Cake Eater Chronicles

Color Me Surprised

The 200th Anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar comes and goes and we have not one squeak out of Robbo about it.

Hmmmph.

I wonder if this could be the reason.

Oh, and just because I can...

Two For The Price of One

I've been hit again---twice---in the meme department.

If you're interested, take the jump!

The first one is from Margi

(These are real questions from the Church of Scientology’s “SEC WHOLE TRACK” questionnaire.)

1. Have you driven anyone insane?

Are we talking the legal definition of insanity--wherein someone is so batty they can't tell the difference between right and wrong and aren't held responsible by society for their actions---or are we talking the figurative definiton of insanity, wherein someone,in the heat of the moment screams, "YOU'RE DRIVING ME INSANE"? Because there's just a wee bit of a difference. And it's in that wee bit of difference that my ass will be saved.

2. Have you ever killed the wrong person?

No, but there have been plenty of the right people that are dead now because of me.

3. Is anybody looking for you?

In a metaphysical sense? Well, then the answer is yes, of course, they're looking for me. Because I'm well worth looking for, assholes. DUH!

4. Have you ever set a poor example?

What do you mean by poor?

5. Did you come to Earth for evil purposes?

Of course. Duh.

6. Are you in hiding?

Yeah, there are some Nazis down the street who are after me. Really, the Cake Eater Pad is set up just like Anne Frank's house. I have to be very quiet all day long otherwise they'll get me.

7. Have you systematically set up mysteries?

Yeah. So? I'm a writer. That's what I do for a living. Well, it will be once I start gettting paid for this shit.

8. Have you ever made a practice of confusing people?

Yeah. Whenever I'm on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood, I walk up to the Scientologists and start telling them I need to be cleansed of the scars of my past life when, in reality, I'm just fucking with them. You can lead them on for quite some time because they're just so gullible. They'll buy anything, I swear. Their reactions are priceless, I'm tellin' ya!

I'm going to hell for sure, but I can't really resist.

9. Have you ever philosophized when you should have acted instead?

Is this a trick question?

10. Have you ever gone crazy?

No, but I might by the time this quiz is done. I'm unpredictable that way!

11. Have you ever sought to persuade someone of your insanity?

Have I ever sought to persuade someone of my INsanity?

Are we, perhaps, projecting, kids? Hmmmm?

12. Have you ever deserted, or betrayed, a great leader?

If you're talking about the time I bailed on Amy Barrett's campaign to be class president junior year in high school, well, I don't really think we can classify that bitch a "great leader."

13. Have you ever smothered a baby?

Yeah. I do it every day of the week and twice on Sundays. It's good fun, really. You should try it.

/sarcasm

14. Do you deserve to have any friends?

I suppose you should ask my "so-called" friends that one.

15. Have you ever castrated anyone?

No, but I've wanted to. Is that the same thing in your book?

16. Do you deserve to be enslaved?

Hmmmm. Was whoever wrote this thing a little hung up on BDSM? Methinks they were.

17. Is there any question on this list I had better not ask you again?

Naaaah. I'll pretty much answer the same way around next time. Probably with 50% more wit, though.

18. Have you ever tried to make the physical universe less real?

Every goddamn day.

19. Have you ever zapped anyone?

Define "zapped."

20. Have you ever had a body with a venereal disease? If so, did you spread it?

None of my bodies are going to open our many mouths to answer that question.

Okedokey, that one's done. Now we're on to the---ahem---Bookish Meme. I got hit with this one from Robbo quite some time ago, but I never actually got around to posting the answers. Fortunately for you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, by The Bellowing Bantam. Now, I'm unfamiliar with Mr. Bantam Who Bellows, but a. since I already had the thing done, but had just not bothered to post it, and b. he sent me a very nice email telling met that I'd been tagged, instead of letting me find out about it via Technorati, I'll humor him.

1. Total Number of Books I've Owned. Oh, gracious. I would assume there are hundreds out there on the shelves, but I'm not going to go and count. Let's just say that there are still not as many as I would like to have. One of my fantasies is to have a huge room in my house with floor to ceiling shelves just loaded with books. Yeah. I know. I'm a dork. You don't have to remind me.

2. Last Book I Bought: I haven't been buying too many books lately, because of the whole Entrepreneurial Hell (TM) situation, so the last books I bought were last November, when I received some serious Barnes and Noble Largesse for my birthday. At that time, I purchased Cryptonomiconand The System of the World, both by Neal Stephenson.

3. Last Book I Read: I'm currently switching back and forth between three: The Gun Seller by Hugh Laurie, which I'm going to buy once I've got some spare money, The Dream of Scipio by Iain Pears and for a rare non-fiction choice, Hitler's Willing Executioners, which I read ages ago and am re-reading when I feel like it.

4. Five Books That Mean A lot to Me: I am going to cheat and list out five authors rather than five books. I simply cannot narrow it down to five books. That's just simply ridiculous.

• John Le Carre: Someone, somewhere once said that if you want books about moral ambiguity, well, he wrote them. The recurring theme of his life's work is that it's all well and good to have morals and to make moral plans, but only the truly moral actually follow through---at a horrible cost. They may, in essence, be spy novels, but they're wonderfully written.
• Jane Austen. Obviously. Like duh.
• Diana Gabaldon. I've written about this before. But this is one heck of a series of books. (It starts with this one. Marvy stuff.) Wonderfully written with a great deal of poignant thought about what it means to be married, among other things. The next one in the series comes out in late September and I CANNOT FREAKIN' WAIT!
• P.J. O'Rourke. If you have to ask why, or who the heck is Peej? Well...I don't know what to tell you. I would think that you would know you're not a well-rounded reader, and that you should be making steps to rectify that problem, but you may not. If you're clueless, and would like to get in good with the Cake Eater, you should know that Peej is one of the funniest political writers known to mankind. You will laugh, and laugh hard and you will nod your head in agreement when he actually gets down to brass tacks. Start off with All The Trouble In The World and go from there. Modern Manners is also hysterical. Age and Guile Beat Youth, Inexperience and a Bad Haircut is a litle offbeat but the story about Peej's first (and last) experience with moonshine is priceless.
• Niccolo Machiavelli. If you have never read The Prince, just know that if you ever use the descriptor "Machiavellian" like it's a bad thing I WILL slap you down. And I will do it harshly because you're showing your idiocy.

  It's a hundred and twenty page book, kids. You have no excuse for not sitting down and reading what he actually has to say. He's the father of political science. While his work is more intuitive than empirical, he was the original watcher of politics and this is his masterwork. While some people actually believe Machiavelli was pulling a fast one with this book, I don't think he was. These were his observations, and many of them still make sense today.

5. Tag five people and have them do this on their blog.

I'm not tagging anyone on either of these memes. If you'd like to remove the "closeted" portion from the descriptive phrase "closeted exhibitionist" go right ahead and have at them.

When Cameron Was In Egypt's Land, Let My Cameron Go*

*At least that's the Cameron I think they're referring to, but we are talking about MIT geeks. It could be something obscure.

Choices, Choices

I simply cannot make my mind up about Live 8. I really can't.

I remember watching Live Aid during the summer of 1985. I remember actually having permission to watch MTV all day long, and that was unusual because MTV and VH1 were VERBOTEN in my parents' household. (According to my parents, they only showed "smut," in case you were wondering.) Not like that usually stopped me, but at least, for one day, I didn't have to be covert about it. Don't ask me why I remember this bit, but I also remember my mother having purchased a boatload of peaches that weekend. She was going to can something like fifteen flats of peaches (there had been a bumper crop that summer) and she needed my help to slip them of their skins while she filled the jars and manned the canning equipment. This wasn't a job you had to be there the entire time to do: she'd pour the hot water on the peaches, she'd call me in from the family room where I was watching Live Aid, I'd run and do my deal, scalding my fingers in the process, then I'd run back to the family room, three rooms down to see what else was happening.

Because a lot happened that day and it was pretty cool for an impressionable fourteen-year-old. People were actually doing something about the pictures they saw on the news every night and that was cool. And it was new. History was being made and I, who was busy running back and forth between the tee vee and the kitchen in my house in Omaha, Nebraska, was a part of it because I was watching. I didn't have any money to give, but they had my support. My fourteen-year-old self supported their efforts wholeheartedly.

But I'm not fourteen anymore.

And that's precisely why I'm leery of this whole thing. Here's the official website of The One Campaign. I'm sure you've seen the ads in recent days, like I have. And while I'm wholeheartedly for the overall goal they're advocating, it's this "One Voice" business that's bothering me. Because if we're all to speak with "one voice," well, if I sign my name to this, doesn't that, in a way, make me responsible for stupid statements on the part of the celebrities who are a part of this along with the good things they're advocating? Because they've made it plain and clear that they don't want my money: they want my voice instead.

And I value my voice more than I value my money. Even if neither of them means all that much in the real world.

Here's their declaration:

“WE BELIEVE that in the best American tradition of helping others help themselves, now is the time to join with other countries in a historic pact for compassion and justice to help the poorest people of the world overcome AIDS and extreme poverty. WE RECOGNIZE that a pact including such measures as fair trade, debt relief, fighting corruption and directing additional resources for basic needs – education, health, clean water, food, and care for orphans – would transform the futures and hopes of an entire generation in the poorest countries, at a cost equal to just one percent more of the US budget. WE COMMIT ourselves - one person, one voice, one vote at a time - to make a better, safer world for all.”

I agree with most of that. Debt relief is good, provided it's not going to countries ruled by kleptocrats and dictators, like Zimbabwe. Corruption is, of course, reprehensible and should be fought against vigorously. Same goes with the living conditions of much of the developing world. I disagree, however, with the notion that there is such a thing as "fair trade"---nothing in life is fair, particularly economics. These people, I believe, would advocate more WTO and IMF intervention in these matters and I don't believe that would help anything. A free market is what is needed to level the playing field. A free market where countries could get a fair price for the goods and services they produce without protectionist tariffs and subsidies screwing things up for the little guy. These people, I believe, would advocate a legal solution that would ensure that first world economies would suffer and that the see-saw would swing toward developing nations. I think that if first world countries ended subsidies and tarriffs, the market would open up to developing countries' goods and services and the market---not some IGO---would decide who would be successful and who wouldn't. But that's just me.

And my voice isn't worth as much as say, some rock star's voice.

{...}"I think in some ways that's the key thing -- the actual money on the table," said Richard Curtis, the writer of hit films such as Four Weddings and A Funeral who is one of the leading members of the anti-poverty campaign.

"None of the pop stars would tell you that they understand these issues in depth, but the politicians do and what politicians have to understand is that actually the pop stars do represent normal people."{...}

{emphasis mine}

Ummm, no they don't. Chris Martin---Mr. "All Shareholders Are Evil, Yet I'm Very Happy To Cash The Multimillon Dollar Checks My Record Label Sends Me"---doesn't represent me. I have absolutely NOTHING in common with Chris Martin. He's not a "normal" person. Or Richard Curtis, other than we both call ourselves writers. He's not a "normal" person, either. I have nothing in common with Brad Pitt or Emma Thomspon or Jamie Foxx or Tom Hanks, either. These are not common people. They're all loaded to the gills with money. They live in big houses that cost millions of dollars, and they don't have to struggle to come up with the mortgage payment. They drive fancy cars that they purchase with cash. They are famous, well-paid people, who are probably, in part, motivated to help because they feel guilty about all the money they have. My voice means absolutely squat in the real world. I can yell all I want, but all I'm ever really doing here with the blog or in real life is adding it to the cacophany of people who still won't be listened to no matter how loudly we all yell. We're easily blocked out by those in charge. But my voice still means something to me. I value it highly, even if other people don't. These celebrities' voices, however, are worth something. When they speak, the world listens.

So, you can understand why I would be a bit leery to sign this thing, can't you? I mean, in essence, I would be advocating an international shadow government made up celebrities, who want to wield their power to do good, but whose methods I would perhaps disagree with. Is the end worth the means? And that's only provided their ends actually work and do some good. If I add my voice to theirs, well, it would finally be worth something, wouldn't it? But is that what I want? To signal politicians that the only time they have to pay attention to the masses, me included, other than on election day, is when celebrities get involved and push hard for something?

I don't know. Good intentions do indeed pave the road to hell. I believe the Ethiopians who were supposed to be helped by Live Aid might have some opinions about that, provided they're still alive today to give them. Yet if this whole thing could mean even a partial end to poverty; that it could potentially give relief to people who need it, how could I deny them that? After all, my voice isn't worth much by itself or even with a million others added to it; my voice is cheap; why should I hesitate to add mine to theirs?

Hmmmmm.

You Never Know

Victorino, one of the Galley Slaves, had the opportunity to attend a screening of The Great Raid, which is a story about American POW's being rescued from a Japanese camp in the Phillipines in 1945 and has a mini-review about it up. (Sorry, kids. Couldn't find a trailer to save me life!)

The Japanese were horrible during WWII. They hadn't signed the Geneva Convention, hence they weren't going to even bother with the little things, let alone the biggies, like food, water, basic sanitation, or even medicine. In particular the Japanese treated the Philippines like it was their own personal violent sandbox. And, yes, we're talking civilians, too. Once the Americans evacuated in 1942, it was like someone had waved a red cloth at the charging bull. They'd already done their worst in Nanking and Shanghai and other parts of China: I don't think anyone thought the Japanese could actually do worse than that, but they were wrong.

(Victorino has his own bit of disclosure about his father, as do I: my next door neighbor when I was growing up---the closest thing I had to a grandfather---was a survivor of the Bataan Death March. And he was a doctor, too, so just try to imagine what he saw and lived through. And, no, I never talked to him about it, so I don't know. After looking it up in the encyclopedia, I couldn't bear to ask, even though my mom encouraged me to.)

I digress as usual, so, anyhoo...

Noting that portraying such baddies might be touchy for Japanese actors, Victorino states:

{...}Credit should also be given to the Japanese actors who no doubt made a courageous decision in accepting the roles of ruthless killers. And who knows if the film will ever be shown in Japan? (Thanks to its distributor, Miramax, the movie should get some good press stateside.) Unlike The Thin Red Line, there are no moral ambiguities here. It is quite clear the occupying power did some really bad things.{...}

This is where the "you never know" bit comes into it. It might be released in Japan, and they might actually like it. A few years back I read a wonderful book: My Spy: The Memoir of a CIA Wife by Bina Cady Kiyonaga, a redheaded Irish-American from Baltimore who married a Japanese-American from Hawaii. In 1946. Yeah, your eyebrows should be up somewhere near your hairline. Her husband, Joe, worked for the CIA and, in between stopovers at Langley, was posted all over the world---along with his wife and five kids. As you might imagine, one of his postings was in Tokyo. Where, one night in 1957, they were invited to see the Japanese premiere of The Bridge on the River Kwai.

You can find the relevant excerpt after the jump.

When Joe and I wanted to be alone, really alone, we'd head off to our favorite spot in Tokyo: the bar at the Imperial Hotel. No contacts, no careful conversations, no talk of the kids. Just us. Designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, the highlight of the hotel was the spare, rustic but inviting bar. (The old Imperial has since been torn down; the new Imperial is an impressive but unimaginative skyscraper. The only part of the original structure that remains is the bar.)

We're always complaining that the Japanese take our ideas and improve upon them. It appeared to me, looking at that bar, that Frank Lloyd Wright had returned the compliment---he'd taken some ideas from Japanese design and done them one better.

Our dinner at the bar was usually as spare as the surroundings: raw oysters and stone-cold martinis. I recall one particular Friday when we cut our meal short to attend a special even at the small, private theater in the basement of the hotel: the Japanese premiere of The Bridge on the River Kwai. It was an invitation from a contact of Joe's, and a real treat. Living abroad, I missed having the occasional night at the movies. And the 1950's had produced some of the best American films, like Twelve Angry Men and Joe's personal favorite, High Noon.

So it was with anticipation---but some trepidation---that Joe and I went to see The Bridge on the River Kwai in 1957. We knew little of the movie except that it involved depictions of cruelty by the Japanese toward British prisoners during World War II.

We were entranced from the opening scene---the cheerful heroism of the prisoners whistling the "Colonel Bogey" march---but started to grow uncomfortable with the mounting silence in the theater.

As the movie went on (and on), I glanced around and confirmed my suspicions---I was about the only Caucasian present.

I really started to squirm when it became clear that the British hero, a prisoner of war, was going to make the supreme sacrifice. After months of cruel and tortuous subjugation by his Japanese captors in building the railroad bridge---critical to the Japanese for supplying ammunition---the hero throws himself on the explosive detonator at the last moment. He blows himself up, along with the bridge. The cruel Japanese had been defeated once again! (You could have heard a chopstick drop.)

And then, as the credits started to roll, the entire audience stood, as one, and broke into thunderous applause.

To be fair, Mrs. Kiyonaga isn't exactly accurate in describing the ending of the movie. Alec Guinness' Colonel Nicholson was shot and, having come to his senses, stops protecting the bridge he's used as a morale builder for his troops, says "My God, what have I done!" to no one in particular, is shot and conveniently falls down on the detonator, which causes the bridge to blow up. Neither is The Bridge on the River Kwai hardly very graphic in its portrayal of the Japanese's actions. But the story is instructive in its own right. Particularly given the time period, where the war and the resulting occupation were fresh in everyone's minds. Who knows what might happen, sixty years later?

Curiously enough, the Japanese rape and pillage of Asia in WWII has been under scrutiny lately in China and South Korea, where thousands marched in protest of a lack of apologies coming from Japan. Japanese-made products were destroyed during one march in China. It should be interesting, given these events, to see how wide the release is in Asia and how it's received, particularly in Japan.

We Got Your Crazy Right Here

Courtesy of Sheila, we have MORE Tommy Boy nuttiness.

{...}Cagle: Most people are reluctant to talk about religion, or anything controversial, when it is your job to be likable to mass number of people around the globe. Why, especially in recent years, have you become so vocal about Scientology, about psychiatry, which you're against?

Cruise: Communication is the universal solvent. That's why I talk about it. What I believe in is that people should be able to think for themselves, and they should be able to make decisions, based on information, on being informed. I don't believe that children should be forced on drugs. I think parents should be informed on the effects of these drugs.

Cagle: I think what upsets some people when you talk about this, what upset Brooke Shields, for example, is that you imply that someone's own experience with psychiatric drugs was, they were mistaken by the way it helped them; that other studies that are done that contradict what you believe are erroneous

Cruise: What do you mean?

Cagle: Other studies that show that maybe Ritalin does help some kids.

Cruise: When you see a study done, you have to look and see who did the study. When someone's on these psychiatric drugs, they have to try and step off these drugs, and I've stepped people off these drugs, Jess. They can go into seizure. All right, it's easier to step someone off heroin. It's more dangerous. They need a medical detox on these drugs.

Cagle: And yet some people have said they've taken them for a while, and then they've gotten off them, and it's helped them through a rough time.

Cruise: Jess, it's a point of, you look at something and you go OK. I've been on the other side of that, when people's lives have been torn apart, where you talk about suicides, where we're looking at now Ritalin is street drug; it's a study drug, because it's an amphetamine. Look, you don't have to believe me. I'm just saying, look at the data and where does that data come from? Now you need to evaluate" What is help, Jess? Is "help" that that person will sit there quiet? Did you really get to the root of the problem?

So, let's see where Tommy Boy has upgraded his message since his interview with Matt Lauer.

1. Tommy Boy, apparently, cannot conceive that someone's own good experience with psychotropics is better than Scientology studies that make claims to the contrary. Because they only took them as a result of faulty research. And if we only really knew the whole story, well...

2. Tommy Boy, apparently, seems to be implying that suicides happen because people are on psychotropics. Most people see them as the things that KEEP PEOPLE FROM KILLING THEMSELVES.

Now, Tommy Boy is not only claimng to be an expert on psychiatry, he's also a detox counselor. And apparently Ritalin is worse to get off of than heroin. Yeah, right. And he knows this for a fact because he helped them "step off" these drugs. Yeah, Right. I'm pretty freaking sure he sat there and held their hair back while they puked. Mmmhmmmm.

And the phrase, Tommy Boy, is not "step off" it's "get off." Learn your detox lingo, my friend.

"Doctor," heal thyself! Before someone gets killed.

As far as the whole universal solvent thing is concerned. That sounded a wee bit funky, like it came from someone else's mouth, so the husband googled it for me. Here's a funny, and telling, anecdote about "universal solvents."

One day the famed German chemist Justus von Liebig was approached by an assistant, who excitedly declared that he had just discovered a universal solvent. "And what is a universal solvent?" Liebig asked. "One that dissolves all substances," the assistant explained. "And where," Liebig replied, "are you planning to keep this solvent?"

How Do You Like Them Apples?

Courtesy of the Llamas, we have an individual who's going to stick it to A Supreme for their Kelo vote.

{Insert evil cackling here}

A Flip of The Coin

It's Tuesday, so of course it's time for the Demystifying Divas and the Marvy Men's Club to step up on their soapboxes and start pontificating.

This week's topic on which I am about to start pontificating: The guy flick/chick flick thing.

Now, I will admit, I have been somewhat lax in following along on the message boards we have set up for the private hashing out of future topics. Hence, I have no idea what I'm supposed to be shooting for with this subject, or if I'm supposed to be shooting for anything at all. Fortunately, I have plenty of ideas for this subject without prompting from my cohorts in any particular direction. I'm all about the diversity, no?

When one thinks of the typical "guy flick" a beefy, greased up, camo-wearing, M-16 holding Sylvester Stallone comes to mind. You automatically think of Rambo, in other words. This, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, is the penultimate guy flick. Or at least that's what my brothers would have told you way back in the day. (I fully realize I'm dating myself with this one, believe you me. My only defense is that, at the time, I was twelve.)

I've never seen any of the THREE Rambo movies, nor will I ever want to. Why? Because a. Sly looks just freakin' greasy in these movies and it's revolting and b. I am not interested in some dude running around the jungles of Southeast Asia (read Vietnam) fighting off whatever the hell he's supposed to be fighting off. (At least that's what I think the plot line is about. Who knows? I could be wrong. Pffft. It's not like I'm interested enough in the subject to look it up.) It just doesn't interest me. Neither am I interested in any John Wayne movie. Neither am I a big fan of Clint Eastwood (And, no, I've never seen Unforgiven. Yes, I fully realize most people think it's one of the best movies ever made. Pfft. Just not interested in it.) or his Spaghetti Westerns.

However...

There are plenty of movies that most would consider to be "guy flicks" that I do like. I am a James Bond nut, and have been ever since my brother Dave introduced me to the joy and wonder that is Dr. No and From Russia With Love. I'm a Sean Connery girl, just in case you were wondering, but Pierce Brosnan is a very close second. My favorite Bond movie? Thunderball. It's got it all: Sean Connery in those tight little swim trunks; a good Bond girl and a bad Bond Girl (and, man, was she ever bad...and that was cool); supersonic jets landing on water; Largo and SPECTRE; and a massive underwater fight scene with those super-duper cool motorized thingymabobs. I, mean, honestly...what more could you ask for? Dave also introduced me to another guy flick that has since become one of my absolute favorites: Die Hard. When I was younger, I was a big Bruce Willis fan because of Moonlighting, hence he was the main reason I liked this flick. As I've gotten older, however, I've realized that Alan Rickman, truly, is the reason to watch this movie: it would be half of the movie it is without him. He's the man with the plan, and that's ever so much fun to watch.

And that, I believe, is what it comes down to. Guy flicks, provided they're not overloaded with testosterone, are fun to watch. Chick flicks, or what some people would describe as Chick flicks, like Beaches or Waiting To Exhale, aren't. They're loaded with estrogen. They're all about jerking tears, and if they can't get them honestly, well, they'll do it dishonestly and make everything sad, so that if you happen to be in a bad mood, well, pull out a box of kleenex and settle in for a long night of feeling sorry for yourself. As someone who personally despises crying, well, they're just not my cup of tea. There's something contrived about them. I can't quite put my finger on it, but that's the feeling I get. Yet, lest you think me a cold-hearted chick who's all about the espionage flick, all is not lost in the weeping department. I will fully admit to thinking Steel Magnolias is a brilliant movie, even if---those rat bastards!---it makes me cry every single fargin' time. As is Terms of Endearment, which also turns me into a blubbering fool every time I watch it. You could also throw Love Story into this category, because it will really turn on the faucets.

I have to wonder what it's like for women who don't have older brothers. I have four of them and each of them, in their own distinct way, transplanted a bit of their own likes and dislikes to me, and this includes their choices in movies, reading material and other things as well, too. Besides hooking me on James Bond, Dave also hooked me on a Tom Clancy and Robert Ludlum (I'm referring to the Ludlum novels that were written before he died, of course). I have a fine appreciation of Steve McQueen and war movies (particularly Where Eagles Dare. I can't tell you how many times we watched that one together.) because of my brother Mike, even if I did reject his attempts to indoctrinate me into the Tolkein Fan Club. Steve helped to develop my love of fast cars. And Tim, well, let's just say that Timmy helped to put all of this into perspective for me. They led me down the path that gave me a fine appreciation for the middle-of-the-road guy flick. I have plenty of sisters, too, but they weren't as influential as the brothers. Interesting, no? Well, not really, I know, but still, it's a wee bit curious. What's it like for women who don't have brothers? It's an interesting question. If you, as a female, are influenced by the men in your life and you only have a dad, are you more into chick flicks?

Hmmmm.

Anyway, as far as this goes toward interpersonal relationships, well, the husband has also influenced me in the guy flick department as well. Star Wars was just another movie I was fond of before I met him. I didn't know what Anime was until I met him. And I most certainly did not know anything about the wonderful world of gaming until I met him. But, if you flip the coin, he wasn't familiar with the works of Jane Austen until he met me. He didn't have the patience to sit down and watch a historical drama until he met me. And he most certainly was not fond of the romantic comedy until he met me, either. I've gained an appreciation for new things because of him, and vice versa.

While our tastes have converged over the years, we sometimes still have to flip a coin to determine whose movie we're going to go and see. Because we rarely agree on which movies we want to see. This, we've learned, is the only fair to do it. We'll pull a quarter out and we'll flip while one of us calls it in midair. Whoever loses the flip is the automatic winner the next time around. If, by chance, there are two movies we both want to see, like the conundrum we had this past weekend, where we both wanted to see Mr. and Mrs. Smith and Batman Begins, we assign heads to one movie, tails to the other and flip the coin for that, too. It's simple and it works to keep the marital strife to a minimum.

Now, that I've rambled on long enough to have bored a horse to death, it's time for you to go and see what the other fabulous demystifying divas have to say on the subject. Make sure you go and give a wonderfully warm welcome to one of our new Divaesque Ladies, the magnificent Margi Lowry, who's also got something to say.

I, unfortunately, have some sad news to pass along this week. The Wizard, the famous instigator of The Men's Club, had decided he has too much to do and too little time to do it in, so he is bidding us a fond farewell. We will miss his contributions, but he should still be stopping by on a regular basis. Hopefully. Fortunately, however, Stiggy, Phin and the Minister of Propaganda have decided to keep the side going, so go over and read what they have to say.

In other Diva related news, well, we have something rather large and exciting to announce. We're going to be moving our regularly scheduled Tuesday postings to THURSDAY. This will start next week, July 7, 2005, so adjust whatever you might need to adjust accordingly.

UPDATE: Since it's his perogative, The Wiz has changed his mind about leaving us to our own devices. Hence, he kicked in an essay. Go read.

WooT!

Don't Miss The Ball

If you hadn't noticed, a new mini-blogroll has been added on the right hand side of the page. The Cotillion is not, in this instance, where you learn how to dance and which fork to use so you can consider yourself a proper member of society, but is rather a grouping of female bloggers who would like you to know that the answer to the question, "Where are all the female bloggers?" is "RIGHT FRICKIN' HERE!"

Every Tuesday a few different members of the Cotillion host a ball, where, between them, you can find a roundup of the latest and greatest of what the conservative better half of the blogosphere has to say. This week's ball is graciously being hosted by:

Righwingsparkle
Not a Desperate Housewife
SondraK
MaxedOutMama

Go and check it out.

Ya Gotta Love Hollywood

There's apparently a slump in box office reciepts.

{...}It was the 18th weekend in a row the box office declined, passing a 1985 slump of 17 weekends that had been the longest since analysts began keeping detailed figures on movie grosses.

{...}Theater revenues have skidded about 7 percent compared to last year. Factoring in higher ticket prices, movie admissions are off 10 percent for the year, according to box-office tracker Exhibitor Relations.

{...}If the slump continues, Hollywood is on course for a third straight year of declining admissions and its lowest ticket sales since the mid-1990s.

"We're working with a pretty huge deficit that would take a lot of business to overcome," said Paul Dergarabedian, president of box-office tracker Exhibitor Relations. "Just breaking the slump is not enough. We would have to reverse the trend and see attendance on a big uptick."

Well, kids. If the problem is low ticket sales, perhaps you should:

a. stop putting out crap
b. lower your ticket prices

Because option a flows into option b. I can't tell you how many times I've been subjected to full-priced crapola. I get tired of paying full price for crapola. You people have put out so much crapola over the years, and yet you expect us, the paying customer, to shell out our hard earned money for the pleasure of watching said crapola. Perhaps you should think about your business model, because you're not really paying attention to the laws of basic economics, are you? Supply and demand, kids. If you want to make money on the demand portion, you have to supply a product people are willing to pay for. It's pretty simple stuff, on the whole.

I was horrified to learn that a very good film we watched this weekend, The Machinist, was rejected by the American studios. The director had to go to Spain to get it made. Apparently, they know how to tell a story in Spain, whereas if the American studios had made this film, it probably would have been hacked to death to fit some stupid marketing demographic. I'm sad I didn't get the opportunity to see this one in the theater. I would have paid good money to see it in the theater because that action promotes the kind of movie I would like to see more of.

The choice now rests with the consumer. You have to please us or we won't spend the money. You do realize that, don't you? I sincerely hope so. Your expectations, Hollywood, are out of whack and you're now receiving this message loud and clear. Most people make certain calls nowadays about when to see a movie: they go to the theater only for stuff they want to see in the theater; if they're somewhat lukewarm, they'll wait for the DVD; if they really don't care all that much, they'll wait for it to come on cable. You people just seem to assume we're going to go to the theater, then we're going to purchase---or at the very least rent---the DVD, and then that we'll watch it again on cable. That's not the case. We're not made of money, kids. We have to be discriminating consumers nowadays because a trip to the movies can make a serious dent in your wallet.

Now, the basic underlying problem comes in when you go to the theater to see something that looks appealing, you fork over the $8.50 ticket price (and I know this more expensive elsewhere) and then you come out of said theater two hours later, disappointed. You've been forced to sit through God only knows how many commercials and trailers before the film even started...and then the film turned out to be crap. The story was disjointed and poorly told. The overpaid actors didn't do their job very well. The director refused to use a stead-i-cam and you felt like you were going to puke when the action scenes started. All of these things will keep people away from the theater. Because if you want to charge $8.50, you might want to make a product most people would consider worthy of that amount of money, and you haven't done it lately. Perhaps they'll rent it on DVD later on, or maybe they'll watch it on cable. Who knows? But the overall point remains clear: you can only burn us so many times before we start voicing our objections by not buying your product. Do you get it yet?

You don't? Well, let's talk about ticket prices, shall we? This is where you could make up some losses. Because if it didn't cost $8.50 to go and see a movie, more people would go. It's pretty simple. It might become affordable for people. But right now you people don't seem to think that this is an expensive activity. Let me disabuse you of that notion, because it is. When the husband and I go to see a movie, we try to go to a matinee, which costs us a whopping $6.50 per ticket. Not much of discount, eh? And furthermore the local movie theater just informed us the other day that any show after four p.m. on Friday, Saturday and Sunday was going to be the full-price $8.50. Do the math: if we go to see a matinee, it's $13. If we go after four on a weekend, well, it's $17. Imagine buying tickets for a family with four kids and two adults at these prices. The kid price at the local movie theater is $4.50 for a matinee and $6.50 for evening. That's $31 for a matinee showing and $43 for an evening showing. That's hardly affordable and that's just to see the movie. Then if you perhaps want the whole meal movie deal, like a soda or a bag of popcorn, you'll get raped at the concession stand. A small soda costs $3.00. In what universe are you people living? That's affordable? That's fair market value? That's baloney and you know it. People should not have to take out debt to see a movie. And that's what a lot of people do: they use their credit cards to pay for this treat. Because that's ultimately what a movie is: a treat; an entertainment. You make your money on entertaining people. That's fine and dandy, but perhaps you might want to realize you've built your business model on a foundation made of sand. Your product is not necessary in our lives. It's fun and it's cool, but it's not necessary. Your product is the first thing that gets cut from a family budget that needs to be tightened. I know you'd like to think that Art--with a capital A---is as necessary to life as breathing, but really, when the choice comes down between eating or going to a movie, you're going to lose every time.

So, you see, it all adds up. This is our bottom line. We have to pay attention to that like you have to pay attention to yours. We've made our adjustments. You, on the other hand, haven't. You expect business to go on as usual: with us forking over the cash for crap product, and you laughing all the way to the bank.

Not anymore.

Full of It

Yes, usually I am full of it. I will be the first to admit to it, too. But there are times when my overlarge ego is well deserved.

And this would be one of them.

A-freakin'-HA! I have confirmation! My ego is well deserved.

I rule!

On Lawyers

It seems Phin got Madame Sadie to thinking about her new profession:

Phin:

{...}In general I've found that most people hate to ask for help; especially to resolve a situation we've screwed up. Personal observations have lead me to believe that once we've shit the bed we're typically not happy until we've also to flung poo into the ceiling fan trying to take care of the problem ourselves. We'll finally quit when we're neck deep in our own crap with no way out and we call somebody else to clean up it up. It's that moment of being helpless, when we realize that we can't solve the problem and we've made it worse, that causes us to loath lawyers.

Sadie:

{...}With divorces so commonplace these days (Everyone's doing it, didn't you hear?), and most people thinking they got screwed over royally in the legal process, of course lawyers are disliked. Especially when one considers that it a divorce essentially results from the ill contributions by both parties, and not everyone is willing to admit that they failed in love. Add children to the mix, and it gets even stickier. Interestingly enough, the criminal law judge that I once worked for had just transferred off the domestic docket, and he pointed towards the relative civility of the criminal defendants in relation to divorcing couples. I do suppose that since most criminal defendants opt to plea bargain, they must be rather content with the relatively lighter punishment they receive at the hands of their attorneys. Heh. On the other hand, an attorney certainly isn't a marriage counselor, no?

When lawsuits are resolved by negotiation or mediation, there is possibility for solutions that perhaps might benefit both sides. When things get to a lawsuit, only one party technically "wins," although that party may not be as big a winner as they had hoped. So right there, that's at least fifty percent of people involved in litigation at any given time that would tend towards disliking lawyers. With multiple lawsuits and lower verdicts than ever these days, it's easy to see why more parties see themselves as "losers" in the fight against lawyers. {...}

There is much truth to both what Phin and Sadie have written, but as one who's been on both sides of it---working for lawyers and having to have my beloved represented by one---I think there's a wee bit more to it than just the inherent odds of the situation.

Lawyers are a specific breed: they are there to mediate your troubles away. And it's important to realize that they are there to mediate. To negotiate a compromise to a conflict, and to do it within the reaches of the legal system. That's why you hire them. They attempt to solve your problems to the best of their abilities. Now, many people don't realize this. They want the problem to go away and they expect to win. There is no compromise where these people are concerned. They believe they're right, the other party is wrong and that's the way it should be seen by everyone involved. Duh. So, to that extent, I will agree with Madame Sadie.

Where I disagree, however, is in how some lawyers conduct themselves. The good ones will lay the odds out on the table for you, first thing. They will say this is where we have the best option of saving grace, but to save said grace, we will have to give something else up over here. They will make it clear from the get go that there will be no winners, and hopefully everyone will come out of this without feeling like a loser. These are the lawyers who will work their butts off to resolve the situation. They will throw themselves into defending your side of the equation.

These are also, it should be said, the lawyers it costs an arm and a leg and part of the other leg to hire.

The bad lawyers, however, are the ones who promise the moon and the stars. They can make it go away, they'll say. And they'll do it for x number of dollars, which is not cheap, but is a more reasonable number than the other prices you were quoted. You, who are in the desperate situation, want to believe them, and you're really grasping for hope, so, despite your better judgment, you do believe them and you fork over their retainer. Then after a brief flurry of activity on your behalf---announcing to the court that they're your counsel, copies of letters they've sent to the prosecutor proclaiming the same, copies of police reports, etc.---you can't get them on the phone. Suddenly they're "in court" all the time. Their paralegals have no time for you, either. You only see them when you have a court date and then they spend as little time as possible telling you what the deal reportedly is. They scoot off as quickly as possible because they have some other pressing matter to attend to. These are the guys who have subscribed to doing their business by volume. And I'm not only referring to ambulance chasers here, but respectable firms, with nice offices, friendly, well-coiffed receptionists and a big, impressive client roster. These are the firms who strictly keep their eyes focused on the bottom line. You, to them, are a commodity, not a client. Yet another sucker who's gotten themselves into trouble and you are, in their eyes, just another way to make some coin. Hence, all their promises about the moon and the stars and your freedom, which is something you value highly, suddenly disappear. They've baited you, and now they're going to serve up a monster switcheroo: your case is worse than they originally thought. They believe this plea bargain they've arranged is the best option for you to take and they'll push for it. And if you want to take another option, and fight it out, well, it will cost x amount of dollars more than what was originally agreed.

And you'll say, "Hey! You can't do that! I signed a fee agreement where you promised these services, should it come to this, and you now want more money for them? Well, no. That's not the deal we struck. Damnit, live up to your end of the bargain." And they'll say, "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, but you weren't exactly honest with me (which you were, but apparently that's not the way they see it) when you signed up and you can feel free to find other counsel. Which is generally a bad idea at this late date. And by the way, don't bother suing me for breach because I'm a lawyer. I'll just countersue claiming that you breached the original fee agreement by not divulging certain information. This is what I do for a living. I sue people. Do you really want me suing you? I didn't think so. Really, it's not that much time in jail. Or on probation. Just take the deal because the deal with evaporate if you fire me. Then you're back at square one and the prosecutor will be pissed off, too, and won't be so generous the next time around, I promise. Just take the deal. If you don't, you'll find yourself in a whole mess of trouble."

Have I mentioned that this particular type of lawyer is also the kind who will send you a bill for their services and will then bill you for the postage which enabled your bill to work its way through the postal system? I just flat-out love that. It's just so brazen! So brash! So fucking arrogant! If the rest of us tried this sort of thing, we'd be beaten within an inch of our lives. So we don't do it. But that doesn't stop them. They're entitled.

Not only have I worked for this particular breed of lawyer (I was the low woman on the totem pole in the office: I was the one who had to add the cost of a stamp to every client's bill), the husband has also been represented by their ilk. And I despise them. They are so desperate to increase their bottom line, they will violate any and all trust that they've established with you to get what they want, which is maximum money for minimum effort. And they're not above using coercion to get it. The judge that Sadie refers to was so surprised at how agreeable criminal defendants were compared to divorcees. This is because, I believe, by the time they actually get before the judge to enter their plea, some criminal defendants have been beaten into submission by their lawyers. They're tired of it. They just want to get it over with. They've been abused already and what's one more whack when it's all said and done with?

Do I sound bitter? I'm sure I do. When you've paid thousands of dollars for ineffective, lazy counsel who did much less than they promised, you'd be bitter, too. Money doesn't grow on trees, after all, and when you've been suckered one too many times, it stings. Not only in the pocketbook, or because they did what they did, but because you let them get away with it. You may not have felt you had a choice in the matter, but you did let them off the hook nonetheless. You didn't call the Bar Association to complain, because would they actually listen to your petty complaints? No. Did you tell the judge? No, because why on earth would they believe you an "alleged" criminal. It's a "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me," situation. And the shame of it is huge. Because not only have you been stung financially, you've lost your freedom as well. It's, ultimately, your own damn fault because you were stupid enough to believe them in the first place.

So, while I'm sure I sound bitter, let it be said, however, that we have had good experiences with lawyers, too. One in particular who saved the husband's bacon with his felony dwi. He was one of the aforementioned "good lawyers" who laid everything out on the table first thing. Not surprisingly, he also cost an arm and a leg to hire, too. He bluntly told the husband he could not escape jail time. There was just no way to do it. But he worked the situation and he worked it hard to make sure it was the most positive outcome he could deliver. He answered questions. His paralegal answered questions. He updated the husband on the developments in the case without having to be prompted. But, most importantly, HE DIDN'T FUCKING CHARGE FOR THE POSTAGE HE USED TO SEND OUT HIS STATEMENTS. He was worth every dollar we paid him. And he'll probably be hired again soon when the husband applies to the court to be released from his sentence. Because the husband has been a good boy and has done everything the court has asked of him. He thinks he has a fighting chance of being released early from his probation, and with this lawyer on his side, I, too, think he has a decent chance. But what's really important is that if the husband doesn't have a good chance, well, this lawyer will tell the husband that flat-out. He won't "try." He'll either do it or he won't. And he won't send us a bill, either, to tell the husband that.

So, to wrap up this bit of longwindedness, yes, lawyers perform an important task. No, they don't all deserve the bad rap they receive. But there are plenty who do deserve the bad rap and they're the ones who ruin it for everyone else.

Weekend Glomming

We had a bit of a Christian Bale weekend here at the Cake Eater Pad.

The husband picked up The Machinist the other day at the video store and we finally got around to watching it on Friday. (Thank you, Blockbuster for your no late fees policy!) It seemed a bit dark and I wasn't really sure what the plot was about, but...that, ultimately, turned out to be a good thing. Hence, I'm going to skip describing the plot because I don't want to spoil it for you.

It's a fabulous, if dark, movie. It all just depends upon how you like your stories told. If you want everything to happen quickquickquick, this movie is most definitely not for you. The pace of it will drive you mad. However, if you don't mind the time it takes for a flower open up when sunlight graces its petals, you'll like this film. Because, to continue the metaphor, the plot opens up just like a rose when the sun hits it first thing in the morning. You have to wait a while for it to start blooming, but when it does, you've become utterly caught-up in the story. Ulitmately, it's one of those films where you watch for clues, which are delivered sparingly, you put them together, you form your hypothesis about where it's going and when you're found to be correct, you're satisfied instead of disappointed.

Bale is utterly mesmerizing to watch in this film. How he manages to stand up, let alone walk and talk and breathe, is beyond me. He dropped sixty pounds for this role. He looks like---and I'm sorry for this comparison but it's true---his head should be shaved and he should be wearing striped pajamas. Every bone in his body just sticks out, hence all of his movement, his facial expressions---every little thing he does to get this character across---is heightened. When you receive a flashback to the past, and he's at his normal weight, he seems almost too hale and hearty. This, undoubtedly, was the intention, and it works. I just hope he didn't damage himself in the process.

The Cake Eater Verdict: Spend the money and watch it. You won't be sorry.

Both the husband and I were keen to see Batman Begins. It lost the toss of the coin last weekend (we actually do flip coins to decide which movie gets watched first, or whose movie we see. It's only fair.) so it had to wait until today.

If Keaton's your favorite Batman currently, well, Bale will forever be your favorite after seeing this movie. He's my favorite now. He even does the "I'm Batman" thing perfectly. I would wager that this is where Keaton wanted to go with the character, but where he wasn't allowed to roam because of Kim Basinger's idiotic Vicky Vale, Tim Burton's effects showboating, and Jack Nicholson's over the top villain.

This is the Batman movie we've all been waiting to see. This is what Ebert said in his review and I completely agree with him:

{...}I said this is the Batman movie I've been waiting for; more correctly, this is the movie I did not realize I was waiting for, because I didn't realize that more emphasis on story and character and less emphasis on high-tech action was just what was needed. The movie works dramatically in addition to being an entertainment. There's something to it.{...}

It does work. Very well. I've always been one of those freaks who likes Batman, but who always wished they'd spend more time on Bruce Wayne. Yeah, sure he fell into a cave when he was a little boy and was swarmed by bats and this affected him, but until this movie came along, you never really had a plausible explanation as to why he chose the bat as his symbol, what it really meant to him. With this movie, you do, and it fits perfectly. Not too neatly, because then you'd lose part of the mystery of Batman, but it fits plausibly enough, the ends are tied up loosely, not with Boy Scout knots, and it works.

And while we're on the subject of plausibility, well, this movie has it in spades. You could almost believe that, given the tools he has and how he got them, well, he could exist today. The Batmobile is the perfect example: I could completely see where someone would come up with that for military purposes. The supporting characters are plausible as well. Gary Oldman's Jim Gordon is just a regular cop. He refuses to go on the take, but he doesn't rat anyone out either. He's not someone of above-average intelligence, outstanding political skills, or holier-than-thou-morals but rather someone who just wants to get the job done; a decent man who knows his limits. In every other Batman movie (or even the tee vee show) you have a "Commissioner Gordon" who always reminds me of someone who could have been cast as a supporting player in Plunkett of Tammany Hall.. I'd always wondered how Batman and Gordon got chummy in the first place, and in this version you finally get a plausible explanation: Gordon was kind to Bruce Wayne when he lost his parents as a child. The then-commissioner came in, shooed Gordon away, and tried to treat a little kid, who just happened to be rich, like he was an adult, informing him that they caught the guy. Gordon was kind, and that's what counted.

I, quite literally, could go on about this movie for quite some time, but I'll spare you. Because it's late and I want to go to bed. So, I will simply say that you really should go and see it. It's a great movie.

Don't Work Your Ass Off. Make Your Ass Work For You!

Yes, ladies. Fame, fortune, a fat book deal, and good reviews in the NY Times Book Review can be yours if you take it up the ass.

And charge for it, too!

Remember, if you really want to get somewhere in this world, nothing will get you there quite so speedily as pandering to the ass fucking whimsies of every straight man out there.

And you'll have some spare cash in your pocket, too! What could be better?

UPDATE Oh, and I almost forgot about the offer from Playboy to pose for wanking shots! Every Playboy subscriber could, conceivably, be delivering you millions of pearl necklaces! What could be more satisfying than that?

Tommy Boy Cruise: Expert on Psychiatry

Oh. My. God.

NEW YORK: Tom Cruise criticized NBC "Today" show host Matt Lauer on Friday when Lauer mentioned Cruise's earlier criticism of Brooke Shields for taking anti-depressants. Cruise told Lauer he didn't know what he was talking about. "You don't know the history of psychiatry. I do," Cruise said.

The interview became more heated when Lauer, who said he knew people who had been helped by the attention-deficit disorder drug Ritalin, asked Cruise about the effects of the drug.

"Matt, Matt, you don't even — you're glib," Cruise responded. "You don't even know what Ritalin is. If you start talking about chemical imbalance, you have to evaluate and read the research papers on how they came up with these theories, Matt, OK. That's what I've done."

{empahsis mine}

Tommy Boy: world renowned expert in psychiatry. He knows the psychoses and he knows FOR A FACT that drugs are bad, mmmkay!

Because he's done the research.

I have two questions. First, isn't it a bit odd that Tommy Boy can say he's more knowledgeable about psychiatry than Matt Lauer when he never bothered to graduate from freakin' high school? And second, isn't it a bit of a cheap shot to go after Lauer on who knows more about what? Sheesh. Show some kindness, eh?

I'm going to one up my prediction from last week: War of the Worlds is going to tank worse than Gigli, not that it's just going to be another Gigli.

Has anyone actually heard anything about what this movie is about in the midst of all this PR hubbub? I certainly haven't. If Tommy Boy is out there and is supposedly "promoting the film" one would think I would have heard something about the film itself. I haven't. Have you?

UPDATE: Here's the video. If you're running Firefox or some other non-IE browser, you'll need to load up IE to view it.

I cannot get over how much Tommy Boy thinks he knows better than actual doctors because, you know, he's read the research. Ummmmm. Ooooookay. My conclusion: it's dangerous. Seriously dangerous. Some poor soul who is struggling with mental illness will watch that and they will go off their meds because Tommy Boy told them there is a "better way" and that "chemical imbalances don't exist." And something horrible could happen. What he's proposing is dangerous because he makes no room for exceptions.

That's scary, folks.

While I will not argue that perhaps he has a point where this sort of medication is being abused and that there is work to be done even if you're on these drugs, his whole attitude scares me. Because it's one thing to say that if you're mildly depressed you don't need to go on meds. That's one thing. It's completely, entirely, another to lump all mental illness under one umbrella and to say people can handle this stuff better on their own.

A few years ago, a member of our extended family was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. Yep. He had all of the usual symptoms they show you on tee vee: delusions about the CIA, voices in his head, etc. His family was forced to commit him when the voices started telling him to kill himself. The only reason this man is alive today is because of psychotropic medications. They brought him out of the dangerous fantasy world this illness had forced on him. He has a job now. He's working. He's getting married later this summer. He's living a productive, satisfying life because of these medications. Now, in Tommy's world, this illness doesn't exist, hence there's no need to medicate for it. Furthermore, Tommy would advocate that it's dangerous to medicate anyone for something of this nature, because those drugs change things.

Well, duh, you asshole. Of course they change things, but when the change was forced on you in the first place, through no fault of your own, what exactly are these people to do? Huh? Run down to the Celebrity Center in L.A.? Do you have a Scientology cure for paranoid schizophrenia? Do you have one for bi-polar disorder, too? Do you treat the mentally ill there for no cost, or do they have to pay through the nose for "enlightenment" ? It's curious, isn't it? You never hear the Scientologists talk about the medications for the mentally ill folks who WANT TO KILL THEMSELVES OR OTHERS, do you? They'll bleat on until the cows come home about ADD/ADHD medications or anti-depressants, but they never do talk about the serious stuff, do they? Why is that, do you think? Are they afraid of being sued? Of having all that money they earmarked for the Celebrity Center going to pay off judgments of people who've sued them for their bad advice instead?

I'll repeat: this is dangerous. There is enough of a stigma attached to mental illness that people already don't seek treatment for serious problems because they're afraid of what people will think about them if they do. The last thing anyone needs is for an uneducated celebrity to stick their nose into the situation, heightening that stigma. It's scary and it's dangerous. And someone who is not healthy and in their right mind could die because of it.

What will Tommy Boy say to their families then? That he's quite sorry for their loss, but, really, it's not his fault because they hadn't shot down to their local Scientology center and signed up for the full meal deal?

I'm A Patron of the Arts

Nothing quite like being asked for poetry ideas.

Car Dealers Beware

Don't ask Chrissy if "she's got her husband's permission to buy a new car."

One of my brothers co-owns a few dealerships in Montana and he's recently branched out to New Orleans and he would, I'm sure, be mortified that some salesman pulled this stunt. Not because he thinks women are easy targets when purchasing a car and he thinks the guy could have just been more subtle in his sexism---I'm sure he doesn't think that, and if he does, we'll we're going to HAVE WORDS---but because everyone's, man or woman, money is green. You don't discriminate against money. What a way to blow a sale. Holy poor salesmanship, Batman!

Which prompts the question: what is it with the automotive industry that makes the men who work in it think they can take advantage of women? And this doesn't only cover buying a car, but getting one fixed as well. Isn't this just bad business? I know there's one born every minute, but why is this habit so pronounced in the auto industry?

Case in point: I got suckered one day during an oil change. I'd put six thousand miles on the puppy, the oil needed to be changed so I took it to a Jiffy Lube. While the car was being serviced, one of the crew guys came in to show me how filthy my air filter was and that it should be changed, toute suite. It looked dirty to me, so I authorized the change. It, of course, cost extra. When I got home I told the husband about it, he shook his head, told me that it didn't need to be changed and that I'd been had. He told me the next time they hit me up for an air filter, I was to take the old one outside, smack it around a few times to knock the dust loose, hold it up to the sun, and if I couldn't see sunlight through it only then was I to allow them to change it.

Sure enough, after another six thousand miles, they hit me up again for another air filter (even though it was the same shop and they had computerized records of what had been done last time). I did precisely what the husband had told me to do. I could see sunshine coming through it. I walked back into the shop and told the guy, "no, thank you." He gaped at me and went back into the service bay without speaking another word. I will fully admit it's my fault that this happened, because I just didn't know enough about air filters at that point to know when they needed to be replaced.

Don't get me started on serpentine belts!

So, the question of the day is this: why, at car dealerships and repair shops, do you have to prove you aren't a sucker before they'll treat you fairly? While I'm sure there are a fair number of men who don't know anything about cars who've also been suckered on the upsell, it seems to me that this practice is carried out more on women. We have to prove our worthiness to get a good deal. And that ain't fair. Because I know any number of men who have no idea what it takes to keep a car up and running, yet, because they're male, no one bothers trying to take advantage of them. I know many dealerships and repair shops have made a concerted effort in recent years at resolving this problem. But I also know a fair number of women who still have issues with this and won't set foot on a dealer's lot without a man in tow because they're afraid they'll be taken advantage of.

Discuss.

Asking The Hard Questions

Have I mentioned that the Divas have taken over WitNit? Mark's in Singapore, just trying to keep himself from chewing gum, and he asked us to take over.

Poor man.

Anyway, Sadie, in a effort to fill up some space and keep a friend's blog alive, is asking a hard-hitting question that's been on everyone's brain for years now: did Mulder and Scully do the dirty deed? Unfortunately, she never seems to actually, you know, answer it. Go over and prompt her to put up what she thinks happened. Conspiracy theorists everywhere will thank you for your time and effort in this matter.

For the record: I'm pretty damn sure Scully's baby was not the product of an immaculate alien conception, ya dig, but rather is Mulder's kid. I believe Scully got drunk one night, showed up at Mulder's in a fit of lust and doesn't remember it. And Mulder left because she didn't remember it. He was ticked off that their one night of passion was nothing but a faint "what the hell?" moment for her.

Stop looking at me like that. It could have happened.

Or baby boy Scully could be Frohickey's. You never know, do you?

Yes and No

No No No No No No No No No No No No No
No No No No No No No No No No No No No
No No No No No No No No No No No No No
No No No No No No No No No No No No No.

Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes
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They Paved Paradise and Put Up A Parking Lot

Not usually a big Joni Mitchell fan, but it seems appropriate in regards to this.

The Supreme Court today effectively expanded the right of local governments to seize private property under eminent domain, ruling that people's homes and businesses -- even those not considered blighted -- can be taken against their will for private development if the seizure serves a broadly defined "public use."

In a 5-4 decision, the court upheld the ability of New London, Conn., to seize people's homes to make way for an office, residential and retail complex supporting a new $300 million research facility of the Pfizer pharmaceutical company. The city had argued that the project served a public use within the meaning of the Takings Clause of the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution because it would increase tax revenues, create jobs and improve the local economy.

A group of homeowners in New London's Fort Trumbull area had fought the city's attempt to impose eminent domain, arguing that their property could be seized only to serve a clear public use such as building roads or schools or to eliminate blight. The homeowners, some of whom had lived in their house for decades, also argued that the public would benefit from the proposed project only if it turned out to be successful, making the "public use" requirement subject to the eventual performance of the private business venture.

The Fifth Amendment also requires "just compensation" for the owners, but that was not an issue in the case decided today because the homeowners did not want to give up their property at any price.

Writing for the majority, Justice John Paul Stevens said the case turned on the question of whether New London's development plan served a "public purpose." He added, "Without exception, our cases have defined that concept broadly, reflecting our longstanding policy of deference to legislative judgments in this field."{...}

And what is the intended purpose of the land in question now that it's been seized by the City of New London, Connecticut?

{...}During oral arguments before the court, it emerged that the land parcels at issue were earmarked for office space and "support" for the park or marina, possibly meaning a parking lot.

Nice.

This is going to make life even more hellish for those who are fighting eminent domain. We've had quite a bit of this sort of seizure going on here in the cities. The Minnesota DOT has a nasty habit of playing bait and switch with property appraisals. Best Buy recently relocated its corporate headquarters to Richfield, one nearby burb, from Eden Prairie, another nearby burb, and the City of Richfield pretty much gave away the store in an effort to get them over there. Lots of property was seized and then destroyed so that Best Buy could put up three office buildings that look just like the ones they had in Eden Prairie. Only they're closer to the freeway, which Best Buy coughed up a lot of coin to expand. The husband has business contacts with one of the businesses that was formerly located on the spot next to 494 where a parking lot now resides. This guy, to put it bluntly, got screwed. He fought it, but wound up having to move anyway, and he received about a tenth of what the land was worth. Last I heard the guy wasn't doing so well in his new location. Not enough traffic was the complaint, if I'm recalling things correctly.

Lileks took some photos if you're interested.

Currently, they're talking about expanding Light Rail. And, not so surprisingly, one of the new lines they're talking about building would shoot right down the street I live on, because it's one of the few in the area that actually goes straight through. Most of the other streets stop and start and have been designed with traffic barriers to keep people from cutting through residential neighborhoods at high rates of speed. Now, I don't know if this is going to happen, and it probably won't because it would be a mess, but, speaking strictly in hypothetical terms, the width of the light rail lines would decree that houses and businesses on either side of this street would need to be knocked down. Because light rail operates on city streets. Where car traffic is still allowed. And they apparently can't have just one set of tracks: they have to have two, one going in either direction. This could potentially mean that the Cake Eater Pad, freshly purchased by the new landlord, would now be easily siezed. Even if they elevated it, it would be awful and would be an utter mess. Property values for the surrounding area, which are very, very high, would plummet. And my neighbors are not ones you want to get in a pissing match with about property values. They're all Type A's. It would get ugly.

Or maybe not, because the Supreme Court says it doesn't have to be like that. Because, after all, all property owners are not created equal.

UPDATE: Nice quote from Robbo:

This is the equivalent of giving a teenager the keys to the biz-tax revenue liquor cabinet based on the promise that he'll only use them if he thinks a drink would be a good idea.

UPDATE II: Russ makes a very good point in the comments clicky and read.

Phoenix gives a rural example and touches on a point that I neglected to mention: how can the supremes say this is in the public interest when many of the corporations get HUGE tax breaks when they promise to build office parks, etc.

And as far as why someone would want to build an amusement park in the middle of nowhere? Well, tax shelters would be one idea. Another would be that this ruling might, conceivably, make commercial real estate ventures a much nicer place for money launderers to clean their cash. Right now the time turnaround due to litigation is huge on some developments. That's a natural hindrance to people who would like to invest money, but need a quicker rate of return, i.e. people who have dirty money that needs washing.

The more I think about it, the more I agree with Will Collier, who calls this ruling "a license for corruption and abuse."

Well, That Explains It

Stiggy on Cricket.

Mean People Suck

There was a post here. There isn't now, because I changed my mind.

Because that's my perogative.

It's LOOKING At Me!!!!

Holy Crap! Sauron is real!

I could never be described as a Tolkein junkie EVER, but that, I must admit, is pretty freakin' cool. Provided the all-seeing-eye doesn't see me.

{Hat Tip: Martini Boy's Bartender}

It's Just A Thought

But maybe if the French had perhaps spent a little more time fighting than rounding up the train car where the Treaty of Versailles had been signed to serve as a quaint surrender locale, well, perhaps they wouldn't have been occupied for four years?

I understand they're all about being the hosts with the most, but really.

Headlines

I present for your perusal three stories:

Bloomberg: U.S. Air Force Academy Details Pattern of Religious Intolerance

NY Times: Panel Finds No Overt Religious Intolerance At Air Force Academy.

San Jose Mercury News/AP Wire: Religious Insensitivity Cited at Academy

So, am I to use the "two out of three ain't bad" yardstick here?

Well, Isn't That Interesting?

The husband emailed me this earlier with the message, "Don't shoot the messenger" attached.

LONDON - Married men earn more than bachelors so long as their wives stay at home doing the housework, according to a report on Wednesday from Britain’s Institute for Social and Economic Research.

Academics Elena Bardasi and Mark Taylor found that a married man whose wife does not go out to work but is primarily responsible for the cooking and cleaning earns about 3 percent more than comparably employed single men.

But that wage premium disappears if wives go out to work themselves or don’t do most of the housework.

“It has been fairly well documented that married men earn more than single men,” Taylor, a labor economist, told Reuters.

“However, our research established the wage premium is related to the wife doing the chores,” said the academic who teaches at the University of Essex in eastern England.

He said analysis suggests there could be two explanations for the results:

A marriage might allow a husband and wife to focus their activities on tasks to which they are most suited. Traditionally, this would result in the man concentrating on paid work enabling him to increase productivity and in consequence his wages.

Taylor said another explanation could be that marriage may increase the amount of time a man has to hone work-related skills which could trigger higher wages.{...}

Have no fear, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, the husband will be live and well for quite some time. I can't shoot him: he's the breadwinner.

Heheheheheh.

All kidding aside, though, this doesn't surprise me one bit. I learned long ago that no matter what I did, or how brilliantly I did it, he will always make more money than me. While I don't dismiss out of hand the possibility that I, someday, could overtake him in the money department, I don't think it likely and it's simply because he has a different skill set than I do. I have a Liberal Arts---would you like fries with that?---degree; he has a Business---we need to be thinking about the P/E ratio---degree. He's also heavily interested in and has been working in IT for years now. I haven't. Hence, he's made himself highly marketable, whereas I haven't. It makes sense, then, to spend my time working on my stuff, whilst doing stuff around here to clear his schedule. While I'm sure some bra-burning, hairy-armpitted feminist thinks I'm subjugating myself to his will, that's not the case. It makes more sense, financially speaking, to maximize his potential and if that means taking care of the chores around the house, well, so be it. If the situation was reversed, it would make an equal amount of sense for him to take care of the chores.

What would interest me, however, is if someone did a study to see how marriage affected a woman's earning potential when her husband was the one to stay at home.

Thank You Congress...

...for once again telling me what I can and cannot do with MY money.

WASHINGTON - With the acquiescence of their leaders, key House Republicans are drafting Social Security legislation stripped of President Bush's proposed personal accounts financed with payroll taxes and lacking provisions aimed at assuring long-term solvency.

Instead, according to officials familiar with the details, the measure showcases a promise, designed to reassure seniors, that Social Security surplus funds will be held inviolate, available only to create individual accounts that differ sharply from Bush's approach.

Under current law, any Social Security payroll tax money not used to finance monthly benefits is in effect lent by Social Security to the Treasury, which uses it to finance other government programs. Government actuaries say the surplus is expected to vanish in 2017 when benefit payments exceed payroll taxes collected.

In addition, the GOP bill "doesn't deal with solvency," according to another official, indicating it would avoid the difficult choices of curbs on benefits, higher taxes or changes in the retirement age needed to implement the president's call for long-term financial stability.{...}

{empahsis mine}

Grrrrrr.

Yes, let's suck up to the AARP once again. Never mind the millions of younger people who have to foot the bill for this bit of stupidity. They don't count because our polling numbers tell us they don't vote. And the people who vote are the ones we need to be paying attention to. Because they're the ones who keep sending us back to Congress, and our cushy jobs with our cushy paychecks, every two or six years. By all means, they're the ones who matter. Not the people who foot the bill.

One of the secondary reasons I voted for Bush was that he promised to do something about Social Security. He promised to give me control of a part of my money, to invest as I saw fit. While I never thought the solution he was plugging would be the one that made it through Congress, this proposal is too little, too late. I sincerely hope that he vetoes this pig if it actually makes it through Congress. If he chooses not to, well, that's YET another sign to me that he really wanted my vote, but now that he's got it, he doesn't really care all that much.

Perhaps, the next time an election comes around, I won't vote Republican. Perhaps I won't vote at all. I am sick and tired of playing by the rules. I always vote. Because I believe that if you don't, you don't have a reason to bitch. You didn't take part and you have effectively disenfranchised yourself. Well, you know what? It doesn't do me a fat lot of good to vote when the disenfranchisement happens anyway, does it?

I can understand Congress being a bunch of wishy-washy idiots. That, apparently, is their purpose in life. But if the President accepts this "compromise," and, at some point in the future---after millions of dollars in pork have been attached to the stupid thing---signs it into law, well, that's it. That will be the straw that breaks the camel's back.

"The American Republic will endure, until politicians realize they can bribe the people with their own money."

Weary

I'm a little tired of watching cable news right now. I would like to know what's going on in the world. Instead I am subjected to endless reports on Natalee Holloway.

Now, please don't get me wrong. I would like for her to be found as much as the next person. I am sorry for her family because it's obvious that they are only looking for her body right now. It's a horrible situation all around, but I'm failing to see why so much coverage is being devoted to her story, other than that it's apparently a slow news summer.

That and the fact that the networks apparently needed another pretty young thing to focus on.

I'm tired of this. And I mean, I'm really, really tired of this. Women, it appears, are only of value to the tee vee news networks if they disappear or are murdered horribly. And if they're pretty. They do have to be pretty. Because no one really focuses on the ugly, fat women that disappear or are murdered, do they? Apparently you have to be white, with big eyes, carefully groomed hair, and tastefully applied makeup to rate. Oh, and it helps if you're skinny as well. You can have some extra meat on your bones, but only if you're pregnant. Cable and network news have taken a cue from Hollywood on this one: if they can't cast you as the girl next door, you don't rate.

The families must really have a heck of a time submitting snapshots to the networks, don't you think? Good God, the pressure of that choice must be horrible on top of everything else. And I'm not being sarcastic. Can you imagine what it must be like, to be in that situation, to want desperately to get the word out about it, and then have to find a recent snapshot that's exceedingly good? One that shows your loved one at their finest? Because you'd know that the media wouldn't deign to cover the story if your loved one just had a mistake of a haircut or color job? Or if they were having a bad time keeping control of their weight? It must be a horrible thing to know that their physical beauty could be the one thing that might make the difference. That's a double-edged sword if there ever was one.

I'm weary of this. While I'm sorry for Miss Holloway and her family, I just don't see where this is news. Reporting the latest rumor about which of the four well-connected Arubans contacted their lawyer today is not news. There are literally hundreds of other women who are murdered or go missing every day of the week. I'm sure the fact she went missing in Aruba, a nice tropical locale---with plenty of posh hotels for all the reporters to stay in---isn't hurting matters, either, but let's face facts: it's because she's pretty that her disappearance is a priority story. And that's just wrong.

What's even worse is the number of people who are lapping this story up. And by that you know who I mean, don't you? Yes, that's right. I'm talking about the viewers. They have been devotedly tracking this story, like they knew her when they didn't. The networks at least have the excuse that they're only providing what the public wants. What excuse does the viewing public have? Yes, they can claim they're only interested in the story; that there seems to be an epidemic of violence against women, and that concerns them; that they're interested in poor Natalee's fate. And I suppose those are legitimate excuses, up to a point. But, what I would like to know is that if they're so interested in this particular missing-persons case, why aren't they interested in all the other missing persons cases? Perhaps the ones they read a quick blurb about in the paper? Or see on their local news? Because it's not logical to say that you're interested in this case, but not all the others. Unless, the real reason they're interested in is because poor Natalee is pretty. Could that possibly be it? Hmmm. I wonder.

Everyone's guilty on this one. The people who watch, and the people who provide the content. And I'm tired of being guilty by association in this little media festival of the grotesque because there's nothing else on. I feel dirty after watching some of these reports. And I'm really tired of feeling that way.

Billy Corgan's Got a Secret!

Well, not anymore he doesn't.

Oh, le gag.

I'd love to smash in his fat head like an overripe pumpkin on Halloween night.

Time to Dish Out A Little Linky Love

I just got a new dishwasher hence I'm in a giving mood.

Did I mention it's stainless steel? And that I can fit wine glasses on the top rack?

WooT!

Anyway, here's a bit of a roundup.

• Does it ever worry anyone else when Steve-o decides to wax rhapsodic...about anything? Yeah, that's what I thought. Your bomb shelter or mine?
• Speaking of the Llamas, I must say, dear Robbo has greatly disappointed me with this very lax critique of the DirecTV Sunday Ticket ads. Who cares if it's from Willy Wonka or not. What really matters is that those @#W$#$#$@#$@$ ads are ANNOYING AS HELL! Particularly when they play it again and again and again. Really, Robbo. I was hoping for more.{Insert windy sigh of disappointment here}
• There are times when I wonder if Doug would like to go down to the Portland Avenue headquarters of the Strib and just start beating the crap out of the editorial board. Methinks they've got it coming. And people wonder why I don't subscribe/bother to read that paper anymore.
• Usually it's the French waiters who do the bashing, but that little bit of truth isn't going to stop Phoenix from dishing out some payback. Oh, and she, too, chimed in on the Diva topic of the day. Go and read.
• Margi's preggers and there's apparently no such thing as too much information.
• The Manolo, he has the inside story on the David Spade.
• Go over and read Rich's blog. He likes it when people do. Really. And because I owe him an email and since you people are my minions, well, you'll have to give up some love on my behalf.
• I meant to link this one yesterday. My bad, yeah, I know. But it's worth the wait. Fausta wonders if Batman is a Republican.

Allrighty then. Go forth and share the love that is a link dump, kids. Your karma will be all the better for it.

Stop The Presses!

Remove leftover food, bones, toothpicks and other hard items from the dishes. It is not necessary to rinse the dishes before putting them into the dishwasher. The wash module removes food particles from the water. The module contains a chopping device which will reduce the size of food items.

Note: If hard items such as fruit seeds, nuts, and eggshells enter the wash module, you might hear chopping, grinding, crunching, or buzzing sounds. These sounds are normal when hard items enter the module. Do not let metallic items (such as pot handle screws) get into the wash module. Damage can occur.

From my new dishwasher's owners manual. Which is the Whirlpool Quiet Partner II, model DU1100.

Should be interesting to hear that puppy in action, no?

It's a Good News/Bad News Sort of Day

Ok, the good news is that I'm FINALLY getting a new dishwasher. Actually, the new landlord bought the dishwasher almost two weeks ago and it's been sitting down in the garage, waiting to be installed.

The bad news is that they're trying to install it now, and they're, of course, this being the Cake Eater Pad, having some issues with it. They got the old one pulled out all right, but when they were checking the connections or something like that, some ancient part blew. I was in the office and all of a sudden there's this hissing noise. It didn't sound right. And you know what? It wasn't right. There was water shooting all over the kitchen floor from underneath the sink. No one happened to be there at the moment, but the back door was open so I screamed, "TURN IT OFF!"

Well, we got that cleaned up. And, really, I did need to clean the kitchen floor anyway, so the fact that I now have to mop is really a non-starter. Really. But, as it turns out, the part that blew, well, it's because the plumbing's old and---FOR SOME STRANGE REASON---Tweedledumb brought a new cold line all the way up from the basement a few years back, but didn't bother to bring a new hot line up at the same time. The old hot line was, apparently, good enough for him. So, now they have to replace that. In case you didn't know, I live on the second floor of this house. It makes things interesting.

Fortunately, both the landlord and the plumber seem to know what they're doing and are interested in getting it done quickly. Which is good because I haven't showered yet today. And I smell right now. So it would be nice to have the water turned back on sometime soon.

And I'll have a dishwasher by the end of the afternoon, which will really make my freakin' day! I cannot bloody wait for it. After dinner tonight, I will be able to load it up and NOT HAVE TO WASH EVERYTHING BY HAND!

Woohoo! That will be so freakin' exciting. I cannot wait. I LOATHE washing dishes. So, God Willing, I will be able to retire the marigolds after this afternoon. Keep your fingers crossed that another bit of Tweedledumb's laziness doesn't come back to haunt this endeavor.

Would I Lie to You?

So, our topic for the Demystifying Divas and the Marvy Men's Club this week is...{insert drumroll here}what lies do we tell our significant others?

For your education and entertainment, I present to you, Mr. Dave Stewart and Ms. Annie Lennox---yes, that's right kids. We're talking about the Eurythmics--- performing their smash hit Would I Lie To You?.

And, yes, kids. I was trying to sound like Dick Clark there.

Anyhoo...I've always thought the snarky alternative title to this song should be "Did I Stutter, A**hole?" Annie's packed her bags, she's cleaned the floor, and you're supposed to watch her walk out the door, (Although, one does wonder why, if the relationship is over, Annie would bother to clean the floor. Wouldn't a breakup negate the need for that sort of dreary housework?) and all the while the chorus is singing in the background, "Believe Me." So, when one actually bothers to listen to the lyrics of this song, one gets the impression that perhaps Annie wasn't as truthful as she might have been during the course of this relationship. Why else would she need plead with him to believe her otherwise?

Annie's been telling some little white lies, methinks.

And you know that happens, right? No one likes to cop to it, but it does happen, especially in the early stages of the relationship, when we're desperate to impress and perhaps the unexpurgated truth isn't the image we'd like to present. However, when you really dive into the deep end of a relationship, honesty is always a virtue, but not at the cost of being kind. So, instead of lying flat out, we perhaps tell little white lies, or tell lies of omission, where we just skip around the situation altogether. Because, sometimes, lying---and I really do hate to say it---is the right thing to do.

To prove my point, we shall examine all the options for one particular, universal, question that is asked everyday by women:

If a man doesn't want his bollocks to magically disappear, the smart answer to this question is...

...a noncomittal, "hmmmm" and a prompt change of topic. While this would count for a lie of omission, it would nonetheless be, technically speaking, the most correct way of answering this question. It dodges. It weaves. It avoids the killer right hook. Yet it's kind, and if the woman knows how to read between the lines, she will know that a. her man does not want to be dumped into a vat of hot water and b. he's trying not to hurt her feelings.

The seriously wrong answer to this question would be, "Yes, you are a lard ass. Change into a tent, would you? I don't want to be embarrassed." If you have a wish to be castrated, well, go right ahead and throw this one out there for the consumption of your beloved. It won't hurt...I promise.

Yet another incorrect answer would be if he chose to flat-out lie and said, "No, dear. It doesn't. You look great." If said woman then goes out to a party, where the main topic of whispered gossip happens to be "what the hell was she thinking when she put on that dress?" and she catches wind of it, well, he's a dead man. Because he's supposed to protect her from this sort of thing, he's supposed to be honest with her, and he failed. If only he'd told me the truth!

The problem here is that, at times, we want our significant others to lie to us. Sometimes we don't want the truth as they see it, but rather we want them to prop up the truth as we see it, which probably isn't the truth at all, but rather an illusion, or delusion as the case may be. Sometimes the kind thing to do, the thing that will ensure your vital bits don't magically disappear, is to fib. And by my usage of the term "fib," I mean it's all right, on occasion, to slightly lie to save someone hurt. "Fib" is not, in Kath's Thesaurus of Potentially Life Altering Language, the exact equivalent of "I'm not going to tell her that I slept with someone while I was at that dental convention in Acapulco." That would be an outright lie. And it's not kind to pull that sort of whopper on someone with whom you've pledged to spend the rest of your life. Because that kind of lie, while saving your bollocks temporarily, could come back to bite you...hard. Because that's a selfish kind of lie. A fib is a kind sort of lie. Get the difference? Good. Otherwise, you'll be just like Annie and you'll be pleading with her to "believe you" as she walks out the door. And I'll bet you anything she won't have cleaned the floor before she packed her bags.

And that's all she wrote. Quite literally. So, now go and see what the other Demystifying Divas have to say on the topic. One of our newest Divaesque Ladies, Sheila of The Sheila Variations, is stepping up this week and adding her two cents. Then, for the flip side, go and read what our Marvy Men's Club, which is comprised of Stiggy, The Wiz, Phin and our Maximum Leader, has offered up on this topic.

UPDATE: Divaesque Lady Twisty has also chimed in. Scoot along and read.

You'd Think The World Was Going To End

We had some nasty weather move through roughly about two hours ago. When I left the house a little before noon to go walking around the lake, it was sunny, hot and the skies were blue. And humid. Really, really humid. Because we'd had another set of thunderstorms move through around nine this morning and they'd just---to quote Stella from Rear Window---made the heat wet. As I huffed and puffed around the lake, sweating up a storm (yeech!), I wasn't really surprised to hear over the radio that another set of storms was going to move through. What I was surprised about, however, was that the county was in a severe thunderstorm warning, instead of a watch. I decided to hustle home. And a good thing I did, too, because by the time I'd reached the house, I could see big, blue clouds rolling in from the northwest.

Then the husband called. Our new landlord had called him, wondering if he was home and could walk his suddenly available plumber through a preliminary check of the place because he was stuck at work. Obviously, I was home and was more than willing to show the guy through the place. No hassles. But he was going to be there in five minutes or thereabouts. I raced through the shower---did I mention it was humid when I was at the lake?---and when I got out, well, you'd have thought night had descended upon the Greater Twin Cities area. The clouds had turned blackish-green, which, any native of the midwest could tell you usually means bad things. Like hail. And the occasional tornado.

It started to downpour, and wow, what a storm! It was the first really nasty one of the season. In between keeping an eye out for the plumber, I was watching the waterfall on the south side of the house. You see, Tweedledumb never bothered to clear out the gutters after all the leaves fell. Have I mentioned we have three oaks and five pine trees in the yard, and a few of them hang over the house? So, to put it mildly, there's a few years worth of debris in the gutters. Rather I should say there was a few years worth of detritus in the gutters because it was raining so hard it actually knocked crap out of the gutters and sent it careering to the ground. I've never seen that happen before and it was kind of cool. But no tornadoes, which is always kind of a blessing and a curse. No running to the basement, but no excitement, either. Sigh.

Well, the plumber didn't show up until two-thirty. He'd waited the storm out, but hadn't bothered to tell anyone. Which wasn't really pleasing, but was understandable. I wouldn't have wanted to drive through that storm, either. The "world coming to an end" situation comes in when the plumber left and I left the house in search of a pack of smokes.

I'd run out before I'd gone to the lake. Now, normally this isn't a hassle. Just walk down the street to Walgreens and pick up a pack. No hassles. But where we hadn't lost electricity, which I must admit is a first for this kind of storm, everyone else had. And NO ONE wanted to open up and sell their wares to people who wanted to buy stuff. Because they didn't have power.

Now, I know this is going to sound very "When I was your age, I walked five miles to school, uphill both ways, and it snowed a lot too," but what the hell is up with that? Are you that crippled without power that you can't ring things up by hand? Can't you do the math with a calculator? Can't you keep track of what you sold with a pen and a piece of paper, and then enter it in manually when you have power again? None of these things, apparently, are possible nowadays.

Back in the day when I managed for Caribou, we lost power due to an overeager construction crew one afternoon. And it was no big deal. In fact, it was an adventure. The kids working with me had a ball---when they got over their fear of performing all the transactions manually. I gave the drip brew away because I couldn't guarantee that it was hot and I was just going to have to pitch it anyway. Obviously, espresso drinks were out. But I had a boatload of of bakery products to sell, and believe you me, boy, did they sell. People were hungry. It was lunchtime, and here they were in the middle of a freakin' grocery store, loaded with food, and they couldn't buy anything. I was out of product within an hour. And all because I knew how to use a calculator and how to record things with a pen and a piece of paper, I sold stuff I normally would have pitched at the end of the day. There's opportunity everywhere, and yet, no one in this neighborhood apparently cares about capitalism. No one cares about the law of supply and demand. Because the power's out. And they can't be bothered. Because this was more of a "Woohoo, we've got the afternoon off!" situation for most of these employees, and not one where money could be made.

Not a lot of initiative there if you ask me.

Now, I realize you're thinking "well, the cash drawer locked up. They can't access it." Sorry, that one's not going to fly, because I've seen people get into the drawers at these places with a simple turn of a key. Or you might be thinking, "there's liability issues. Dark store, people bumping around, hurting themselves." Yeah, I understand that one, too, but when they've actually let friends into the store---and I can see them---and you're standing at the front door, telling me to go away because there's no power, well, that's not going to fly, either. And, yes, they had flashlights.

You should have seen this chick at Walgreens. Man, was she ever peeved with me. I told her I didn't need change, but I just needed a pack of smokes. That's all. Here's my id. Here's the three bucks. PLEASE? (Yeah, I was having a nicotine fit. But I was polite about it.) But we don't have power she said in a really whiny voice. We can't sell you anything because it would ruin our inventory. "What?" I replied, somewhat baffled, "Aren't you keeping track of sales manually? You can enter them in when the power comes back on, can't you?" When she whined some more, I finally had to play my trump card: "what are those women doing in there? They don't work here. They work at the salon across the street. How come you're selling to them and not to me?" At which point she let out an incredibly windy, My-God-Are-You-Ever-Putting-Me-Out sort of sigh and then handed over the smokes. I took them and boogied. I didn't want to "bother" her anymore.

It kind of makes you wonder what the case would be if there was a really serious outage. A days long outage. Because that's been known to happen in this neighborhood in the past because our power lines aren't buried. This happened before I moved here, but I heard nothing but goodwill stories. People helping people. Stores pitching in and helping their customers. Gas pumps were unlocked manually and no one stole anything.

I wonder if that would still be the case today. Or would it be more like this, even if it was a godawful movie.

It's Gossip, Of Course, But It's Good

Oh, that makes soooooo much sense.

In other Tom "I'm MOST DEFINITELY NOT GAY" Cruise news, did you see where he got squirted with water by a fake reporter in London? I don't exactly see how you could have missed it unless you're just checking in from the top of Everest, via a sat phone hookup. In which case, you're excused. But for the rest of you, well, gosh, isn't it striking how well Tommy can dish it, but just can't take it?

{...}Cruise initially appeared to laugh at the incident but then asked the prankster: "Why would you do that?"

As the man gave a barely audible excuse, Cruise said: "Do you like thinking less of people, is that it?" The prankster tried to walk away but Cruise reached across the metal barrier, held his arm and said: "Don't run away. That's incredibly rude. I'm here giving you an interview and you do that ... it's incredibly rude."

The actor grew increasingly irritated and told the man: "You're a jerk." Footage of the incident appeared on Sky News TV on Monday.{...}

Ain't that rich?

We've been subjected to the "Tom Cruise Circus of Dysfunction" for over a month now. We've been told we should be happy because Tom's IN LOVE! That this is the reason why he's, to steal a phrase from Sheila, running around like a gibbering chimp. To make sure his new movie doesn't tank, Spielberg is being forced to give interviews defending his star. And we're supposed to feel sorry for Tommy Boy because he got squirted in the face with a little water? Furthermore, Tommy Boy has to transform the whole incident into a matter of personal philosophy. "Do you like thinking less of people, is that it?" Like Tommy Boy is a complete and utter angel and has never done anything so revolting in his life! The nerve of some people! Scientology preaches against exactly this sort of behavior and, if you'll step right over to the tent that's set up over yonder, those nice people will explain to you exactly where you're going wrong and they'll give you a personality quiz that will last, roughly, for four hours and they won't let you leave! Then they'll tell you exactly how much enlightenment costs, roughly, within the Church of Scientology. Have a good time, sucker!

Bleh.

Gratuitous Cute Kid Picture

Go on and click. You know you want to.

Ovaries. Twitching.

Goddess of Pie

Just in case you were wondering, I, apparently, rule the universe.

Why, you ask, have I appointed myself ruler of the Milky Way?

Because I completely winged a recipe for pie today and it came out perfectly.

I wanted a berry pie, but all the berries that are normally considered to be suitable for pies (blueberries, raspberries) cost an arm and a leg. But Strawberries were (reasonably) cheap. (They really do stick us for produce here in the Great White North. It sucks, in case you were wondering. $2.99 for a feckin' pound of Roma tomatoes. Grand freakin' larceny!) Anyway, having no recipes for Strawberry Pie, I checked around to see what I could find, but they all either took forever and day to make, or they used frozen strawberries (bleh). So, I mixed and matched and came up with this. Enjoy.

Strawberry Pie

4 cups sliced strawberries
3/4 cup sugar
4 tablespoons cornstarch
1/3 cup all-purpose flour

Sift sugar, cornstarch and flour together, mix with berries and throw into a pie crust that you've already prepared and haven't gotten the recipe for from me. Because I suck at pie crusts. I use the Pillsbury pre-made ones you get in your grocer's dairy case. Really. They work just fine. Cover with the second bit of dough, cut some slits into it, and sprinkle some sugar on it.

Bake at 425 degrees for 45 minutes or until it starts bubbling. Cover the edge with foil so it doesn't burn, and take it off with ten minutes to go, so the crust gets baked. This only holds unless you're super-duper cool and have one of those nifty metal circles (available at your local cookery shop!) that serves this purpose. If you've got one of those, well, use that instead and save yourself the trouble of trying to fit square foil on a round pie pan.

Enjoy!

Random Question of the Day

Does anyone else worry that because of the ever-present scooter, we're going to have a generation of kids who all have one leg that's stronger than the other?

Blessed Are The Observers

For they shall have their own ring of hell to live in.

That thar link shoots you to a windy Financial Times piece from Saturday's edition on the International Red Cross and the difficult decisions they're facing due to modern warfare. You see, the ICRC's mandate, traditionally, has been to send out monitors to POW camps and prisons to ensure that nation-states are living up to their obligations under the Geneva Conventions. To gain access to these camps, they promise that they will not publicize their findings, but will rather work on the inside to make sure things are done to help the prisoners with their living conditions. This has been the case since WWI. It's a quid pro quo arrangement. But, lately, it seems as if some people within the ICRC have been having issues with this quid pro quo. They want the quid, but now they're having second thoughts about giving the quo. And you want to know what events have brought about this remarkable potential change in mission?

Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo.

Yes, that's right. This is the organization who did not think twice about what the SS was doing in Theriesenstadt. They bought the SS's story about that town, hook, line and sinker. But wait, it gets worse. From the article:

{...}But on the Nazi extermination and concentration camps, their courage and imagination failed. At a meeting held in Geneva on October 14 1942, the 25 people who presided over the organisation voted not to go public with the knowledge they had about Auschwitz and the systematic murder of civilians, Jews, gypsies, political dissidents and intellectuals, on the grounds that Hitler might retaliate by denying them access to the allied prisoners in German hands. It was not actually in their mandate to protect civilians - a revision of the Geneva Conventions to include protection for civilians had only reached draft stage by the outbreak of war - so that, technically, they were not at fault. But at the end of the war, when this decision to stay silent became known, it provoked widespread criticism including talk of anti-Semitism, and even threatened the future of the organisation.{...}

So, here you have an organization that has, for the most part, stuck to its original mission: to observe and work for better conditions for prisoners of war from the inside. Except for a few rare instances over the past sixty years, they have not publicized their findings. But the one time they should have diverged from their mission and publicized that millions of people were being systematically exterminated, they didn't do it. They were worried about the potential of Hitler retaliating and denying them access to POW's. They kept quiet, instead. Because protecting civilians wasn't a part of their mandate. And the mass murders continued. The smoke kept pumping out of the smokestacks at Auschwitz, in part, because of their silence.

It beggars belief that Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo should be the straws that are reportedly breaking the ICRC's back nowadays, when they had the opportunity to play a major part in stopping a genocide and they didn't do it. But, I'll fully admit, that could just be me and my skewed sense of right and wrong.

Man, Like We Didn't See That One Coming

{Insert Gomer Pyle Voice Here}

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise.

Man, I simply, flat-out, cannot freakin' wait for the Baba Waba interview five years from now, when Katie announces to the world---as a part of her "comeback pr tour"---that, yes, indeedy, she made a huge mistake marrying Tommy Boy; that Scientology, really and truly, is a cult; and that---insert drumroll here---Tommy Boy really does prefer cabana boys over cabana girls. Because methinks Katie will be bitter when she finally realizes she's been used. And everything's going to be fair game at that point in time.

Have you ever seen a more self-loathing, closeted gay man? Nope. Tommy Boy really does take the cake on this one. What's really sad is that he's taking advantage of a moderately talented, but extremely naive, young woman who has a future---but doesn't now---to prop up the biggest lie he tells himself. (There is a reason he picked her, after all. Don't kid yourselves. The fact that she's naive in the extreme was a bonus for Tommy Boy.) It's sad, really. If he can't come out publicly, for obvious reasons, he could at least stop taking advantage of young women to cover his ass and, you know, just be alone, living a discreet life. Because the women keep getting younger and younger. You have noticed that, right? And, in my little world of theory, it's not because he prefers them young, per se, (look at Mimi Rogers for chrissakes) but rather because they've got little experience to suss this sort of thing out. That and his ex-es always seem to go running for men with who possess an overabundance of testosterone once they break up with Tommy Boy. Penelope Cruz has hooked up with Matthew McConaughey; Nicole Kidman was reportedly upset when Russell Crowe got married because she wanted to date him. The pattern is clear. He's using these women as uninformed beards. They've bought into the myth that is Tom Cruise. And he takes full advantage of it. It's just mean and selfish.

And when Katie does talk to Baba Waba, well, it's going to be sweet.

Oh, and just for the record, I believe War of the Worlds is going to tank. Big Time. It's going to be Gigli all over again.

She's Lost It

The blogosphere's veritable James Joyce Junkie, Sheila, has gone Bloomsday crazy.

Back away from your copy of Finnegan's Wake, Sheila. Slowly. Go very, very slowly.

Go on over and just keep scrolling

Just When You Thought You'd Seen It All

Someone comes along and takes a digital picture that just blows your expectations out of the water.

Mazeltov, Margi and Koolaid!

WooT!

It's About That Time...

...to break forth the rhythm and the rhyme.

Just try getting gool ol' Marky Mark out of your head now, sucka!

{Insert evil chuckle here.}

Anyway, it's time for the Carnival of the Babewits. Go read. And the next time someone asks you, "jeez, where are all the women in the blogosphere?" just send them over to Mark's place.

Just A Random Observation

*Obligatory Warning*: I had no dog in the Terri Schiavo fight. I did not pen one post about it. I stayed the heck out of it. Wasn't going to touch it with a ten foot pole. I made one comment on someone else's blog about an obscure part of the case and I got my head bit off for the effort expended. After that, I kept quiet and watched. Because we all know I'm something of a voyeur when it comes to Internet catfights. So, I make this observation not to get a "nanny-nanny-boo-boo, you suck!" shot across the bow, but rather to simply make the observation. Let me repeat that: Kath did not have a dog in this fight. Got it? Good.

Now for the observation.

Ahem.

Terri's autopsy report came out today. Terri's battle really brought out some of the worst behavior I've ever seen in the blogosphere. If Rathergate was the high point, this was most definitely the low. Perhaps it was simply meant to be that way, to show us the glaring failures of this new medium we're so very fond of proclaiming is the new information revolution. I don't know. I don't read entrails for a living, so I couldn't tell you for certain: this is just my gut feeling. Anyway, a lot of people made hay on this issue. Serious amounts of hay. Enough to feed all the livestock for a very long winter. But, and here's where the observation comes in, very few seem to be chiming in now that the autopsy report is in. Perhaps this is because the actual science of the report goes against what they were proclaiming to be the truth to her condition back when she was alive.

I know whom I'm looking for to chime in on this one, and they haven't. They've been silent all day long about it. I'm not going to name them, because they're very middle of the road bloggers. Not freepers. Not moonbats. They don't deserve the ignominy of being called out for this one. I felt that perhaps they were a wee bit overwrought about the entire deal. Say whatever you will about the entire situation, but you cannot deny that Terri brought out people's passion. And it brought it out in both beautiful and incredibly ugly ways. It was personal for these bloggers and that passion, perhaps, sometimes, I thought, got the better of their usually calm, reasoned rhetoric.

A friend of mine likes to remind me that this is a very new medium and that we'll never really replace the mainstream media, or even really make all that big of a dent in it, because bloggers, as a whole, aren't really held accountable. A reporter is held accountable to an editor, who is held accountable to the publisher, who is held accountable by the paying public. We're just spouting off here and are accountable, in only a very limited sense, to our readers and our blogging compadres. But since we can delete our blogs with the click of the mouse, and we'll never really face any real-life consequences if we've spouted off about this, that or the other, unless we're blogging at work and have been fired for it. That's about it. In other words, we really don't have an obligation to say "we were wrong" if we should be proven to be wrong. Audiences, as anyone who's been doing this for a while can tell you, come and go. You may be someone's favorite one week, and they might lose interest the next. Publish something your reader disagrees with and the beauty of the blogosphere dictates that there's probably someone out there who's said exactly what they want to hear, and has done it even better than the blogger they just abandoned. That's fine. As far as I'm concerned, readers are allowed to do that. What I do wonder about is this, though: there are plenty of blogs, this being one of them, who proclaimed the information revolution was well on its way when Dan Rather resigned because of the ball that started rolling in the blogosphere. Some of these very same blogs made some specious claims about Terri Schiavo. And today they've been proven wrong. Will they feel the obligation to say they were wrong?

And if they don't, what happens to the information revolution?

A Bit of Navel Gazing For Your Enjoyment

You know, I'm really not a scary person. I know sometimes I come off like one, because this place is where I put a lot of my angst. But you shouldn't take it seriously. I'm not that frightening of a person. Really, I'm not. Most people think I'm really nice.

Except...

When someone tries to use me. Then I have to draw the damn line, because homey just don't play that. For those of you who are wondering what I'm going on about this time, well, it's this: I am getting exceedingly tired of bloggers who perhaps don't have a huge audience---and would like to gain one---tracking back to a post I've written on a similar subject WITHOUT LINKING ME. They're doing this to gain hits. To gain notoriety. I know that's the reason they're doing it, but it's---and I'm going to shout this so they get it the first fucking time---TACKY IN THE EXTREME. Your trackback will get deleted. Trust me on this one. Get your own damn audience, or at least get some balls and send me a promo email. If you want me to get angry, like I just did, try and sneak around me, assuming I won't care. Because, let me tell you kids, that's a surefire way to bring the heavens down upon you. But, really, if you want me to promote one of your posts, send me an email that goes something like this:

Hi Kathy,

I'm a fan of the Cake Eater Chronicles and I just wrote a post that dovetails nicely with one you wrote about such and such subject. Here's the link if you're interested in reading it.

Thanks for your time,

So and so blogger

Now, that wasn't so hard, was it? I may link you. I may not. You'll never know unless you try.

And just a super sekrit message to the dude who inspired this post: if you'd sent me an email, I would have linked to you. It was a good post. But now I won't because you tried to horn in on my blog and my traffic without giving me anything in return. It's pretty fucking simple. Blogging is, at best, a quid pro quo excursion. If you're not going to give, neither am I. Take your parasitic behavior and go elsewhere.

New Stuff

Dear Jonathan, as I found out recently, is a wee bit fanatical about all things Apple.

I am not, however, obsessed with all things Apple. I think people who buy those things are probably pretty nice, but are misguided and really should be shown the light.

I am also---as you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, already know---a wee bit obsessed with all things Stewie. And as the laptop is named "wee bastard" I've always had Stewie wallpaper. It just fits. But recently the husband, who is never on my computer, has tired of the old Stewie wallpaper. So he went out and found me a new one.

Well, lookie at the new wallpaper the husband found for my computer.

I just had to share.

Heh.

UPDATE: Jonathan emails and tells me Ipods annoy him, despite his adoration of all things Apple. He apparently doesn't know why.

Hmmmm. Could it be that cult membership only goes so far? Perhaps there's hope for these people yet!

Beach Time!

Once again, Tuesday has rolled around---surprise, surprise, surprise---hence it is {insert righteous, soul blasting, trumpet music here} Demystifying Divas Day. Our topic for today: what is appropriate beachwear?

Now, if you were to ask this question of the husband (which I did: he's my polling sample) he would tell you a. every beach should be topless (And yes, just to confirm any leaps of the imagination you might have made with that little bit of disclosure, yes, the French Riviera is one of his dream vacation destinations.) and b. just say no to the "grape smuggler"-type swimsuits, aka speedos. You see, in his mind, a woman's body is a beautiful thing. He's not going to mind one bit if a woman has a few extra pounds on her---as long as she's topless. Naked breasts distract from any imperfections apparently. For a man's body, well, according to the husband, said man shouldn't wear one of those itty bitty speedos unless he's got the body to pull it off, and even then it's a flip of the coin as to whether the man really should be wearing the thing. What I find ironic is that if he ever were to make to the French Riviera, he'd find a lot of speedos mixed in with all of the topless women, because I believe that's one of the places in Europe where hygiene requirements dictate that men have to wear such a swimsuit.

As for what I think, well, I think as long as you're comfortable in your swimsuit and it doesn't keep riding up your butt (hence forcing you to keep digging for gold...in PUBLIC), you can wear what you'd like. Even if it's a Speedo. Because, really, there are some men who can get away with wearing speedos. (Michael Phelps comes to mind. Hottie McHotHot! Rowr.) It's all about being comfortable with your body: if you're comfortable with your body, well, that feeling of confidence that you give off has a way of hiding cellulite and stretch marks. It's a magic little thing.

A couple of years ago, back when we could afford such a thing, the husband and I were members of what would be thrown into the city club designation for places where you spend an obscene amount of money playing the meet and greet game. It was the same deal as a country club, only without the golf course. There was a health club instead. It was a pretty swank club and we enjoyed our membership there not only because was it the best people watching opportunity in town, but also because there was a rooftop pool replete with BAR SERVICE! There's really nothing quite so nice on a hot summer afternoon than having a very cute, very nice, young waiter deliver you a refreshing, cold glass of Chardonnay as you read the latest edition of The Economist whilst sunning yourself poolside. That's living, let me tell you.

Ahem.

Anyway when I first went to the pool, of course, I was a wee bit nervous about how I looked in my swimsuit. Now, I'm not a bikini girl. I haven't owned one since I was about five-years-old (It was green with cute little fishies on it) because I thought (and still think) they were too revealing for me, so I've pretty much been a maillot girl ever since. If you don't know what these are, well, know that it's got a low-ish back on it, it covers my rear-end, and it shows what I would consider to be a reasonable amount of cleavage. Nothing too fancy, in other words. It's also functional and as such it makes me feel comfortable. But this was the club--- with rich bitches who spend every waking moment on the elipticals in the health club. I was nervous that I was going to be the only one with cellulite poking out. The husband told me I looked fine and then shoved me out the door.

As it turns out, the husband was (once again) right. I needn't have worried. It became quite obvious that the world, and the people in it, really aren't airbrushed. (It'd been a while since I'd gone to a pool. My expectations for embarrassment were high.) There were women there, well over the age of forty, standing around, chatting with friends, who were dressed in skimpy bikinis and they looked fabulous---despite the fact you could divine how many kids they'd had just by counting the stretch marks on their tummies. They didn't care. Neither did they care if there were a few dimples on their thighs and butts. They just didn't give a rat's ass. Why? Because they were comfortable with their bodies.

These women were a sharp contrast to the young woman who always sat devotedly next to her asshole boyfriend at the edge of the pool. (He stole my waiter once by waving a fifty dollar bill in midair, at a club where everything was done by tab, hence he was forever shut into the asshole category as a result.) Now the boyfriend was the type who thought it necessary to wear his diamond-encrusted Texas Timex to the pool (along with a few guido chains around his neck) and was more interested in showing off how much money he had than actually having a good time. Well, let me amend that: showing off how much money he had was his idea of a good time. His girlfriend, who I'm very sure was not used to going to clubs of this nature, was an interesting people-watching specimen. I will admit, she fascinated me because she was, well---how do I put this?---incongrous? Yeah, that works. Her attitude didn't match what she looked like. That's why I found her interesting to observe.

She was tall, thin, and was a bottle blonde. Every time she took a swim, she never dipped her head under the water, because it would wreck the full war paint she had going on, to say nothing of her perfectly arranged hair. Now, this woman had what a lot of men would consider to be the perfect, early 21st Century body. And by that I mean she could have body-doubled for J.Lo. I would swear on a mile-high stack that she'd had gone for the ass implants. Her butt was completely, perfectly, round, like you'd cut a softball in half and had slid each half under either cheek. These implants, of course, matched the ones on her chest, which were just right. Not too large, but not too small, either. Her stomach was flat, her thighs were slim, her toes were professionally tended to, as were her hands. She had the perfect body that only the best plastic surgeons could provide and yet, surprisingly enough, after all that, she wasn't comfortable with herself. Her boyfriend apparently thought all of his money needed to be displayed appropriately, hence she was always in a bikini. She was perfectly tanned and was quite pretty naturally. But she wasn't comfortable with herself. Her arms were always crossed over her chest. She wore a towel around her waist as much as she possibly could. She always looked as if she was trying to hide, always looking down and trying to be invisible, so that the teacher wouldn't call on her. The older, bikini wearing women, who were busy chatting with their friends while they tried to keep their kids from kamikazi-ing off the side of the pool and killing themselves in the process, intimidated this girl. And it was there to see by anyone who'd bothered to look.

Hence, this is why I say, wear what you want to the pool or the beach: if you're comfortable in it, who cares what anyone else has to say about it? You could have the best body money could buy and still not be comfortable with it. So, why bother worrying (and spending thousands of dollars fixing it) about it? You'll save time and money that way. And, as the husband always claims, confidence is the sexiest thing a woman can wear. Don't worry so much about how it fits.

Now, run along and see what the other fabulous demystifying divas have to say on the subject. Also, please go over and say "hi" to Divaesque Lady Kate, who is also contributing to our vast knowledge on this subject this week. Also, make sure to check out what the boys have to say on the topic. The Wiz is taking a bye week, so he won't have anything to say, but make sure to read what Phin, Stiggy and The Foreign Minister have contributed.

Idiots Abound

Some random fan quotes given upon Michael Jackson's acquittal

• "This proves that justice can prevail in America," said Tara Bardella, 19, who came from Arizona two weeks ago to wait for the verdicts. "We love you, Michael!"
• "I'm shaking," said Emily Smith, 24, of London, who was among the few lucky fans who got courtroom passes. "I believe justice has been done today."
• Lifelong fan Raffles Vanexel, 29, of Amsterdam, said he "cried like a little baby" when the verdicts were read.

  "I feel like I was reborn," said Vanexel, who claimed he helped lift Jackson onto an SUV for his notorious rooftop dance after his arraignment. "The best is yet to come for Michael. This time around, the world owes him something."

• Martin Stock, the founder of a Jackson fan club in Germany who stayed up past 11 p.m. to watch the outcome, said he was overjoyed, even though he had expected his idol's acquittal.

  "The whole trial was laughable and Michael was treated inhumanely. I think people were trying to throw him into prison to get at his money," Stock said.

I just have one question for these so-called fans: would you leave your kid alone with this man?

If so, you deserve to have your reproductive rights cancelled. You're not intelligent enough to bring a child into this world.

Progress

Good.

Kuwait appointed a woman to its cabinet for the first time in its history on Sunday, marking another victory for women's rights activists just a month after they won the right to suffrage.

Prime Minister Sheik Sabah al-Ahmed al-Sabah appointed Massouma al-Mubarak as minister of planning and as minister of state for administrative development affairs, Kuwait's state news agency, KUNA, reported Sunday.

Ms. Mubarak, 54, a political science professor at Kuwait University, has been a leading advocate for women's rights in the country. {...}

Hurrah!

We Don't Do What We Do For Thanks

...but it sure is nice to know that someone's noticed, and in a good way, too.

{Hat Tip: Doug}

What The Hell Is That All About?

According to The Elder, I'm supposed to have something called "state pride." I'm supposed to send you over to a blog written by a Hugh Hewitt lackey to vote for Minnesota's quarter because it's a matter of state pride.

Pfft. Whatever.

Dude, I just live here. The minute I win the Powerball I am so outta here.

Seriously. Don't vote for Minnesota's quarter. It's lame and this, despite Downtown Minneapolis being loaded with goateed graphic designers, is the best they could come up with. And then they argued for months about not being able to tell whether that's a loon or a duck in the foreground. It's a loon. Or maybe it's a duck. Who the fuck knows? It's pathetic. Colorado's is better.

YES!YES!YES!

Oh, God indeed.

A Graphic Representation of How Life Really Works

"If You Come To A Fork In The Road, Take It."

Mark at WitNit has a lovely collection of some of Yogi Berra's---ahem---finest moments as an English speaker.

I must admit, Yogi's always been one of my favorites, and what's funny is that I've always thought that he wasn't far off with some of these mistakes. There is great truth to some of them. For instance:

I think Little League is wonderful. It keeps the kids out of the house.

Yes, I know, it should be "it gets the kids out of the house," but, honestly, what frazzled mother could disagree with that?

Make sure to go on over and read. It's a good chuckle-inducer.

I'm So Proud

The blog child's on a roll.

Go over and keep on scrolling.

One rule that I would add to this post is that if a man is sick and keeps on whining about it, ignore them. If a man is sick and is quiet, get thy man some medical attention.

The Good Ol' Days

Did I ever tell you I was on yearbook in high school?

Well, I was.

While I didn't really get along with my fellow staffers all that well, it was an interesting experience, laying out my own designs, writing the content and, of course, taking the photographs. Because you take a lot of photographs when you're on yearbook. Roll after roll of film. Which you then have to lovingly develop and create prints for. (This was the eighties kids, no digital pics here!) And all so you can capture the essence of a year in the life of the student body. Now yearbooks are great when you're in school. You run around and have everyone and sundry sign them. Soon thereafter, however, they wind up packed away in a box, gathering dust and will only be dragged out when the owner gets wistful for their youth and has cracked open a bottle of Jose Cuervo, to help them remember only the good stuff associated with high school, and to help the bad stuff slide away into the ether.

The funny thing about being on yearbook is that you have extra junk to remember your days in high school: plastic sheet after plastic sheet of negatives. Photos that you took that have wound up in your possession because the yearbook advisor threatened you with death if you left them sitting in the lab. Because she sure as hell didn't want to have anything to do with them. And when you run across these, you hold them up to the light, you laugh and note the ones that made the cut, and then you notice all the photos that didn't make the cut.

Since Steve and Robbo have decided to take us for a trip down memory lane in recent days, I decided I'd share a few not-so-choice photos that have heretofore never seen the light of day. Because, you know, they were my pals in high school. Hence they made it into a lot of photos because they were easy that way.

I remember this one well. Like all good high school kids, they were rock star wannabes. Well, let me clarify: Steve-o was; Robbo had different ideas. Steve dragged him into it with the promise of updating some of Bach's greatest hits. Of course, Steve-o was lying but Robbo was more than a wee bit gullible at that stage so he went along with it. They never really did get around to modernizing The Goldberg Variations, hence Robbo was a wee bit miffed about the whole thing and was always and forever threatening to quit the band. Particularly after Steve-o decided it would be good for their rock and roll props to wear their bridles around school. Robbo was just mortified, but Steve? Well, Steve, of course, thought he was hot shit. Even though they were the most pathetic excuse for a band I've ever seen. I have no idea who the other two kids are---they were younger than us---but I remember that the kid directly to the left of Robbo, well, he was in a lot of other pics---he seemed to always jump into shots, like he was auditioning for a Calvin Klein gig---so my editor told me to can the photo.

Oh, God, poor Robbo. Sigh. I remember this all too clearly. Our senior year the drama department produced Fiddler on the Roof and Robbo, God Love Him, was cast as Tevye. I have two words to describe this HUGE blunder on the part of the drama department: pity casting.

Now, Robbo thought this was a pretty cool deal. He'd been involved in every musical and every play since he was a freshman, but he'd never played a lead, because, well, not to put too fine a point on it, he sucked. And I mean he blew. There's just no getting around how awful he was in actuality. Couldn't sing on key to save his life. But he was a good little trooper, always volunteering to paint sets, help with crewing duties even if he was already in the chorus...there was no job that was too small for Robbo to apply his meticulous attention to it. He loved all of it. So, when senior year rolled around, the musical was chosen, auditions were scheduled and Robbo was as jittery as a junebug---and of course had to make sure all of his friends were up to date on all of his conundrums. Which piece should he choose to audition with? Would it be too much, do you think, to have actual dance moves choreographed beforehand? Should I go down to the costume shop and get a fake beard? I mean, he went on and on and freakin' on until we all began to wonder if he was really lining himself up for membership in the Blogistan High Chapter of Future Homosexuals of America, instead of just auditioning for the school musical.

Well, Robbo, blew the audition. Of course. What's surprising is that he knew it, too. His hopes were completely dashed and he moped around until the cast list was posted outside the door to the school theater. Then what to his wondering eyes should appear? His name on the cast list. He'd bagged Tevye, along with two other guys. He fainted. Right there. Dropped like a stone. You really should have seen it: it was like every bone had been plucked out of his body and he simply fell down for lack of a skeletal system. You see, there had been so many other guys who were also seniors, who had been involved in the theater department (yeah, I know, that's unusual, but Blogistan High? Well, it was an unusual place.) and there simply weren't enough male parts to go around: so they had three Tevye's---one for each night the musical ran. Robbo got the Saturday night performance. Only because the drama teachers thought they could sneak him in.

That, of course, was the night my yearbook advisor scheduled me to go and take pictures of the production. This particular photo was taken before everything went horribly, horribly wrong. I mean, Christopher Guest wouldn't have even had to mock anything if he'd seen this play. He would have actually felt sorry for the cast and crew. Waiting for Guffman had nothing on Blogistan High's Saturday night performance of Fiddler on the Roof. Suffice it to say, this photo, three minutes into Tevye's opening bit of Tradition represents the high point of Robbo's theatrical career. This was before he set himself---and the whole backdrop---on fire with the candle he was carrying for the wedding scene. (Yep. Set himself on fire. I know. Pathetic, eh? He actually had to stop, drop and roll to put himself out.) This was before he almost ripped his hamstring in half during the Russian dancing scene after Tevye's arranged for Tzeitel's betrothal to Lazar Wolf. This was before...well, I think you get the gist. The whole thing was like a performance of Macbeth is always supposed to go: it was cursed from the get go.

Hence this photo never made it into the yearbook. My yearbook advisor had also helped out with the musical and wouldn't allow any photographs of Robbo to be included on the pages we'd allotted. Everyone else got their due, but he was strictly VERBOTEN. I remember him asking me when the yearbook came out why he wasn't included. I lied and told him it was because of space issues. He seemed to accept that answer, but I suppose we're all grown up now and he can take the truth.

Now, while Steve-o might have flirted with Rock-n-Roll Greatness, and Robbo had his love of the theater to keep him warm at night, it should be noted that if you ever really needed to find these dorks, you went to the computer lab. Where invariably you would find them hanging out with Bill.

Since computers were new-fangled doohickeys way back when, and the school was keen to promote that they actually had computers, my editor was all over me to go and take some pictures of the few people who actually hung out in the lab. This meant, one more time, being forced to resort to getting my pals to pose for pictures. I remember the conversation going something like this:

Steve-o: Make sure you're getting my good side. Are you getting my good side?
Kath: You have a good side? Hmmph. Who knew? What the heck do you guys do on these things anyway?
Robbo: Search for interesting things to do, of course!
Bill: Which, knowing you two, includes trying to find pictures of South American farm animals
Steve: You know what I want? I want software that will allow me to chop the heads off pictures and replace them with funnier stuff.
Robbo:: Can you really do that?
Bill: {Slaps Robbo Dismissively} No, you dork, you can't. It hasn't been invented yet.
Kath: Bill stop smacking Robbo. There's no violence allowed in the yearbook. Work with me here.
Steve {Wistful} One day they will invent it. I'm sure. And they'll invent a vast thing called the world wide web, and we'll all have these things called blogs, because we named them after the high school, and we'll be able to post anything we want, about any topic...
Bill: Shut up, bridle boy.
Kathy: Oh, for Chrissakes. Knock it off! Just shut up and let me take the damn picture. I need to get out of here; I can feel the geek rubbing off on me. I'm going to have to take a shower when I'm done as it is...
Phin: {Chimes in from other side of the lab} Want me to wash your back for you?
Bill, Robbo, Steve and Kathy: NO!
Sadie: Maybe I'll let you wash my back, Phin. If you're a really good fishie... {insert much batting of eyelashes here}
Phin: Ohboyohboyohboy!
Sadie:...IF Gordo will let me.
Gordo: Nope. Mine. ALL mine. Not sharing.
Phin: Awwwwwww...
Bill: Oh, God. Get me out of here and to Dee Cee!
Sadie: Oh, well. {Shrugs and goes back to what she was doing}
{Insert clicking of the shutter here}
Kathy: I'm outta here!

Sadly, this photo never made it into the yearbook. The editor decided they didn't have space for it at the last minute.

Ah, so there's a couple of choice photos and stories of our high school days. I've got more, sitting right here, waiting for me to go through them, so maybe I'll post some more, or maybe they'll just go back into the box for future use. Who knows?

I believe Madame Sadie and Gordo have taken their own trips down memory lane. Make sure you go and check them out.

The Fat Lady Has Done Her Aria and Has Left The Building

Bwahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahaha!

Just goes to show that what goes around, comes around.

{Snicker}

Some People Call Me the Space CowboyGirl

Random observations gained during my journey around Lake Harriet today:

• What the hell happened to Steve Miller? I'm a picker. I'm a grinner. I'm a lover and I'm a sinner... What a great song. Rivaled only by Jungle Love
• Lileks was not at the lake today. I looked. So don't be expecting screedy goodness about a trip to the beach in tomorrow's Bleat
• Well water is nasty.
• Joe Walsh's "Life's Been Good" came on the radio and Denis Leary came to mind:

  I got two words for Don Henley: Joe Fuckin' Walsh

  Denis is only rarely wrong about such things.

  Whatever happened to Joe? I loved him because he had the most insane facial expressions whenever he played. He was the shit. I knew Don Henley was a poser at age seven. Warm smell of colitas my ass.

• I'm still liking that new Jack radio station. Some I'm sure would like to shoot me, but I can't freakin' afford an mp.3 player, so piss off.
• We have pooper scooper laws in this city for a REASON, people. Pick up your dog's doo so I don't look like I'm playing a game of hopscotch when I'm over there. It's embarrasing enough as it is. Besides, it gets into the WATER SUPPLY! If you live in SW Minneapolis, please learn that your water comes from these lakes. Fecal matter sliding into water is a BAD THING!
• If you happen to be one of the (very) few people I pass, please don't take it personally, speed up and then try and get around me, as if you're proving you're still running with the big dogs. Really, it's quite lame. I can guarantee you that plenty o' people pass me. You're one of millions, hence I take no notice, unless I have to pass you again and your shirt looks vaguely familiar.
• Sometimes it's quite cute when you parents let your little kids ride their bikes, replete with training wheels, around the lake, and on the walking path, no less. I can understand why you wouldn't want them on the bike path: they'd get mowed down by some random rollerblader. But please realize that when they clog up the path because they're too tired to move it along, it gets annoying for the rest of us. I thank you in advance for your kind consideration in not letting your kid do this anymore.
• My ass feels like it's getting smaller. I wonder if it actually is.

And there you have your (not so) regularly scheduled trip into my brain. Now, per usual, get the hell out!

Yep. Everything You Read On the Internet Is True.

...and Ith really is Hugh Laurie in disguise. Tall Englishman. Slender California girl. Same person. Really and truly!

Would I lie to you?

What I would like to know is this: where are these people when I need to sell them a bridge? Hmmm. Come right on down. Quality architecture for sale, right here at the Cake Eater Lot!

UPDATE: Apparently, I provide inspiration.

An Insult To The Three Thousand

...who died at The World Trade Center on 9/11.

{...}The World Trade Center Memorial Cultural Complex will be an imposing edifice wedged in the place where the Twin Towers once stood. It will serve as the primary "gateway" to the underground area where the names of the lost are chiseled into concrete. The organizers of its principal tenant, the International Freedom Center (IFC), have stated that they intend to take us on "a journey through the history of freedom"--but do not be fooled into thinking that their idea of freedom is the same as that of those Marines. To the IFC's organizers, it is not only history's triumphs that illuminate, but also its failures. The public will have come to see 9/11 but will be given a high-tech, multimedia tutorial about man's inhumanity to man, from Native American genocide to the lynchings and cross-burnings of the Jim Crow South, from the Third Reich's Final Solution to the Soviet gulags and beyond. This is a history all should know and learn, but dispensing it over the ashes of Ground Zero is like creating a Museum of Tolerance over the sunken graves of the USS Arizona.

The public will be confused at first, and then feel hoodwinked and betrayed. Where, they will ask, do we go to see the September 11 Memorial? The World Trade Center Memorial Foundation will have erected a building whose only connection to September 11 is a strained, intellectual one. While the IFC is getting 300,000 square feet of space to teach us how to think about liberty, the actual Memorial Center on the opposite corner of the site will get a meager 50,000 square feet to exhibit its 9/11 artifacts, all out of sight and underground. Most of the cherished objects which were salvaged from Ground Zero in those first traumatic months will never return to the site. There is simply no room. But the International Freedom Center will have ample space to present us with exhibits about Chinese dissidents and Chilean refugees. These are important subjects, but for somewhere--anywhere--else, not the site of the worst attack on American soil in the history of the republic.{...}

Wait for it.

{...}In fact, the IFC's list of those who are shaping or influencing the content and programming for their Ground Zero exhibit includes a Who's Who of the human rights, Guantanamo-obsessed world:

• Michael Posner, executive director at Human Rights First who is leading the worldwide "Stop Torture Now" campaign focused entirely on the U.S. military. He has stated that Mr. Rumsfeld's refusal to resign in the wake of the Abu Ghraib scandal is "irresponsible and dishonorable."

• Anthony Romero, executive director of the ACLU, who is pushing IFC organizers for exhibits that showcase how civil liberties in this country have been curtailed since September 11.

• Eric Foner, radical-left history professor at Columbia University who, even as the bodies were being pulled out of a smoldering Ground Zero, wrote, "I'm not sure which is more frightening: the horror that engulfed New York City or the apocalyptic rhetoric emanating daily from the White House." This is the same man who participated in a "teach-in" at Columbia to protest the Iraq war, during which a colleague exhorted students with, "The only true heroes are those who find ways to defeat the U.S. military," and called for "a million Mogadishus." The IFC website has posted Mr. Foner's statement warning that future discussions should not be "overwhelmed" by the IFC's location at the World Trade Center site itself.

• George Soros, billionaire founder of Open Society Institute, the nonprofit foundation that helps fund Human Rights First and is an early contributor to the IFC. Mr. Soros has stated that the pictures of Abu Ghraib "hit us the same way as the terrorist attack itself."{...}

{my emphasis}

Nice, huh?

Martini Boy says it best:

{...}But the IFC exhibit is treason to the memory of the nearly 3,000 people who were murdered for the crime of going to work on 9/11/2001. Whatever our nation's faults, whatever injustices have been committed in our names, no matter what someone might ever have suffered at our hands...

...those are not the stories to tell at the site where the World Trade Center towers once stood. At the site where 3,000 people were burned or crushed or leapt to their deaths. Not at the site where we suffered one of the worst surprise attacks in modern history, and against a civilian target.

We don't memorialize our war dead by including pictures of them picking their noses. We shouldn't remember our losses by blaming its victims - or even their great-great-grandfathers. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier isn't inscribed with, "What a Fuck-Up, Huh?" {...}

If these people can't even do that without trying to politicize it---or even realize that some people would think that they're politicizing it---well, they've got their heads shoved so far up their bums that they should be able to save their health insurers the cost of a colonoscopy.

Make Up Your Mind, Esther

Oh, we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl...

Except when I'm trying to sell children's books, then I'm not a material girl. Because it's all about the children.

Or at least the message I'm trying to sell these children so I can get some of their parents' cold, hard cash.

Because, you know, Versace ain't cheap. And since Donatella gave up the coke, well, she's just not giving out the freebies like she used to.

Addicted to Addiction

Good point.

Oh, So That's Where I Went to High School

Hmmmph.

I thought that was just a bad acid trip.

Yet Another Screaming Meme

From Madame Sadie

Five Things I Miss From My Childhood

1. The Ding Dong Man: Now, I'm sure this sounds obscene to your adultified ears---either that or you have a serious Hostess problem---but the dude we affectionately called "The Ding Dong Man" is, in all reality, a guy who drove an ice cream truck around the neighborhood. That was just our nickname for him. He drove through the neighborhood just about every day, right around three o'clock. Methinks he was pretty crafty, knowing what time all the wee ones would be waking up from their naps. He also cunningly coordinated his timing with what could be considered the Industry Standard for snack time for the older kids in our neck of the woods. Two birds: one stone. Now, Mom was kind of a stickler in this department and only let us indulge in his treats every so often, but there was nothing better than a bomb pop when she would.

2. Happy Hollow: If you look at a map of Omaha you'll see that, near the vast expanse of Memorial Park, there is a street called Happy Hollow. Well, this isn't what I'm referring to, even though it's less than a mile from the old homestead and I used to cross it every day on the way to school. One of the perks of the bank presidency my dad held were a couple of country club memberships, and one of them was to Happy Hollow. Happy Hollow was, at that point in Omaha's development, out in what we mid-city residents considered to be the middle of nowhere. Now, however, most people consider where Happy Hollow resides to be midtown. During the summers, Mom would tell us relatively early in the morning if a trip to the club was on tap for the day. And, if it was, my sister and I were dumped into a state of heightened anticipation. I believe Mom scheduled these trips to west Omaha based on if anything interesting was happening on her "story" that day, but I'll never know unless she fesses up. Her "story" (and, yes, this is what she STILL calls it) is more commonly known as As The World Turns. If, as I suspect, nothing interesting was happening that day, we'd go right after lunch. If something was, well, we'd have to wait until afterwards. I remember the trip out to the club always taking FOREVER. I would finally feel a sense of relief when I could see the Witherspoon mansion. Across the street there was another mansion---I can't remember their name, but I'm sure the Omaha contingent will provide it when they read this---and attached to the mansion was a large field where the owner's horses ran free. Right after that field was a Sinclair station, which still stands at that corner, and that's where we turned left to get to the club. There's now a shopping complex where that field used to be.

We loved the club because the club had one big ass swimming pool and lots of kids. It also had a high dive, which made it infinitely better than Field Club, which was closer to where we lived and was the other club we belonged to, but where there was only a regular height diving board and if you wanted to use it, you were jumping right into the fray because the pool was small. At Happy Hollow, they had the diving area roped off to swimmers. Pure class. Christi and I were pool connosieurs at that point in time and nothing was better, in our humble opinion, than Happy Hollow.

One summer, when my mom was busy planning my brother's wedding and didn't have time to come to the pool with us, she'd drop us off right when the pool opened, we'd swim, we'd have lunch---they had a little grill shack that served the best hamburgers---then we'd swim some more, we'd have a Hostess blueberry or cherry pie for a snack and then we'd swim until our Dad would come to pick us up after work. Sometimes, if we were really lucky, Dad would want to go back to the club after dinner for more swimming. YIPPEEE! It was heaven for an eleven-year old fish like myself. This whole arrangement worked rather well until Dad freaked when he got the grill tab. Yikes, was he ever pissed off.

I still remember our member number: 606Z. Mom and Dad don't belong anymore---the membership went the way of the Dodo when Dad was downsized---but there are times when I'm back in Omaha during the summer and I wonder if they'd boot me out if I went in there and put that code down on the sign-in sheet.

3. Old reruns of decent tee vee shows. When we got cable, we were introduced to the glories of The Carol Burnett Show, The Addams Family, The Munsters and the like. Nothing was funnier than old Carol Burnett episodes. My favorite moments were when they cracked themselves up. Whatever happened to Lyle Waggoner? Does anyone know? I have to think he's who George Hamilton stole the skin cancer-schtick from.

4. Video Games At the 7-11. Tis where I learned how to play Pac Man and Ms. Pac Man. Donkey Kong was included, as was that little bastard Q-Bert, Asteroids and Space Invaders. Frogger ruled, but the ultimate was Pole Position.

5. Riding my bike: It's just not the same thing when you're an adult. The heady sense of freedom just isn't there when you're a grownup and you sling your leg over the chassis. It's fun, don't get me wrong, but it means less.

The rules:

Remove the #1 item from the following list, bump everyone up one place and add your blog's name in the #5 spot. You need to link to actually link to each of the blogs for the link-whorage aspect of this fiendish meme to kick in.

No Government Cheese
Villainous Company
Pirate's Cove
Fistful of Fortnights
Cake Eater Chronicles

Next, select four unsuspecting victims, list and link to them. Get the plank ready.

Who to pick, who to pick? Hmmmmm. Well, of course, I must choose Robbo. Because he's all about the meme, just like moi. RP would probably have some lovely answers (and who, inspired by The Girl Child, hopes your summer tastes like pear. Which is as lovely a sentiment as I've heard lately.) as would Miss Margi, our newest addition to the divesque ladies (and because she always humors me when it comes to these things). Let's see, I need one more. Hmmmm. Who to pick? Hmmmm. Aha. The Blog Child. Because she's a sucker for memes and maybe this will get her mind off the morning sickness.

Old Flames and The Friends Who Date Them

Yep. Another week has passed and Tuesday is here once again. And you know what that means, kids! It's another electrifying installment of The Demystifying Divas. Our topic this week is one that I'm sure y'all will have an opinion about because it poses a rather interesting ethical question: when you break up with someone, is it ever ok for any of your friends to date your ex?

I would have to say that the answer to this one is no. It is NEVER ok for this to happen. Others might be more enlightened and are able to keep their emotions in check, and can pull the "yeah, sure, he's a great guy, it just didn't work out with us, so go for it" thing off. I'm sure those people are out there. It's just that, in reality, I've never known this to work out, no matter how 21st Century someone purports to be. I'm very much like Dr. House on this issue: everyone lies. If someone says they're over their ex, just assume they're lying. If someone says that they're mostly over their ex, just assume they're lying. If someone says they're not over their ex, well, just assume they're lying, but that they'll still be jealous if you date their ex.

To explain my thoughts on this one, I have to lay out a bit of my ancient history. You see, I have never been the type of girl who turns guys' heads. They don't walk up to me and start chatting me up. It just doesn't happen. I'm just not that chick. I have brown hair and I wear glasses. Go figure. I am, however, the girl who can chat on all sorts of subjects and will "intrigue" a man once she starts talking to him. I have no idea why this happens, but it's always been this way. Now, this was a very uncomfortable experience when I was coming of age, because my friends would gain a guy, I'd get to know them because the socially acceptable thing to do is to get to know the people your friends date, and then this is when it would get interesting. For some strange reason I always wound up fending off advances from my friends' boyfriends. God, talk about awkward.

One glaring example from my youth: my best friend from high school was dating this goombah. And there's really no other way to describe him: he was a goombah. He was Italian-American; he was born and raised in Nebraska, but for some strange reason thought he should have a Brooklyn accent; he wore gold chains around his neck and---I swear to God---wore a pinky ring, and drove a Bitchin' Camaro. He pretty much fit the "goombah" definition. He was an "ok" guy, and we got along all right, but I was having a hard time understanding why Julie thought the sun rose and set with him. The first time I met him was the first weekend I was home from college after my freshman year. We went to a party, I was introduced, I chatted with him, and before then end of that night he'd grabbed my ass TWICE. When Julie was right next to him, no less. I'd removed his hand both times, and added a painful twist to his finger to make sure he got the message that he shouldn't be trying that on, and shot him nasty looks to back up the message.

Now, I told Julie about this the next day. And, of course, she took it under advisement, but while I thought she was being rational about it, she was simply filing this information away. Not to use against him, but rather to use against me. She broke up with him a few weeks later. This was fine and dandy with me. No hassles. About six months later, I was home from school from Christmas break, and she was dodging me and pretty much not wanting to have anything to do with me. I didn't understand what was going on, she wouldn't stay on the phone long enough with me for me to suss it out, and so, when I got back to school, I sent her a letter, wondering what was up. Well, she sent one back saying we shouldn't be friends anymore. Because I was "always trying to steal her boyfriends away." And she listed out this boyfriend, even though she'd dumped him, as just one of the many examples of my being a bad friend.

I was stunned. Here I'd practically broken the guy's finger---twice---in an effort to be faithful to my friend, I'd told her what he'd done, and who was the one who had to pay the ferryman? Not him, that's for sure. A couple of years later, Julie and reconciled, but it was short lived. Think you can guess why? Her fiancee---yep, that's right, the man she was engaged to be married to---kept sending me these soulful glances across the room when I first met him. I was dating the husband by this point in time, and the boyfriend knew this, but the minute Julie got up to go to the bathroom, well, he started running his finger along my hand, saying how cool I was and that we should get together sometime. Oy.

Of course, I ran the other way. I didn't want to get blamed, again, for the fact she kept picking out losers. This happened many more times, with many more girlfriends and the objects of their affection. I have no idea why it happened. It's not like I went looking to steal their boyfriends away. I just talked to the guys. That's it. I hate homewreckers, yet I constantly got lumped in with their lot. It's something that baffles me to this day. Yet, this is why I've never thought it would be ok, under any circumstances, to even think about having warm and friendly thoughts towards a friend's ex. I just wouldn't do it. It's not worth the hassle, because, in my humble opinion, no matter how much your friend says they're over their ex, there are still going to be little rumblings of jealousy that could, conceivably, ruin your friendship. It's just not worth the trouble.

Now run along and see what Sadie, Silk and Chrissy have to say on the subject. Please also go over and give Kelley at Suburban Blight, one of our fine Divaesque Ladies, a warm welcome and read what she has to say.

For the male perspective, as always The Wiz, Phin, Stiggy have spoken up. As has the I-can't-bring-myself-to-shoot-raccoons-Smallholder at Naked Villainy.

On Dancing and The Saving Power of our Lord Jesus Christ

So, yesterday afternoon was the niece's dance recital.

She's four years old.

Sigh.

I've mentioned in the past that her mom, the husband's sister, is a wee bit out there when it comes to the religion business. I love my sister-in-law, but she and her husband have taken a somewhat reactionary point of view when it comes to all things religion. As in no one should read The DaVinci Code because it's full of "historical fallacies." Not that she read the book or anything and knows first hand, but because her pastor said so, so it must be true. She also homeschools their kids. This is fine and it, to a certain extent, works well for their kids, but one of the extracurricular activities the sister-in-law has set up for the niece, to meet and interact with kids her own age, is dance class.

At a "Christian" dance academy.

Now, you may very well be asking yourself, "What's a Christian dance academy?" Well, lemme tell you. It appears to be a dance academy where the teachers only use positive reinforcement to instruct the girls. There doesn't appear to be any "five, six, seven, eight, and shuffle,ball chain...no, stop the music. You're off, so and so. Get it right this time. Try and keep up," but rather, "Come on, girls, let's try that again and see if we can't start off on the right beat this time. Look to Jesus to help you with your timing." It's one where they spend time in class on Bible study, rather than, you know, dance lessons. And it appears to be one where they choose to spend time proselytizing during their recital.

Yep. That's right. We were asked to listen to the future son-in-law of the school owner (her daughter teaches at the school), who got up onstage in the middle of the recital and asked us---after a lengthy rambling about how wonderful Jesus was, how perhaps we thought we weren't worthy of His love, but that really we were, if only we could open our hearts to the Love of Jesus, all would be right in our lives---to bow our heads, close our eyes and pray with him. For about five minutes. Then, mercifully, God heard what we were really praying for, he left the stage and the recital continued.

And, gracious, what a recital it was! Well, not really. It was one of the sorriest excuses for a recital that I've ever seen. And I was at last year's, and this year's entry was barely better than that, so what does that tell you? Now, I can understand the wee bittie kids being off, and not really knowing what they're doing. I can understand that. That's typical and to be expected. But the older girls? And by that I mean girls age twelve and above? Hmmmm. If one of the reasons you put your kids in a dance academy is for them to learn, you know, how to dance, well, let's just say that if I had any girls, I wouldn't let them go anywhere near this academy. They just had no idea what the heck they were doing.

One of the things any of my music or acting teachers tried to instill in me and my cohorts was a sense of semi-professionalism when it came to going on stage. It didn't matter if you were in third grade or were a senior in high school: there were certain things you were supposed to do to make certain that the performance went off well and looked somewhat respectable. Once you were backstage, you stopped talking, because sounds carry in a theater. If you entered the stage from where the audience was sitting, you had to be extra vigilant, because you wanted them to be involved in the show and extra goofing off on your part would ruin it. You learned how to find the lights, and you stepped into them so that the audience could see you. You moved out of the way of the curtain. You even learned how to hold hands and bow simultaneously after the performance. We actually rehearsed this. All of these things weren't necessarily meant to add to the performance, but they were meant to ensure nothing was taken away from it.

Well, these people didn't care about any of this.

All of the girls, from every class, gathered in the audience before the recital. They were all carrying flowers to place at the base of a large wooden cross that was set at the back of the stage. In theory, this would have been cool and could have made a rather large impact, but it didn't. Because they brought the kids out five minutes before the performance was supposed to start and every dancer was chatting or twirling her hair or was jumping around excitedly. Then you had the idiot parents who needed to get just one more picture before the show started. No one tried to stop them and it just ruined the whole thing. Neither did these girls know how to position themselves on the stage, because apparently no one had told them how. So half the class was in light, half the class was in dark. All of the time. Half the class was scrunched up at one end of the stage with gaping holes in the middle, and a few dancers at the other end. Then there was the part where the teacher and owner of the school opened the curtain, stepped out and asked "Has anyone seen my granddaughter?" Because she was scheduled to go on right then and no one could find her. I should probably mention that this little girl was in the "Tippy Two's" class, which meant she was two-years-old. And, of course, all the numbers had these elaborate, posed finishes. Unfortunately, the effect was ruined because no one had, apparently, showed the dancers where to place themselves so the curtain could close.

Oy.

Then we had the actual class dances. And most of it choreographed to "Christian" music. I don't have a problem with Christian music per se. I'm not likely to listen to it, but hey, live and let live, right? Apparently that's not the case from the perspective of the Christian Dance School teacher. The teacher appropriated Jerry Lee Lewis' "Great Balls of Fire," because she apparently liked the melody, but didn't like the lyrics, so she changed them to "Great Tongues of Fire." No credit was given in the program to Mr. Lewis, but credit was given to "Miss So and So" because apparently switching the lyrics around to suit her needs is more important than actually giving credit to the dude who wrote the song. I have a feeling this must be a habit in the Christian music industry: hoarking songs and then putting your own name on changes. Let's see there was an Ode to Joy, a Morning Has Broken a Stars and Stripes and a Everyday People, and the melodies were all as you would expect them to be, but not only had some of the lyrics (if there were lyrics) had been changed around, none of the names you'd normally associate with those songs were listed. I mean, I can understand about Cat Stevens, but really, not to give Sousa a wee bit of credit is really tacky.

Anyway, the few dances that weren't choreographed to Christian music, well, those were the Daddy/Daughter dances. Have you seen heard about these? A girl and her Dad attend class together and then, at the recital, they perform together. Which is a pretty nice thing, but whereas at last year's recital there was one Daddy/Daughter dance, this time around there were FOUR! Count 'em, FOUR! Two were set to music from the fifties, one from the sixties, and one, of course, was from the seventies. I felt so sorry for the guys who had to participate in the seventies dance because of their costumes: white tuxedos, with white patent leather tap shoes. Of course they had to dance around to the Bee Gees' Staying Alive. Oy.

There was also one Mother/Daughter dance and this one was a pip! It was partially set to "You Can't Hurry Love" by the Supremes. The mothers wagged their fingers at the girls and told them "you just have to wait." Ok. This was fine, in and of itself, but the song they mixed it with was called "Average Girl" by The Barlow Girls. I don't remember the exact lyrics to this song, but they went on about how I'm not going to spend my time chasing boys because I'm an average girl, yadda, yadda, yadda, then came the crescendo. Obviously, you knew it was coming, but the message one expected to recieve, that girls had better things to do than chase boys, that you didn't need to chase boys because life was about more than chasing boys, was not the message one received in actuality: these girls weren't going to chase boys because---ahem---THEY WERE WAITING FOR A WEDDING RING! This was dramatized with the girls holding up their left hands and waving them around.

Oooooooooo-kay then.

The niece did fairly well, considering her age, and we were quite proud of her, but the husband, who is our resident agnostic, was squirming in his seat when he heard the chorus to the song she was pirouetting to: I wanna be a sheep. I looked over at him and his eyes went wide. Of course this was a reference to Jesus being the shepherd, and we make up His flock, but the husband, of course, didn't see it this way. He saw "being a sheep" as a bad thing, because it meant you were blindly following rather than leading. As you might imagine, the husband just about lost it when the dude got up and started proselytizing. I was sitting between the husband and his sister. I could feel him vibrating because of what was happening. I could feel her squiming because she knew what the husband would be thinking about all of this. It was quite humorous, on the whole. The sister and brother in law both made a big show of apologizing for the incident after all was said and done, that it had made even them uncomfortable, but I didn't think they needed to bother: it wasn't their fault, and, quite frankly, I thought it was the best part of the whole recital because it was so funny.

Oh, and have I mentioned the costumes yet? I don't think I have. See, at a Christian dance academy modesty is prized above all else. No one over the age of two is hopping around in a tutu at the recital because a tutu is too revealing. Never mind that the owner was running around in a tight tank top and a pair of capris. Or that her daughters, her assistants, when they did their dances, were in skin-tight leotards, That's really not relevant. There's a different standard for the students. All the pretty ballerinas were in long skirts, most of them made of tulle, and tulle alone, but the girls in the pointe class actually had some fabric attached to their skirts. Because, God knows, we wouldn't want a ballerina to have to bare some leg. While the skirts are pretty, they really don't do much for some of the girls. Sigh. Since this is a "Christian" dance academy, well, it appears they'll take pretty much anyone. This becomes more apparent when you get to the older students and it becomes obvious these are the students that the other schools encourage to quit, because they can't keep up. And some of them are---and how do I put this kindly because, really, it's not their fault---rather heavyset. So, you have lovely modest costumes that, on occasion, can be quite pretty, yet you have them on heavyset young women, which produces the unfortunate effect of reminding certain members of the audience, namely me, of the dancing hippos from Fantasia when they leap and bound across the stage.

Then you have the costumes where it looks like in their rush to create modest costumes, someone forgot that these girls have to actually, you know, move around in them. Long flared pants that could cause someone to trip when they're tapping around. Scratchy, cheapola tulle that snags on tights and clings to it, hampering movement. Oversized costumes for the hip-hop class that the girls spent more time shoving out of the way than actually dancing.

I've rambled on long enough about this, but there's one thing I left out: the dancing. It was awful. The little kids, well, that's understandable. But the older ones? Aiyiyi. I have no idea why anyone would send their kid to this school, Christian Dance Academy or not, because it appears that these students are not receiving primo instruction, ya dig? The kids tried, but they just couldn't pull it off. I place the blame solely at the instructors' feet: dance requires discipline and there's no discipline at that school. None. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. I have the awful feeling that some of the older girls will go on to audition for productions maybe at their schools or for other community activities, they will put down that they've been in dance for x number of years, at this school, thinking this is a plus for them, and they will not understand why they weren't given the gig. Which, to my mind, is much more cruel than telling someone the truth: that they're not very good, that they wasted their time and their parents' money, they have little to no technical skill, and no professionalism whatsoever.

But that isn't, apparently, a very "Christian" thing to do.

Random Question of the Day

Why are the shoestrings on Nike shoes always so damn long?

Chinese Democracy

I don't think I'll ever forget this man.

No one knows who he is. No one knows if they should really be using the word "was" instead of "is" when they write about him. No one has any idea about anything in regards to him.

Yet everyone remembers him.

He was the one who screamed through his actions that you will have to get around me if you want to do this. The world will be watching. Just go ahead and try it on for size and see what happens.

I wonder about him. I know this is hardly new stuff. Half the world has seemingly speculated on what this man was about when he stepped in front of a row of tanks, tightly grasping what looks to be the fruits of his Saturday morning shopping. But I can't really help myself from wondering about him. Who he was. Why he did what he did. What happened to him. What his name is. All of it fascinates me.

I would like to think that this man is the one who gave a massive boulder a good hard shove and started it moving down a hill. Even if his own country didn't benefit from his actions, I think he's the one who led people to say, just like he did, that enough is enough. He showed them they could be brave. He showed them you didn't need to have a party membership or a position of power to make a memorable effect. All you really needed was the will to make that statement. To say, in effect, "no, you're not going to do this because I am here. I will try and stop this. Because I believe your actions to be wrong. I am going to make a stand, right here, right now, because this is what I believe is needed."

I have imagined what led him to step up in front of those tanks. The story that I have concocted for myself is one of a random, sunny, early summer Saturday morning. I believe he was just your average Schmo Joe. I think he was probably married and had a child. Maybe his wife had sent him out to do the usual Saturday morning errands. But maybe he wasn't, and was just a single guy, out taking care of things he couldn't get done on a weekday. Either way, I like to think he lingered over his errands. That he took his time completing them, enjoying the nice weather, before he had to go home and deal with other domestic duties. But head home he did, and on his way, he couldn't have helped but notice that things were different. The air has changed quite noticeably. Things are quiet now, when they haven't been for weeks. Something is afoot and it most likely has to do with those students who have been protesting for weeks now.

The protests, in Schmo Joe's eyes, were probably something he had become accustomed to, as any resident of any large city would have become accustomed to any sort of large, prolonged demonstration. As we all know, it's one thing to watch something on CNN; it's entirely another to live through something. Maybe he had been caught up in the spirit of the demonstrations. Or perhaps he was following the action, but had learned to live with it and wasn't too excited about it. The demonstrations probably meant he took a different path to work, to avoid the traffic. We will never know if he was excited that the students were protesting, that he hoped this might lead to a tangible change in his life, or if he thought the students were simply full of shit and that these protests, in his eyes, were as good an excuse for blowing off studying for final exams as any other. We don't know and we probably never will. We just know that somewhere, somehow, along that path home, he saw those tanks rolling up the ironically titled "Avenue of Eternal Peace" toward Tiananmen Square. We know that he felt he had to do something to stop them. That he felt this was wrong because he was compelled to act against it.

So he stepped in front of the tanks and halted their progress.

I cannot imagine how scary that moment would have been. Tanks are massive things and there are big, scary guns hanging off the turrets. But that big gun on the front end isn't the only gun on a tank, as everyone knows. And they don't have to fire the big gun to kill you, either: there are plenty of the small ones which will do the trick just as well and will be more efficient at it. You can see in the photograph how small he looked in comparison to them. Yet, he didn't let fear stop him. He had to have been afraid that they would roll right over him, not having seen him, or, even worse, that they had seen him and would start shooting. That it would begin--and, to a certain degree, end---with him. Because this was the proverbial "put your money where your mouth is" moment. And not only because the Chinese armored cavalry was staring him down, but with the protestors as well. Remember that this hadn't ever happened before in China. There was no proven level of commitment on the part of these students. Would the demonstrators, those students who had been protesting for weeks on end, actually back him up? Would they turn tail and run? But maybe he didn't doubt their sincerity. Maybe he really thought they had a chance to change things and that this action was just him doing his bit? Maybe the only thought that was racing through his brain was that I have to stand up and stop these things. This is the threat, not the students. I must do what I consider to be right, so here I will stay.

Then the tank tried to get around him. And he moved in concert with it, shifting to stay directly in its path. I remember being stunned when this happened. I remember saying, "Holy Shit!" to no one in particular in the family room of the house I grew up in as I watched. I remember that his body language gave off an air of agitation and annoyance, like he was long-suffering father after a long day of work who'd simply had enough of his kids roughhousing and was going to put an end to it so he could have some peace and quiet. He looked like he was chewing the tank out.

The tank dodged again, and again he dodged with it. Then he did the most breathtaking thing that completely outdid everything else he'd done that day: he climbed up on the tank and started chatting with the driver. After a few long moments, he climbed down, and onlookers pulled him to safety.

This whole incident has stayed with me for sixteen years, and I'm not likely ever to forget it. But there's always one thing above and beyond all the rest that I wonder about: why didn't he drop his shopping bags? Why did he get in front of the row of tanks with them still in his hands, and why did he leave with them still in his hands? One would think that when one is about to risk one's life and limb by stepping out in front of a column of approaching tanks that one would forget all about the everyday path that had brought him to that moment. Oh, fuck the groceries, I've got bigger fish to fry. But he didn't forget about them. I would like to think that he, quite simply, had a life to lead and that the Saturday marketing was just as much a part of that life as was stepping out in front of those tanks. That this is who he was: Schmo Joe, average citizen of Beijing. That may not be the case: he may have been as surprised as everyone else that he still had the bags in his hands when all was said and done. In his haste, he may have completely forgotten about them, which is probably the more likely reason, but still...

For more go and visit Sheila.

Rubbernecking

God, this whole Tom Cruise brouhaha is just like watching a train wreck happen.

This morning we have the news that the Tokyo premiere of War of the Worlds has been cancelled because "{...}a lack of measures to protect film stars during their appearances before fans and to prevent people from illegally recording the film during its showing.{...}"

In light of this post by the always effervescent Sheila, I'm thinking it wouldn't be out of line to shout, "Liar Liar, pants on fire, hanging from a telephone wire!" at the studio executives.

{...}What is fascinating about that Times piece is that it confirmed for me my own suspicions that all is not well in Cruise's La-La Land. The people working for him, as well as the studios, and the producers, are not "okay" with this new Cruise. He's been forgiven and pampered for years, and now suddenly we all have this "No comment" stuff? This is a terrible sign. (I mean, I'm not comparing this to an actual world-tragedy, please don't misunderstand me. I'm just talking about in the context of show biz shakedowns - this is pretty huge.) Like I said, I am WAY too interested in this. But I think Tom is, as we speak, going overboard with the Scientology thing, and people are not happy about it. The quotes from the guys at Paramount were particularly telling. They didn't like that Tom was going all bat-shit Scientology when he SHOULD be promoting his new film. Cruise seems to think that just showing up means promotion. But damn - his leaping about on Oprah's couch like a gibbering Dianetics-stoned chimp has taken away, definitely taken away, from the building excitement for his new film ... and so now, Paramount feels compelled to cut back on Tom Cruise's appearances. Like ... Tom Cruise is legendary for being unbelievable and tireless about promoting his own films. It's one of the things he's known for. So many actors get burnt out on that stuff really fast, but Tom Cruise has always seen it as part of an actor's job, part of being a collaborator. This has been one of his highly likable and professional qualities. And now? His presence at the junkets is now seen as a liability to the success of the film. People, this is HUGE news.

I can only imagine that the Scientologists themselves (the ones in the upper echelons - the really cynical con-artist ones) wish he would just shut up as well. And I can only imagine his agent, his manager - watching this new open "sharing" and wincing about it. Unless they're Scientologists, too. His sharing about this organization has definitely morphed into a different animal, his protests notwithstanding. He has not "always talked about Scientology". No, he has not. Not to this degree. Not to this insane degree.

And now - this is incredible - the studios are having none of this. They are saying "No" to Tom Cruise. They are actually allowing him to have all this bad publicity. Tom Cruise almost NEVER has bad publicity. But now, there are a lot of people making comments anonymously because they fear retribution. Amazing. Tom Cruise is in trouble.{...}

I'm not buying the security excuse for cancelling the Tokyo premiere. Security is security is security: if you've got the coin, you can hire the best, and there is no doubt in my mind that between Tommy Boy, Paramount and the distributor, they can afford the best. Neither am I buying the "we're afraid of internet pirates" excuse either. First off, how stupid would a pirate have to be to try and videotape during a premiere? Second, the Japanese aren't notorious for this sort of thing; the Chinese, however, are. If the premiere was in Bejing or Shanghai or Hong Kong, yeah, I'd say that this is a legitimate excuse. But the premiere was scheduled for Tokyo, not Beijing, not Shanghai and not Hong Kong. Third, recent evidence seems to point to the conclusion that the movie studios are finally using BitTorrent and other P2P file sharing services as a viral marketing tool. A time-stamped copy of Revenge of the Sith makes it to BitTorrent? Before the release? Puh-leeze. That's covert marketing if I've ever seen it. I wouldn't be surprised at all if Paramount didn't release some form of War of the Worlds to a BitTorrent service to try and get the word out on the film. Furthermore, if Paramount and the distributor are really embarrassed about Tommy Boy's recent behavior, if War of the Worlds made it to BitTorrent before the release later this month, well, that would be a big tip-off to me that they're trying to find alternative ways to increase the buzz on this film without having to resort to sending Tom Cruise on press junkets. Sheila's right on the money here.

Interesting stuff. We'll have to see how all of this works out.

On Conservatism and Same Sex Marriage

Katherine Kersten wrote this column for the Strib yesterday. In it she states what she believes to be the Conservative conventional wisdom is in regards to same sex marriage: we're not about oppressing gays and lesbians, we're not bigots, but rather believe that marriage should be between a man and a woman and should be defined accordingly.

Craig Westover takes issue with her premise and does an excellent job fisking her column.

His summation:

{...}In final analysis, Kersten’s argument is really an inverse liberal argument -- we have the power, our values rule. Even accepting the worst case viewpoint that homosexuals are evil people and gay marriage is an abomination in the eyes of God, the true conservative political argument, if one is not going to exterminate gays and/or take their children, is that it is more beneficial to extend the protections and stability of marriage to gays -- not all at once but in increments -- than it is to marginalize gay families and their children and consequently promote the pathologies that marriage is praised for preventing.

Gays -- conservative gays -- do not want to redefine marriage. The want to participate in it. And even if they didn’t, conservatives ought to be encouraging them to do so with the same vigor and for the same reasons we encourage our own children "to settle down and raise a family."

Go read the whole thing. It's well worth your time.

{Hat Tip: Doug}

Random Thoughts for June 3, 2005

Here's what's going through my brain currently:

• Damn and blast the Edina Art Fair. If you happen to live in the Cities and are planning on dropping by this weekend, might I offer a few suggestions for how to behave?

  1. Parking. Don't park in my extra spot. Sure it's non occupado right now, but that doesn't mean I'm going to let you park there. I will call the towing company, because they don't charge me a damn thing to tow your car away. They will, however, charge you an arm and a leg for their services. Have fun climbing out of that bit o' bankruptcy. Neither should you block the alleyway, because I don't want to have to listen to my neighbors bitch and moan about it.

  2. If someone's crossing the street you, the average car driver who possesses very little patience, perhaps, should allow them to do just that. Particularly if they're in a crosswalk with the little "walk" sign in their favor. Particularly if there's a cop right there, directing traffic. If you are not part of the solution, well, you are definitely, this time around, being part of the problem. Get a clue. Pedestrians have the right of way, not you. And pedestrians who live here all the freakin' time DEFINITELY have the right of way.

  3. My lawn is not your garbage can. It's amazing, in this People's Republic of Minnesota, where everyone is supposed to be so societally advanced, how people forget about littering.

  4. Don't be an idiot and ask me how to get to the art fair when you can see the white tents from my house. Open your eyes and OBSERVE, m@#erf@#$er!

  5. Don't hog the line at Walgreens, asking the clerk stupid questions that patently ignore the rules of capitalism like "Why don't you have free water for the art fair patrons?" It's not called the EDINA Art Fair for nothing, you doof. We're Cake Eaters. Figure it out. Duh. They have the stupid thing to drive traffic into the neighborhood. They're not going to give a damn thing away for free. Figure it out you little, badly aging, tyed-dyed, fanny-pack-wearing, I LOVED the sixties, sad excuse for a hippy love child!

  6. And if you regularly use my neigborhood as a traffic shortcut, JUST DON'T DO IT THIS WEEKEND. Please. The traffic is insane enough without you throwing yourselves into the mix. STAY THE HELL AWAY! Hwy. 100 really isn't all that bad. I swear!

  And that's just what's bugging me today. There's two more days to go. YAY!

• We have a new radio station in town. 104.1 is now a cool station, instead of being an all-eighties, all-PatBenatar/Loverboy fest. I listened to it today while I was running and I'm in love. How can you not love a station that plays Abba's Waterloo right next to U2's Sunday Bloody Sunday? Good, eclectic stuff.
• I smell and I need to shower. And no, Phin, you can't wash my back for me. Neither will there be any puddin' wrestling.
• I think we're going to have breakfast for supper. Just haven't made my mind up yet.
• Thank God the grocery store is open 24 hours, so I can avoid you art fair nutjobs.

And that's it. I hope you enjoyed this quickie tour through my brain. Now...get the hell out.

Well...

...personally I think Tom Cruise is such a dick because he's repressing his homosexuality, but this works, too.

Sexually Assaulted in Cairo

Have you heard about this one?

Hundreds of Egyptians, many of them women dressed in black, rallied in central Cairo on Wednesday to demand the resignation of Habib al-Adly, the interior minister.

Activists said they held the minister responsible for the fact that police stood by last week while supporters of the ruling National Democratic party assaulted women demonstrators, sexually harassed them and stripped them naked in the street.

The attacks took place on the day Egyptians voted on a constitutional amendment to allow the country to hold contested presidential elections for the first time.

Activists from Kefaya, a movement which has been campaigning against a fifth term for Hosni Mubarak, Egypt's president, had congregated in front of the Journalists' Union to protest against the change, which they dismiss as a meaningless ploy to deflect American pressure for reform.

But they were set upon when police lines surrounding them parted to allow in several dozen thugs, some of them carrying sticks. Men and women were assaulted, but the women were singled out for sexual humiliation.{...}

{my emphasis}

Did you get that? The police in Cairo parted like the Red Sea during a protest last week and let in thugs who then sexually assaulted the women protesters, stripping them naked in public and then beating them.

Isn't that wonderful?

/sarcasm

While the assault is bad enough, it's the motive behind it that just disgusts me. Because we all know what will happen to some of these women. They will be beaten to within an inch of their life, if not killed altogether, by the male members of their families because the men need to regain their "honor." These women, through no fault of their own, have supposedly shamed their male family members. They are the ones who will be held responsible for the crimes of others. And it's all just an attempt to keep the women quiet. Because this will shut them up. In a society where the rape victim is held responsible for the rape, what other effect could this action have?

I believe we're seeing just what lengths the reportedly "harmless" Mubarak will go to to keep himself in power. And it's just going to get uglier from here on in.

European Integration

Inspired by the "non" and "nee" votes in France and the Netherlands respectively, Martini Boy has some interesting thoughts. A small sampling to tempt your palate:

{...}Look: Europe has got to integrate, even though a Single Europe goes against a century of American policy (and more than two centuries of British). Left to their own devices, European nations get into all sorts of mischief, like starting world wars, cleansing their ethnics, or colonizing entire subcontinents. Left alone, modern European states are too prone to protectionism and welfare statism to compete to global markets. Left alone, there's not a Continental nation with markets or muscle enough to matter on the world stage.

But didn't we fight a couple world wars, just to keep Europe safely fragmented? Didn't Britain play all the angles against Napoleon for the same reason? Well, yes – and whether we admit it to ourselves or not, any thinking person must be of two minds on the European integration. Without a Union of some sort, Europe's nation-states can cause – and have caused – grief all around the world. But united, Europe could prove bigger, richer, and meaner than even we are.

Reminds me of my third-favorite Cold War joke. Goes like this: "France wants a West Germany strong enough to keep the Soviets at bay, but weak enough to be held in check by Luxembourg."

Ironically enough, today we find ourselves in the same situation as de Gaulle's France: We'd like a Europe strong enough to keep things quiet over there, but weak enough not to threaten our interests.{...}

Go read the whole thing.

What's The Dutch for "No"?

Heh.

Random Question(s) of the Day

Ok, so is it really bad of me to want to see this movie? Even though I'm well past the target age group?

I have to think it is.

Furthermore, well, what exactly does it say about me that I also really want to see this movie? (And yes, Jonathan, Michael Gambon really does have a lovely set of pipes)

Methinks I'm more than just "eclectic" in my tastes. "Schizophrenic" is a more apt descriptor.

Chiming In From Across the Pond

Stiggy's been traveling lately, but he found some time to tackle this week's topic of disclosure. Go and read.

The Girl Scouts and Me

I've never been ashamed to admit this before, but considering this, well, I don't think I'll be advertising that I was a Girl Scout anymore.

{...}The Girl Scouts of America recently launched a major campaign "to address the problem of low self-esteem among 8- to 14-year-old girls." (Never mind that there is no good evidence these girls suffer a self-esteem deficit.) With the help of a $2.65 million grant from Unilever (a major corporation that owns products such as Lipton and Slim Fast), its new program, "Uniquely ME!," asks girls to contemplate their own "amazing" specialness. Girls are invited to make collages celebrating themselves. They can play a getting-to-know-me game called a "Me-O-Meter."

One normally thinks of the Girl Scouts as an organization that fosters self-reliance and good citizenship. Me-O-Meters? How does that promote self-reliance? And is self-absorption necessarily good for young people?

Yes, say the mental health experts at Girl Scout Research Center. The Uniquely ME! pamphlet tells its young readers, "This booklet is designed to help boost your self-esteem by celebrating YOU and your uniqueness. ... Having high self-esteem ... can help you lead a more successful life."{...}

So, one would assume given this nifty pamphlet campaign Girl Scouts aren't going to be organized in troops anymore. That wouldn't be very "me," would it? To go further along this road, there won't be any more Brownies, because God only knows how denigrating that name is in current society. We can't have Juniors anymore, either, because, of course, that implies that there is someone more senior to these girls and that might hurt their self-esteem, too. Furthermore, the "Bridge to Juniors" from Brownie-dom has probably been deemed bad because the ceremony actually decrees that these young girls have to walk across an actual---gasp!---bridge and they could trip and fall during the process, everyone would laugh and that would hurt their self-esteem, too.

But I'll bet my last dollar that they'll still have to go out and sell cookies. Unilever's grant is only for $2.65 million dollars---and we all know that won't keep the administration in thin mints for more than a year.

Grrrrrrr.

I was a Girl Scout for about four years. I still have my green sash in a box in the storage room. It given to me when I crossed the Bridge to Juniors by the Great Plains Girl Scout Council, and the message inherent in the act was that it was up to me to fill it with badges and pins. Girl Scouts, in that day and age, was an interesting mix of home ec and actual scouting skills. I not only gained what few meager sewing skills I have from the Girl Scouts, but I also learned how to read a compass and start a fire in the wilderness, too. I also sold cookies. Boxes upon boxes of cookies. (Thank you, employees of the American National Bank!) From all of these activities, and more that I haven't listed, I learned. My self-esteem was boosted or dashed based on how well I actually did at these activities. Not because I was told I was to celebrate me and my uniqueness. They're celebrating vanity here, not self-esteem.

One can only assume that they'll just start throwing merit badges out willy-nilly. The failure to earn one might just be too shattering to contemplate, so it's probably best that there not be any work involved.

Bleh.

{Hat Tip: Fausta}