weeks ago, Travis took his life.

Stephanie Bailey developed the lesions four-and-a-half years ago.

"The lesions come up, and then these fuzzy things like spores come out," she said.

She also has the crawling sensation.

"You just want to get it out of you," Bailey said.

She has no idea what caused the disease, and nothing has worked to clear it up.

"They (doctors) told me I was just doing this to myself, that I was nuts. So basically I stopped going to doctors because I was afraid they were going to lock me up," Bailey said.

Harriett Bishop has battled Morgellons for 12 years. After a year on antibiotics, her hands have nearly cleared up. On the day, we visited her she only had one lesion and she extracted this fiber from it.

"You want to get these things out to relieve the pain, and that's why you pull and then you can see the fibers there, and the tentacles are there, and there are millions of them," Bishop said.

So far, pathologists have failed to find any infection in the fibers pulled from lesions.

"Clearly something is physically happening here," said Dr. Randy Wymore, a researcher at the Morgellons Research Foundation at Oklahoma State University's Center for Health Sciences.

Wymore examines the fibers, scabs and other samples from Morgellon's patients to try and find the disease's cause.

"These fibers don't look like common environmental fibers," he said.

The goal at OSU is to scientifically find out what is going on. Until then, patients and doctors struggle with this mysterious and bizarre infection. Thus far, the only treatment that has showed some success is an antibiotic.

"It sounds a little like a parasite, like a fungal infection, like a bacterial infection, but it never quite fits all the criteria of any known pathogen," Savely said

No one knows how Morgellans is contracted, but it does not appear to be contagious. The states with the highest number of cases are Texas, California and Florida.

The only connection found so far is that more than half of the Morgellons patients are also diagnosed with Lyme disease.

For more information on Morgellons, visit the research foundation's Web site at www.morgellons.org.

Various and Sundry, May Edition

In no particular order.

No. 1
For some reason, text in my Firefox browser is completely messing with my life. The cursor just doesn't land in front of the individual letter, and if I ever make a mistake and have to double back, I can never find the right spot. Oh, Lord, how can I make it stop. Life is hard on me, I know.

No. 2
T-shirts I want, or want to make for friends:
"I love my country. I want it back."
"Sorry? Sorry don't feed the bobcat!"
"Is it a date?"
Reference - last night's dinner conversation at the Blue Fin, wherein two adult women and men had a heated and heatedly amused discussion on what defines a date. Result: Agreement to a specific place and time on both sides of the issue. The latter had to be included because one of the men said "so if I plan to go home at a specific time and spend it with my couch, is that a date?"

These are men's issues.

As for the second one, don't even ask. Long story. Quote from a cop. Seriously.

As for the first, saw it on the T-shirt the female icon wears here. The T-shirts rotate, so you might not see it right away.

No. 3
This is pathetic.

Hirsi Ali is a woman who fled an arranged marriage in Somalia and became not just a Dutch MP, but an outspoken, courageous representative of women's rights, specifically Muslim women's rights.

(A side note here, which is neither original nor deep but continues to irk me. The theory in Islam, as I understand it, of the women having to be covered up is that their bodies, their hair, their very physical representation, is a temptation to men. The same people who run the world. Who are physically stronger (in most cases; ask me about the Amazon Hurricane one time). Who are (some would say) intellectually superior. Who have a "right" to the world.

But show 'em some hair or leg, and they're just uncontrollable. Unable to have any responsibility for their actions.

If this is the case, I feel they really shouldn't be running the world. I mean, even these weak vessels of women are only considered dangerous once a month, for about a week. Clearly, men have an ongoing weakness that cannot be restrained, and they should be put away for their own good. Or, at least, their eyes should always be covered in front of women.

Who came up with this moronic, contradictory, illogical system? Oh, wait ... men?)

But I digress. Anyway, Hirsi Ali now has to leave the Netherlands because she lied on her asylum application. Which she says everyone already knew anyway; this is merely the pretext. It has become harder to protect her (harder = more costly) from extremists who want her dead for speaking out.

So, she is (most likely) coming to the U.S. Lord, I hope we can care for her better. Even if the hashish isn't legal here. And by "care for" I mean, not permit her to be killed.

But my one question is this: Why is she coming to work for a conservative think tank?

Note: Wikipedia, however questionably, indicates it may not be quite that conservative.

No. 4
Someone in my office is making smelly odors. I don't know if I would quite call them gaseous. But they are frickin' close. And it's very annoying. Silent, but deadly.

But not this deadly, mercifully.

No. 5
What happens when white Christians are told they'll be the minority in the population sooner than later?

a) threaten birth control / women's rights to their own bodies
b) close the borders
c) haul out the old classics about every other religion aside from Christianity. And don't worry, Catholics, they'll be after you soon enough. (Links too numerous to include here.)

Does that about sum up the news of late?

The discussion over religion, contraception, and immigration is not unconnected, folks. Again, probably not an original thought here. It stems from a largely unexpressed fear of the dark man taking over, and perhaps deciding to play by the same rules whites have used for centuries. That is, the unfair ones.

It is coming. The question is how much apartheid we'll accept before there is civil unrest, or even war. I sense both are coming, and that the idea of living in a pluralistic society is on the wane, whether we like it or not. The same gonzo doofuses telling women to cover their shit up are also the ones running this country, too.

Technical difficulties

This is sad.

Extreme religiosity is, apparently, not considered a mental illness by families; if I'd decided to fast for 40 days in honor of the little green men in my backyard, I'd be in the funny farm posthaste.

I was particularly touched that she trained as a carpenter. Might as well go all the way here.

But I would like to nitpick with the article writer. To wit:

Religious experts said yesterday that although fasting was common in many religions on such occasions as the Jewish Sabbath, Lent and Ramadan, cases of death were extremely rare.

Last I checked, the fasting is done in Judiasm on Yom Kippur. On the Sabbath, we just do the candle thing.

Clearly, New Zealand needs a few more Jews.

I Mess With Texas, Part 13

And so, I went to Texas.



Mind you, this was back in April, and I've been slacking a bit. Needless to say, the place didn't disappoint. There was at least one full display indicating that the absence of Texas-messing was, in fact, a cottage industry. I also saw one yo-yo -- a tourist, mind you -- wearing such a shirt.



But that said: This was Austin. And because of Austin, Texas can be temporarily forgiven much. I liked Austin, sensed I would. It relies heavily on music -- not arrogance -- for identity, the state capitol is held hostage there, and again: From what I found, there was just the one yo-yo and the one display of Texan ego worship. With more time, I might have found more, but what I found more extensively were people who said "hello" to you on the street, interesting shopping opportunities...



And racks for the tired biker -- affixed to the front of buses. Agreed, you have to hope the bus doesn't ram anything or anyone, but this is a nice touch you just don't see in New York. It also promotes biking, which is always a good thing.



The capitol building is quite efficiently lovely. I remember standing where I took this photo, though, asking Larry if this part of the world was naturally this green, or just the result of a lot of extra watering. He said the latter. I got peeved, but didn't say so: What could be more boring than eco-consciousness without an outlet? Should I care that the desert has been made oasis? Probably not. We went inside the capitol, and I got a tour while Mom and Larry waited. (Too much walking for them.)



Texans are very excited to be in Texas. I mean, extremely pleased. Even in Austin. Everything possible reminds you that you are in Texas, from the stars engraved/etched/painted/indicated on just about every piece of public property...



To the lights. This light (look closely; each set of bulbs spells out a letter in "Texas") is inside the capitol, either the representatives or senate side. Probably both.



With some free time, Mom and I went to nearby Georgetown, which bills itself as the Red Poppy Capital of the World, as well as being the county seat. (Which explains all of the lawyers offices around.) This picture was taken around midday, during the week. Can you almost feel the tumbleweed approaching? It was that quiet. The place was cute, and had lots of trendy country-style shops and used/antique stores, and I can be quite happy in both. Interestingly, this part of the world had/has a lot of Czech and German immigrants, so the antiques and used remnants have a very different flavor than I'm used to, from Maryland and New York experience. But I liked Georgetown, despite the empty feeling.



And then there's Round Rock. Craig lives there; Mom and Larry are in the neverendingly-hilarious Pflugerville. (We spent the weekend adding "p" and "f" sounds to just about everything possible. So it's the Pflugerville Pfanthers, for example.) Those two "towns" may at one time have been little communities with Main Streets and hearts and minds, but they've been cannibalized by the strip malls and neverending building of air-conditioned mini-mansions (and some reasonable homes). If there was a plot of land, it either had completed houses, houses in the making, or a sign indicating it was for sale to builders, or recently sold. Or it had a strip mall. And down there, they have a glut of space to the extent that they don't just have Wal-Marts, K-Marts and Targets, they have Super Wal-Marts, and Mega Targets and Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious K-Marts. Okay, I made that one up. But after a while, the sense of overwhelming muchness becomes, well, overwhelming.



There is no poetry or sense of design in the planning and existence of such places. They grow and multiply like viruses, not even weeds. My brother was able to pick a home on the corner edge of a cul-de-sac, and has his home facing the cul-de-sac. All well and good, except when you turn into the street from the larger road, the back of the house and the fence faces you. It may be the most efficient based on the plot of land, but it just has a gracelessness that uglifies the whole structure. Which, on the whole, is not ugly itself: Like most of the other houses in the area, it has white or off-white stone for its walls, and Craig was able to customize the inside.



I love the winding staircase Kris and Craig have; I can always go for a spiral staircase. But the house -- again -- is just so ... much. The main master bathroom reminds me of a gym bathroom. A very tasteful one, but: There are two sets of showers, with two glass doors, separated on the exterior by a stone wall. It's big enough to have at least 8-10 people in the shower alone; there's also a tub that's really a jacuzzi. I'm no interior designer, but somebody should have been advising on taste here.



Whenever someone points out the closets in a house, I can't help but think how they were touted in the selling of homes in "Poltergeist." Anyway, some of the closets he has (this picture was taken in one) are larger than some New York apartments. The idea that anyone could have enough stuff to fill up this space kind of grosses me out. At the moment, they don't.



Sydney was generally quite sweet and delightful, and enjoyed her bubbles immensely. But she's not terribly social, and they're a little worried about her development: She hates playing with other kids, for example, and loud sounds continues to irk her. On the one hand, I really hope nothing's wrong, and I hope nobody makes her neurotic for nothing (I'm not into medicating every single kid for every single issue). On the other hand, a 2-year old should want to play with other 2-year olds, right? So hard to tell on these things.



But Craig loves her, so that's all that really matters.

Bottom line: Austin, thumbs up. P-ville and Round Rock: Eh. The rest of Texas: Still on the shit list.