never talk to strangers in bars.

this is my new rule. if you start talking to them you end up at the gentry (yes, i know it was my idea to let him buy us one more drink--i thought he'd be amusing!) listening to mediocre cabaret and ignoring the hand squeezing your knee.

so follow ding's advice and don't talk to strangers in bars. instead, go see munich. it'll satisfy your jones for a movie that's 'meaningful' as well as your desire to look at hotness: it has him (rowr) in it - and him and him! squee!

(of course, if you're a glutton for punishment try seeing 'syriana' and 'munich' back to back. you'll either want to join a sleeper cell or blow your brains out.)

the MLA: party of the century

let's send good thoughts to my friend J-, who's interviewing at the MLA in washington dc this week. and while you're at it, go read an article about political literacy in undergrads from a MLA panelist here.

[over on church gal i ranted about some related things here]

holiday break thus far

i've barely ventured outside.
i've slept on the couch like a derelict at least once.
i've eaten cold pizza for breakfast.
i've read $88 in comic books.
i've watched half a season of 24.
i've showered. once.
i've eaten half a cheesecake over two days.
i've sipped half a bottle of white wine.
i've smoked half a pack of cigarettes.
i've seen two movies back to back at the theater.
i've taken the trash out (except the wine bottles. they're too heavy.)
i've played scrabble by myself (this really isn't as pathetic as it sounds. really.)
i've watched a distasteful 'girls gone wild' infomercial.

[speaking of which, it seems poor joe francis, GGW creator and sexbot impresario, was humiliated and victimized in his home by a none too bright home invader. thankfully, the kind los angeles judge has chosen to spare joe's feelings and gets to hide his private humiliation - though i do wonder what 'unconventional sex' means. unlike the judge and the celebrity drunk media in los angeles, i will save my sympathy for someone more deserving. while i'm sure the terror of being made to pose with a dildo and say demeaning things about yourself can land you in therapy for hours, i can't help noticing that masculine 'humiliation' deserves privacy but female exploitation gets marketed and sold around the world.

but when i try, i can't think of someone more deserving of invasion. karma's a bitch.]

a churchmouse christmas

it's early sunday morning, the streets are empty the way they have been since friday night. two text messages from friends have come through, i'm about to call the west coast in a little bit and this is the just the (shhh) quietest christmas ever.

i love it.

merry merry, everybody!

so ... over there on the hall console are my copies of the magazine with my first 'real' published piece. i'm afraid to open it! what if they totally cut it?? what if it's lame??

oh, and since i've gotten my period and i nixed B's visit, i've cooked a marvelous meal from SCRATCH, opened a good bottle of white wine, had some cheese, some cake, and am about to have a few dunhill cigarettes.

could he do this for me?
i don't think so.

frolic interuptus

wouldn't you know it?

B- was finally going to make the reverse trek to my place when another long-delayed visitor finally arrived.

sigh. God hates me.

not gone; merely resting

if there are those who miss the pissed off political ding, do not worry. she's still here with the rest of us. she hasn't been killed by the frivolous ding who's all worried about how to frolic with a guy who spits and doesn't own a sex kit. (which, after friday night, should all be taken care of. heh.)

the political ding is still aware of our nation's asshat of a president, the bid to drill in alaska, the passing of a budget with less of a social net intact, the growing lawsuit against illinois to protect a christian pharmacist's right to not do their jobs, the still roiling mess of the iraq war, our blithe willingness to keep innocent people locked up in gitmo (even though we know they're innocent), our refusal to release padilla to civilian authority, the masses of displaced victims of katrina who apparently are too poor to get home loans for rebuilding while the wealthy are so rich they need more help than anyone else and the continuing bullshit over the 'war' on christmas. yes, my sweetings, i realize this is all happening.

it's all just percolating in my brain, waiting for my vacation to start when i can be really, you know, like, articulate and shit about it.

what bush would hear if he spied on me and my roomie

Roomie: uh, don't go in the kitchen.
Me: why?
R: i farted.
M: go stand over there! not here! over there!

(later)

M: i love project runway. i had a dream last night that nick was my best friend.
R: i dreamed trent lott was holding me prisoner and you killed him to rescue me.
M: you're so problematic. so would you kiss tom hanks?
R: mm, no. but he'd be a good husband, i think. but an asexual one.
M: i had a dream i was from outer space and my outer space brother and i settled in canada and, this is icky, we became lovers!! because we were from outer space!

(and still later)

R: it was totally your idea to buy the xbox.
M: it was not. you're the one who had a jones for it. i kept asking if you were sure!
R: but you weren't saying no! you seemed really excited about it!
M: because i didn't think you would do it! i would never goad you into buying something you didn't want!
R: but you did!
M: we so aren't talking about this anymore.
R: so. do you think president bush is a tool?
M: totally. president bush is a tool.

[and for confirmation of his toolness, you can read about it here: Bush Says U.S. Spy Program Is Legal and Essential]

plus, it was cold

the holiday party i hosted for my workmates made me unfit for human interaction so i spent the weekend at the cinema. here's my take:

king kong - helpless blonde femaleness sacrificed to appease the questionable lust of a giant primate by dark-skinned natives is never uplifting. however, overly long sequences of rampaging dinosours are always fun. this should be peter jackson's next challenge: dude, make a movie under three frickin' hours!

chronicles of narnia - ok, who DIDN'T have the words to that lame poem, 'Footprints in the Sand', pop into their heads when Aslan left the big coronation? yes, we get it - he's JESUS! the movie was fun enough but crazily violent - like, LOTR violent but without spurting. and when are the brits going to GET OVER their fascination with all things king richard and hobbit-like? really. just get over it. and HOW LUCKY for the children than narnia is has all their favorite british foods in it, right?

brokeback mountain - sad. sad. depressingly sad. if only they had lived in san francisco or new york...

il est mon petit ami: mathieu kassovitz

Mathieukassovitz.com - Site Officiel

[thanks sid!]

in related education news, the SAT is too long

SAT, at 3 Hours 45 Minutes, Draws Criticism Over Its Length - New York Times

waah, waah, waah.

at least Gen X can read!

say what you will about Gen X's rampant cynicism and selfishness. at least we can read.

so says a new study that has found that literacy among COLLEGE grads have dropped significantly since 1992 (the year i graduated college.)

to my liberal, 'america-hating', complex sentence-loving professors from ucla who thought critical thinking was more important than spouting platitudes about patriotism and who are all probably on david horowitz's shit list: THANK YOU.

to generations Y and O: geez, no wonder you voted for the shrub.

the best snowfall

this is what my family back in l.a doesn't see: fat white flakes hurtling down from a blanket white sky so that you think a giant, cosmic child is shaking his sno-globe.

i'm home to prepare for a cocktail party i'm hosting for work folks so i'm actually sitting in my turret looking down at the intersection, staring at the snow like a moron.

a frolic too far

so remember how B- (not B minus) didn't respond when i told him it would be great if we could actually appear in public before going back to his bat cave, and then there was nothing but radio silence as a result?

i think i've found the reason: he moved.

but he moved so effing far northwest, it's pretty much going to pound a nail in our frolic coffin. (i know, there are many nails but this one will be pounded in. the rest are just sticking up, waiting to be pounded in.) why can't he live somewhere normal??

i think it's perfectly reasonable to dump a frolic if he's not easily accessible by public transportation.

niice: aussie rioting

leaving aside how this story completely reinforces my problematic stereotype of australians as thuggish throwbacks of aggression and how this makes me think that this is what happens when 19th century prison colonies go horribly awry (inbreeding!) what i like most about this story is the prime minister's disingenuous refusal to say that racism isn't widespread in australia.

when i read that, the first thing that popped into my mind was the country's quite recent history of repression against aboriginals.

but then my little thought bubble was soothed when i read this:
"Aborigines rioted in the Sydney neighborhood of Redfern in February 2004 after blaming police for the death of a 17-year-old boy. Forty police were wounded."

well, that's all right then, isn't it? racism can't possibly exist on a widespread level in australian society, despite the ease with which thousands of youth assault innocent brown people, since aborigines rioted.

because the two situations are absolutely the same, aren't they?

since i'm going to be home for christmas, instead of visiting my family in los angeles, i've been wondering what i'll do with myself for that week i'm on holiday after christmas. ideally, i'd love to have a whirlwind affair with a visiting jazz musician/political attache (who also likes making furniture) that ends with a tearful goodbye on the roof of the Peninsula while the snow swirls around us, but i fear that's not in the stars.

so what will i do, other than sleep in?

1. get a new photo taken for 2006
2. take up embroidery (go here for cute patterns)
3. catch up with J-, have drinks with T-, maybe drop in on B- and hang out with C-
4. rent dvds from television shows i should catch up with: Lost, Battlestar Galactica...
5. see movies: Syriana, Rent, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, Narnia, Paradise Now, Family Stone
6. see what's up at the MoCA and catch all the kids choirs at the Museum of Science and Industry
7. get a haircut (i'm totally due)
8. pay off my library fine (it's a big one) and begin checking out books again
9. clean my room
10. hang out in my neighborhood cafe, write a few things but then rush home to spend all day playing a game (which game? which game?).

the countdown begins: brokeback

who's with me?

at last: project runway is back!

the new season of project: runway has begun! so excited!

i loved santini's muslin dress, but his obvious glee at bald guy's total breakdown (euww, messy) and his pique at not winning the first real challenge made me think, 'Hm - not so much.'

i really like the asian chick, chloe, the science nerd girl (only because how many times do you hear the sentence "the magents reversed their polarity!" used in fashion?), the greek diplomat's son (his muslin dress rocked) and the older blonde guy we'll call dorian gray (so icy!). guadalupe needs to mind her own business; zathura, or whatever her name is, needs to dial it back a notch; and the south african girl's clothes look good though her nerves are already frayed.

and don't you want daniel to do well? i just wish he'd stop with that wanker 'my spirit says hello to your spirit' crap. annoying.

my predictions: i think santini (whatever) is going to lose his mind as the process goes on. the quiet young things are going to crack under the pressure of designing evening wear. and poor andrae is going to be hospitalized by the end of the whole thing.

psst. it's a secret

i have been sworn to secrecy by my ever vigilant roomie.

all i can say is that we spent an entire weekend (approximately 16 hours) doing something i never thought we would do - EVER. our household is changed forever. all has become clear to me and a new addiction has begun. the secret life of a certain population makes sense now.

shhh....

***
in other news, B- has not contacted me since i suggested we actually go out before having a rambunctious frolic. perhaps he's buried under student papers. perhaps he's pondering the implications of the two of us appearing in public together. perhaps he's refilling his scrips. who knows?

and in still more other news, it seems i'm going to be stranded here in chicago for the holidays. my new job, though fabulous, just will not allow me to pay over $400 for a plane ticket to the west coast. (yes, it's my fault i waited this long to even try buying a ticket. i never said i was good at planning. just planning for frolics.) so if anyone else is going to be in town for the holidays and would like a partner in crime or even just a mild adventure while the city empties, let me know.

i'll be up for anything.

blog against racism: barely made it!

[you think this is going to be about katrina, privilege or something that makes everyone get all upset and angry. no. it's about my hair. but hang in there; it's a story then a question. y'all have to answer the question.]

There's a man in my office who has a certain fascination with my hair. He's older, in his mid-50's, and is one of the 3 men who work here. When we first met, he complimented me about my hair. Graciously, I said 'Thank you!' And I smiled. Then he kept doing it. Every day, something about my hair. How full, how glorious, how beautiful, how fabulous, how big, how stupendous, how whatever. And then he'd say, 'I mean this in a totally non-racist way, of course.'

Hmm, I'd think.

Then, when the snow and the cold came, I changed my hair. I blow-dried it straight so I could fit it under my hat. And when I came into the office, he almost died. He edged into my career station and said, 'Your hair! It's so...so...'

I said, 'It's only hair. But thanks.' And so it's been since before Thanksgiving.

If he talks about my hair one more time I'll blow. I've endured this since May and I will seriously have to read him a lesson if this continues.

Here's the question: why would comments about hair piss off a brown girl?

[yes, this is a test. it's much more interesting than asking if someone's been a victim of racism, huh?]

so silly: i thought this was my uterus...

A Man's Right to Choose - New York Times

while this didn't make me choke on my coffee, this last bit made me sort of gassy with exasperation (i'll bold the most gas-inducing parts):

"Why couldn't I make the same claim - that I am going to keep the baby regardless of whether she wants it or not?

Well, you might argue that all the man provides is his seed in a moment of pleasure. The real work consists of carrying a child for nine months, with the attendant morning sickness, leg cramps, biological risks and so on.

But how many times have we heard that fatherhood is not about a moment, it is about being there for the lifetime of a child? If we extend that logic, those 40 weeks of pregnancy - as intense as they may be - are merely a small fraction of a lifetime commitment to that child.

The bottom line is that if we want to make fathers relevant, they need rights, too. If a father is willing to legally commit to raising a child with no help from the mother he should be able to obtain an injunction against the abortion of the fetus he helped create.

Putting this into effect would be problematic, of course. But while such issues may be complicated, so is family life."

so, basically, let's just have men force women to give birth. yeah, i'm all for that.

while dalton's argument is fairly even in tone, it won't prevent me from calling him a complete tool.

his toolship: dalton, i'd really like to know how you (and other men) are going to justify forcing a woman to give birth against her will. i'd really like to see how your willingness to perform your fatherly duties outside of a woman's body justifies taking ownership of her body for 9 months against her will.

at the end of his 'waah waah' essay dalton tries to slide in an obligatory 'please ignore the fact i'm talking out my ass' by saying 'of course' his modest proposal would be hard to implement. but he doesn't say the reason why his idea won't work: hey, there's a woman attached to the other end of that fetus!

wouldn't everything be so much easier if we forgot there was a woman attached?

here's a tip from me to dalton: until we find a way for me to hatch a human embryo so a guy can sit on it like a penguin, you can kiss your dream good bye.

(tool! tool!)

so silly: abortion, silly land and alito

Alito File Shows Strategy to Curb Abortion Ruling - New York Times

yes, it is silly of me, isn't it, to worry about how scalito's past briefs and memos will bear on future decisions? it's so silly. i'm so silly. all of us women are silly, apparently. just so silly.

what isn't silly is alito's condescending disregard for women to make their own moral decisions and be their own moral agents:

And in a strongly worded 17-page legal analysis, he recommended advancing the administration's ultimate case against Roe by defending state regulations requiring doctors to provide women seeking abortions with information about fetal development, the risks and "unforeseeable detrimental effects" of the procedure and the availability of adoption services or paternal child support.

Although the information might cause "emotional distress, anxiety, guilt and in some cases physical pain" to the women, Judge Alito wrote, such results "are part of the responsibility of moral choice"